#igniting tnt

[cupcake-bee-boy]

I find it very funny how both Doc and Grian have already begun putting together their allies for the oncoming war.

Like, when Doc and Zedaph were cleaning up towards the end of his episode, Doc was like “Zed, Ren already swore that he’d help me in the fight, and really, Grian used you when he had you blow up a hole in my base. You’re innocent here. You’re the victim. So you should fight against him with me when war eventually breaks out.”

And then later, when Grian is talking to Mumbo, he starts talking like, “Wow Mumbo, Doc destroyed your door? And he didn’t even tell you he was going to? Sounds pretty bad. Sounds like you should be upset. Say, if I were to have a little meeting with Scar about how we’re upset with Doc, would you like to be there? You would? Great!”

[rabbitfics]

I also want to share another headcanon

[ilium-ilia]

Daughters with Soft Underbellies

john price x fem!reader | cowboy/outlaw x preachers daughter | masterlist

Chapter Twelve: apple pie

tw: minor violence

You remember the Blackpeak Coal Mine Slaughter well—very well.

Plastered over the front page of every newspaper in the nation, it’s hard to forget the event and the harrowing accounts of survivors and the family members that were left behind in the wake of the tragedy. Over thirty men were massacred that day. Nothing but lifeless torsos without hands to stop the bleeding, limbs too far out of reach to retrieve. Twelve more were injured. You remember the paper retelling a story of one of the workers, now rendered blind from the explosion that rocked The States, rippling through the population. 

Confusion kept everyone stupid for some time—it was widely accepted that this was an accident. Natural gases within the earth that ignited when explosives were detonated in order to carve deeper into the earth’s surface. When this take was first published and traveled down the wagon trail to Penmosa, you remember your father huffing at the words, fist clenched tight around the arm of his chair. 

“Serves them right. Desecrating God’s green earth like that. Bastards, every one of them. You hear me, girl? This is what human greed does. It makes you a corpse.” 

You suppose that, in the end, he was right. 

Weeks later it was confirmed that this was no accident, but rather intentional. Workers came forward with stories about strange men in masks wandering into the worksite towing obscene amounts of TNT. Many men fought back, only to be shot. Others couldn’t quite escape before the earth caved in on them, burying them beneath mounds of rubble. Even to this day, they still find pieces of them. Shattered bones and dusty work boots, never to be lacquered again. 

Last you knew, the criminals were still on the run. Some uncouth hit and run. Nothing but a slimy act of terror. The old company went out of business, unable to make up for the lost workers and the compensation that was owed, and a new one moved in, still putting the site to use. A memorial was erected in honor of the lives lost. The day has been lost to memory and grief. 

Now, you know otherwise. 

Dead or Alive: for the Blackpeak Coal Mine Slaughter. 

Your stomach twists as you travel down the winding roads of Grand Hollow, but the nervosity chewing on your neurons makes it impossible to enjoy the otherworldly beauty presenting itself before you. When Mr. Beckett had warned you about John Price and his posse, you had never expected violence in a magnitude such as this. You’ve broken bread with these men. Fished in the same waters. Laid on the same dirt. 

Now you understand his secrecy. All John’s hidden motives and dodged questions, answers given with vicious snark and a half lidded glare. What terrors does he expect to rage now in Blackpeak? Was his slaughtering of those working men not enough? Must he now steal from their grieving families, too? 

Guilt spears through you like a freshly born knife still hot from the furnace. How dare you have the audacity for such emotions? Had you known John Price was this much of a monster, you would have let him spill your blood next to the campfire the night you fled from your father. 

“Pecora.” 

The driver’s rough voice pulls you from your nightmarish anamneses. You glance up from your worn, tattered nails and stare at the back of his head where his wiry, white hair greets you. He does not look at you, but you’re certain you were the one he spoke to. 

“Pardon?” you ask. 

He looks over his shoulder and stares at you blankly for a moment before pointing to something on the cart’s right. “Pecora,” he repeats. 

Following the crooked curve of wrinkled his finger, you spot an ewe and her lamb. They’re terribly out of place, fresh white wool contrasting against the darkened grey cobblestone of the streets, but the ewe does not fret. She trots through the foot traffic, splitting pedestrians who gawk at her and her child with coos, all while stopping to chew on the weeds that spring up between the bricks. 

Her lamb, however, stumbles behind her on jelly legs with wide eyes and a mouth that knows nothing other than to cry. Its voice is strident as it weaves through its mother’s legs, eyes anxiously gazing at the tall creatures that surround them. Utterly lost and out of place, you hum as you watch them find a patch of grass to lay and bask in. 

“Oh, sheep,” you realize. “How cute.” 

“Cute,” the driver repeats with a nod. 

Proud, baronial buildings slowly dwindle into something quieter the further you’re taken away from The Twin Rose. At first you passed them off to be more stores and places of interest for citizens and travelers alike to visit, but you come to the realization that these are houses when you catch a woman throwing bed linens out onto a clothesline. 

Wide lawns stretch out like royal carpets before two story houses with large windows and porches sporting long sunroofs. If your father witnessed the white paint that decorates the wood, you’re certain he would keel over in the dirt of the streets, scandalized that simple homes would bear the same pure milky sheen of his church. It’s quieter here without the hustle of the deep city. Fewer pedestrians, sparse horses, children laughing in a nearby field as they kick and throw various toy balls around to one another. 

The cart comes to a stop in front of a house at the end of a cul de sac. It’s different from all the others in the neighborhood, sporting a rosy pink rather than snowy white. Several flower bushes line the siding of the house, almost in full bloom, bitterly reminding you of your mother’s lily plants back in Penmosa. From somewhere inside of the house, music bleeds. It’s a quiet crackle with a canorous melody soaring over compressed violins, trumpets, and pianos. It sounds wrong. Nothing at all like the warm tones you’re familiar with from the church choir. 

Your driver hops out of his seat, worn boots scraping on the stone at his feet, and offers you a hand. “Here. Laswell home.” 

Placing your hand into his worn palm, he helps you out of the cart and gestures to the front door with a wrinkled, lopsided smile. You give him a quiet thanks as he loads back up, reins flicking and prompting the horses into action where he turns around and slowly trots back down the street. 

Each beat of your heart threatens to drown out the music as you trot up the steps to the porch. The sillage of rose and lavender bleeds from the flower bushes at the base of the stairs and mixes with the warmth bleeding through the open windows of the house. Swallowing, you approach the door and knock. 

There is no answer. 

Someone obviously is inside the house. You can hear chirpy humming and various utensils being knocked around, so you try again only to have the same luck. After a few minutes, you muster up the courage to open the door and peek your head inside. 

