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myrandomheadcanon · 5 years

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Sero Hanta Headcanons

* He has a hamster.

* When he was little he broke his elbow the first time he used his quirk.

* Watched slime videos every night before sleep.

* Has a hard time to believing true love.

* Crushes on many people though.

* Some of them are Denki, Todoroki, Kendo and Hagakure.

* His look on love changes when he meats Mina.

* He falls in love with the way she always smiles and her excitement for different things.

* He feels light weight every time she laughs, smiles and when she looks sleepy.

* She doesn’t notice the way he acts or look at her until Bakugou just can’t take it anymore and spilled the tea for her.

* And one week later the two started to date.

* People names him “Tape-SpiderMan” on their Snapchat and contacts.

* And he hangs upside down in the sealing like Spider-Man, there of the name.

* He is usually the one who stops Mineta from doing stupid and/or nasty stuff to the girls and their rooms.

* He once pushed him down the stairs when he saw him trying to lift Mina’s skirt from behind.

* He may or may not have been suspended for a day or two.

* He becomes really good friend with Todoroki.

* He also helps him with his feelings for Yamomo.

* He can play accordion and trumpet.

* King at Mario-cart.

* E-BOY!!!!

* Afraid of the dentist

* Meme lord

* Constantly sending memes to Camie who sends the same amount back.

* He’s so fucking aesthetic, like wtf is going on

* The girls has a lot of trust in him.

* Mom-friend deluxe

* He’s usually the one who drives when the bakusquad goes on road trips.

* He and Denki got into an argument once. Denki walked in to Sero’s room, and it was like: “hey man, can I look at your notes- WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK?!!?!!” Sero looked super confused like: “what???” “IS THAT PEPSI??!!! DUDE!!!! I THOUGHT YOU WERE BETTER THEN THAT!!!!”

* They didn’t talk for two days.

* Denki is a sucker for Coke and Sero loves Pepsi.

* He’s the only child.

* And he only lives with his dad.

* His mom hand an affair behind his dad’s back, and Sero haven’t been speaking to her for over three years.

* He’s a little awkward with children but he tries.

* He is the best man on Denki’s and Jirou’s wedding, together with Kirishima and Shinsou.

* Loooooooooves spicy food

* He doesn’t really have a favorite hero or a hero he looks up to.

* Someone he do looks up to though, is his dad.

* His grandma is the fucking coolest.

* The bakusquad loved her.

* Kirishima’s little sister loves him.

* He’s asexual.

* He uses pretty big shirts, bigger then he needs, but that because we can’t fit his elbows through the arms.

* When Yamomo finds out about this, she makes him some new shirts.

* He likes to clime trees and does that pretty often, without using his quirk.

* He and Shinsou teases Denki about his super obvious crush on Jirou.

* Shinsou some times calls him late at night when he has problems falling asleep thanks to his insomnia. But Sero don’t mind.

* Big fan of Maroon 5 and Cardi B.

* He has pretty long fingers, longer then average, but not long enough to look creepy.

* He once helped Mina whit her eyeliner, and every since then she comes over every time she wears eyeliner.

* Who knew this boy has such a study hand?

* Favorite teacher is Present Mic, basically cuz he’s funny AF and they have the same humor.

* Is one out of few who can name all of Denki’s 19 cousins.

* Everyone comes to him when they want some one to winkle their hair or/neck. His the best at that.

* They usually pay him with some sort of sour candy.

* He was never really interested in marriage, but when Mina and him started to date, it came clear to him that this woman wants a freaking Disney-like-wedding someday.

* And he loves her way to muck to not make her dream come true.

* They got married at age 26 and had a beautiful wedding.

* Sero isn’t that type who cries, he almost never do. But the tears rolled down his cheeks like a waterfall when he saw Mina in her wedding dress.

* He that one person that always spends time with everyone. From the most confident person to the outsider.

* He’s a really good listener.

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chiclet-go-boom · 3 years

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bissa vipera: 2

because @ollie-ollie-oxenfreee reminded me again of The Secret World and made me all kinds of nostalgic for being scared in the middle of an MMO for fuck’s sake. a chunk of fiction i wrote for my Illuminati girl and the Polaris fight.

“C'mon big boy, show me what you really got!”

The problem is, it’s got more than me. Way, way more than me. It fills the horizon like a malevolent wall, rising up in a shuddering wave and I'm so close we're nearly waltzing. Broken scales and sloughing skin, writhing gray flesh full of things crawling in the folds; things that I’m trying very hard not to recognize. There's too many eyes, too many slithering tentacles with slime dripping madness into the waters and over everything the rank, fetid stench of long rotted death.

Does it understand English? Because this time I barely have time to see it coming at all. Frantically throw myself to the side as it snakes up like a mountain, faster than something that big should be able to think, let alone move and three tons of alien imperative comes down way too damned close, swamping the water around us in a foul tsunami.

I’m spun away in a tumble, spitting swamp and muck and things I definitely don’t want to think about. Grope around desperately in the dark waters. Fuck. Fuck. An aeon later my cramped fingers close again around the grip.

I am not going to be anyone’s.. any thing’s afternoon brunch, no matter how big it is. Just. Not. Happening. Flip the sodden mass of hair out of my eyes for the umpteenth time, staggering to my feet even as I drag the weapon back up to the surface with me.

If I get out of this in one piece, I’m getting a haircut. A pixie bob. Something cute and terribly, utterly short.

“That it?!”

“Cuidado, niña!” He flashes in from the side, brushing past me like he’s not even winded, the steel machete a black streaked extension of his arm. "Go faster," he growls, “or we're all dead.”

There’s no time to spit anything back. He connects with something, a spinning move, two handed and faster than I can track and there’s yet more blood in the water then, another ounce of flesh carved away. Out of nowhere it occurs to me that if we’re going to paper cut this thing to death, somebody should probably dial out for pizza.

It screams but I’m not even sure what it felt, I’m not even sure it can feel. It doesn’t seem to care, of course. It still wants me, swinging its massive head around, it doesn’t care about the other mewling things in the water. I’m the one it wants, the one that it needs, I’ve made damned sure of it. At least how to piss something off is one lesson well learned.

A heart blink and twenty feet away now, his hand rises towards me, palm out. He’s right under it, almost completely obscured by the heavy shadow. I can’t see his face and I have no time to decide if I’m grateful for that or not.

Copper and offal, the sudden heat grabs me by the throat and I gag. The arcing magic squirms over my skin like an unwelcome lover, washing my vision to red; greasy and slick and sly. It crawls under my uniform like a thousand angry centipedes.

Blood magic, blood mage, rough and impatient as they almost always are. It's what they do, it's who they are, masters of stealing life to bind to other purposes, everything bleeding out with the pain and ichor. This time it's vectored transfusion to heal my wounds, ease the blossoming flower bruises, drain away the lactic acid in muscles straining to keep dodging and out of the way in this one-sided chase. He’s no doubt siphoning some off for himself, the sanctimonious bastard.

I hate blood mages the most. It's like paying for sex - you get what you need, all right, but it feels like you have to scrub everything with a wire brush afterwards. But energy rises even as the taste of foul metal recedes, things knitting back together inside me fast and sweet. I need it; just as he needs me if we’re all going to get through this nightmare.

Standing hock deep in void and mire, I have a sudden overwhelming wish to be back in the nice, safe classroom with Steven's cultured tones; his gray on gray suit and cool hazel eyes, the trim goatee and fine kid leather gloves. The image is so strong I can almost smell the lilacs under the window, almost see the warm wood of the study walls rising around me. Back when everything was so nice and clean and theoretical.

He'd definitely never have gotten himself trapped like this, slogging it out in some screwed up, phased out reality, partnered up at head office with some inner city punk who probably cribbed his first spell book from his cracked out grandma. The others aren’t much better; some chick with identity issues and a pair of guns to her limp credit and her wisecracking boyfriend or brother or familiar or whatever the hell he is.

Take it, darling. Use it, save the bitchy mood for later. Work with what you've got, not what you wish you had. Every tool has a use.

Right on cue it screams as it finds me again and it lumbers forward, one baleful eye out of dozens spearing me where I stand. Six tons of elder godlet if it weighs a pound and we apparently weren’t invited to the tea party.

Bring up the hammer and set myself, borrowed strength making it seem easy. Paper cuts it is.

“C’mon, big boy!” I shout, just in case it does understand. “Bring it!”

#bissa vipera #the secret world #fanfiction

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lilac-city-skylines · 4 years

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Drenchen Wing Headcanons

This is the first of the wing headcanon series! I hope that everyone likes it! I included a link to pictures of the Sea Robin fish, which I think match the aesthetic of Drenchen wings. TW: the link is just to google images which do have some photos of the fishes out of water. If you’re sensitive to that sort of thing, please don’t click on the reference link

General

These wings are generally thicker than the average gelfling wing and are substantially larger

They grow near the ends of the shoulder blades - in the upper middle part of the back - not out of the sides like the reference pictures might accidentally suggest

Very dark colors

I imagine they look something like the Sea Robin’s wings (example photos here)

Usually dark brown or edging near very dark green

Royal wings have always been a dark purple or black, can have a random color accent if they have a small genetic problem that causes wing discoloration

Wing discoloration like that only occurs in the royal Maudra line

Thick as well - the only wings that are connected to the circulatory system and have their own veins and arteries

Personal Care

Drenchen don’t mind getting dirty at all, their wings are no exception to this

The skin of the wings is pretty slick, so mud and slime slides off fairly quickly

The aesthetic isn’t what’s important - it’s the strength

In a culture that values hunting and fighting prowess over most conventional ideas of physical beauty the wings are useless unless they’re powerful

Stretching wings throughout the day is very common

Often Drenchen ladies will beat their wings as hard as they can on dry land for exercise

If you can push yourself forward with just your wing power - you’re doing it right

Building up endurance in the wing muscles is really important

Because the wings are huge and rather stiff, females rely on each other to clean them

However, sometimes weeds and other swamp muck can get stuck on the wings or solidify/build-up over time

This can make swimming and overall balancing more difficult

Communal bathing is very common among the Drenchen so finding someone to scrape some particularly stubborn muck off your wings is easy

Healing

These are the only wings connected to the circulatory and nervous system out of all the gelfling

This means any injury to the wings can be painful in so many ways

Wings contain the bulk of Drenchen pressure nerves, so pinching a nerve/getting a wing injury has been called worse than childbirth

Because the wings are so connected with the body systems - healing takes the longest for the Drenchen

Tears are very uncommon, the Drenchen are very careful about things that could tear a wing

To fix a tear - wrap the wing in a tourniquet (if possible) and apply a salve to staunch the pain; if no tourniquet is possible try pressing gauze or cloth to the bleeding portions

Then immediately go to the maudra

She will drop whatever she is doing to heal something that could potentially render a wing useless

It’s because of the maudra and her healing vliyaya that the Drenchen ladies never have to fear for losing a wing

That is unless the wing is torn completely off

There isn’t much to be done about that

The most common injuries (of which there are many since they wrestle so dang much) are scratches and bruises

Bruises are really hard to detect because of the dark wing color but can be detected with symptoms like soreness and/or dents in the skin

Crushes wings are also fairly uncommon

Drenchen wings are sturdy as all get out so it’s fantastically hard to crush one

Fixing a crushed wing entails: straightening it out (apparently it feels like resetting a broken bone) and wrapping it as quickly as possible for stability, once it’s stable the maudra can heal it without fear of healing the wing into an odd shape

Primary Wing Uses

Drenchen wings are NOT for flying

They never have been and never will be

Sorry folks

Drenchen wings can aid in things like balance and gliding/parachuting during a fall

On dry land, they’re basically just decorative

But in the water?

