#stabbing at windmills

[p-loq]

The first hurdle: file sharing

I would not have thought this to be such a hassle. On *ppl*, there's a thing that allows you to share a file, or a link, with another device nearby. The connection – to the best of my knowledge – is local, and when it works* it's pretty fast and convenient. *It does not always work. Sometimes it refuses to see the other device, and sometimes it hangs halfway through the handshake, either before or after the transfer. But it ends up working more often than not, and so it has become a missable convenience. Besides, when setting up a new device, transferring files around is kind of required practice.

So how do we fare on Android? Why hello anarchy, old friend, how have you been? It's the wild, wild west.

G**gl* offers an alternative, but it is very much dependent on their spyware services, and of course does not offer cross-platform compatibility. Other major vendors roll their own alternatives, which can exists alongside G**gl*'s own, but offer even more limited interoperability: only among their brand. Understandably, who would want to maintain their own software on other people's products?!

But in that respect they're all as bad as *ppl*'s offering, in that they do not play nice with the other kids on the playground. This kind of "segregation" is one of the nasty tactics employed by vendors to "lock in" the user base: they kind of take you hostage. You get the shiny device X from brand Y, and then a friend gets it too, and ooooh: now you can use all these cool features among each other, but if either of you decides to switch to a different brand, all the Y-branded stuff will be gone, including said cool features like the simple act of sharing data. And this in the 21st century, the age of the internet.

Unsurprisingly, I am looking at breaking free from all this nonsense, and thus I am looking for something that will work across as many platforms as possible. This is where anarchy bites. While there is no draconic overlord to dictate "the only way" (see *ppl*), there is also no cohesion or unity of effort. Just because everyone can roll their own approach, does not necessarily mean they should. Mind you: I'm not advocating against the diversity here. Different approaches can suit different people, and some healthy competition can keep people on their toes. Heck, in an ideal world, someone implementing a cool new feature might spark a whole slew of similar updates among comparable projects, spreading the new feature around.

But we don't live in an ideal world, and as per usual, capitalism is here to wreck the show. Under the guise of their "walled gardens", the tech wanna-be-monopolies try to leash their users to their platforms, and so the concept of interoperability becomes synonymous to heresy. So we have dozens of approaches, each different at the very least in name (i.e. branding), and none actually worth more than the cross-section between their user base and an individual's needs. And sadly, right now, my needs cross the boundaries of plenty of platforms, dramatically shrinking the number of viable candidates.

At present, I found one that kind-of works: KDE Connect. The apps for Android and the other mobile platform work pretty much out of the box, the laptop took a little more work. I tried a build from the official website, and it would not allow me to configure anything, complaining about a missing plugin.

Some digging around led me to instructions on how to build from source, and after a lot of compiling, the process failed: some library was built for x86 platform, while I was compiling on ARM. So I trashed the whole folder and tried again: let’s just build an x86 version and rely on the compatibility layers currently in place. Surely by the time those get deprecated, we’ll get a native version.

Well, no luck there, either, because the whole convoluted (and a bit opaque) compilation setup failed off the bat, being unable to cross-compile.

Back to almost square one, I resorted to look for other sources of a built binary, and found someone linking to a github repository dating back a few years, but lo and behold: it worked! The user interface is atrocious, but it would appear to integrate well with the OS. Of course, this is all very early days. We shall see how far we get with this option, or whether we will need to keep looking.

You’d just think this kind of problem had been solved by now, but I guess it just goes to show how little the greater good can compete with corporate greed.

[magilv]

so i simply think alim asking alistair to teach him to fight with a sword, just in case, & that turning into “hey do you know how to fight with a staff??” because he wants to be able to properly knock the shit out of idiots thinking a mage in close range is an easy target, & that turning into asking every melee-fighting companion that ends up joining if they could help him practice fighting with his staff as a melee weapon.

[cottoncandiescupcakes]

Baldur's Gate like:

STAB A GNOME. No matter what you do you WILL stab a gnome

Have a random BDSM session with a dude in a metal bikini in a goblin dungeon, this is normal

Have not one but two people POKE YOUR FUCKING EYE OUT. Run around with two fake eyes. Gain witch AND night vision. Live your truth.

Let a vampire just leech three pints of blood every night in hope that he'll have sex with you. It's worth it

Picking between the hot vampire, the hot druid and all the hot lesbians is harder than deciding between murder and not murder

Turn into a spider. Talk to a cat. Adopt a dog. Yell at a bird. Dropkick a squirrel. It is all about the animals.

Dye your helmet then regret dyeing it :(

Fling a gnome from a windmill into space. Fuck those gnomes am I right.

Have a threeway with drow twins. Drow twins. You're just living it up, aren't you?

Finish up just in time to stab MORE GNOMES.

Are you even alive if you've not succeeded in adopted that tiny owlbear?

I don't think so

[mactiir]

sword misconceptions part 2: shortsword

Post series: longsword | rapier | buckler | dagger | spear

so as I'm getting back into fantasy lit as a historical fencer, there are a lot of things I am noticing cropping up in swordfights that are inaccurate or flat out wrong. So i wanted to write a post for my fellow writers putting down a few things I've learned in 2.5 years of swinging the actual weapons around!

Disclaimer: i REALLY wanna emphasize this because in my last post someone decided to get cute (and wrong) about this. Historical terms for weapons were NOT STANDARDIZED. There as no "one" longsword/rapier/shortsword etc when we're talking about a weapon that existed for hundreds of years across an entire continent. And "shortsword" especially is not a specific term. As how you use weapons are governed more by their properties than their names, you can generalize many things that may not have historically been called "shortswords" under this term. There are like five or six different weapons which have distinct traditions in HEMA which match the fantasy game description of "shortsword". So I'm talking here about any one-handed, straight-bladed, double-edged sword with a (mostly) simple hilt/crossguard and a blade length typically between 2 and 3 feet. As "shortsword" is a generic and not a specific weapon descriptor, this covers what we in HEMA call arming swords, gladiuses, some messers, and probably a bunch of other types of swords I can't think of right now (the "simple hilt" rule is because I'm putting italian side swords and scotch broadswords in a different category. They feel really really different to wield than an arming sword/messer, and classing them as shortswords feels wrong).

Misconception 1: dual wielding shortswords is safe and effective.

When you dual wield, you really REALLY want different length weapons in each hand -- like a dagger in the offhand. Otherwise they cross over each other, get in each other's way, and generally slow you down and mess you up. We'll dual wield matching weapons for fun sometimes, but it strangely feels very unsafe and most of the time you have to resort to windmilling (getting stabbed in the chest as a result). Is this a skill issue? Maybe partially, but there's another reason to have a shorter weapon in your weaker hand, and it's physics. Maintaining parry structure and speed in a full size blade is really hard to do in your weaker, non dominant hand, so if you're going to hold an offhand weapon, you want it to be something that can't be easily wrenched or beaten aside, and instead something that has more leverage (like a short lil dagger!) so that you can turn aside incoming hits without the sword getting blasted aside. If you have a character that's really, truly ambidextrous they might be able to legitimately dual wield full length weapons, but most of the time this one just looks silly.