The foyer is small with shoes lined up against the floorboards and various coats and hats hanging on hooks drilled into the wall. Just past the entrance you can see a staircase that leads up to the second floor with a rich vermillion runner along dark stained wood, but there is no sign of the woman you were sent to help. 

“Lottie?” you call out as you close the door behind you with a shaky hand. 

Still receiving no response, you exit the foyer and begin to wander where the noise is loudest. You travel down wide hallways with open windows, sunlight bleeding through wispy drapes like mist on a cold autumn morning. Various paintings catch your attention as you walk, hung up high and proud, displaying scenes of nature and animals and captured with a keen eye. Other hallways split off like a burrow of tunnels, like a warren lurking in a field, but you keep your feet steady until you reach the kitchen. 

The woman you’re assuming is Lottie stands with her back faced toward you as she sways her hips in front of the stove. A phonograph plays on the counter, spinning a waxy cylinder and playing its music loud and proud. A rosy pink skirt twirls around her legs as she wipes her hands off on her apron, then toys with the frizzy curls of her bright blonde hair as they fall from her disheveled bun. She’s humming along to the music—some upbeat tune you don’t recognize—as she hops on her feet, hips twisting as she reaches for a large wooden spoon. 

“Miss Lottie?” you ask once more. 

The woman squeals like a bird caught in the maw of a barn cat as she spins around, spoon waving as if she wields a knife. She’s rather pretty, you think, even with this look of terror on her face. Pale brows rising as her teal eyes widen, free hand pressed against her collarbones as if to still her fluttering heart. She looks you up and down and then sighs before wiping her brow. 

“Oh, darlin’ don’t do that to me. Damn near scared me half to death!” Her voice is saccharine and slow, accent drawing long vowels and dropped consonants. Southern, you think—Georgia, if you had to guess. 

“I’m sorry, miss,” you apologize. You raise your hands as a sign of good faith before you glance at the items behind her on the counter. Fresh meat, a mason jar of white, bubbly liquid, a fresh block of cheese. “Laswell sent me here. I’m supposed to help with dinner?” 

“Did she now?” Lottie asks. Her face melts. All tension vanishes back into the depths of her skin as a smile pulls at her lips. “Reckon we have guests to cook for, then?” 

You nod. “Yes—erm—myself and a few others. Four men.” 

“Sounds like we have half a battalion to feed,” she muses. Tapping the spoon against the side of her hip, she seems swept away by the chorus of the song crackling from the phonograph, melody bleeding from the speaker like a warm campfire in the midst of the boonies. “Awfully kind of Katie to send me a little helper, then. Why don’t you grab one of those aprons darlin, we can’t have you mucking up that dress of yours!” 

She points over her shoulder to a small rack of off-white aprons long stained by home cooked meals. Each of them are embroidered with little flowers. Some sport roses, others daisies, and what you think is an attempt to do forget-me-knots. You snatch up the one with lilies before tying it around your waist and hopping in line next to Lottie, who isn’t afraid to throw work your way. Handing you a knife, she orders you to peel potatoes and cut them into cubes while she works on heating the stove up enough for the meat. 

When she asks you what your name is, you tell her the truth, though it’s overshadowed by the mention of your nickname. Lamb. It makes her giggle something sweet and bubbly like champagne. 

Lottie is a beautiful woman—it’s difficult not to find yourself starstruck by her. Rosy cheeks flush in the heat of the kitchen, illuminating the sweet and sparse freckles that spot her face. Her lips are painted a matte cherry red, though it slowly fades each time her teeth dig into the tender flesh as she mutters to herself about the next steps for her meal. Then, there’s her bosom. Your eyes burn when you notice the swell of her breasts and how her corset can hardly keep them from spilling over the blushing fabric of her dress. She’s any man’s dream. 

“So,” you speak up. Small talk is not a strong attribute of yours, and Lottie and her phonograph are doing plenty of conversing for the both of you. Still, you are a stranger in this home, and the acrimonious bile in your stomach urges you to make something of yourself. “You live here, then? With Laswell?” 

“Well, of course,” she Lottie giggles. She’s got flour smeared on her face, dusty eggshell staining a line across her forehead. “Certainly wouldn’t be doin’ all this good cookin’ for free.” 

“Are you and Laswell sisters, then?” you ask. 

Lottie’s in the middle of placing a thinly rolled piece of pastry dough on top of her sheet of pot pie when she freezes. Her gaze is quizzical as she turns her attention to you, eyes studying every line in your face. For a moment, there’s something malicious that lurks in her gaze. An incensed flicker that leaves your spine tingling. It quickly vanishes when her eyes drop to the necklace dangling around your neck. 

“Oh, bless your heart. Aren’t you just as sweet as a peach,” she says with a quiet smile before returning to her work. 

Unsure of what else to say, you continue to do as you’re told. Chopped potatoes. Rolling dough. Making bread—sourdough. Slicing apples. Warming sugar until golden brown. You’re grateful for the work. It’s been a long time since you’ve cooked a proper meal, and you’re hoping you’ll actually be able to get a taste of it this time around. 

Neither you nor Lottie take a break until her apple pie is cooking in the oven and her pot pie is staying warm atop the stove. She fetches you a cup of water from a valve in the kitchen, leaving you slack jawed, and corrals you out onto the porch where the two of you sit next to one another on a thatched bench.

As you drink, you can’t help but realize that even the water tastes different here. It’s strange. Tangy, like blood from a split lip. You hold the glass up to the setting sun where amber light refracts through it, illuminating the bubbles that swirl through the liquid. 

“You’re not from around here, are you?” 

When you turn your attention back to Lottie, you realize she’s staring at you, bright eyes piercing through you like cold rays of sun. Pressing your lips together, you place your hands into your lap, fingers clenching around your glass. 

“No, I just got here today, actually,” you explain. 

She nods. “Where’re you from?” 

“Penmosa.” 

“I’m not familiar.” 

“It’s… well, it took us a fair bit of travel to get here.” 

“Us?” 

Blinking, you realize the slip of your words. John’s name rattles through your brain like dark ink on parchment—pinned to a board, face on display for all to see, a call for violence; for vengeance. 

“Yes. I’ve been traveling with… a man named John.” 

“John Price?” Lottie confirms. 

Solicitude seeps deep into every bone in your body at her recognition. “Yes. Him and the others will be here for dinner tonight. I… I hope that isn’t a problem.” 

“Oh, not at all!” she beams as the tips of her feet tap against the porch. “It’s been quite a long time since I’ve last seen John and his boys. Didn’t think he’d be comin’ back to Grand Hollow so soon. Last I knew he was out wandering while tryin’ to wait for things in Blackpeak to cool down.” 

The more she speaks, the more your brows draw together. “You know him?” 