Drenchen wings were MADE for the water

Helps them go faster and make sharper turns, as well as general underwater badassery

The average Drenchen is a fast swimmer, but a lady Drenchen? Water demon.

The legends say that the Sifa are strong swimmers since they deal with the ocean

But every Sifa will get royally demolished by how fast and agile Drenchen are in the water

For gelfling that are often looked down on for being so large and slightly clumsy on land, in the water they are more graceful than any Vapra and faster than any Spriton

Some of the strongest Drenchen have supposedly lifted themselves a quarter-inch off the ground with their heavy wings - this has become a legendary goal among female guards and hunters

Decorations(Sorta?)

The Drenchen don’t see too much of a point in peacocking their wings

They do that primarily with their hair

Very young Drenchen girls, the day their wings emerge, can sometimes tie a ribbon to the top of it

The tradition goes that she has to beat the ribbon off and, once she does, she’s officially left childhood and started becoming an adult

It has been noted in Drenchen law that if a lady commits a terrible crime they might have their wings pierced

The piercing would be one solid metal ring on the top of each wing, weighing it down from the top

This makes swimming very difficult and generally throws a Drenchen off balance when on dry land

It’s considered very cruel since it increases a Drenchen’s chance or crushing their wings with the downward weight of the metal ring

This law was created by the Skeksis early on when they were establishing the new laws of the clan system that they eventually took over

The Skeksis never got the chance to see this punishment utilized, as it was never once used

The Drenchen take strong opposition to the idea of someone’s wings being hurt by others - even if it’s in justice’s name

#wing series #wings #gelfling wings #gelfling headcanon #gelfling clan #gelfling clans #gelflings #Gelfling #The Dark Crystal #the dark crystal age of resistance #the dark crystal age of resistance headcanon #age of resistance headcanon #Age of Resistance #Drenchen Clan #drenchen #ask #request #thank you!#I put way too much thought in this

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edenfalling · 5 years

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[Fic] “Frog Hunt” -- Homestuck

Summary: SBURB is not turning out anything like you'd hoped, and your game session may be broken. Which is a problem, because you can't go back to Earth -- last you checked, it's busy being an apocalyptic wasteland -- and judging by your most recent dreams, the rest of the Medium beyond your little Incipisphere is an equally apocalyptic wasteland of ghosts and horrorterrors. The only way out is through. You have to win the game.

Winning SBURB requires frogs.

Note: I started this fic way back in 2012, hit Jade's horrorterror dreams, and had no idea where to go from there. Last week it occurred to me that actually the horrorterror dreams made a perfectly reasonable ending, provided I filled in a missing middle scene, established an emotional/thematic through-line, and tweaked stuff until the new parts played nice with the old ones. So I did. :) [2,325 words]

--------------------------------------------- Frog Hunt ---------------------------------------------

SBURB is not turning out anything like you'd hoped. You wanted to see your friends in person, go on cool adventures, and save the world. You guess technically the cool adventure part is happening? But it turns out that being in the middle of an adventure is mostly very upsetting and dangerous.

Also your game session may be broken. Which is a problem, because you can't go back to Earth -- last you checked, it's busy being an apocalyptic wasteland -- and judging by your most recent dreams, the rest of the Medium beyond your little Incipisphere is an equally apocalyptic wasteland of ghosts and horrorterrors. The only way out is through. You have to win the game.

Winning SBURB requires frogs.

You have a lot of pointed questions to ask whoever designed the symbolism behind this process.

You also have no idea what you're doing. Zoology is not your thing! Botany and rocket science are your things!

But you've done crazier things in the name of friendship than breed magic universe-creating frogs. And this time you'll have Dave by your side, even if all he can help you can do is win the Olympic gold medal for synchronized flipping out, which might as well be a thing now since Earth is gone and if anyone ever reestablishes the Olympics it will be you and you can stick in any sports you feel like.

That analogy may have gotten away from you a little. You decide to preemptively consider it Dave's fault, and send him another message asking for an ETA.

"Kanaya says we won't have enough time to collect all the frogs, let alone raise them and do the breeding and mutation stuff. Not even if we yank Rose and John into the project, and especially not with just you and me," you tell him when he shows up in person, popping out of nowhere with two discs floating at his side. They look a little like Grandpa's old vinyl records, but with red gears turning underneath them. "Not that you aren't helpful! But there's only so many seconds until disaster."

Dave arches the backs of his hands, fingertips still ghosting over the ridges of his floating record thingies. "Harley, c'mon, work with me here. What's my aspect?"

You blink. Oh. Time travel, durr. Okay, possibly your flipping out was a little premature. "Whoops, forgot that! Potentially infinite seconds, yay recycling. So how are we doing this?"

Dave shrugs, letting the records vanish back into his sylladex. "We have limited absolute time, basically from when I got your house up to reasonable height to, let's say, an hour before whatever runs us off the rails goes critical. So we have to maximize our use of space -- duplicate this ectobiowhatthefuck setup and run an assload of slime zapper tadpole tanks at once. I'm thinking one on each of the top ten floors of your house. We'll do one floor on each master loop so we don't keep running into each other. Mark the space and time coordinates for each croaker we target, then head out to poke them or whatever literally the second after we zap them, take notes on any other frogs that look useful, and move down a floor and back in time to start again."

"What about breeding?" you ask.

You think Dave frowns. It's hard to read his expression behind his shades, but he doesn't guard his posture as much as his face. "Whoops, forgot that. Uh, let's say every third floor and third loop is for breeding and mutation games. Shouldn't be too hard, especially if we whip up a regular appearifier. They don't have these bullshit temporal lock restrictions."

"Sounds like a plan," you say. "Let's get everything set up and start breeding!"

Dave's discombobulated expression is so faint and brief that if you'd blinked, you would have missed it. Hmmm, you think to yourself. Maybe...? But no, you probably just reminded him of something one of the trolls said. They can be so bizarre sometimes.

"Time to rock and roll," Dave says, and you shake off your daydream and get to work.

---------------

It turns out that ectobiology is actually very simple! You don't need to know genetics or metaphysical zoology, which you were a little worried about. You just need to zap frogs and run their ghost slime through the game-provided machines until you hit a gene combination that pings a little automated reward mechanism. Scanning for useful frogs is a little trickier, since you get the reward ping for any potentially useful gene sequence even if it's one you already have on file -- you have to weed out the duplicates manually, which is time-consuming and a total pain.

Creating hundreds of potential paradoxes to make sure the appearifier grabs slime instead of actual frogs is also time-consuming and a total pain.

It would be simplest to just shoot the frogs, but first of all, that's mean, and second of all, it would probably screw up LOFAF's ecology to storm around wiping out its native fauna less than an hour after thawing them out in the first place. If you had a dart gun you could trust not to mangle the frogs on impact, maybe you could stun them for a few minutes. Unfortunately, all of Grandpa's guns (and by extension, all of your guns) are designed to shoot projectiles straight through solid objects and totally fuck up their day. Which means that instead of perching in a tree like a cool and sexy sniper, you are galumphing around on the ground, hot and sticky and covered in a gross combination of mud and panicked frog secretions. Ugh.

"I look like a swamp zombie, don't I?" you say before you can think better of the words.

"Yeah, but in a cute monster-girl way," Dave says. "I'm just a scarecrow that got left out in the rain and turned into a mold sculpture."

You look over at him just as a clump of mud and moss slides down the left lens of his shades. "Um. No comment." You are determinedly not noticing that he said you're cute. Nope. Completely thought-free zone over here, nothing but genetics and logistics, which everyone knows require no brain power at all.

Dave shakes his head in faux solemnity. "Tragic. Faced with the death and destruction of my awesome good looks and you can't even dredge up a "That's sad"? I am betrayed. I am devastated. I am--"

"--still cute underneath the glop, stop fishing for compliments," you interrupt, and are furiously grateful for the mud hiding your blush. Stupid Dave and his stupid... everything. Why do you even like him? He's such a butt.

Of course, all your friends are kind of jerks. Possibly there's something miscalibrated about your friend-finding radar. Or possibly you're also a jerk? Hmm. That's something to ask Rose about, whenever you finally get to see in her person.

You will get to see her in person. You refuse to acknowledge any other possibility.

"Ouch," Dave says, but the corner of his mouth quirks up just a degree. "Damned by faint praise. I guess I'd better step up my frog-napping skills, can't let my dashing good looks outweigh my knightly swag. Speaking of which, have we been standing still long enough for that little orange fucker to stick his head out?"

You glance around, then down, then up. There's a tiny flash of color just over-- you shift slightly-- yep, right there on the tree by Dave's shoulder. "Um. Yeah. Just... keep standing still. Really still."

"Making like a tree, yes ma'am Sergeant Harley ma'am," Dave says as you inch slowly toward him through the muck between the tree roots. "It's right behind me, isn't it? Getting all ready for a jump scare, gonna leap out and poison me to death with its slimy frog toes, alas, Horatio, here dies a fellow of infinite memes, taken from us too--"

You lunge.

You catch the frog.

You also knock yourself and Dave flat into the muck. His shades knock into your forehead. Your own glasses skew against his nose. Your left knee is jammed between his shins and his belt buckle is digging into your stomach.

Your mouth is right up against his chin. If you moved just an inch or two...