Misconception 2: since it's a one handed weapon, you shouldn't use your nondominant hand at all.

One of my favorite things about slashy one handed weapons like messer and arming sword is that your offhand still gets a job, but it has to diversify its job prospects! Most "shortsword" traditions aren't like modern fencing the way saber or rapier are, where you only use your sword arm. In messer, which is a very grappling-focused system, your offhand's job is to grab your opponent's arm, put them in joint locks, seize the opponent's blade after you've locked it in a bind, and otherwise be a nuisance. In arming sword and buckler, the offhand holds a lil shield, whose job then becomes to suppress the opponent's sword by shoving the buckler into a bind, protect your sword hand, parry afterblows, or deny entire target areas to your opponent. Most shortswords are NOT weapons designed to be used without backup from your other hand in some way. Don't just have your character hacking an arming sword around. Have them close distance, grapple hard, yank, push, armlock, trip. Shortswords don't grant the luxury of distance longswords can. You have to be up close and very personal.

Misconception 3: shortswords are faster than bigger weapons.

And in close quarters, they sure as hell ARE faster, because that's where longswordsget jammed up by proximity. But "close quarters", in this case, is "less than five feet apart". I'm talking CLOSE. Correct to: measured by speed of the hand, you can swing a shortsword more times per minute than a longer weapon. But a few things equalize that: their length, so you have to step in to score a hit, making them slower; and their relative lack of mass. This seems counterintuitive, but think of it this way: cutting a longsword around often just involves redirecting its velocity, which is already trying to continue forward due to its mass, in a different direction. Cutting a shorty around often involves restarting the whole cut: it's probably stopped against your opponent's weapon or bounced off, so you have to re-engage your swinging muscles to get it moving again. This is why when you watch sword and buckler or messer fighting, fencers will often avoid binding their blades at all costs and instead repeatedly disengage under or around each other's blades instead -- because in this situation, with good footwork, the sword actually FEELS its proper speed. A two-handed sword is going to be faster and more nimble than a one-handed sword in almost all cases UNTIL you get close enough that the longsword wielder can no longer move their sword properly -- which is well within the longsword's cutting range.

Misconception 4: shortswords are for weaker characters than longswords.

My beef with d&d 5e is that every sword SHOULD be a finesse weapon with a strength prereq to wield. Yes, shortswords ARE lighter than longswords, but only by about a pound. Add that to the fact that you can only use one hand to hold it and the fact that you're probably trying to swing it faster due to being practically in the other guy's teeth, I find short swords actually more physically taxing to wield than longswords. They burn out your dominant shoulder BAD and there's no way to relieve the weight on your arm without dropping your sword and probably taking a point to the chest. Yes, they are easier to pick up. They are harder to fence/fight with for extended lengths than longswords, at least to me.

That's all I can think for now! Hmu with any questions or confusions.

[dear-kumari]

Okay, topical Malevolent ep 44 reaction. Based on the wiki, it looks like the characters' choices to not return to the windmill and to get the witch's body were made by voting patrons, which further convinces me that the votes don't improve or even significantly change the story most of the time. Whenever Jorthur (yes, Jorthur) make a Patreon decision they usually have to justify it in-universe with a little debate, and besides just being kinda tedious, the justification often doesn't line up with the story's action. The patrons understandably wanted to explore the hallways over the windmill, which was justified in-universe by saying Arthur was too weak and injured to climb back there. But then the only interesting loot on offer is a piece of the witch, and once they chose that there's suddenly a big pool in the way and the world's most stabbed man suddenly has incredible lung capacity (I checked, he's underwater for 3:20 minutes and is yelling as they're launched out) and can swim with a metal breastplate on and cut through limbs once he's down there. He even conveniently brought all his shit with him despite the potential for water damage, so they didn't lose their inventory by being unexpectedly spat out. (John doesn't even sound like he's all that worried about him drowning either lol, though that's a separate issue of him being a slow horror podcast narrator first and an active character second.)

I understand why you would gamify a story loosely based on a role-playing campaign, but as someone who already doesn't get the appeal of listening to other people play TTRPGs, I struggle to imagine what the patrons get out of this (besides financially supporting a show they like, obvi). It's not really like a role-playing game because you don't control everything the protagonists do or have the context you need to make the best decisions (in this case, the characters know they dumped the witch in a deep pool, but the patrons probably didn't), nor is it really like a choose-your-own-adventure story because you don't get to try the alternate paths and everything will lead back to the author's planned narrative anyway. It's good for the story but presumably not much fun for the players that the author has an outline and an ending set in stone iirc.

Since someone could see this and go "well here's when the voting really worked for me," I did want to be fair and find an instance where the voting mechanism (probably) led to a good story choice. I like that the seemingly innocuous choice to ring the doorbell in ep 33 leads Arthur to realize that he fucked up several episodes prior by leaving his name at the hotel. That was a nice reveal, and maybe the lack of context actually made the vote more fun. It would have been revealed either way by Daniel being shot at the door, but ig Arthur stopping him before he opened it saved his life or something, idk. It feels pointless to speculate on when we're never going to see what happens if he knocks. Ultimately the difference between that and ep 44 to me, a non-patron, is just that Arthur fucking up by trying to be smart and realizing it at the last second is a good story beat, one with a clear line between cause and effect. Jorthur faffing about in the halls when they apparently could've just left through the windmill and then diving with armor on to mutilate a woman's corpse because the author is on a birth imagery kick is not.

Uhh other thoughts, I guess I am pretty glad they're finally out of the weird yonic caverns, even if I can tell that Jorthur entering civilization will lead to more ~historical liberties~ that will cause me actual pain. The voice acting is great as always. I like Yorick. I don't like that we're getting more dad!Arthur moments because come on. Also personally I would not have named the cute owl sidekick after the heavily implied CSA victim with no voice or agency from Oscar's grimdark edgyboy backstory, but that's just me

[wazzappp]

FINALLY FUCKING FINISHED jesus christ drawing full comics is HARD. I think it's better than uploading like 10 separate screenshots though so it must be done lol. Also. Words arent fucking. WORDING today so if all this shit I'm writing out doesent make sense please just work with me here :')

OKAY SO. Making their way into Moreaus section after Robbies little crisis inducing adventure. This is a good time for me to explain the reasoning behind WHY they're going to each of the Lords sections instead of just fuckin booking it out into the mountains.