“Of course I do! Him and Kaite have been doin’ business for a little while now. He’s a fine man. A little strange, but I think all those English folk are, if you ask me.” 

A subtle discontent stirs at the base of your skull leaving your mind spinning. A dissonance screams. It burrows deep and roots. You’ve been warned that John Price is not a good man, and you’ve seen the very proof of it yourself. That man he shot and killed. The clothes he ripped off of your body. The wanted poster with his name and face plastered on it. 

Yet, he saved you from your father, and Lottie spews about him as if he were a disciple. You know it is ungodly to cast judgement on another person, but you can’t shake the discord of the situation. How thin is the line between salvation and betrayal? 

“Speak of the devil, and he shall appear,” Lottie murmurs. 

There, just down the road, trots a line of horses. Bear’s familiar head rears while his tail flicks, shooing off flies attempting to nurse on him all while Kyle pats the side of his head. John lazily looks around at the houses, shoulders squared as he seems to chat away with Laswell, who leads the pack on her own horse. 

Swallowing, you prepare for what you’re sure is about to be the most painful dinner you’ve participated in for quite some time. 

Laswell is the first to dismount, leg easily swinging over the side of her horse without a dress to get in the way. She trots up the porch and greets you with a polite nod before her hands reach for Lottie. The woman grins, bright, pearly teeth flashing between the blood red of her lips, before she allows Laswell to help her off of the bench. Then, their lips meet. Soft, chaste—enough to stain Laswell’s mouth with color. 

For a moment, all you can do is stare. Two women, embracing one another in such a way. Heat simmers from your core for only a short moment before it’s boiling, splashing bubbling water all up your insides until they’re searing and raw. You can hear John’s chuckle haunt you from somewhere along the staircase. 

“Come on, Lamb,” Lottie urges with a wave. “Let’s go set the table.” 

The distance you sow between you and John is appreciated and welcomed, but it only lasts for a few fleeting minutes before God has brought the two of you together again. Palms flat in your lap, eyes staring at the long table as you’re squished between Kyle and Riley, John’s eyes flickering like a lone candle flame across from you—the weight is nearly unbearable. Crushing. Bones fracturing. Splinters sticking in the raw, fleshy parts of you. 

Thick fingers curl around his fork, dark hair lining the space just below his knuckles. You watch as his tendons dance just below his skin as he cuts into his food before he shoves it into his open maw. As he eats, you wonder how many men he’s murdered with those very same hands. How much blood the earth has had to swallow because of him. How many children weep over rotting fathers because of what those hands have done. 

As he cracks his knuckles, you’re reminded of the first time he ever taught you how to shoot. Trigger finger trembling, he told you a gun is nothing more than a tool. Something to protect yourself with. It’s a similar mentality he barked at you when you dared to challenge him over his slaughtering of that farmer who threatened to soil you. Protection. Saving. Family. 

What honor was there in slaughtering those coal mine workers? 

“I can see why Laswell’s tied you down with a ring, Lottie,” John hums. His thumbs graze over one of your sourdough rolls, nails biting into the crisp crust as it caves in beneath his pressure. He places a fluffy piece against his tongue and offers a tight-lipped to the woman. “With cooking like this, I reckon you had her ensnared.” 

Lottie’s giggle falls like a sheer blanket over the table as she shoos John off with a wave. “Oh, I can’t take all the credit. Your little lamb was quite the helper. Pretty much did everythin’ for me! And, as far as I know, she ain’t taken quite yet.” 

John’s eyes settle on you, and though you know better, you can’t help but return his gaze. Sticky like tree sap on fresh logs, you can’t look away. You hold his gaze, jaw tense and aching, he hums. His lips quirk into a smile and for the first time in your life, you find yourself wanting to slap it from his face. 

“Maybe we ought to keep you around after all,” he muses. 

Scoffing, you glance back down at your plate. There’s hardly anything left for you to eat, yet you poke at it with your silverware anyway. “Awfully rich coming from the man who considers me a right nuisance. What did you call me again? Cargo?” 

Enmity soaks your tongue so much that it does not feel like your own anymore. This is your father’s tongue that rots your mouth—bitter and swollen from long standing annoyance, ever petulant. Even John seems to recognize this change within you. Eyebrows rising, he shakes his head and chuckles. 

“Right,” he agrees. “The most headache-inducing cargo I’ve ever laid hands on.” 

A hush halts the table’s conversation leaving you to face the white hot anger brewing in your chest all by yourself. You note the sideways glances. The way Kyle turns away from you. The way Soap’s lips press together. 

Look at you, once again, the prodigal daughter. 

“Well, how about some dessert to offset all this bitterness?” Lottie suggests, voice gentle like honey, blunt humor pulling at her words. 

Laswell pushes her plate away before looking up at her wife with a nod. “A perfect idea, love.” 

Apple and cinnamon dance in a waltz on your tongue but their feet are numbed as the rest of the feast is finished in choppy conversation punctuated with long bouts of silence. Fatigue pulls heavy at everyone’s eyes, but your anger keeps you wide awake. Fork clutched in hand. Metal scraping on porcelain. When everyone is finished, John attempts to have everyone stay behind to help clean up, but Laswell waves him off, saying that he ought to get everyone back to the hotel to rest. 

Before you leave, Lottie bids you farewell with a soft hug and a kiss on the cheek. “Welcome to Grand Hollow, darlin. I hope it’s everythin’ you need.” 

You ride on the back of John’s horse. You’re much too close for comfort to him, and your skin tingles as if there were a million small beetles dancing on your body. He at least offers you the courtesy of not talking to you, allowing you to stew in your thoughts as your eyes glaze over and focus on the dusty stones that crumble beneath the horse’s hooves. 

Still, you are incensed that you missed all the omens. Vague warnings from Mr. Beckett. The bursts of anger that seemed to seep from every pore in his body. The way he never flinched when enacting violence upon others. 

You spent so long attempting to find humanity in the eyes of the wolf that you failed to notice the fresh blood staining his teeth. 

“Ever been to a theatre before, Lamb?” 

It’s the first thing John’s said to you for the entire ride, and it’s enough to get your ears to quirk. Gaze shifting upwards, you notice an unfamiliar sight that you’ve only heard about from word of mouth. Fat bulbs light up the street as they line a marquee board listing off show names and times. Stories you don’t recognize, with actors and actresses from a whole other world. Behind a glass window sits a man selling tickets, who looks as if he’s about to fall asleep face first into the palm he rests his chin on. 

“Can’t say that I have,” you reply tartly. 

“They used to be shows of just actors. People dancing on stage, things of that sort,” John explains, head leaning back in active conversation. “Used to have women hiking their skirts up, too. Would probably send your daddy into a proper fit if he ever saw it. Now they’re showing moving pictures. Films, I think they call it.”