"Ooh, Miz Harley," Dave says, somewhat breathless.

"Oh, shut up," you say, and shove the frog into your sylladex as you scramble back to your feet. "Look who's talking, Mister Swamp Thing."

Then you bend down to yank Dave up, too, because fair is fair.

---------------

By the fourth loop you're ready to drop from exhaustion and the weird, indefinable tension of actually being around one of your friends in person instead of getting to mediate your interactions through computers. "I don't care how tight the schedule is. I'm starting to see double and I'm taking a goddamn nap," you tell Dave as you drop to the floor and lean back against the wall. You lay your rifle across your lap and keep your hands carefully away from the trigger. You know your temper sharpens when you're tired, and Grandpa taught you never to take chances with guns.

Dave frowns, and you know he's tired too because this time you can see his mouth curve downward to match the annoyed set of his shoulders and the fuck-you shove of his hands into his pockets. "The more loops we run, the harder it is to keep shit from falling apart," he says. "You that eager to trip into a doomed timeline? I can go back and hit reset anytime, easy as cake and pie and banana splits, but every screwup costs one dead Dave and one Jade abandoned in a dead-end universe. I don't even know if that you would get erased or keep on living until you go shithive maggots."

He's been talking to the trolls too, you remember, especially the teal one who uses l33tsp34k. He says her name is Terezi. She's been running time loops with him too. He likes her a lot.

You are not jealous. That would be stupid. You are not stupid; therefore you are not jealous. QED.

"The more tired we are, the harder it is to keep from screwing up," you say. "We're creating a whole new universe and we'll have to live there after we win the game. It's kind of important, Dave!"

Dave presses his back against the wall and slides down to join you on the hard tile floor. "We're not gonna win the game, you know. There is literally no way to do that. The game was borked from before the word go was a twinkle in its druggie teen mom's eye."

"Maybe this session's broken," you agree. "But that doesn't mean we can't find a way to cheat, and even if we lose, I'd rather lose trying my hardest instead of half-assing shit because I was so tired I fell asleep while operating complicated machines."

Dave sighs. "Yeah, okay. Naptime. But not here. This is a work floor; we've gotta keep it clear for work loops. We'll go crash further down." He taps your shoe with his own. "Up and at 'em, Harley, let's go hit that transportalizer."

You groan and haul yourself to your feet.

The obvious place for a nap would be your bedroom, but then where would you sleep on the next loop? Anyway, you only have one bed and it'd feel... presumptuous? pushy? maybe just go with awkward. Yeah. It would be awkward to share it with Dave, especially without John and Rose there as well to clarify that it's strictly a friend thing.

So you alchemize an armful of blankets and pillows and make a little nest in one of the hundreds of blank, identical stories Dave copied from the real-world part of your house. It's still a little weird sharing the space -- Dave is so close you can feel him breathe, every exhale stirring stray wisps of hair over your ears -- but you think you could get used to this.

You think maybe you want to get used to this.

"Sweet dreams, Jade," Dave mutters as he flops over onto his side, one hand curled loosely around the hilt of his sword.

"You too," you tell him, before you remember he's just going to wake up on Derse as his dreamself, still stuck in this stupid, lying, Möbius tangle of a game. And you're going back to those weird bubbles in the monster-filled void. Neither of you can get free until you finish Frankensteining your magic frog and beat an unwinnable game.

"Heroes always beat million to one odds in stories," you say to nobody in particular. "Why not us?"

Dave mumbles something unintelligible in response, already mostly asleep.

You wiggle sideways until your shoulder brushes up against his, so the warmth of his body radiates through the thin blanket onto you and your warmth feeds back into him. He's alive. You're both alive. Somewhere else in the Incipisphere, John and Rose are (you hope) also still alive.

You would do anything to make sure your friends make it out of SBURB, to a new world safe from meteors and monsters and predestination. Anything.

You dream of bloody, mangled ghosts, groping desperately toward you for salvation while you stand frozen under the horrorterrors' incomprehensible regard.

In the dream, you imagine yourself reaching for Dave's hand. You imagine him weaving his fingers between yours. You imagine Rose and John standing beside you. You imagine all four of you stepping through a door into a new universe.

If you imagine something with all your heart, that makes it a tiny bit less fake, and being less fake means it's at least a little bit real.

The pressure of the horrorterrors' attention attenuates, just that vital fraction.

You turn away from the ghosts and think of frogs.

---------------------------------------------

End of Fic

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If anyone has constructive commentary, I am all ears! Also I am going to bed soon, because being awake is overrated and also I took a Benadryl in order to eat a BLT for dinner, so, you know, probably better to lie down than to slowly drift off in front of my computer. *wry*

#liz writes stuff #homestuck #jade harley #dave strider #generalized content warning #to about the same level as canon anyway #does homestuck count as its own warning by now?

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rosaiel · 5 years

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Octo Expansion Mem Cake Starters/Prompts! 🐙

I was trying to complete the Octo Expansion when I was inspired to make this because of the Tentakook Mem Cake poem! I don’t think anyone has done this before. Anyways, thought they’d make for some really great roleplay starters and writing prompts, so have fun! ❤

---

“At last we meet, my so-called foe. But is our fate to spray this hate? Perhaps we'll learn in depths below...”

“With tresses pink and eyes a blank, A smile so faint, it hides your feint, You slip on past—outfoxed! Outflanked!”

“You paint the turf with graceful strokes. With watchful eye, I breathe a sigh. From sniper's perch, I go for broke.”

“The rolling column splatters all. A stray shot shakes the trees awake. The summer turns, here comes the fall.”

“You gaze seaward with azure hope. Between each blink you calmly think, As when you use a Splatterscope.”

“The world I knew seems like a trap. I'm drawn now to the strange and new. Would my old friends think me a sap?”

“The fat and heavy locks hang low They frame your face above a base Of stumpy leg and pigeon toe.”

“A hilltop picnic, friends and fruit. Your whirling blades provide us shade. I raise a hand in mock salute.”

“Destroy your troubles—bombs away! A tempting thought: bring all to naught. No wonder your friends tend to stray.”

“You face away, thinking me blind, Like I don't know what you won't show. Your love is still clear from behind.”

“So principled you might explode, But when you burst, who's really cursed? Your loved ones have to bear that load.”

“It seems to you a sly attack, But for your pains you make no gains. You only get shot in the back.”

“How loftily you float on high, Suspended there in starry air As you drip purple passing by.“

“How desolate this star-marked limb. Is what awaits me this same fate? I must not dwell; it's much too grim.”

“Though parted by the ocean deep, My oldest friend, we meet again. I touch your face; you rouse from sleep.”

“You overwhelm with crowds and throngs. At every turn, you writhe and churn. Why can't we simply get along?”

“Now nights grow long; summer abates. The tides recede as squids stampede. With fireworks, we celebrate.”

“Your motor whines; the ocean roars. No ink can halt your firm assault. Let these invaders know the score.”

“When problems stack too tall to see, Just chip away and, day by day, You'll grow to live a life carefree.”

“Where love could blossom, spite congeals. Faced with these thieves, I aim and heave A cluster bomb right in the feels.”

“The hunt leads down a winding path. Tightly coiled and well-oiled, These dirty squids could use a bath.”

“Erupting eel glimpses the sky. Its eyelids squint against the glint Of sun unseen by creatures shy.”

“A sudden drizzle bars my way. It's no hour for this shower, But light rain won't ruin my day.”

“Each glittered scale shines so bright. You're my last ditch to strike it rich And tilt my bank balance aright.”

“Finality's not what it seems. When your end comes, rise up and run. Don't let defeat dissolve your dreams.”

“I topple from the tower ledge And choke back tears to see the gears Eliminate our hard-won edge.”

“We're torn apart so many times; I must be bold and keep my hold To make their team pay for their crimes.”

“When four are one, they make a team. But one from ten? Uhh, come again? It's like some kind of fever dream.”

“You teach the virtues of the still, And yet I spurned the lesson learned. My problem is I have no chill.”

“Oblivious, adrift, and round, You hold inside a tempting prize. Who doesn't love that popping sound?”

“To plant a tree's its own reward After you're gone, it will grow on In memory, initials scarred.”

“The polished nozzle gleams and shines. Unblemished gun reflects the sun. A good day's match; victory's mine.”

“I shake the squeegee to and fro. As I do laps my color saps; A fair trade for a mighty blow.”

“Closer to pyramids than spheres— Let fly the bombs! A sigh, then calm. A pillow stained with ink—or tears.”

“Not everyone can be a scourge In tense combat. I toss this splat, A monument to my last surge.”

“Though it flies errant or amiss, Should its sly arc hit near the mark, Your fate is sealed with its kiss.”

“No stealth or guile, not for you. You pave the way as plain as day, Foreshadowing imminent spew.”

“Its friendly face, its easy stride— That's all a front. Let me be blunt; It leaves you with nowhere to hide.”

“The sickly sweet aroma spreads. Its stagnant arms bring only harm, Along with sluggish, looming dread.”

“"I rule," you said, "It's in my blood. Don't step to me — ESPECIALLY If you can't hang with my best bud."”

“They told me you had gone to ground, And your rad groove was concrete proof That you made it safe and sound.”

“Two friends who never are apart: One's always cool, the other stews. I love them both with all my heart.”

“I watch your tendrils undulate A blue bouquet that twirls and sways, As central mass swells and deflates.”

“Hmm, Slosher? Inkbrush? Curling Bomb? I'd gladly browse for hours and hours Your gushing ramble brings me calm.”

“Black, bulging eyes stare far inside. What does he see deep within me? From his sharp gaze, no one can hide.”

“How long must I wait in his line? Such tragic lack of Crusty snack... I'm almost there! It will be mine!”

“Behind his dour, one-eyed stare, Our urchin friend conceals a yen For making the most out of gear.”

“A patch of sun? A fresh-caught fish? No bribe will swerve your eye for turf, However desperately we wish.”

“Oh, what I'd give to be employed! Better, I'd say, to work for pay Than ride this subway through the void.”

“Our sweat dripping from every pore. The harsh, hot sun won't stop this run. We grit our teeth and ask for more.”

“I hate the sea but love the breeze. The sandy shore I will endure Just for that brisk, zephyrous tease.”

“A Skalop brand atop your crown Will turn some heads but really shreds When it is simply turned around.”

“Squids often wear this as they strike With bomb and brush. It's quite a rush. I wish I could know what that was like...”

“Your 'tude is righteous, as you say. Is your science as defiant? Prove that your battle rhymes can slay.”