Similar to the base game, each section contains a portion of a key that unlocks the 'Giants Chalice'. If you are familiar with the games progression, putting all of the keys together will cause a bridge to form that leads to Heisenberg's factory. Throughout the groups travels Robbie has been seeing snippets of stories about Heisenberg working on his 'super weapon' to defeat Miranda. And he knows that she would never let them leave, so obviously he has to kill her. So OBVIOUSLY he needs whatever weapon Heisenberg is building (why haven't I brought this up until now? Great question its because I hadn't thought about it until now!!)

After stealing the key from Moreau, they try and maneuver away while dodging his walls that keep popping up. While they're trying to escape through the mines they get separated.

Which means Robbie is alone when the 'Finding out Chris is there' cutscene happens (please ignore. the fact that the map behind Chris has nothing on it I fucking forgor.)

They meet again at the Dukes hideout up by the sluce gate control center, where Lisa and Gabe explain that they had to go back into the mines eventually and the exit closed up behind them once they got out. The only exit is underwater.

You would think that Lisa being able to fly would make it so that the whole 'running across weird bridges while trying not to get EATEN so you can get that stupid hand crank to adjust the stupid windmill to get power to the stupid sluce gate' section doesn't need to happen. But unfortunately activating those bridges is how the power from the windmill is directed back to the sluce gate so.. Robbie had better get ready to run (Lisa just flying over and hitting all of the buttons to activate the bridges wont work either. She's a swarm of flies and if they all get splashed by the thrashing Moreau is doing she's going to drop real quick).

After finally getting the power operational and opening the sluce gate, the three of them head down into the lakebed, which is when Moreau waddles his way in and blocks off the exit with one of his weird little fish egg walls. Robbie instructs Gabe to hide under one of the waterlogged huts while him and Lisa go kill this annoying fish.

But Gabe can hear they're struggling and comes up with a plan. He plants some of his sclerotia pods and waits until they're ready. Then shouts to get Moreau to come over to where he is at Lisa while she's flying around trying to direct Robbie. Once Moreau is there, he can enact his plan.

(STAB STAB STAB GABE SHOULD GET TO BE KICKASS)

Lisa, a girl who has literally only been praised for killing well, is SO EXCITED. THE LITTLE GUYS FIRST BIG KILL!!! HE DID SO GOOD!!!! Robbie's. Normal about this. Chris Redfield's words will not leave him the fuck alone.

He comes around to her idea about celebrating eventually.

[rvllybllply2014]

It’s midnight as I’m writing this and I can’t sleep so have a little expanded idea of Amos and his wife being killed with baby Raylon being found by Willem.

It’s long sorry. This also took an hour and half so probably sucks/doesn’t make sense.

Amos had heard reports about robbers becoming more common especially near the borde. But his wife loved having picnics near the old windmill where the ground was flat, Raylon was over a year old and toddling everywhere, and the river is nice and calm which would make a nice napping spot for him. So that’s how they ended up near the borders against Amos’s better judgment.

It was going great until Amos heard horses ridding up behind the old mill. There wasn’t much time for him to react, so he told his wife hide with Raylon behind the boundary stones, he’ll scare the riders away, fight them or negotiate with. He promises her that neither she nor Raylon will be harmed.

He had his sword with him but didn’t draw it yet, he wanted to see if he could peacefully send the men away. Amos finds out that the men have been on the road for months, hiding from the king’s justice, they were wanted for murder. Amos tells them that he doesn’t have any gold to give them other his seven pointed star necklace and a ring that he’s wearing, plus they have the food that’s left as long as they leave him in peace.

Just as they were about to leave baby Raylon lets out a cry. He’d been smothered in his mother’s bosom to keep him from making a noise, but she adjusted her hold on him and he was able to let his discomfort known. The men call out to her, they tell her to leave Raylon at the stones they don’t want anything to do with the child. Amos tells her it’s okay just follow their orders. They demand her bracelet, ring, and necklace which she readily gives them. The trouble starts when the men notice how fine her dress is and demands that she give it to them. Amos protests by drawing his sword and telling that they’ll not have her dress, they have enough so leave them in peace.

The leader says no they will take her dress too, it was made of fine silk and would fetch them many gold dragons. Amos’s wife starts to undo the dress, when he stops her. He will not have her expose herself to those vile men. He tells them to also draw their weapons he won’t kill them in cold bold. Unfortunately for Amos it was three against one and they fought dirty, they all attacked him at once. He managed to slice one before another one silt his throat while the third man stabbed him in the stomach.

They kicked Amos to make sure that was truly dead and once they were satisfied, they turned their attention back to lady Bracken. She was on her knees begging them to spare her child, he’s just a babe. They debated on if they could spare her or not but decided that she might be able to identify them so it’s best to kill her. They also save her dignity by letting her keep her pretty silk dress in death, it was covered in her blood since her throat had been silt. The last thing she saw was baby Raylon toddling over to her calling out for his mama and dada.

The Blackwoods had increased their patrolling on their side of the border, they too had heard the rumors of robbers roaming their parts of the river lands. After they stumbled upon Lord and Lady Bracken with baby Raylon asleep, they sent their fastest rider back to Raven Tree Hall to tell Willem the news.

Willem doesn’t believe the news, his ex and his family dead at the border? Impossible.

So he gets on his horse and rides as fast as he can to the borders. By the time he gets there baby Raylon has woken up and while covered in his mother’s blood is screaming his head off. Willems men didn’t want to touch him, nor did any of them have babes of their own. Willem had some practice with brother’s bastard babe Davos, so he crossed the border and picked up baby Raylon bushing him and telling him it will be okay.

Willem turns to his men telling them that he is taking this babe back to Raven Tree Hall, he’s claiming Raylon as his own bastard baby and he’ll be raised as a Blackwood and treated as such. If he hears one word of how this babe is actually a Bracken then he will not hesitate to kill them. True to his word the first time he hears one of the men say that Raylon isn’t his he kills him for lying about Raylon.

Back at Stone Hedge, Amos’s half brother Raylon is mourning his brother and good sister’s deaths while also wondering about the fate of baby Raylon. Baby Raylon is the heir to Stone Hedge but he’s missing, so adult Raylon does the only thing he can think to do, send ravens to all the great houses of the river lands telling them the news. He also asks the lords to send the message out to their small folk and that there is a reward for the safe return of baby Raylon with no questions asked.

Everyone in the river lands mourns the loss of baby Raylon, thinking that he’s dead and how no child deserves to be killed. Stone Hedge needs an heir, so after a month of searching for baby Raylon adult Raylon reluctantly accepts the title of lord with Aeron being his heir.

Willem hears the news from house Tully that Raylon has taken over lordship of Stone Hedge. He doesn’t care as long as nobody comes for his baby Raylon, even Samwell knows that Willem will do anything to keep Raylon, he might even kill him. So Samwell sends a letter to Stone Hedge wishing his condolences and congratulations on Raylon being the lord.