“Is that so?” Short. Dull. The theatre passes you by and you’re back to staring at the ground. 

John’s hips shift in his saddle, fingers tightening on the reins. “The boys and I were thinking about seeing one tomorrow.”

All you do is hum in reply. You watch as John’s shoulders tense and rise before falling with a huff. The horse begins to slow, its proper trot dwindling to a lazy meander. 

“You know Lamb, I can’t say I’m too overly fond of this new attitude of yours. Picking fights at dinner while we’re guests wasn’t too godly of you,” he bites. 

“Well, it’s a good thing you’re getting rid of me soon, isn’t it?” you retort. 

His body stills. Not even the swaying of his horse can move him. 

“You might be right about that, little lamb.” 

With Laswell tucked away at home, John is the only one left to show you to your room. He bids the boys a goodnight before leading you up to the second floor, key pinched between his fingers as he unlocks the door for you. You find your carpet bag waiting for you on the foot of the largest bed you’ve ever seen—big enough to house six swine comfortably, if you had to guess. Another vanity sits shoved against the far side of the wall, along with several complementary products of soap and oils, but the wonder is lost on you now. 

Sighing, you take the key from John’s hand and busy yourself with sorting through the items in your bag. John’s gaze sears your skin. Shoulder tucked into the doorway, arms crossed over his chest, he stares at you. Through you. Piercing your body as if his eyes were knives. 

“You’re not still upset at me for earlier, are you?” he suddenly questions. 

“Earlier?” you repeat. You’re still turned away from him. Shoulders hunched, hands busy. You know it’s not smart to face away from wolves but you can’t bring yourself to be scared of his bite anymore. 

“When I interrupted your bath.” 

“Whyever would I be mad about that?” you reply bitterly. 

While John’s chuckles are usually warm, earthy things, the one he gives you now can only be described as sour milk. Thick and clumpy, noisome and in desperate need to be thrown out. “Full of fire today, aren’t you? Did you ever talk to your daddy like this?” 

Your fingers have just wrapped around your comb when he asks you this, and the unfamiliar choler it fills you with nearly suffocates you. Tossing the item onto the comforter, you whip around to face him, head tilted to the side and teeth grinding like eroding stones. 

“No, Daddy beat me whenever I opened my mouth out of turn,” you snap, stating the obvious with so much vitriol you nearly choke on it. Still, it propels you forward, feet sliding across the floor as you approach him. “Is that what you wanna do to me, John?” 

“You better slow down, sweetheart,” John warns. 

Ignoring him, you stalk closer on wobbly legs. Nothing but a freshly jellied lamb. 

“Gonna take off your belt and beat me the way your daddy did to you?” you challenge. You’re within biting distance now. John’s no longer leaning against the doorframe, but instead standing with his feet wide and firm as if ready for a blow. “Gonna make someone pay for your pain? That’s all you wan’t, isn’t it? Vengeance? You’re no better than the man behind the belt, John Price, you’re-” 

All it takes to shut you up is a hand on your jaw. 

Thumb and fingers curling into the fat of your cheeks, John Price is close enough to your face that you can feel his breath fan across your skin. His grip is firm enough to get your lips to part, but not enough to ache—not yet, anyway. Your pounding heart quivers against your sternum, making it impossible for you to swallow properly as you stare at him. 

Tobacco pairs nicely with the hue of his eyes—dark like a lake rippling during a storm. You want to be scared. Everything within you tells you to be scared. These are the hands that slaughtered innocent lives. Still, the way his thumb brushes across your bottom lip is the most gentle thing you’ve ever felt since your mother’s last parting kiss to your forehead, and you’re not sure why, but it feels worse than any slap you’ve ever received before. 

“Dunno what’s gotten into you sweetheart, but I’ll just assume you’re in desperate need of some good rest.” John huffs when he releases you, hands falling to his side before his fingers wrap around the doorknob. 

For a moment, he stands there like this. Gaze wandering up and down, his pupils soak up the narrowing of your eyes and the shaking of your knees before he swings the door shut. 

“Goodnight, Lamb.”

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[leafatlaw]

There’s something different about the winners of previous life series, something about Grian, Scott, Pearl, and Martyn that just seems off. How sometimes when they interact it’s like a solar eclipse, and you get the feeling they’re not safe to Watch for too long. It’s not even nesseacry how they look even, it’s more so how they feel.

How Grian always seems to hit harder than he means to, a playful push taking a few hearts. How he seems to always accidentally nick his allies with his sword. The odd way he always seems to be dusting sand off himself, how it pools around his shoes when he takes them off indoors. The way his hands always look stained red, even even when he’s just washed them. And it must be a trick of the light, because he’s not killed anyone yet this season. The way tnt seems to almost ignite around him, the way he seems like a piece of tnt himself, waiting to be lit. Waiting like a hunting animal to be commanded to kill. They nickname him the Sun, but his eyes look like black holes more than anything else.

Scott’s oddities are more subtler, more sanded smooth. He seems to almost glitter where Grian and Pearl shine. And maybe thats why it’s even stranger the way his eyes always seem to glow red, looking around like hes carring some curse that cant be shaken off. The way it’s impossible to tell where his hand ends and his bow begans, each arrow shot moving in ways different than it should. His hands impossible cold when you shake them, how each promise he makes feels like a threat. Like an eventuality, like the heat death of the universe.

Pearl is already dangerous everyone knows, but after winning she changes somehow. her laugh sounds like breaking glass, her smiles too sharp, when her and Scott talk it feels like standing next to an open flame, sound of gas whistling in the background. She’s cold to the touch just like her soulmate. When she’s on red the entire world seems to stand on end. The hairs on the back of your neck raise, it smells like there’s a storm on the way. And the way she interacts with her dogs… She talks to them like they’re people, and they seem to respond to understand her. Pearls dogs fight rougher, bite harder, they even seem to survive longer.

Martyn + Scar l8r

[blueishspace]

Lucky life session 4

Blueishspace (He/Him) + @a-sociopath-do-your-research aka Oli (Xe/Void/It): ❤️

@bendy8me aka Bendy (She/Her) + @juno0n aka Juno (She/Her): 💚💚💚

@raeistrying aka Rae (She/Her) + @silverorchideon aka Orchid (He/They): 💚💚💚

@communistcatboi aka Catboi (He/They) + @theblackglitch aka Glitch (She/Her): 💛💛

@kazanfamily aka Kazan (He/They) + @max05nb aka Max (They/Them): 💛💛

@twisttea aka Twisttea (She/Her) + @cowgirlginger aka Ginger (She/Her): 💛💛

@italianbiscuit aka Manu (She/Her) + @lizzlylou aka Liz (They/Them): 💛💛

@thatoneloudintrovert aka Floracica (She/Her) + @not-ready-for-gaster aka Bee (She/They): 💛💛

@whats-she-gonna-post-next aka Starfall (She/They) + @frostywisp aka Fros (They/Them): 💛💛

@the-local-pineapple aka Tessa (She/Her) + @spectresharmony aka Ari (She/Her): 💚💚💚

@astoriagalaxy aka Astoria (All) + @3-pots-of-soup aka Soup (Any): 💚💚💚

This is this session's wheel:

With reds walking around the chance for Murder and Trap has increased. Monopoly has instead stopped being an option as It's way too late into the game. Also Prank is going to be less shuffling items and more arson.