“I see you standing in the rain. Within a storm—forever warm. Powerful as a hurricane.”

“Put down the phone go shelve your book. Get ready, champ—it's time to camp! We'll share a drink right from the brook!”

“Constructed of glass and concrete, A city stays in dull, drab grays Till we splash color on its streets.”

“Mistakes of youth teach us a lot. We skate too fast and have a blast And learn quickly not to get caught.”

“"When going through here, play it cool!" Or get a clue and don't go through! I won't bend on this! Them's the rules!”

“I pack my feelings in a box: A parcel stuffed with hope and love And trimmed with stamps unorthodox.”

“I've seen this, but I'm not aware Just what the splat I'm looking at! Is it a frog or a brown bear?”

“How I admire Li'l Max! The highest rank to be so swank That my rivals have heart attacks.”

“The tides go out and take the light. How will I greet you when we meet? It keeps me up on inkstained nights.”

“Your song inspired a blush of love. It gave my heart a fresh new start. Now I ascend to shores above.”

“I leave without ceremony. Don't be too sore; I wanted more. My sincerest apology.”

“When I get my hands on these fish I might exchange them on the range, Except that they look so delish...”

“A mystery rolled up and bound— Oh, what's the use? It's too obtuse. I'll dump it in the lost and found.”

“Beneath a summer sky I walk, Through valley, plain, and back again, Dreaming of what you might unlock.”

“The rhythm etched in little jolts Those idols sing and put a spring In my steps as I crank the volts.”

“Encased in a sturdy sphere of glass. It breaks my heart to see you caught With whiskers trembling as I pass.”

“Though slick with slime, I keep my grip. The chill seeps through my gift from you. I mustn't let this cargo slip.“

“I don't quite trust this stark white brand. It's more for squids or little kids... And where's the pop? It's oh-so bland!”

“This swells a stir of royal pride. In small or large, you lead the charge. The ink of nobles flows inside.”

“On colder days, I like these clothes. With other threads I'd stay in bed— It's too frigid to be exposed!”

“I see you walking down the street. You think you're slick in those lime kicks, But they'd look fresher on my feet.”

“The squishing footsteps trudge in muck. Their path revealed by heavy heel. My heart beats quick a stroke of luck!”

“Such devilfish-may-care couture— The colors clash and make a splash! Without a doubt, footwear du jour.”

“It keeps the elements away: No rain, nor heat, nor wind, nor sleet. But does it guard against ink spray?”

“No matter thickness, brim, or gauge, A well-done purl will awe the world. These handmade hats are all the rage!”

#splatoon #splatoon 2 #octo expansion #roleplay #roleplay starter #writing prompt #writing

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tisfan · 6 years

Text

One Hand Washes the Other

Title of Piece: One Hand Washes the Other Also on A03 Square filled: A4 - WTF Warning: unrepentant fluff, weird coping mechanisms, first date Pairing: Tony Stark/Bucky Barnes Summary: Bucky doesn’t always eat with the team. It takes Tony a while to figure out why. Created for @tonystarkbingo

Barnes didn’t always join the team for dinner. Tony didn’t always notice when he wasn’t there. At first, it was because maybe Tony was there; they weren’t exactly on friendly terms. But as time went on, and Tony was a rational, reasonable person, the enmity faded. Grew into something like grudging respect, and then grudging admiration. And then, because it was Tony, it might have turned into something like a reluctant crush.

Tony didn’t like to admit that he liked someone; it hadn’t usually worked out well for him. Case in point: Pepper Potts was back on the West Coast again, and sometimes missing her was like an extra hole in his chest, and he was beginning to believe that his emotional make-up was something very swiss-cheese in composition, and he didn’t need any more random aches and pains, thank you very much.

So, Tony tried not to notice when Barnes wasn’t around.

It’s not like Tony showed up to every single one of them, either.

To keep people from fighting about food, team dinners were two different protocols; ordering takeout was on a semi-random, preference oriented schedule. Which was to say, everyone entered in their personal favorites and Friday would select what people were getting for dinner. Which meant pizza was regular, as well as Chinese take away. Burgers.

The other protocol was the cooking roster, because some of the team liked to cook, and others on the team liked to sit down to a home cooked meal. Bruce, for instance, made the words best baby back ribs and absolutely would not tell anyone his secret, even swearing the AIs to secrecy and Friday diligently kept her word (traitor) and refused to allow Tony to access the kitchen camera. Not that Tony could cook, most of the time, but it was the principle of the thing.

But eventually, Tony noticed a pattern, because it was Tony.

The first night they’d done cheeseburgers, Barnes had eaten his portion with a knife and fork. Okay, weird, but a lot of Europeans did that, too, and Barnes had spent a lot of time in Europe. Tony, who drank a lot of his meals (sometimes they were smoothies and sometimes they were booze, and who asked you anyway?) didn’t comment, but Clint did.

And Barnes stopped showing up on burger nights.

He’d never showed up for pizza.

Barnes showed up for chicken one night, but he’d backed up and left in somewhat of a hurry when he saw the containers and realized it was fried chicken, not baked. Clint had waved a drumstick at him, trying to tempt him, but Barnes didn’t even look back.

Tony couldn’t help but notice a pattern after a while.

Barnes never showed up -- or left quickly if he did show up -- when the meal was something eaten by hand. Spaghetti nights, he was as deft with a fork and spoon to twirl pasta against as anyone. He ate epic amounts of steak and potatoes. Raw oysters disappeared like crazy, and sushi was a big hit, but peel-and-eat shrimp or crab legs were right out.

The guy wouldn’t eat popcorn on movie nights, either.

Well, Tony knew all about weird hangups that manifested in odd behavior, and he wasn’t going to call the guy out. Maybe it was some sort of shame-thing about the metal arm, even tho Shuri’s design was top notch, really quite elegant. Or something weird about the way it clicked when he moved it, but… well, it wasn’t Tony’s business, was it?

It wasn’t until one particularly bad bout of engineering fuge where Tony hadn’t slept in days, but had to stagger out of the workshop because he was out of coffee downstairs, and staring at the fabricator wasn’t going to make it run any faster that he actually saw Barnes.

Alone.

[more below the cut]

Sitting in front of the television, watching some late night, black and white, movie marathon and eating out of a bowl.

At first, Tony thought he had some of the left-over noodles -- there were always Chinese noodles of some sort or other in the fridge -- because the bowl was small, he was holding it under his chin, and he was wielding a pair of chopsticks with his left hand. The ridiculous mock up lightsaber kind that Tony had bought from Think Geek, because it was cool, and also because he was a little jealous that he hadn’t thought of it first.

Barnes didn’t take his eyes off the television, dipped the chopsticks into his bowl, and something crunched.

Not like a bamboo shoot, or a water chestnut, either, but…

“Are you eating Cheetos with chopsticks?” Tony couldn’t help but burst out. “Barnes, what the fuck?”

Barnes scrambled to put the bowl down; the chopsticks disappeared like a magician’s trick. “What? I was jus’ watching a movie, can’t always sleep--”

“No, no, that’s fine,” Tony said, waving that away. He knew quite a lot about not being able to sleep. “Can I just ask why?”

“Why what? Why can’t I sleep?” Barnes’s wide-eyed innocent look was both very good and damned endearing, but he wasn’t fooling Tony.

“Why do you eat like that, it’s so--”

“Weird. Creepy. Fucked up. I know.” Barnes heaved a sigh and by the time he was done, he looked somehow smaller and more fragile than Tony had ever seen him. This man, the one in front of him, blushing uncomfortably and fidgeting, that was a man that Tony could call Bucky. Not the cold-blooded killer, or the reluctant Avenger. He rubbed thoughtfully at the palm of his metal hand with the thumb from his right.

“Hey, I don’t let people hand me shit,” Tony said. “I am the last person to give you grief about weird coping mechanisms, I’m just wondering why.”

“Did you know that your computer keyboard has twenty thousand times more germs than a toilet seat?”

That seemed like a non-sequitur if Tony ever head one. Also, pointless. Supersoldiers didn’t get sick.

“There might be a reason I use hard light and projected imagery instead of something as quaint as a mouse and keyboard system,” Tony said. Also, projected imagery was a lot cooler than a clunky board.

Barnes spread his metal fingers to their max extension, all the little plates opening up to allow for the movement. Gold and black, it was gorgeous, and Tony wanted to touch it, poke at it, because, well, he generally had a boner for engineering, even if it wasn’t his own.

“Dust gets caught up in here,” Barnes said. “An’ other stuff.”

Blood, Tony read between the lines.

“There’s no cleaning features? That just seems like a failure in--”

“It was a little easier with th’ old one because there wasn’t a lot on th’ way of actual sensitivity. Used to brush it out with compressed air, but that shit is cold, and this hand can detect temperature extremes,” Barnes shuddered. “There’s coating on the circuits, that makes it waterproof, so like, I c’n wash my hands and stuff. But it’s disturbin’ as hell to wash my hands and see… grease an’ crumbs drippin’ out. Put m’ hand in th’ sewer a few weeks back, durin’ that fight with th’ Wrecking Crew. Took me almost forty minutes t’ wash all the muck an’ grime and other people’s shit out of it.”

“Well, that’s a disturbing image, yes, I can imagine,” Tony said.

“I jus’... don’t like to touch my food with it. And I’m left-handed, so eatin’ right handed is awkward.”

“So, you don’t eat things that you can’t use utensils for,” Tony said.

Barnes’ chopsticks appeared again and he hefted a cheeto and crunched it. “Saw this on one of them videos on YouTube, some girl showin’ how to eat without messing up your makeup, or getting chip dust all over your fingers.”

“Sounds like a good plan,” Tony said, and his mind was already whirring, because that’s what his brain did. Problems existed in order to be solved. Bucky’s chopsticks would work well for small things; chips and french fries and popcorn, but what about pizza? Cheeseburgers?

For that matter, what about raw sewage? No one should have to put up with that inside their bodies, even if Barnes couldn’t get sick, hadn’t he already gotten the short end of the stick with the unwilling body modifications?

“It works, at least,” Barnes said. He crunched another cheeto with pleasure.

Tony got a second bowl out of the cabinet, and snagged a pair of chopsticks. “Mind if I have some?”

“You pay for the groceries,” Barnes pointed out, but he poured out a serving of cheetos for Tony.

“Thanks.”

“What’s this?”