Eight years have passed and now Raylons features are starting to look more like a Bracken. When the whispers reach Willems ears, Samwell cautions Willem that now that he has a true born heir he doesn’t need Willem anymore. Samwell tells Willem that he should start saying that Willem slept with a bastard of house Bracken and that’s why Raylon looks like a Bracken and also explains away his name. Willem agrees mainly because he can’t leave his son triple orphaned. Raylon doesn’t remember his mother’s and father’s death, but he would remember Willems.

Samwell also tells Willem that he needs to start letting Raylon outside of his rooms more, the very least he can do is let him train in the courtyard with the master at arms. Also Raylon should take his lessons in the library with the maester. Besides Davos is too old to be forced to entertain a ten year old, and Davos has to watch the border and boundary stones. Willem reluctantly admits that what Samwell is saying is in the best interest of Raylon.

So that’s how Raylon was finally let out his rooms and to explore Raven Tree Hall just like his older cousin Davos. Raylon was also excited for when baby Benjicot would be able to follow him around, Raylon was determined to find all the best spots to play in.

As Davos gets to know Aeron and really study his features, he starts to get specious about Raylon. It takes him a couple of more years before he finally works up the courage to ask Aeron about his uncle and aunts deaths along with his missing cousin. So Aeron points out the spot where they were slain and explains that nobody ever found Raylon, he’d be about eleven years old now. Davos asks what Raylon would looked like, Aeron tells him that Raylons eyes were blue with brown flecks and his hair was a light brown, almost straw colored but prettier with some gentle waves.

That’s when Davos knows that his uncle Willem stole Raylon. He doesn’t know why he did but he knows he did, and seeing Aeron in pain at talking about him and his dead aunt and uncle makes Davos resolve to get Raylon back to his true family.

Davos is not stupid enough to bring up the fact that he knows Raylon is the heir to stone Hedge, especially with his father dead and Willem acting as the heir until Ben’s old enough to rule. Davos sends a raven to River Run to tell the Tully’s his suspicions about Willem and Raylon. And how lord Tully needs call both the Blackwoods and Brackens to River run, while specifying that Raylon needs to come.

As soon as lord Tully receives the letter he’s sending out his own ravens demanding that Willem bring Raylon to River run and Raylon the elder needs to come to River run. Willem leaves Davos behind to rule for Ben but before he leaves he threatens to kill Davos if he finds out that he’s the only to tell lord Tully about Raylon. Raylon the elder leaves Aeron to rule Stone Hedge while he goes to River run to see why he’d been summoned.

Willems Raylon spends the whole time taking in his new surroundings while also asking Willem all about what he’s seeing. Willem doesn’t drag his feet, but he’s not hurrying either. He wants Raylon to soak in the world as much as he can, and he also knows that this will probably be the last time he gets to see his son.

By the time Willem and Raylon reach River run, Raylon the elder is already there and in his rooms. Lord Tully has both men and Raylon come into his solar to see the truth for himself. As soon as he sees both Raylons he knows that the boy is Raylon Bracken. Now he just has to decide what to do, he doesn’t want to execute Willem Davos is old enough to rule for Ben but it’s not ideal. But he knows that Raylon belongs to the Brackens, even if they already have Raylon the elder as their lord.

After a couple of minutes lord Tully declares that young Raylon will be his cup bearer and become a squire along with his son Oscar when they are old enough. Raylon the elder stays lord with Aeron as his heir.He tells Willem that if he dares to deny it he’ll be executed for stealing and holding hostage Raylon for eleven years. Raylon the younger is confused, but Willem explains to him that it’s best for him to live here now. He’s done the best that he could and he hopes that his parents are smiling down on them both, but especially Raylon. Raylon agrees to lord Tullys decree.

When Willem gets back to Raven Tree Hall, he hits Davos but then tells him he forgives him for taking Raylon away from him. The next time Davos sees Aeron, Aeron thanks Davos for solving the mystery of what happened to his baby cousin. Davos says it was nothing he’s just glad to have helped him.

A year passes and Raylon becomes a squire along with Oscar, so he writes a letter to tell Willem the good news and Willem tells him he’s proud of him. He also writes a letter to Davos telling him the good news while also talking about how pretty Oscar looks when they train together. He hadn’t meant to it just slipped out. Davos tells Raylon that it’s okay if he develops feelings for Oscar, just guard his heart until he’s sure that Oscar also likes him like that.

The battle of the burning mill doesn’t happen, neither the Blackwoods or Brackens want to fight the other mainly because of Raylon the younger it would hurt him to know that his family fought each other. Davos marries while still being with Aeron just like Aeron gets married. Both Davos and Aeron produce heirs in the future. Oscar and Raylon date while knowing eventually they’ll have to marry and produce heirs, but that’s still along way off.

[no-truth-left]

3.003 - Attempt to remove the gold from both the CNS and PNS

Chie begins unraveling gold. Or, trying to. She kneels next to the mass and begins working on the spine. The mass jolts to its feet as she starts working, and looks wildly around. Chie holds her hands up as Maverick forces her back.

“Easy, easy!” She says. “I’m just trying to help.”

Its movements slow and she wonders just how well it can see her. Then it carefully sits back down, back towards her.

“Thank you.” Chie says. It gives no indication that it heard her, but she begins regardless.

The gold spinal cord is a tangled mass of fishing wire. There’s no beginning or end to the gold itself, and some knots are so tightly woven together that removing them is impossible. Chie works on a clump near the brain stem, loosening and unwinding. The progress is non-existent. And the mass keeps shuddering, making the delicate work all the more difficult.

Chie glances towards the face. The gold in the hands shiver. Gently, Chie takes the one that was holding the gun and moves it away from the face. The tremors increase, but the gold nerves are so neatly exposed that Chie unwinds them easily.

Down the wrist. The gold she pulls out waves in the air like seaweed underwater. It spasms.

“Watch out!”

Maverick’s will slams into Chie’s legs, leaping back. Chie’s arms windmill as she loses her balance. She falls as a sharp spike from the gold stabs into the ground where she was standing moments ago.

The gold mass is on its feet as well, looking around. It doesn’t notice the part of itself, free-floating gold burgeoning sharp nodules.

Chie fumbles for her pockets.

“Oh hell yeah,” Maverick says as she pulls out the pocket knife.

The gold lunges.

[slowcatsisland]

Monkey D Luffy; Windmill Village Headcanons pt2 (ft. Red Hair Pirates)

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Asked Shanks daily to join his crew as soon as he saw him without exception. Shanks always said no and Luffy would always be butthurt for the next 5 minutes until he focused on something else.

When he first encountered Monster (the monkey on Shank’s crew), Monster attacked Luffy. Monster lept down from the Red Force from atop Bonk Punch’s shoulders and landed straight onto Luffy. Yassop had to pull Monster off of him. To this day no one knows why Monster attacked Luffy and he hasn’t done it since but the two of them make faces at each other every time they see each other.