Let's begin:

Kazan, after a short trip to the Nether, is able to craft some Eyes of Ender.

Astoria hears about Liz and Manu accusing Bee and rigs their base with TNT.

Liz explores the deep dark and discovers the enchanting table has been stolen.

Catboi attempts to sneak into Liz and Manu's base but accidentally ignites the tnt and explodes bringing Glitch down with them... (I can't believe that Manu and Liz's base has such an high body count). ❤️

Ari traps Twistea and Ginger's beds hoping to get them immediately out of the series should they go red.

Manu and Tessa meet up to discuss a...secret alliance of sorts.

Floracica offers Bluish (me) an offer he can't refuse. Help with killing off the greens and access to the enchanter in exchange for him not targeting the yellows. Blue agrees.

Juno traps their own base's entrance and creates a secret tunnel to get in and out safely.

Ginger attempts to steal from Bendy's chests but is caught and forced to leave leave before they can get anything good.

Max traps Fros and Starfall's Nether Portal.

Soup gathers some Eyes of Ender and crafts an Ender Chest where they hide her most valuable resources.

Bendy discovers that Floracica has stolen the enchanter and promptly tells everyone who will listen.

Oli manages to catch Tessa by surprise and kills her bringing her and Ari down a life. 💛💛

Orchid pranks Twisttea by burning her base down, this triggers the trap which ends up not killing anyone as noone is close enough to the beds.

Bee uses the wither heads gathered by her allies to summon the Wither.

The following section uses a different set of wheels entirely to decide how they deal with the...situation. First of which is the life wheel.

Starfall and Fros survive by being too busy to even notice the wither. Iconic behaviour actually.

Glitch and Catboi survive by outrunning the wither, Imagine Secret Life Scar.

Bee and Floracica survive by hiding, good, would have been a bit embarassing if Bee died because of the wither she spawned. Though they hide in different places, likely very far apart.

Orchid and Rae barely barely survive though they actually attempt to fight the wither. (Wow, this wither is like super weak.)

Ginger and Twisttea are caught by the wither and die to doubled withering effect. ❤️ (Nevermind)

Soup and Astoria also survive, probably because they are in on the plan and stay away from the chaos.

Max and Kazan survive, Max is with Orchid and Rae as they fight the wither.

Liz and Manu survive, hiding away from the chaos.

Oli attempts to get a kill in the chaos. Xey don't make it. Void are the first player out, Blue is the second. (We're dead first, this is the worst possible timeline) ☠️

Juno and Bendy survive, running away from the wither.

Tessa and Ari are the ones to slay the wither, the ones to claim It's star.

The rest of the session is not very busy, little happens. Everyone is just shocked. Everyone is rebuilding, the Wither might have not killed many but it destroyed huge chunks of the server.

[panvnsleake]

Kamaboko named their minecraft parrot 'Liam' aaand I accidentally lost it! It flew away just like that. I am so dead... Also unnamed goose guy makes cat bombs by shoving them in TNT cages and igniting them. He also does the same to rabbits, dogs, and villagers?!📝 -🍫🥩

just go into creative and spawn it back. it never happened shhh..oh no the lanterny. Not the kanterny not right now why does he always pop up when im in the mood to be little GRRRR 🍞

[incorrectdccomicquotes]

Robin, playing Minecraft with Beast Boy: By the way, how much TNT did you put down?

Beast Boy: Just a little bit.

Robin, igniting the TNT: What's a little bit?

Beast Boy: Ten thousand.

Robin: Yeah - wha - TEN THOUSAND - ?! My PC!

[safeturnip]

an explosive encounter

words: 1.2k

characters: GeminiTay, GoodTimesWithScar, ZombieCleo

summary: Gem and Scar blow up Cleo.

additional tags: canon-typical violence, explsions, arson, character death (with respawn mechanic)

my piece for the 6th edition of @trafficzine! i had so much fun being a part of this and everyone did such a good job with their pieces :)))

***

There is a certain simple joy, Gem thinks, in setting up a trap. Her arms burn faintly as she digs a pit deep enough to hide a lethal amount of TNT, the strain more akin to satisfaction than pain. The waves of robots descending from the sky to pepper her with questions have momentarily abated, and she's determined to make the most of the intermission. 

She works alongside Scar, who, admittedly, is not that much help. He's too busy trying to dodge his snail to allot much effort into their shared trap, laughing in panicked distress as it inches closer and closer to him. But Gem doesn't mind doing most of the work, doesn't mind that it'll be Scar who gets the kill. She knows that she's had a part in the trap, and as long as Cleo ends up dead, as long as an alliance is secured with Scar, then that's enough for her. 

Does Gem think about how easily Scar could kill her? Does she realize she's standing right on top of a pile of explosives, ready to ignite at a single strike of steel on flint? She continues to build the trap.

Finally, it's finished. Gem surveys her work while Scar glances nervously around for his snail. As a concluding touch, she flattens down the grass to form an inconspicuous path above the trap, then sets off towards the forest on the other side of the river where Cleo and her allies reside. The easy part’s done. Now comes the hard part.

"Cleo?" she calls, hands cupped around her mouth. "Can I borrow you?

Cleo emerges from the tower of her base, their expression pinched in trepidation. Their answer is doubtful and drawn out, suffused with no small amount of suspicion. "Yes? What do you need?"

"Great, come on!" Without waiting to see if Cleo is following, Gem turns and starts the journey back to her base and the hidden trap. She makes sure her hands are empty save for a precautionary shield, no sword or lava or anything that could harm Cleo. No, the harm will come later. 

As they travel, Gem keeps up a steady stream of conversation. "I just thought—you know, we're always talking when there's a whole bunch of people around, and there's finally nobody at my base." She keeps her tone bright and earnest, catches and holds Cleo's gaze. Her smile is wide and friendly, her gestures loose in a way that demonstrates how unarmed she is at the moment. Nothing to hide here, she tries to make her body language say, there's no ulterior motive. "I thought maybe we could finally have a sit-down and sort things out!" 

Despite Gem’s reassurances, apprehension is still wreathed tightly around Cleo like a protective cloak. "I don't feel like I've got a problem with you, though."