“Add-on,” Tony said, handing over the little disk. “It’s a-- well, consider it a deflector dish. I didn’t get a test audience on the branding, but since it’s only for people with high tech prosthetics, I don’t expect they’ll care what it’s called. Here, it goes on the back of the hand, here--” Tony picked up Barnes’ metal hand without really thinking about it, and the man froze. Tony was standing much closer than he usually did, and when Barnes glanced up at him, they were practically close enough to kiss.

“Right? Then what?” Barnes asked, not pulling back, and his blue eyes went deep and liquid.

“Well, I was studying the princess’s specs, and your arm still has an unreasonable amount of circuit heat, thus the plate mechanism, in addition to flexibility and strength, provides the cooling. So, we can’t quite do without it, yet, but she and I are doing a little collaboration, maybe make Steve Austin Mark III a little less clunky…” Tony said. “But for now… here, come here, and put your hand in this.”

There were not words for the look Barnes gave him, as Tony led him over to a bucket of slime.

“Go on, test it out.”

“I’m gonna make you clean all this shit out,” Barnes threatened.

Tony gave him a smile. “Deal. Put your hand in there, Buckybear.”

Barnes grumbled, but pushed his fingertips into the slime, which hastily shifted and pushed away.

“What th’ fuck?” Barnes -- no, Bucky’s -- eyes lit up, and the smile on his face was beyond joy. Wonder, amazement.

“It’s not very strong, but it extends about an eighth of a millimeter past the plates. Consider it a sort of electrostatic… skin. Works just like our skin,” Tony said. “Keeps all the dirt out, and…”

Bucky swirled his fingers in the slime. “I… can feel that. I can feel it. Not just pressure, not… I can feel that, Tony.”

“Yep, sunshine, that was the plan,” Tony said. He nodded to a cloth on the side of the bucket. “You’ll still have to wash it off, but--”

Bucky wiped his hand free, and then, before Tony was quite aware of what Bucky planned, those metal fingers were stroking down the side of Tony’s skin.

He told himself the tingles that it raised was nothing more than an effect of the electrostatic shield. He was lying, because he’d already tested it, several times, and he knew that there was no way any normal human would detect anything different about Bucky’s arm. That it would just feel like metal, smooth and supple.

“Tony, I can…” Bucky’s eyes filled and a tear spilled down one cheek.

“Yeah.”

“Why?” Bucky pulled his fingers back, rubbed them against his shirt, then held them out again, marveling. “Why-- thank you, but why?”

“Well, mostly, because out of all of us, you deserve to be able to eat a cheeseburger in peace.”

“Thank you,” Bucky said again, and he cupped the side of Tony’s face, as if still enchanted by the way Tony’s cheek felt under his palm.

“You’re welcome,” Tony said.

“Uh, can… will you join me, for a cheeseburger?” Bucky asked. And Tony might not have thought anything of it, except at the very end of the word, Bucky winked.

“Are… you asking me on a date?”

“If I said yes, will you say yes?”

“It’s a date, then,” Tony said.

#tonystarkbingo2018 #tonystarkbingo #winteriron #tony stark #bucky barnes #Bucky's metal arm #fluff

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a-shrieking-cloud-of-bats · 5 years

Text

okay lobotomy corp story time gonna have game mechanic explaining in here because it’s a pretty dense game and it’s required in places and it’s also pretty long because Holy Shit

(psst: links are to lobotomy corp OST stuff, they are not required, the OST is kinda goofy in places but it generally occupies that weird space where I’m not sure if it fits or not but it’s definitely a good listen if you’re into more techno-electronica nonsense, though it’s certainly not all that either!) so this all starts at the beginning of the day, the day’s anomaly is a beehive that’s also a giant living bee or something of the sort and I’m doing the first work on it (statistically the most dangerous, you don’t know anything about the anomaly at this point and the anomaly effects can get pretty wild, so even a result that an employee survives can be potentially dangerous, As We’re About To Find Out) and sure enough our good friend, security team captain, survives the work and I figure we’re in a good position to keep working on it, when it suddenly shoots spores all over the place What I know about the spores at this point is basically “they do health damage”, and a bunch of clerks (clerks are NPC controlled employees, and they provide passive buffs, not super important but helpful) have said spores on them, and I can’t control them so I just sorta watch what’s happening and sure enough they die; and here’s the kicker; the corpses then hatch into giant bees so I send security team in, foolishly thinking I have control of the situation, and here’s the thing about security team: they are not as well trained as they should be. They’re both fairly middling in stats, and I usually like to have one Captain, with high stats in everything, and a bunch of middling dudes per branch, so security team is underperforming statistically right now, and this is reflected by the fact that they take a while to kill a bee. During which time, the other bees are running around the facility and killing more clerks, which in turn create more bees. Security team eventually reaches it’s last legs and I retreat them back to the security team regenerator (hub room, periodically restores health and sanity, though the latter is an upgrade), which was my first mistake because security branch is absolutely swimming in bees right now. Bees enter the room (this disables the regenerator, functionally) and kill security team, and officially make this into A Problem.

So security team is dead at this point, and we have lost control of security branch, (this is reflected by all anomalies in this branch having a -50% success rate on work, so we basically can’t work with them. This doesn’t become an issue, but it’s a neat touch.) and security branch is currently absolutely packed with giant bees that are slowly spreading out to the other branches. For some context, security branch is off to the left, the next branches are information team (center) and control team (top), and they’re mostly moving into control team. I’ve learned my lesson at this point and move information team captain, Delilah, to go deal with the bees, and leave low stat employees (two of them in information team, three in control team), in the regenerators. Delilah makes short work of bees, being probably our strongest employee at the time, and being kitted out with an Aleph class weapon and Waw class armor (think of aleph and Waw as Keter-1 and -2 respectively, aleph is the highest, waw is the second highest; that’s not to say she has The Best Gear, but it’s very good), but at this point there are just too many bees and she cannot beat them to death with her weird infinity gauntlet-esque weapon fast enough. If we hadn’t lost control of the situation, we certainly have now. So I grab Control team captain and training team captain and his buddy, who is very well statted compared to normal, and set them up to go around killing bees with Delilah, and that works, except I use control team as a training ground, and if security team’s sorta eh, poorly trained employees couldn’t handle bees, the trainees certainly can’t, and sure enough a bee finds it’s way into the now undefended control team regenerator and makes three new bees and officially makes control branch into A Problem, too. At this point however, we’re so low on employees that the bees don’t really have any more potential bees to act on and the gang mops up what’s left well enough, with another employee in information team going down in the process. At this point we have a tenuous grasp on the situation and I’m working on getting enough energy to end the day, and in the process an ordeal triggers (ordeals are sort’ve non-affiliated anomalous activities, they spawn enemies in the facility which muck up operations in a variety of ways), which isn’t a big deal, we clean it up, but in the process, an anomaly in training branch, slime baby (not actual name) goes off and starts crying, which in turn allows another anomaly, a giant lock that runs around on spider legs and has buzzsaw arms, to break out. I ignore it for the time because that thing’s gimmick is that if you don’t look at it with the camera it won’t move. We go back to work, everyone is in their respective branches, and nobody else is in danger for the time. Until slime baby’s crying (which does sanity damage to the entire branch as well as upset other anomalies) drives one of training team over the edge. He’s crazy, I retreat his partner to information branch, where, luckily enough, our one not captain level dude that survived, that is also capable of cleaning up sanity damage without killing anyone, is. Luckily enough it’s also a ranged weapon and that gives him the edge he needs to cure crazy training team guy without getting squashed. At that point I manage to end the day and the next day I set up Delilah as new captain of security team because she basically carried the situation, one of the training team guys becomes information team captain, and while I’ve progressed a bit past this situation, that’s more or less where we’re at right now.

#bats writes #long post #(for people in the tags)#(it's readmored)

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lazarus-hope-project · 2 years

Text

the water of life || atsuko & atsu || trial 6.6 || re: clement, kazuko, cyril

It’s a wonder to Atsu how Clement doesn’t immediately step away, push her off of him, leave her alone like she deserves. All of those times that she’d spoken about being a beast and a monster, they’d been about the serial killing, yes, but they’d also encompassed sins that she didn’t even remember committing, was positive that, with the body and mind she’d had, she hadn’t. When he does none of those things, even steps in front of her as though she’s the one who needs protecting from the old bitty who’s lording it up at the desk, she looks at him with wonder in her eyes. There might not be a dragon to slay, so to speak, but it reminds her more than a bit of those fairy tales.

Her daydreaming is cut short, and Atsuko’s fiery rant at her clone is also silenced by the existence of questions being posed to them. She didn’t miss these sorts of interviews. For sixty years, she’s avoided them, but she’s not unused to unwanted, unsolicited phone calls asking her inane and useless questions. Bo and Kisuke did a wonderful job of bothering her even after all of these years. Too bad she could never block their numbers.

As predicted, she does roll her eyes when Cyril goes and kisses Naoya on the head, but she waits until he’s done to respond to anything.

(But not before Atsu can get a squawk of “I’m right fucking here!” at the aging comment.)

“I’ll speak to the clone however I want. She’s undeserving of sharing a name with me, so she’s undeserving of decency as well since she so likes to disregard basic kindnesses like not betraying everything we’ve ever worked for. None of you are even really people. Just incomplete prototypes of the human beings society needs if it wants to thrive as a utopia, if we want any chance of creating a mortal Elysium.

As for your original selves: they’re dead. They were all killed in the first iteration of the experiment. The control group, so to speak. You found a file detailing that, or did it slip your mind already? I know there’s not much in there, so surely you can find room for it.”

Atsuko’s nails clack against the desk as she rhythmically taps her fingers one by one, staring at Clement with none of the familiarity her gaze held for him even on the plane. He is, in her mind, a stranger. They knew each other once, but things have changed, and she has no attachment to this clone any longer.

“Even if I disagree or disagreed with some things that Clara Futura did, it was all for the greater good. Humanity is flawed. Humans are flawed. Something is wrong in our creation that causes us to all eventually become self-serving, arrogant, unempathetic, and cruel. We are only out for ourselves and our own survival. Although problematic, you all, as well as myself, have some shred of hope for improvement. You were thought to be the ones who could be trained to rid yourselves of the need to kill and serve yourselves through selfish survival instincts. Don't ask me why some of you were chosen because I couldn't fucking hazard a guess. Maybe Ryo's just too stupid to see past pretty faces. It wouldn't surprise me. However, as you can very clearly see, you’ve all failed each and every time for the past 60 years. Congratulations.”