Yassop tried telling Luffy about how much he reminded him of his own son, but Luffy was never interested. Yassop tried to convey the message that it was okay to take things slow and live for a bit before becoming a pirate, which is what he planned for his own son Usopp. Yassop stopped bringing up Usopp when Luffy chimed something like, “I’m not your son stop saying things like that, you’re just saying that because you haven’t actually seen him in years!”

Luffy would have meat eating competitions with Lucky Roux. Luffy lost every single competition.

Luffy has drank Shank’s alcohol before on accident and has ended up puking outside the bar with Makino at his side. Shanks would freak out until Makino put Luffy to bed for that night in the back of the bar.

Uta was obsessed with the scenes of the Goa Kingdom that could be her stage. Luffy has taken her so far in the mountains for the sake of ‘finding a good stage’ that they wouldn’t return for a couple days. When they went this far it usually ended up in them running away from mountain bandits.

The town mayor once made a comment about how Uta would be a great girlfriend for Luffy because of how much she could influence him to behave and she got so mad that she stormed off. Shanks tried talking to her about it and she just replied ‘Luffy’s too selfish to be a good boyfriend.’

Beckman showed Luffy how he shoots. He never let Luffy touch his gun though on the account of Luffy’s slippery hands and he said that Luffy would ‘sooner shoot his own foot off than hit a can target.’

When Lucky would see Luffy sulking in the bar he would give him a bite of his meat bones. Lucky’s payment for Luffy was Luffy taking out the trash of Party’s Bar and every time Luffy would yell about how Lucky tricked him.

Hongo has whacked him a couple times with his staff when Luffy acted up. Hongo also always applies soothing ointment to the spot that he hit and scolds Luffy for being so careless. He’s the one that stitched up Luffy’s under eye when he stabbed himself.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Mwahh 😽

[blueberrypancakesworld]

~ Sweet gesture and festivities ~

warning : fluff, tiny emotional if you look closely just the two sweety pies

masterlist

Info : Sooo this is again inspired/made up from THIS gorgeous animation (go check it out please and her blog because it's everything) from again our lovely dear @pocketwei . Have fun reading it and check out @pocketwei 's (her) blog its's amazing and again the animation omg.

Have fun reading :)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The small mill village on the small but beautiful island had many things to ask. Beaches, trees, a small town and friendly pirates. Although this may look little from the outside, the annual festival in honor of the windmills and its builders is the festival of the neighborhood. The island seems to triple in size and everyone looks forward to the festivities.

Especially this year there was an extra reason to celebrate. Shanks, their beloved friend and proudly friendly pirate, would return from one of his voyages to see and enjoy the festivities.

It was one of those quiet and carefree relaxed moments the captain had. Otherwise, it was an exciting but dangerous life that he and his crew lived. A life full of death, blood, danger, the navy and other pirates.

But even in this danger he could count on his crew, especially on one. As much as he liked his crew and best friends, one of them had captured his heart like a true pirate.

Ben Beckman, his first officer and longtime friend, and between all that and the sea, his love. It seemed to be only a matter of time between the two before the waves of the ship brought them together. Their crew made bets every day on whether Ben or Shanks would make the first move.

The red-haired captain who almost stuttered every time he tried to invite the gunner on an excursion. Or whether Ben, who was even quieter than usual, would disappear as quickly as he had appeared. But it was something else that brought them together.

A situation they both always had in mind. Shanks who had taken a bullet for Ben and Ben who had taken a stab for Shanks. Together they had finished off each other's opponents before rushing to the doctor, panicked and worried about the other.

Their hands never left each other, disregarding the fact that the other's injuries were not even fatal. Fearing to lose the body, they confessed their love for each other after a moment of carelessness. While the crew with a ,,Ohhhh finally!" began to celebrate a party in the for it not completely aligned doctor's room.

But this was years ago, years in which the two had never stopped loving each other. It was like an eternal bond between them and always would be. Even if at first sight it was not obvious that the captain had a relationship with his first husband, at second sight it was.

,,It's hard to believe that we are back" said the red-haired man happily, leaning against the rail of his ship and looking at the island that was coming closer and closer. Behind him, leaning on the wheel, Ben let his gaze wander over his friend and had a smirk on his lips. ,,It's good to be home again," the gray-haired man said before getting ready to go ashore with the others.

Gathered their things together and felt this little happy anticipation in him. The anticipation of their daily ritual when they had time for it and for which they would always take time. Before the ship arrived moments later in the small harbor and the crew went down.

They were finally back in their beloved home and were instantly welcomed. The usual applause and congratulations. The children watching the men with wide eyes and wishing to become pirates too.

The usual drink in the bar at Makino, the small celebration and how they all relaxed and were happy to be back. Not worrying about the world and Luffy but just living life. What they also did the round in the bar lasted longer than usual they sang, drank and danced.

Ben also twirled his captain several times over the wooden floor, enjoying the happy expression of the redhead and wishing for a moment that it could be like this forever. ,,I've never seen you so happy, what's wrong?" he heard Shanks say as the two of them retreated to a table.

Each with a mug of beer in hand, Ben looked at the team, but Shanks' words caused him to look at the younger man. Taking another drag on his cigarette he thought for a moment. Did not immediately know what to say.

It was always happy when he was with Shanks. It was like his own pretty personal red sun. He held out his hand and let his fingers play with some of the red strands and said affectionately, ,,Today it's just you and me, no Navy, no other pirates...just you and me and the moment" before pulling back.

Knowing that Shanks was trying to hide the redness on his cheeks with the straw hat. Which made him smile and concentrate on his cigarette and beer. Knowing that as soon as the sun would hit the horizon they would both go to the party.

The moments passed in the bar they talked for a while, their fingers wandered across the table and connected with each other and they just enjoyed the touch.

Before the two rose after a few more moments passed and made their way out of the bar to the streets. ,,Beautiful as always," Ben murmured, walking beside the redhead, smirking as his lover's eyes seemed to grow larger and larger for each new food stall he found.

From cotton candy to apples with chocolate glaze to rice cakes the redhead couldn't seem to get enough. Ben took a couple of bites of the food but stuck to his cigarette, it was joy enough for him to see Shanks so happy.

The two went on about the festival and the redhead went to the fruit stand while Ben settled on boxes. Watched the hustle and bustle around him didn't see Shanks looking for a good fruit and just waited for his heart to finish.

Watched the sun almost kissing the horizon and slowly threatening to disappear behind it. ,,Captain it's time to go" Ben said as he knew they had to leave, watching Shanks buy and walk back to him, a silent nod coming as the two made their way out of the streets. Past the many people towards the hill that let them look over the island, the village and the most important the sea.

The two settled down on the soft grass and watched the sunset together. Watched as everything was bathed in a pretty red gold while Ben saw in the corner of his eye how Shankd's hand passed over the grass to his.