They're passing the spawn island now, and Gem thinks, Halfway there, prays that her unassuming target can't sense how fast her pulse is racing. It's taking every ounce of her strength to keep the smile on her face, keep her voice steady and make sure it doesn't tremble with anticipation. 

"Well, I don't have a problem with you either," Gem says. Cleo's teammates, though, that's a different matter entirely. 

"Okay . . ." Cleo doesn't sound convinced, but they're still following her, still allowing themself to be lured willingly to their death, a fish unaware of the hook embedded in its throat slowly reeling it in. "Why am I so suspicious right now?"

It's a rhetorical question, but Gem answers anyway, a sleight-of-hand of words to lessen Cleo's suspicions—or lessen her suspicions just enough to get her in the blast radius, get her killed. "I'm green, you're green, everybody's green. Joel's green, and he's my only teammate." Lie—she thinks of Scar sitting in wait by the trap’s lever, his yellow name displayed prominently in the player menu for all to see. 

They cross the bridge, and Gem swears she can already smell the acrid burn of gunpowder, hear the deafening sound of detonation. She passes over the concealed trap, hears the hiss of a lit fuse, turns around to face Cleo right as they say, "Yeah, now I don't feel safe at all." 

Then, explosion—a sudden rush of displaced matter like a sharply exhaled breath, an earsplitting boom that Gem feels in her teeth, the ground heaving and tearing asunder, expelling smoke and heat and bits of shrapnel. Cleo's scream is cut off before it can escape her throat.

Gem turns triumphantly towards Scar, meets his victorious cheers head-on with ones of her own. She feels almost shaky, hollowed out, as if the adrenaline and tension she'd been carrying while luring Cleo to their death had all rushed out when the explosion happened, leaving an empty void behind that a flood of success is quick to fill. 

Other players drift over, drawn to the aftermath of carnage like flies to carrion, and Scar exclaims, "That was all Gem; Gem was—big help, big help!" and Gem laughs in appreciation over Scar's commendations. The next time she opens the player menu, Scar's name is a satisfying green. 

Later, Scar comes back to her as she stands at the top of her watch tower. “Gem, I will never betray you,” Scar tells her, an earnest hand pressed to his chest, and she thinks of an arrow misfired into the back of her skull, she thinks of a red-hooded figure that stood back while a sword plunged into her heart, and she thinks: Good. 

***

Flint and steel come together in a matrimony of cascading sparks, white-hot seeds of heat from which ribbons of flame unfurl. Flickers of orange and red and yellow burn bright against the dark backdrop of the night, bright in a way that compels anyone nearby to behold their consumption of anything in their path. The air shimmers with heat, the air is oversaturated with heat. 

If there are any protests being made in the immediate vicinity, the fire does not care enough to hear them. The fire's only concern is how fast it can devour. The barn is the first to go, tongues of flame licking up the red mangrove walls and leaving only the stone foundation behind, blackened and ash-covered, the bones of a picked-clean animal carcass. Yet the fire’s hunger is still not sated—it leaps to the posts of a bridge, crawling hungrily along the wood; it throws itself upon the crops and bundles of hay that border the burning barn; it wraps itself around the fences of a cow pen. It swallows up the newly built watchtower, the strong sturdy oak foundation mere kindling to the ravenous flames. Scorched ruination is all that remains. 

Reaching up to the night sky are curling tendrils of smoke, thick and ashen and choking. The smoke wends its way through the air, clings to whatever the fire has not yet burned, sits heavily in the spaces of a person's lungs. Its scent will linger here hours after the fire has died, a hateful, victorious echo of the destruction that has been wrought. Beneath the constant crackle of flames, laughter floats up to the sky, intertwining with the grey, cloying smoke. 

Everything burns. 

[menasors]

what does guilt feel like to them (chain emoji), what sets them off the quickest (tnt emoji) for motormaster and do animals trust them (paw emoji) for wildrider

I cant find the emojis just lock in

No emojis I can't read this

Anyways. Morormorster <- typo I can't not keep because what the hell

What does guilt feel like to them?

He says he doesn't feel guilt, but it's almost his neutral feeling. He feels empty and shallow, but protective. He feels cold and shaking just thinking about how his brothers have been treated because he didn't do better. Because he couldn't save them from things out of his control. Because he had to take care of them when he wasn't much older than them, and thus couldn't treat them like a brother should. No matter what he feels, guilt is always there.

What sets them off the quickest 💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥?

Probably his power button or ignition or memories of being beaten and ridiculed by his superiors and just taking it because they're older and must know better. Also anyone that hurts his brothers. Someone looking at them weird? Growling at them. Someone looking at Breakdown at all? Growling at them. Someone teasing any of them? Straight up barking at them he does not care about his reputation if his brothers are hurt.

WILDRIDER AMINALS

yes. Animals LOVE him. He is a Disney princess. He sits at the beach to pick up crabs, and stares out his window to watch the fish go by. Crabs have never tried to pinch him and the fish love him. Stray dogs follow him far as they can. Birds have perched on his helm horns, and those times are genuinely the only times he's ever sat still. Animals love the lad. The lad loves animals.

[roosterm3attrash]

101 ways to kill Barney Calhoun

I ended up making this list by going through multiple servers and people so here cuz I found it in my phone notes

Anyway the brilliant minds of the half-life fandom

1.) Waited pressure plate with tnt under it

2.) im going to leave mines under his mattress

3.) i’m setting a rake on his floor so he steps on it and whacks his face

4.) I'm giving him a bomb disguised as a cigar

5.) barney death 3: he ate what elvis presley ate….

6.) I would kill Barney Calhoun by slapping him so hard on the ass that it gives him cardiac arrest

7.) I drop him onto a pit of venomous snakes

8.) Im going to give Barney a beer but instead of beer it will be filled with deadly neurotoxin

9.) “now gordon, ive been keepin an eye out on this combine hideout for a while. they seem to walk in a certain pattern when crossing over to the entrance, which makes me think theyve buried mines all over the place. now, ive memorized the pattern, so im just gonna sneak on over, and you follow my lead, alright? dont worry, i know exactly where all the mines are.” and then he explodes

10.) that one episode of sponge bob where he eats the exploding pie and explodes

11.) set up tripwire then he falls into a tiger pit

12.) I type kill npc_barney into console

13.) slap the boobies off his chest so hard them fly around the world and hit the side of his head like water balloons

14.) i could marry him and slowly feed him mercury over a span for 3 years until he dies of mercury poisoning

15.) He tries to become a wwe wrestler but gets killed in a freak accident mid match

16.) I would kill him by making him a pizza but it’s covered in big chunks of lead but it’s hidden in the sauce and it’s a Chicago style pizza

17.) bring him to a highway and kiss him so hard he gets knocked onto the road and gets ran over

18.) Peeling him apart by the dna strand and eating it like spaghetti

19.) barney gets trampled by a stampede of horses

20.) giving him under the counter off brand viagra

21.) put him in a washing machine and turn it on

22.) shark attack

23.) pit of sharks

24.) barney gets criticized so badly he dies

25.) barney sits in an uncomfortable chair for too long

26.) He gets his arm caught in a bear trap w a beer used as a lure

27.) HE BECOMES THE CAT THAT TRAUMATIZED HIM. HE….YKNOW…..