She says that with as much ire and sarcasm as she can physically muster--which is quite a bit! She’s got 60 years of hatred to work with.

“Even CF refused to see this through--that’s another problem with humanity, you know, you people are all too willing to just give up. You’re all too willing to throw in the towel at the slightest sign of resistance or turbulence. Nothing will ever get done if no one sees things through, and so nothing will ever improve. I refuse to lower myself to that, to become a quitter. Even if it took my entire lifetime, I would never stop because this must work. They talk about how the world has become a better place, but it’s still the same, the slime and muck and scum that have always been there are still there.”

While Atsuko speaks, Atsu looks on, and she’s unable to argue until the very end.

“You’re wrong. You’re blinded by some toxic preconceived notion that spawned from, what, some high schoolers taking the easy way out?! Police not helping, god, ten--no, seventy--years ago? Our father not helping in our childhood? Hope’s Peak being Hope’s Peak? If you just bothered to listen and wait and ask for help, then people would have--”

A bang rings out as Atsuko slams her hand against the desk.

“Help!? Ask for help!? Because that’s gone over so well in the past! People duck out as soon as it gets difficult or they just don’t see the need or they just don’t fucking care enough to bother. You’re just blinded by meaningless words! What makes these promises different from others, hm? Nothing! They will all amount to nothing.”

Once more, both Atsuko and Atsu fall silent, staring each other down with venom dripping from their teeth.

#trial 6 #atsuko

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parkersanders · 7 years

Text

Deep Waters

Summary: Sometimes Thomas dreams of fantastic things. Sometimes Thomas dreams of logical things. Sometimes Thomas has emotional dreams. And other times…Thomas has nightmares.

Warnings: Some nightmare imagery, vagueish drowning imagery, but nothing serious.

Word Count: 1493

A/N: I wanted to try out a bit of a ‘what if’ scenario. It’s probably influenced by @momfriendlogan‘s Anxiety series they just started. As well as my own love for the emo edgelord, of course. I listened to Staying Up by The Neighborhood for atmosphere if you want to listen along.

Thomas’s sleep schedule may not have been the most consistent, but he always got to sleep and had dreams. The Sides usually switched between who would have the most control over the dream, and eventually they’d gotten into a steady rhythm where Logan would control dreams early in the night and Roman would control the ones closer to the wakeup time. Patton would hop in every so often when he got excited, but the other two were usually able to hold him back. It seemed like one of the few times that Anxiety wasn’t usually around, and the other Sides liked it that way. Anxiety usually put Thomas on edge, and that would always affect the three of them negatively as well.

“I just don’t think it’s fair that he always ends up remembering your dreams,” Logan said with a frown. “I provide him with adequate simulations of everyday life that could help him improve his problem solving without needing my help all of the time as well as give him reasonable solutions to problems so he doesn’t have to worry about things that may make him nervous.”

“Yes but when I take control, he can slay a dragon,” Roman replied with a wide grin. “And that’s far more exciting than repeating the dream of him going to the grocery store only to discover he wasn’t wearing pants.”

Logan grinded his teeth together. “Anxiety steps in one time…”

“Look it’s my turn anyway,” Roman said. “So I think he would enjoy having a relaxing time on a mountain filled with powdered sugar instead of snow.” He raised his hand and snapped to transition the scene, but nothing happened. “…That usually works.” Roman snapped again, but everything only began to get dark.

Patton let out a whiny noise from behind them. “Oh no…”

Even Logan looked a little uneasy. “It seems Anxiety has found his way into Thomas’s dreamscape.”

“Curse that poisonous bunch-backed toad!” Roman growled.

Logan looked impressed. “You’ve been reading Shakespeare.”

“Of course. He’s a genius. But that’s not the point! We have to find him and get him out of Thomas’s dreamscape before—ugh!!”

Black water began to pool at their feet. It was almost completely dark around them now, and the water was ice cold. It easily soaked through their shoes and began to climb quickly. Patton whined behind them again and Logan looked around, squinting through the darkness.

Logan pointed to a vague figure rippling in the darkness. The others followed in understanding. As they approached, Anxiety came easier into view. The black water was pouring out of him, as though his entire body was just a faucet. His eyes looked hazy and unfocused—even more so than usual—and she stared down at the water absently.

“Kiddo? You okay?” Patton asked nervously. “You’re making this whole place pretty dreary. Wouldn’t you like a little light? And maybe a boat?”

Anxiety didn’t look up. “No. Go away.”

“We will not leave!” Roman said with a firm glare. “You know that you don’t get to take over this place. You pester Thomas enough in the waking day, so nighttime is our time! So stop this nonsense and get out of here.”

“You don’t get it,” Anxiety said. His voice sounded distorted, like a monster’s, and his gaze was still blank and distant. “I don’t cause this. This isn’t my idea.”

Logan couldn’t resist rolling his eyes. “You’re Thomas’s anxiety. You’re the only reason why he would be dreaming of something like this.”

“It’s not my fault.” Anxiety’s tone grew more insistent. The water pouring off of his body grew thicker and soon he was covered in black muck as it poured off of him. The water at the Sides’ knees was quickly replaced with the same thick muck. “I don’t cause these. You think I could dream this up? I react to what I’m faced with. I don’t cause these nightmares.”

Roman was getting fed up with their arguing. The sunrise was drawing nearer, and if Thomas grew too scared, he would wake up and not be able to fall asleep again. Then Roman would have to wait until the next sleep cycle to have fun! “You can stop all of this right now by just stopping this fear and doing your own job!”

“You’re wrong!” Anxiety shouted. The black sludge rose, wrapping around the Sides’ waists. Roman waded, grimacing at how disgusting it was to feel the slime seep through his clothes. “You’re all your own side. You can be logical without needing anyone else. You can be creative without anyone else. You can be emotional without anyone else. But I can’t exist without something else. You all can operate free of one another and you take that for granted! Fear exists from things that can logically hurt you, from the supernatural that’s made up, and fear is inherently emotional. I rely on all of you but none of you want me. Then Thomas wouldn’t be experiencing this, right?”

Roman felt perspiration on the back of his neck. Anxiety was emanating so much nervous energy that even they could feel it. “Hot Topic, you have to calm down. You’re just overreacting.”

“Isn’t that what I do? I overreact all the time. It doesn’t matter that that’s what I was born to do.” The gunk began flowing quicker and it climbed up to their chests. “I’m an inconvenience to everyone!”

Patton began to cry and covered his eyes. Logic looked back at him. “What are you doing?! There’s no reason to cry!”

“It-It’s scary!” Patton cried. Tears streaked down his face and his wails grew louder.

“There’s no reason to be afraid! None of this can hurt us!”

“Doesn’t matter,” said Anxiety. “The fear doesn’t have to be logical. It doesn’t have to have a reason, and it doesn’t have to be creative. It’s its own entity.”

Roman was growing equally panicked. “It’s a part of you! You’re Thomas’s fear!”

“I’m his anxiety. I react to his fear, it’s connected to me, but I can’t control it. I can never control it. That’s what you’re here for. You’re supposed to control his fear. I don’t have anything to do with this.” The sludge had risen to their shoulders, but Anxiety seemed to be sinking even lower, as it was at his chin. “I can’t do anything. I can never do anything. I just make it worse.”

Logan had only heard fear in Anxiety’s voice three times: once when Thomas was five and was certain there was a monster in the closet, again when Thomas was thirteen and watched an R-rated horror movie because Patton insisted he should, and finally a few years ago during a certain near-death experience. But now Logan had heard it again, and he knew it was not good when even Anxiety showed outright fear.

“We’re all here!” Logan shouted, trying to get Anxiety to hear over his own mumbling and the sludge over his ears. “If we’re supposed to control it, then we can. What are we supposed to do?”

Anxiety was unresponsive. The muck rose over his mouth, his nose. His eyes were still lifeless as they sunk below the surface.

“Hot Topic!” Roman yelled, but Anxiety was already gone. Roman and Logan were able to somewhat tread the ‘water’. When Patton’s wails were suddenly cut off, they both spun around in time to see him being swallowed up by the darkness. “Patton!”

“Roman, we have to remain calm,” Logan said. He hoped the strain in his voice wasn’t obvious. “This is only a nightmare. A dreamscape. Neither of them are dead. We have to wake Thomas up.”

“But—”

Logan cut him off. “He wouldn’t be able to enjoy whatever dream you’d create, even if we could somehow gain control of the situation. It’d be better for everyone if we wake him up. Whatever caused this, we can solve it and help him sleep better tomorrow.”

Roman clenched his jaw but nodded. Waking Thomas was easy. A sudden scare, making him aware of how illogical the world was, whatever the means.

When Thomas did wake, three of the Sides were with him in an instant. Patton was still crying and apologizing for frightening Thomas and Logan was there to provide them both with logical solutions and explanations for the symbolism of the dream. Roman promised for a nice, feel-good dream the next night to make up for all of this. Thomas was upset, but having his Sides with him to explain everything made him feel better. It was just a nightmare, after all, no matter how terrifying it was.

Anxiety never surfaced. He remained in his own space, staring into nothing, as he shook and shivered. He could still feel the chill of the water and the disgusting taste of the slime rolling down his throat still baked in his mouth. Anxiety took a shuddering breath and exhaled slowly. Thomas didn’t need him right now. Never after a nightmare.

#thomas sanders #tsfic #thomas sanders fic #anxiety sanders #sanders sides #sanders sides fic #fanfic #mine #anxiety #logic #morality #princey #i said i wasn't gonna write something too anxiety oriented #and then i did this #ah well #i like it~#xaan fic

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weracetogether · 6 years

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Adventures in SwimRunNC- Race Report (and more) http://ift.tt/2yDLZCa In April the 140.6 Patrick and I were set to race in October was cancelled. A few things came of this-- disappointment and opportunity. Sure we were no longer going to be racing across Delaware but little did we know what exploits were ahead of us. I went looking for something "fun" and "different". A friend had mentioned SwimRun events to us previously. A quick google search lead me to SwimRun NC. I don't recall which race we were driving home from as I sat in the passenger seat and inputted an application to the race.