He felt the light nudge of Shankd's fingers before he joined their hands together. ,,Our daily ritual...just like back then," the redhead murmured, looking from the horizon to the gray-haired man. Saw the memory of themselves both still younger no beard no gray hair and completely focused on the other as they caught the injuries.

They both dragged themselves injured with bandages and bandages on the crow's nest and both leaned against each other to watch their first sunset together. ,,It's been so long and yet...still so stubborn," Ben said teasingly, running his hand over his red hair as he pulled Shanks to him.

His captain made himself comfortable against Ben, put his head on Ben's lap and pulled the fruit out of his coat pocket. Shanks joked and winked at the older man who rolled his eyes and took the fruit from him.

Opening a fruit with one arm wasn't always easy, but that's what his love was there for, to help him. With skillful grips, the protector had opened the fruit and gave the redhead a few pieces before he tasted the sweet fruit himself.

His gaze of Shanks followed this and they both looked at the sunset together again. Ben played with the strands of his lover's hair and Shanks soon pulled his straw hat into his face and enjoyed the other's touch.

After all they had been through, this moment they had, this ritual they had, was proof to both of them again and again of their impenetrable bond of love.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[jackactuallywrites]

Thirst for Life

Warning: At the top again! This fic starts with you literally trying to kill yourself! It’s fairly graphic about the how and why too. Also vampires and some non consensual blood drinking and strangely consensual stabbing (also soap is dead).

Pairing: Vampire Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Reader

Rating: Mature (no sex but there’s blood and suicide)

Summary: You’ve slit your wrists and you’re planning on jumping off a bridge, Ghost smells your blood from miles away and investigates

Notes: If you’re gonna if OP is okay the answer is yes. Just horny. 😎

Word count: 1,974

ao3 link

So this was it.

The black waters of the river raged underneath you, a siren song calling your name, beckoning you into their black waves, serenading you with sweet songs of promised peace. The serrated knife in your hands was painted with your blood, your arms still singing with burning pain, the cool air blowing across the bridge doing little to soothe the shallow cuts across your forearms, only serving to make you feel unsteady on your feet, your toes scrunching up inside your trainers as though it would help you grip to the metal fencing any better. Your fingers tightened around the cold metal pole you were holding onto, and you could feel your stomach churn as you looked at the roiling waters of the river. One step. That was all it would take. One step, and everything would be over. All that pain, all the struggle, it would all be left behind on the bridge. You just had to take the leap.

Ghost could smell blood.

Even after all his training and years of denying himself the purest form of the sustenance he needed to survive, he could not deny his instincts. Someone out there was bleeding. Fresh blood, warm, leaking from innocent human veins, and it smelt so fucking good. He could taste it on his tongue already, feel the warm ichor flowing over his fangs and down his throat. Already, his feet were carrying him faster than naturally possible through darkened alleyways, flying towards the source of that delectable temptation, luring him from the path of virtue and back down to hell.

Johnny had been his saviour, his sponsor; every time Ghost strayed from the path of righteousness, Johnny would pull him back from the edge, set him back of the straight and narrow, or point him in the right direction where someone needed to be hurt, let him get his bloodlust out ‘safely’. But Johnny was dead. Shot, at point-blank range. The memory was still strong in Ghost’s brain, replaying every night before he went to bed and every morning before he woke up. He could still remember the look on Soap’s face, the glazed look in his eyes. It hurt. And he knew what could take the hurt away.

Blood.

“I’m not going to hurt you.”

Even though you had already planned on your death, you still flinched at the idea of unexpected danger, holding the knife firmly in your hand as you turned around. There was a man, a large man, dressed all in black, from his combat boots to his black balaclava. Even under the thick material of his clothes, you could tell that he was well-built, a tank of a man, but what struck you most was his eyes. They were red.

He approached you, standing less than a metre away, and repeated, “I’m not going to hurt you.” There was no way in hell you were going to trust the man; he looked desperate, a man struggling with demons, looking at you as though you were everything he needed. He came closer again, reaching out for your arms, his red eyes focusing on the blood that had begun to dry on your arms, and you panicked, trying to take a step back, but there was nothing behind you but open air. Your arms windmilled to try and keep you upright, but you were falling, falling back into everything you supposedly wanted, back into the abyss.

Then you were caught.

The man’s hand had reached out and grabbed the middle of your jacket, preventing you from falling backwards, yet you were precariously dangling from the precipice, only saved from certain death by his fingers on your coat. Your free hand reached out to grab his, your fingers wrapping around his thick wrist, both terrified of him yet desperate for him not to let go. With a single jerking movement, he brought you back into safety and danger, pulling you close and forcing your hands to rest on his broad chest. His eyes were still focused on your arms, his pupils growing large enough to almost swallow the red of his irises entirely. Something inside you seemed to feel his danger, outside of the usual fear you got when you saw a shady character, something primal, instinctual, and you flinched away from him, but his hand clenched harder on your jacket, keeping you close.

The knife in your hand had been a method of self-destruction, yet now it was a weapon, and you struggled away from the man, “Get away from me. Please.” He didn’t move, still fixated on your arm, and you tried to pull away from him, but he let out an honest-to-God snarl, inhuman, nothing like you’d ever heard before. Your hands moved swiftly, bringing the knife down into his chest, burying it into his flesh.

When was the last time someone got close enough to stab him?

Ghost couldn’t remember. Usually, he had dispatched his enemies far before they ever got the chance to do so much as land a single blow, yet you had sunk your knife into his chest, piercing his lung. And it felt good. He was so dead, inside and out, but now he was feeling something. Pain. Beautiful, pure pain, a trouble only for the living man. He could already feel the wounds beginning to close around the knife, that slight sinking feeling in his chest already dissipating. And there you were, with that beautiful beating heart, rosy cheeks, and the blood leaking from your arms, delicious and fresh. How long had it been since he’d taken directly from the source? You looked so terrified, your eyes widening, the whites of your eyes pearly and clear, and he could hear how frantically your heart was beating against your chest, a little hummingbird trying to escape your ribcage.

“I am so sorry.”

You were apologising. You’d stabbed him in the chest, and now you were apologising. Everything about you was perfectly saccharine, a delightfully sweet dessert, and he wanted nothing more than to sink his teeth into you and drink you dry.

How. You had stabbed the man in the chest, and when you yanked your hand back, the knife came out black. Black. The liquid was viscous, sticking to the metal, and you looked back at the man. He didn’t look in pain; in fact, he seemed happy. You stabbed him, and he was happy. His free hand had shifted up to your arm, wrapping his fingers around your wrist and placing the tip of the knife back against his chest. His eyes seemed to go almost entirely black. “Do it again.” Your stomach tensed, and your hand loosened on the knife handle. Again? Your words came out in a breathless whisper, “What the fuck.” The man’s voice was a murmur, “Please.” “What is wrong with you?” “I can’t die. You can’t hurt me. Please.”