28.) he gets stuck in a swimming pool like hes in the sims and dies from getting exhausted and drowning

29.) barney roasting marshmallows but his stick ignites into flames and he burns to death

30.) ATTACH SO MANY BALLOONS TO BARNEY HE FLOATS AWAY INTO THE SKY NEVER TO BE SEEN AGAIN

31.) barney gets rejected by gordon and he gets so sad his body shuts down

32.) I kiss him so tenderly on the lips that he melts into a puddle and dies

33.) i throw him in to a volcano so that he melt into a puddle and dies

34.) "I’ll turn him into a flea, a harmless, little flea, and then I’ll put that flea in a box, and then I’ll put that box inside of another box, and then I’ll mail that box to myself, and when it arrives…I’ll smash it with a hammer!"

35.) stick a bottle of beer into his throat, the whole bottle

36.) give Barney Calhoun a beer can full of poison

37.) hang a piano over the toilet and wait

38.) i think barney should have his spine ripped out through his mouth

39.) he goes to a bar and tries flirting with the bartender and the bartender takes out a shotgun and kills him on the spot

40.) punch him so hard in the penis that he shatters like a brittle glass

41.) bite him in half

42.) I'm grinding him in a giant shredder

43.) bro took a bath in hot mac 'n cheese

44.) i put him ina giant caldron full of water and i begin boiling him down to gelatin and broth

45.) barney accompanies the crew to the borealis and he steps over thin ice and gets dunked into the below zero water and freezes to death

46.) barney calhoun gets carried away by a tornado

47.) took barney on a vacation to Hawai’i and pushed him into a volcano

48.) He dies and he's never mentioned again and nobody cares

49.) died of tummy ache

50.) Stepped on by a strider

51.) shrinked until he disappeared completely

52.) blasted into the sun

53.) Stab him with 300 pencils made with real lead

54.) slip and falls and dies

55.) put him into a Minecraft furnace

56.) Barney ignores the wet floor sign and slips and cracks his head

57.) while swimming in the swimming pool he swims to fast and smashes his face against the pool's wall

58.) he gets a concussion and drowns

59.) i want to put him through a lunchmeat slicer

60.) He falls off a dumb huge cliff

61.) he lives his life to the fullest and at his deathbed at age 93, June 29th, 6:12 am he passes away

62.) he eats a burgie with too much grease and gets a heart attack

63.) testicular cancer

64.) He should get sucked into a fan while trying to fix it at Black Mesa and literally no one comes looking for him

65.) The Pita Bread Room

66.) slipped on a Banana peel

67.) ran over by a crap ton of shopping carts rolling down the hill

68.) barney overheats in a fursuit

69.) he has sex so bad that he dies

70.) Barney dies because i fucking kill him with a shovel 🖕

71.) barney eats the gas station sushi

72.) barney faints via twirling around and holding his hand in front of his forehead, and then slowly lying down with a flower in his hands to indicate death

73.) When they turn off the suppression fields he just blows up

74.) barney gets crushed by a giant boulder thats all i got son

75.) barney goes to the beach that makes you old

76.) His head spontaneously combusts and pops like corn

77.) erectile dysfunction

78.) we should also have him get carbon monoxide poisoning

79.) barney gets gaussian blurred into nothingness

80.) he eats 20 year old expired mcdonalds burger and contracts the worst case of food poisoning youve ever seen

81.) Have we done tying him to a train track like a damsel

82.) he dies in a glue trap

83.) barney develops lactose intolerance over the years of combine occupation and he drink milk and then dies from shitting hinself to death

84.) he should chocke on his favourite food

85.) barney gets lead poisoning from a 1990s garfield glass mug

86.) he chokes on plastic

87.) barney gets thrown throw a glass window from a 15 story building

88.) gordon gives barney a wedgie so bad that he splits in half and dies

89.) gordon and barney divorce and barney dies from heartbreak

90.) alyx and gordon have enough of barney’s snoring so they smother him in his sleep with a pillow

91.) he trips while walking with gordon and impales himself on gordons crowbar face

92.) if he were the size of an ant he'd be ok instead he blows up like a watermelon and his remains are fed to lamarr by a very delighted kleiner. he fucking hated barney

93.) dog roughhouses with barney and accidentally obliterates his spinal cord

94.) barney gets poisoned to death by his own chumtoad

95.) coats him in eggs and flour and fries him

96.) snatched by a hawk and eten alive

97.) barney gets to participate in a danganronpa killing game and gets executed

98.) barney opens the love-letter-for-you.txt.vbs file and it kills him

99.) elaborate rube goldberg machine to drop an anvil on barney

100.) barney dies in an Iron Maiden

101.) we should put barney under those old timey stone tablets meant to squish and torture people and make them talk

[transitfever]

Venus in Aries

On April 30th, she’s stepping right into Aries.

What is Venus in Aries? It’s Venus kicking open the door to the men’s restroom without blinking.

Rudyard Kipling captured this vibe well in his poem "The Women of Spices." It’s the fierce lioness, the wild Amazon who bows to no one's dominance.

But the weakness of this Venus lies in the absence of gradients. She doesn’t know what “diplomacy” or “middle ground” even mean. In the social game, she places high bets—and loses often—but she never surrenders. Think Margaret Thatcher, but on steroids. Maximalism, blunt offers, and the feeling that a bouquet of roses might be used to whip someone rather than gift them.

This placement is perfect for clearly defining who’s going where in relationships. It might be fiery, it might be rough, but at least it won’t dissolve into a melancholic puddle like it did with Venus in Pisces. Here, you’ll see who's with whom, and what the terms are.

Of course, this time brings a risk of breakups, arguments, broken dishes, and old conflicts flaring up. It’s smart to keep a glass of ice water nearby. And even smarter to know when to rein in your horses.

This transit will be especially potent for the Fire signs (Aries, Leo, Sagittarius), because their natural qualities could turn into the TNT that this Venus is itching to ignite.

It will be a bit more complicated for Libra, Cancer, and Capricorn, especially if you’ve got major planetary clusters there.