We waited, we started to run more trails but not overly focused in this area, as we were not sure if we would be racing fall trails. We waited some more, learning to swim with each other in a line or side by side. We waited a little longer, to the point that I figured there would be no new adventure this fall. Then while I was showering one morning Patrick came in the bathroom asking if I knew. Knew what? That we were in if we wanted the spot. A team had dropped and we had a spot to race SwimRun NC. There are no other words to express my thoughts, while I stood there smiling with excitement all I could express was "Oh SHIT!!!!" With an ecstatic heart and worried mind I paid our entry fee and signed our names to the 2017 roster. Since at this point we had weeks to train we increased our trail running but since the 20 mile swim I had been slacking on swimming Plus every time I wanted to swim the wind was whipping up waves or the jellyfish were in attack mode, so bailing on swims became too easy. Race day was quickly approaching- I knew it had to be getting close based on the scrapes and bruises I had from falling during woods training runs.

Starting out

There were a few things we already knew- the terrain would not be Florida sand and hills, we knew we would be in NC foothills, going up a mountain on rocks; we knew the water would not be our warm salt assisted water, we knew it would be cold but fresh; we knew the weather would be a major factor, but this factor was just another day for us Floridians. We packed up our short cut wetsuits, rope, pressure bandage, shoes, swim paddles and buoy, and courage and headed north to the mountains. As we drove the leaves began to change and so did the weather report. The rains were setting up for after the race as a front brought colder temperatures. No worries, this was after the race. We made the final drive into the mountains and the day brought another change in weather, the rains would happen the night before and morning of the race and the dropping temperatures would happen as we raced. Well, this was suppose to be an adventure, right?

The prerace meeting was encouraging-- look for the yellow and pokadot ribbons and have fun. I do have to say we were a little worried with the conversations of Ironman achievements going on between most of the athletes that not everyone was there to have fun. But we have never been at a race for the benefit of others or to show off our accomplishment list; we were here for the love of the sport and to try something new. Better than the "let's have fun" message was the other bonus for racing- letters written by elementary school students wishing the athlete luck!! Our author even hoped we would bring home the trophy. Only in our hearts!!

Race morning alarms woke us to find it raining outside. We geared up in swimsuits and sweatpants and loaded the remaining gear. I ate my yogurt as Patrick drove up the winding mountain roads, covered in rain and leaves. At the start site the air temp was in the mid 50's, not bad. The problem was more so that the winds were picking up and the front was pushing in. We chatted with other athletes as we wiggled into wetsuits and stuffed supplies in sleeves. We readied ourselves at the start line and after a few inaudible words (because we were int eh back of the pack) and a quick kiss, the horn sounded and the pack let loose.

The first stage was four miles up the mountain (with a few downhills). During this trek we would encounter the waterfalls and some climbing opportunities. The one problem we ran into was with all the groups starting at the same time there was a bit of a logjam as people were single-file up the rocks. This was a beautiful start to the race and our first time getting our feet wet in the cold streams running down the mountainside.

The top found us looking out over the lake. The push up the mountain had turned out wetsuits into personal saunas. One would think, "Oh this water is going to feel great." Well the answer is yes and no, both said immediately and at the same time. The water was in the lower 50's. Our warm bodies were instantly cooled, this quick temperature drop made it a challenge to catch my breath for the first few strokes. So there are no buoys (except at the out) in SwimRun. We were navigating blind with matters made worse by fogging goggles. As the cold water rushed out suits we fell into a rhythm. Patrick stopped to clear his goggles a few times and then spotted off me as we moved through the lake. About 2/3rd of the way through we started to see trees in the lake. Let me tell you when you are swimming along seeing nothing and all of a sudden there is a freaking tree under you it is a little freaky!!! And for a Gulf swimmer every algae plumb or piece of grass was for sure a jellyfish!!! We stood up in the muck and made our way to dry land. We ran for a short period and then back in the water for a quick swim. Then we went down the damn and back to the lake entry point, again we went around. This time the cold water was making my hands become pins and needles. There was no warming up between plunges. Patrick again watched me to his right and we fell into sync with each other. The lake trees didn't surprise me this second time around, but their eerie presents gives way to the realization that the cold is real in the lake, freezing items with their summer coverings. This time down the hillside to the damn there were few around us, we were racing the clock to not get stopped short of the mountain climb. For this reason we zipped past the volunteers offering fluids and food, grabbing only what was right in front of us, and leaped over the race mat to start our climb. The hike up Moore's Wall to Moore's Knob (here after known as "the TOP") is a climb of just less than 2 miles. Seems reasonable, except it is comprised of 642 "trail" stairs. See trail stairs are different than normal stairs. If I tell you there are 642 steps, you think "Oh I love the stair master" or"I walk up the stairs each day to work". But trail steps are a different beast. They are uneven in height and length. They are spread out and then close together. They are covered is a light slime from the rain and slippery with mud and small gravel. They don't give at all when your hamstrings cramp from the cold and you miss a centimeter of height you needed to clear the step. As the trees were beginning to thin we could feel the winds increase, noticing now more than before that the temperature was dropping. Clapping, we started to hear clapping! A volunteer stood there cheering us to the top. He was a beautiful site. A little more of a climb and we were there at the top looking over the edge. Even though we were only halfway this was our trophy moment. We stood and watched the hawks fly below us over the tree tops painted with autumn colors. I pushed to the edge as far as Patrick would let me go, after all I was tied to him and there was no net!! The mist and clouds swirled around us and the wind blow the cold air against our faces. Int hat moment the burn faded and the beauty of all that surrounding us filled us with warmth. The TOP the glorious TOP. But as it has been said what goes up, must go down.

The TOP

It was a fleeting moment of warmth. Now the downhill portion began, knowing that at the bottom of the hill we would be greeted again by the cold waters of the mountain lake. The terrain was rocky giving way to roots. Knowing we were halfway we spent much of the downhill laughing at the "trouble" I managed to get us into and telling stories of other times we went looking for waterfalls or exploring wooded trails.We spent much of our time just the two of us, we would pass a team here and there, offering "hellos" and "we got this" remarks. We were good alone in the woods. The trees this time parted to a view of the lake. Swim gear on we dove in. The water rushing into our wetsuits, cooling us and then beginning the hypothermia process again. Somehow this time I had gotten onto the wrong side of Patrick. It was awkward on his left, but my brain could not figure out how to stop an get to the other side of him. Finally he popped up and told me to get over. FIXED!!! We quickly fell into our rhythm. Patrick began to push hard and was pulling away a little; I knew he was in the zone, trying to forget about the cold and push his body to not shiver in the water. My body cooled faster this time and I could feel my hypothermia symptoms of hip pain and my hands pushing against the swim paddles in an attempt to become claws. We popped up at the out again, gathering ourselves. We ran on feet so cold they felt as if we were walking on pebbles in our shoes. Again across the smaller swim and down the damn. This time Patrick informed me that the hypothermia was making him able to see better!!! Yep in that moment I realized between the swims he was not putting back on his glasses. Hew as going down the muddiest, slipperiest, most unsafe section of the course blind, and me in front!!! I assured him that clarity was not a normal symptom of hypothermia; it was more so his brain shutting down and not caring about clarity! What could we do but laugh!! We made it back for the last lake loop. Paddles on and buoys set between our legs we dove back in. By now the air temperature was starting to drop to where our cold arms could feel the cool or the air against the "warmth" of the water. This time Patrick was a little slower out of the water, trying to step carefully onto land. He wasn't use to being so skinny and cold (lol)!!! The little crossing was fast and soon we found ourselves back down the damn. We stopped at the clocking check point to be sure to be marked. Here the race director, Herbert, asked us how we were feeling and rubbed Patrick's arms to help get blood flowing. All the while telling us to untether. Wait, untether? No our team made the choice to be sure we were close enough and to stay tethered through the event. Herbert looked at us in a way that I am not sure if it was disbelief in us having survived making it down the mountain or in questioning again this "sacrificial lamb" race team even being on the race course! Herbert helped us untether, because regardless of the looks intent it was clear he was going to "help us out". Now to be honest we came close to reconnecting on the other side of the road, since hell we made it this far!! Again we laughed down the mountain.

I say we laughed but the cold was taking a toll on me and the downhill was not helping. My hip was tight and painful, making each step feel like a needle going into my bone. To add to the problem my diaphragm was cramped limiting my ability to stand up right or breathe. So there are two things you want to be able to do while racing- make forward motion and breathe! I was failing at both. I had thought a few times during this event that pulling off the course and calling it a day would be an option. This is not normally my mind set in a race but I was hurting, more than in most race. I was slowing our team from forward motion having to slow from the pain then try again and again. I knew I wasn't an easy teammate to be "tied" to in that moment but in the moment I was ready to cry, Patrick turned to me, "We got this" and smiled. I laughed. I was so far from "getting this"in that moment. My body felt like it was failing me; I was angry at myself for not being able to push harder; I was frustrated that I had the thought of giving up; I was scared of disappointing Patrick. I looked around and in the woods, as the leaves danced in the wind above us, I could not have felt more loved. We found a few more volunteers and then saw what we had been waiting for, the entrance into the river. Yes, we had been begging to freeze again because it would be the last time. For me this meant little pressure on my hip and chest. It meant being in my element where I felt comfortable even in the cold. I was in a place I knew I could control.

We entered the river with smiles and foggy goggles (again). As we moved down the river we hit a deep spot where the current was flowing fast, we were on our way. Well, we were until I saw a ripple, hit a rock on the edge and then turned to yell "ROCK" at Patrick just as he pulled a Little Mermaid move, ramping up on the rock with a few choice words! He unbeached (unrocked?) himself and we headed down the shallow river again. Given that Patrick could not see the ripples indicating rocks, I kept yelling, "10 yards, 5 yards, ROCKS!" Oh the fun. We made the turn and saw the exit, moving towards the side and stepping over the last few large rocks, we made it back to land. Up about 20 steps and a 50 yards run to the finish line. Hand in hand we crossed. Patrick bent over after the finish, laughing with his hand on his knees. All I could do was to hug him, smiling, knowing what he just overcame because I had this idea one day. We were soon joined by Herbert with a smile asking, "Was it great?" Yes. Yes, it was great.