Regardless of the insanity of your situation, you knew that this man was not one to be disobeyed. You pulled the knife back, then sunk it into his chest, right in the centre, burying it up to the hilt. The man let out a grunt, and his head fell forward, resting on your shoulder. Though you were the proprietor of his destruction, you still panicked, placing your hands on either side of his head and gently lifting it up, “Are you okay?”

Your arms were too close to his teeth. You’d forgotten about the cuts on your wrists, but Ghost hadn’t. The blood was beginning to dry, but it was still so tempting. All he wanted was to turn his head and lap it up like a dog. He could smell it so intensely now, tickling the back of his throat as though he was already tasting it. His thirst was burning him from the inside out, and it had been so long since he’d had a drink. He was a starving dog, and you were a beautifully succulent steak, just begging to be torn into. All that was between you and his teeth was a painfully thick knit fabric. He couldn’t resist. But he had to.

Something in the air had shifted. There was an odd feeling of calm washing over you, hypnotic, luring you into a sense of security that you knew was fake, but you couldn’t resist. The man was turning his head to gently nuzzle against your bloodied arm, the knit fabric harsh against your broken skin. He was pulling up the fabric of his balaclava, revealing his dry skin and the blond stubble that was beginning to turn into a shaggy beard. His cheeks looked sunken, as though he hadn’t eaten in weeks, but he had retained his good looks, a strong jawline and a large, straight nose, though it was marred by a slight bump, a record of where it had been broken some time ago. The whites of his eyes were completely red, and where it was supposed to be coloured, it was black. He was resting his cheek against your arm, pressing his nose against where you’d slit your wrists, his shaggy blond hair falling over his face.

You knew you should have feared him, but you couldn’t. Your fear was being suppressed by something beyond your knowledge, something unnatural. You could hear a quiet snarl as he began to move his head a millimetre at a time, his lips brushing against the dried blood on your arm, his tongue darting out to taste it.

That, it seems, was the nail in the coffin.

The second the dried flakes of blood touched his tongue, he latched on to the cuts in your wrist, the blood flowing once again as he sucked at your wounds. You should have screamed, hit him, run away, but you couldn’t seem to move, held in place by your own freeze response. All you could do was watch in horror as he greedily drank your life force, his dry skin smoothing, his sunken cheeks plumping up, becoming less sallow by the second.

“Please don’t kill me.”

The irony of the sentence wasn’t lost on you; you’d come here planning to throw yourself into the icy waters, and yet here you were, begging for life. You couldn’t help it. No matter how dire things were, there was just some stubborn, human part of you that clung to life with both hands, desperate to survive. Those problems that had seemed insurmountable before now felt so pointless.

He had to stop. He had to, but he couldn’t. He wasn’t strong enough. Every pulse of your heart sent fresh blood coursing into his waiting mouth, and there was no Johnny here to stop him, to bring him back from the edge. Yet, the thought of Johnny couldn’t be ignored. He could hear the man’s voice in his head, loud as a bell, saying just a single word. Enough. Ghost pulled back, his fangs dripping with gore, looking at the bloodied arm and the blood leaking freely from it. His saliva worked well, too well, and now you were at risk of bleeding out, with nothing to clot your blood. All he had to do was let you go; you were suicidal; you’d come here to slit your wrists and leap to your death; he was just letting things take their course.

Then you spoke. Your voice was barely a croak, your mind clinging to consciousness with only enough strength to pray for mercy. A mercy he could provide. He didn’t need to kill; you were innocent, you posed no danger to anyone but yourself. His mind was made up, even if he hadn’t decided whether the idea was good or not, scooping your limp body into his arms and darting off into the night, back to his lair, where he could keep you safe.

[themoodyestj]

The new Men in Tights movement

Imagine being a lonely 50 year old housewife with a thing for dudes hooking up. Now imagine being said housewife writing this whole speech inciting what i would assume, a mutiny. I was sent these prints with what I would think, is a political speech. Like Dr. Martin Luther King, this woman had a dream. Like Rosa Parks, this woman had a stand. Like Malala and Ghandi, this woman wanted to fight for the rights of the less affortunate. Except she wasn't fighting for the end of racism or the right to independence or for women's rights.

She was fighting for Cockles. For Destiel. For fanfiction. The new Men in Tights. With equally idiotic members, except this isn't a movie and none of this is funny.

What I read was a smear campaign if I ever read one. A spread of hate towards everyone who doesnt see eye to eye with her, just because she wants to see her fantasy come true. A lost soul who hasn't realized that, no matter what anyone says, Dean and Sam were the protagonists of the show. And that, even so, she can write all the fanfics she needs and fulfill all her fantasies, without having to hate anyone or send her flying monkeys.

Again, it's quite delicious how projection is strong for these delulus, and despite me being called a cult member just yesterday, this post was nothing short of a cult leader addressing her flying monkeys. So, in order to validate her masturbatory fantasies, she calls her brothers in arms to take control. She tells them to act, to complain. She feeds them this fantasy that J2 fans are the enemy and won't let them exist in peace. That Jared is controlling this and that, like an evil dictator, and that they, the truth bearers, must act. And that they are one inch away when proving themselves right, because she can see the cracks.

Honey, there are no cracks.

Imagine being this unhinged, but even worse, imagine having equally deranged people listening to you and falling for it. Following what you say, word for word. Because of a fantasy. PEOPLE, BECAUSE OF A FANTASY! Imagine being an old lady that's so out of reality that she believes she's D. Quixote fighting dragons, when she's only stabbing windmills. I could never.

PS: By the way, I have so much more to write about this, but we'll leave it at that. This alone will probably get my inbox full this weekend (or not, if they finally grown some braincells).

[qqueenofhades]

Heyy :)) I don't know if you still do prompts and if you do them for this ship but if yes could you please do 26. or 19. for Ivan x Fedyor? That'd be so lovely ♡ thanks a bunch and if not no worries!

Ivan has been staring at a pile of paperwork for almost three hours, the pain in his head feels like someone has driven a spike into his eye, and he really doesn't know why someone else couldn't do this. All right, they'd probably fuck it up and make him fix it anyway, they're not of sufficiently high rank to look at the Darkling's sensitive secrets and classified attack plans, and all other people are idiots etc. etc., but it still feels unfair for it to have fallen on him, particularly. They only got back from the latest Fjerdan campaign a few days ago, it went worse than expected, every strategy needs to be revisited and revised, and that has become, undoubtedly, Ivan's job, now that he's the unquestioned second-in-command of the entire Second Army, subordinate only to General Kirigan himself. He's not yet thirty.

He has just drawn a deep breath, angrily splashed the last of the kvas into his cup and taken a fortifying swig, and otherwise braced himself for another few hours of torture, when there's a knock on the antechamber door and -- barely waiting for an answer -- Fedyor Kaminsky rushes in. "Captain," he says, spotting Ivan and stopping to salute. "Good, you're here. You need to come with me at once."