Good luck out there. Wishing you bright stars and a sturdy emotional helmet. 🌟🏹

[unstableverse-headcanons]

To the anon talking about Wifies' death message. If im not wrong it wouldnt usually be "was blown up by ___" if the TNT was ignited with redstone. It only works that way if the player is hurt by another player first. A loott of people are saying it was because of the hits from the first time Parrot tried killing Wifies but im also like hhhh the time gap between that and the death is like a few weeks. So I like sticking with metaphors and stuff of how Parrot was the one driving Wifies to end his own life

Kill yourself for Parrotx2!!!1!1!1!1!1 /j

- 🍓

!

[chaoticlycollected]

Rant.

Man I watched Parrot's new epsiode before I went to my piano class. wtf. My brother hates me for commenting on videos.

That episode was so fucking poetic. Ending in a way they started via pressure plates, Wifies willing to die just to grab the spyglass before the tnt ignited,

Unstable Universe never seizes to make me cry about the smallest details.

I just wanted them to have a Happy ever after.

Also guess Derap can say Wifies is dead now.

[cattimeswithjellie]

A Brief History of the Tunnel Bore War

As is the case with many ongoing storylines in Hermitcraft, especially the wars, it can be hard to keep up with what all has happened and keeps happening, especially if you don't watch many hermits. Here's a brief synopsis of the escalations and shenanigans that have led to the current point of the Tunnel Bore War (also called Prank War 2.0 or the Barnyard Brawl)

Grian, Scar, Mumbo and Doc are all neighbors on the Hermitcraft Season 9 server. Grian has a floating-rock structure called The Rock, Mumbo builds The Vault, Scar builds a whole amusement park called Scarland, and Doc uses a world-eater to create a massive hole to bedrock called The Perimeter. Other Hermits are also nearby, but they are less involved in current events.

Grian and Scar make themselves pesky to Doc throughout the early part of the season, mostly small but irritating things like stealing copper from the walls of the Perimeter and using the bedrock floor to spawn mobs that leave holes behind.

Doc responds with impressively overengineered contraptions like a cannon that shoots charged creepers at Grian's base and an arrow that can blow through netherite armor and kill Scar in one hit. He also creates a walking machine that can move along the side of the Perimeter and lob TNT towards his neighbors, but does not deploy it. Doc mentions that he is purposefully avoiding putting creepers in Scarland because he is a huge fan of Scar's design work and doesn't think Scar could successfully handle charged creepers (which is demonstrably true).

While being heckled by Gem, Impulse and Scar to build the back of his base, Grian convinces Scar to play hooky and go visit the new massive tunnel borer that Doc has built in the Perimeter. After several successful uses, they both hit the ignition button at the same time and destroy the entire machine. After some initial panic, they try to apologize with a pile of diamond blocks (something Doc super-duper does not need) along with a box of Scarland merchandise, some fairly good TCG cards, and one of Grian's duped dragon eggs.

Doc retaliates for the loss of his tunnel bore in his usual manner, by breaking Minecraft in impressive ways using crazy redstone machines. He parks dozens of wither skull bullets above Scarland and turns Grian's nether portal sideways and only one block tall. He creates a massive sign in the Perimeter forbidding Grian and Scar from entering.

Grian leads Zedaph on a quest to prove that Zedaph is worthy to possess a duped dragon egg. The first trial of the quest is to explode a block of TNT in a little-used portion of Doc's base, revealing a clue hidden behind a wall. Zedaph follows instructions and does so, and neither he nor Grian clean up the mess afterwards.

Doc, after using a redstone and ender-pearl based teleportation device to camp the button and collect all three of Mumbo's friendship crowns, uses the purple crown to set a trap for Grian. He places a TNT cannon below Mumbo's base and rigs it to shoot when a zombie wearing the purple crown is killed. Grian kills the zombie and retrieves the crown, but the cannon blows a hole through the redstone door of The Vault and destroys it. Most of The Vault is undamaged, but Mumbo does briefly convince Grian that the prank blew up his entire base, causing Grian to burn the friendship crown in shame.

Grian and Scar don their disguises as Poultryman and Hotguy to descend into the Perimeter and build an enormous chicken-making machine. Through significant AFKing and leading chickens around with seeds, they fill a substantial portion of the Perimeter with 6k-10k chickens and many more eggs. As collateral damage, their activities break the chunk loader that holds Doc's dragon pet in position and allow it to move far away from its usual position. Doc recruits Zedaph to help clean up chickens to repay him for his part in the earlier base damage, and he recruits Ren because he is bored and likes to chase chickens.

During the cleanup process, Doc builds a nether portal link between his base and Grian's base, relocating a few thousand chickens into Grian's base.

Grian recruits Scar and Mumbo into an alliance to keep an eye on the "aggressions" of their neighbor. They call themselves The Buttercups, a plant that is poisonous to goats, and build an adorable encampment on the edge of the Perimeter to keep an eye on things. They are briefly derailed when Scar and Mumbo realize they can /kick Grian by dropping any gravity block in his vicinity, but the alliance holds together.

Doc builds an automated dragon-egg duper capable of dispensing 112k dragon eggs per hour and collects tens of thousands of dragon eggs. With Ren's extremely enthusiastic help, he places thousands of duped dragon eggs in and around The Buttercups' bases, especially in Scarland.

So that's where things stand as of now, July 7! I'm sure I've probably missed some things, feel free to shout them out for me! We can only wait and see how big and horrifying things get from here...

[materialsscienceandengineering]

Explosives Chemical Safety

Under OSHA, explosives are defined as "a chemical that causes a sudden, almost instantaneous release of pressure, gas, and heat when subjected to sudden shock, pressure, or high temperature". Because the initiating energy required can vary significantly, each explosive chemical has different safety regulations and handling instructions. Explosive chemicals can fall under two general categories: designed explosives (TNT, fireworks), and chemicals that can become explosive (picric acid, sodium amide; peroxide forming chemicals fall under this category). Generally speaking, these chemicals should be kept away from open flames and ignition sources, and for chemicals that can become explosive the date of first opening should be recorded on container labels.

Sources/Further Reading: (OSHA) (UC Berkeley) (Cornell University) (US DoD)

Image source.

[askhelki]

How do you build an effective bomb?

Smiles mischievously

Hehe

"basically, you will need a fuel, an oxidizer and an ignition source. Properly chosen materials usually incorporate the fuel and oxidizer in one chemical like trinitrotoluene, TNT, or nitroglycerine, NG. Then you supply a suitable ignition source, like a blasting cap, and away you go." ~source

I'm surprised you are asking this now, seeing your blog... If you didn't take that footage yourself I hope you continue to only admire from afar, if you did I hope you practice some lab safety and don't endanger others. And do not associate with me we do not know eachother in case anything goes wrong. you are welcome.