"What?" Ivan jostles the desk, jumps to his feet, and looks around suspiciously, as if some malfeasant has breached the sancrosanct walls of the Little Palace and he needs to kill them immediately. "What is it?"

"You'll see." Fedyor tugs at him. "Hurry."

Ivan, swallowing his questions, abandons the paperwork without a backward glance and hurries out after Fedyor, already assessing the potential options. This seems bad, or at least urgent enough that it has to be handled with no delay. Has the tsar choked on a sweetmeat, or the tsaritsa stabbed herself with her embroidery needle, or some other pressing crisis that the fucking royal family feels the need to involve their pet Grisha in? Is it worse? Did something abruptly collapse from that underwhelming campaign? Did they decide that said underwhelming campaign was entirely Ivan's fault and throw him out of the order, thus to be packed back home to frigid Chernast in disgrace? Or maybe --

Apparently oblivious to Ivan's inner turmoil, Fedyor keeps up a brisk pace down the corridors, until they enter the library, ensure that the Apparat is not lurking moistly behind a nearby bookshelf, and hurry down the narrow rows to the end. Fedyor reaches around it, presses a hidden catch, and stands back as the shelf swings out, as smoothly as if it's on wheels. It reveals a narrow passage and set of twisting steps beyond, leading upward and out of sight, and Ivan frowns. "What's this? Is there someone up there? Is it a -- "

"Just shut up and go up there." Fedyor prods him in the back, a familiarity for which Ivan would definitely flay anyone else alive, but in the several years since he and Fedyor officially became a thing, he has grudgingly learned to accept. "Take a look."

Muttering, Ivan ducks under the low lintel and ascends the narrow, creaky steps, hands held vigilantly at the ready for anything that feels up to springing out of the darkness. There's nothing, though, and when he reaches the hidden nook at the top, lit only by a skylight somewhere high above, he turns in a circle and can't see any pressing emergency. "What's going on? Why did you -- "

He's cut off as Fedyor reaches the top, bounds into the small space after him, and seizes Ivan by the collar of his kefta, pushing him against the wall and kissing him thoroughly. Ivan splutters, makes a noise of extreme protest (okay, mild protest) and windmills his arms, but somehow manages not to break free or even push Fedyor away at all. He's still grumbling when Fedyor bites his lower lip, making him yelp, and then forced to focus on kissing him back. It's only when they've sunk to their knees on the floor, Ivan is mentally calculating how uncomfortable it really could be to lie on those floorboards, and still kissing in short, hungry bursts when he realizes the truth. "You little bastard, Fedya," he breathes. "You lied to me."

"Lied to you? About what?" Fedyor looks at him with that damn dark-eyed, dimpled smile for which Ivan is unbearably, ferociously weak. "I said you needed to come with me at once."

"For a military emergency! For -- I don't know, something! Not because you discovered an interesting door in the library and had a sudden urge to distract me!"

"Or. Counterpoint." Fedyor smirks, entirely unchastened. "I did, in fact, need to do exactly that. You're going to drive yourself crazy. Admit it, Vanya. You enjoyed this."

Ivan stares at him narrowly. Fedyor stares narrowly right back.

"Fine." Ivan wipes his mouth, bites a traitorous smile, and leans back in for another round. Whatever else it might be, life with Fedyor Kaminsky is never boring. "Maybe a very, very little."

[kingofcursessukuna]

I made a windmill and did my workout routine thingy and I’ve been eating healthier despite wanting to stab multiple people ❤️

-🫥🫥

Well done. Keep up the good work.

[midwest-dex]

Maiztiff, the Corn Dog Pokemon Maiztiff are highly prized by Pokemon rangers for being strong, friendly Pokemon that can create their own heat, light, and food, each invaluable for search and rescue efforts. It is said no farm is complete without a Maiztiff, which can pass through Wooloo and Miltank without making a fuss unless it needs to.

Types: Grass/Fire Ability: Chlorophyll Hidden Ability: Friend Guard

Maiztiff evolves when Pupcorn is exposed to a Fire Stone, and acts as a counterpart to the Lotad line than can be found around the river that divides the Manaka region in half. Like Ludicolo, it should be a reasonable sweeper for the campaign but be less relevant in that role for competitive. Instead it would lean more towards a sun team support role, having Chlorophyll-boosted Sleep Powders or Will-o-Wisps, and having the spooky ability to Pop Off with a Drought mon. Maiztiff will likely have very little coverage options, with Solarbeam and Burn Up as windmill slam stabs instead.

this one's getting big but i did promise a shiny yesterday lol

Today's doodle is based on a design by @squidpizza!

[rayflowcherry]

Kripanidhi's past experiences with the scientists

TW: Science Experiments, Mutilation, Kidnapping.

Her fear of needles came from how the scientists used to inject her with it when she misbehaved, it’s like sleeping pills for her to get tired immediately but the process is really painful. They injected her like they were stabbing her with it. If she saw sights of it near her, she would be flying crazy and finding a place to hide away, using her wings to protect herself.

They forced her to eat all the poisonous creatures like the centipedes, tails of the snakes,…to test her immune system. That’s why she tends to eat like the food is going to run away. Her guardian (the old owner of the restaurant) taught her how to eat properly after seeing how she eats her meal. The only thing she could consume was water.

Sounds of her crying would make the scientists irritated so she got scolded for it ‘till she was able to hold it in, resulted in Kripanidhi repressing her emotions in difficult situations.

She was never allowed to play games, only the windmill toy kept her company, if she sees a real windmill, she will get near it to admire it.

Whenever she did something wrong or made a mistake, she’d be taught (forced) to apologize for it. “It’s a basic common sense”, they said.

She doesn’t like to sleep much, she will be on guard every night ‘cause one time she was sleeping, she ended up getting trapped in a fridge without her knowing. (They sedated her so she didn’t feel anything before it’s too late)

They experimented with her skull so she has that swirling thing on it. (What they did is your own interpretation)

She’s scared of being abandoned, she was left alone in a forest once so that they could test her survival skills. The results are of course not to their liking, she was running wildly the whole time to look for them and hiding in a cave when it’s getting dark. (She didn’t have her wings at that time)

When she was 11, they decided to give her wings by cutting her ribs open so that they could stitch them in. How she was still alive to this day is truly a miracle. (They got those wings from another winged monster who ventured into the forest that their lab was in)

Once Kripanidi gained her wings, after days and days, she was finally able to fly and she flew very fast like a bad eagle, but she was still inexperienced so there are maybe some mishaps here and there while she was flying. (In the future, her flying speed is that of a golden eagle)

This continued ‘till she was 17, she finally escaped from the grasp of those scientists by setting the whole place on fire without them noticing. (She tried to do that when she was a child but it was to no avail)

And today, 9 years later, the past will always haunt her, but at least, she’s not alone anymore.