All smiles and love

Unpacking at Home :)

Once we had gathered ourselves (very quickly) we made our way to the Jeep to get out of the cold wet clothes. Frozen hands do not make it easy to get a wetsuit off. We heated up the Jeep just to blow warm air out on us. Yep that's right here is the visual- Two people, cold, shivering, laughing, trying to not get stickers in their feet, changing clothes at the back of a Jeep, at some point half stuck in a wetsuit, with the doors open to warm the outside air!!! The air temperature dropped from mid 50's to mid 40's, the winds picked up, the water temperature around 54 degrees; there were 90 teams on the mountain that morning, 83 teams finishing; over 14 miles of running, almost 2 miles of swimming, and over 2000 feet of climb; but all I remember are the laughs. Next year.... Bonus awesomeness with entry fees the group purchased a fire suppression vehicle to help control forest fires. Photos (the clearly professional and amamzing ones) thanks to Brian Fancher, Richard Hill, and Brian Lefevre. Thank you gentlemen for the beautiful representation of the day. If you can, please help us support the Navy SEAL Foundation. Teresa's Donation Page for Tampa Bay Frogman Swim 2018 Teresa is actively raising money for the Navy Seal Foundation. For more information please read this: Supporting the Navy Seal Foundation- Frogman Swim We've been blogging for a while now. If you enjoyed this one, you may enjoy others. Look though the Blog Archive on the right, for more of our experiences and random thoughts. Thank you for your ongoing support of our adventures. Please feel free to share our blog.

#IMCHOO #IMTraining #Triathlete #Triathlon

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evolutionsvoid · 7 years

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The Underworld is a fascinating place for a natural historian like me. Honestly, it should be fascinating to just about everyone! An entire world far below our roots, filled with all types of exotic flora and fauna. While many would be quick to see the Underworld as a place of rocks and barren stone, it is truly filled with a variety of ecosystems and habitats. While it remains miles below the surface, it shares some similarities with our world, but with an odd twist! They have forests, but they are made of fungi, not trees. They have rivers, but they run through flooded tunnels and stone tubes. They have a starry sky, but it is just glowing creatures that cling to the rocky ceilings. There are sometimes when you travel through the Underworld when you forget where you truly are! On the flipside, though, the Underworld faces some unique challenges. The lack of light is one of them, where many creatures have adapted to an eternal darkness. The demons and shades, though, have taken to using lightstones to illuminate their cities and aid in growing crops. Another is a multi-layered environment. Imagine what life would be like if us surface dwellers had to worry about the sky crashing down on us! Another, and this one is forgotten a lot, is that the Underworld is a closed system. While we have the sun and the open expanse of sky, the Underworld is restricted by its thick layers, many tunnels and intricate networks. While we can travel as the crow flies, demons and shades must navigate the hundreds of tubes and tunnels that connect everything together. That doesn't just apply to them either! Nutrients must follow these systems, as does water, air and, most importantly, waste. I do not mean to make this section seem gross or immature, but the subject of waste matter is incredibly important for the Underworld. The flow of nutrients is crucial for making its many ecosystems work. While we can rely on the plants to bring in new food and energy from the sun, those down below do not get these free lunches. All the food and nutrients they have down there is all they are ever going to get. So one cannot allow nutrients to go to waste or be forgotten. This applies directly to waste and any other excretions the fauna may create. Scavengers and coprophages are needed to consume these byproducts, so that the nutrients can be thrown back into the cycle. They also need to exist to keep the Underworld from being flooded by their own waste! Those who stick up their noses at those who feed on fecal matter should take a lesson from this entry, and see how important these creatures are to the ecosystem and world.

The reason I bring up this subject of waste and other nasty byproducts is because I wish to talk about Mound Roaches. These insects are the Underworlds 1# champ in waste cleanup and nutrient recycling. To even guess at how many of these insects exist in the Underworld is mind-boggling, as a single cavern may contain thousands of them at a time! While certainly plentiful, these heavy numbers are only seen in certain areas of the Underworld. Mainly where heavy numbers of bats, clingers and other ceiling dwellers live. From heavy populations comes heavy amounts of waste, and that is what Mound Roaches thrive on. In certain caves, the entire floor of the room may be covered in a lake of fecal matter, and the Mound Roaches are the fish who inhabit these foul ponds! Hundreds of them can be seen swarming across the surface, feeding on anything that is near their mandibles. The ones you see in such hordes are the males of the species. Male Mound Roaches only grow to the size of your thumb, staying at that size for the rest of their lives. The males make up most of their populations, as dozens of them can hatch from a single laying. The females are not as plentiful, but that is because of their impressive size! The ones I have seen have grown to the sizes of dogs! The large females dwarf the males, though the males have them beat by sheer numbers. The females primarily exist to lay eggs and spawn more brood. Since males live incredibly short lives, the female must churn out eggs constantly. They lay eggs pretty much every single day, releasing dozens of hungry larva each time! Though the Mound Roaches feed primarily on waste, they are opportunistic eaters who will devour anything that gets near them. Voracious in appetite, they will happily feed on fungus, plant matter, rotting matter and flesh. Though they can devour meat just as eagerly as fecal matter, they do not hunt. Instead, they merely wait for a meal to stumble into their feeding grounds and get bogged down by the filth. Ceiling dwellers who fall from their perches may survive the initial impact, but they must scramble out of the foul sea before they are devoured. When prey falls into their homes, the Mound Roaches swarm in an instant. The thrashing and flailing of the victim draws their attention, and they will come in droves. Sharp mandibles will slice through flesh, and a hungry horde can strip a full grown demon to the bone in just a few hours. Thankfully the victim won't live nearly that long! The one thing that is not consumed by the roaches is fresh bone. Bones are too tough for them to chew up, so they wait for other organisms to weaken it first. As the bone breaks down and decays, than they shall feast. Until then, Mound Roaches find these leftovers perfect for personal defense. Since the females are so few in numbers, they seek to protect themselves from predators. Building a mound of waste, the female shall perch herself on top, so that she can easily see everything around her. The pillar of waste is also great as an escape hatch, as she can dive into it to avoid the claws of a swooping predator. Adorning her mound will be bones of previous prey, which is waiting to be broken down. Until they rot, she shall use them as armor and deterrents, warding off predators with bony spikes and thick plates. These decorated mounds were once mistaken for a species of slime by surface dwellers a long time ago. Seeing a semi-liquid body with prey chunks sticking out of it, many assumed that they were related to the slimes. What further confused us was the fact that these mounds move! With the constant scrabbling of males, and the semi-solid state of fecal matter, the mounds of a female will slowly move its way around the area. The movements are quite subtle and slow, but with a sharp eye, you can see the columns slide about, as they are constantly forming and reforming. People didn't see the hiding female and assumed it was an actual slime! That is why you may see entries for the Ravenous Slime in certain ancient textbooks. It was a mistake by us silly surface dwellers! With their massive populations, Mound Roaches are a favorite food of many Underworld creatures. Predators who swoop from above or cling to the walls will pluck males from the muck and enjoy an endless buffet. Those who feed on them, though, should be careful! They could become food for the Mound Roaches instead if they fall in! Many have adapted ways to prey upon the roaches, who are practically infinite in their numbers. With that, the Mound Roaches sit as the foundation of the food web, bringing nutrients back into the cycle after it has been discarded.

While many inhabitants feed upon the roaches, the demons and shades who live below do not. In fact, they are often the ones who feed the roaches! By that I do not mean that the roaches eat them, oh no no. They can, if given the chance. A clumsy demon or shade who falls in their hordes will be readily devoured without hesitation. It is not a pleasant way to go, and some clans have taken advantage of that. To disgrace their fallen enemies or captured warriors, kingdoms would throw their prisoners into pools of Mound Roaches. Not exactly a dignified way to go. This method of execution has mostly vanished (though some unwanted folk may seemingly "disappear" from time to time), and the demons feed the roaches in a completely different way. After all, when you live in a city made of rock and stone, where does all the waste go? Yes indeed, demons and shades use the Mound Roaches as waste disposal.

Since dwellings are often stacked upon each other, personal latrines are not really a manageable thing. Instead, inhabitants dispose of their waste in specified pots. When these pots fill up, or when the scheduled emptying comes up, the inhabitant will take it to a "chute." "Chutes" are specially dug tunnels that are used to dispose of garbage and fecal matter. These small openings often lead downward, into a specially made cavern that is filled with Mound Roaches. Each chamber can have dozens of chutes leading into it, giving the Mound Roaches an endless rain of food! When cities are built, these chambers are the first to be made. No one wants to live in filth or catch diseases, so they make the "chutes" easily accessible and close by any major living areas. While most chutes are made solely for dumping chambers pots and throwing garbage out, some are turned into public latrines. These are usually found near marketplaces and public areas. They come in long rows, with many stalls being carved from the rock. Doors are fastened to these stalls, and inside is an elevated seat with a small hole that leads directly into a chute. If you were a demon or a shade, you would just park your tush on top and take care of business. The waste would fall away and that would be that! These stalls are quite convenient to have, though they aren't quite built for outsiders. The main thing is that demon and shade anatomy is greatly different from a dryads. I sure don't have legs that long! Also they don't do too much in sakes of decorating or personalizing. They do not have floor mats near the seats, which wouldn't be a problem if the ground wasn't solid rock. Really wears on the knees over time. Then again, how many times do you have a dryad visiting the Underworld? I guess I should bring my own mats if I find it so uncomfortable. The chutes are such a major staple of their homes and cities, that their name has cropped up in many different sayings. Doing a "chute run," is when you take your chamber pot out for dumping. Imps and young shades usually have "chute runs" on their chore list, something that they should perform every morning and night. The term "chute throat" is an insult for those who have bad breath, while "food for the chute" signifies worthlessness or that one is garbage. The word "chute" itself is synonymous for latrine or toilet. I have heard it dropped in casual conversation many times. "I gotta see a chute" is one I have heard a lot. "Time to run the chutes" is another. "I gotta take a chute," is not a common one, unless you are Valac. Heard that one a lot from him. You would think he would stop eating such big meals before excursions, but nope. I swear that by the time I get back to the surface, I am going to be saying that same phrase without thinking twice. Chlora Myron Dryad Natural Historian

#cockroach #roach #insect #dung #monster #creature

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radthursdays · 5 years

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#RadThursdays Roundup 05/02/2019

Part of an article in Interrupt 10, published in April 1970. "…Good technological solutions take time to develop. Otherwise they create side effects which may be worse than the original problem. DDT got rid of insects (for awhile until they developed a resistance). Now how do we get rid of DDT when almost all that was ever sprayed is still concentrating itself in the food chain? How do we get rid of the DDT in you and me? Phosphate based detergents (the 2nd generation detergents) solved the problem of biodegradability created by earlier types of detergents. But phosphate is a powerful nutrient for plant life. So now how do we keep it from mucking up the ecology of such rivers, lakes, and oceans as are still functioning? And how do we keep yesterday's dishwater from being tomorrow's drinking water? And what about the side effects of that marvelous solution to the transportation problem, the automobile? Is suburbia a solution to the housing problem? Maybe smog will be a solution to the population problem. So when the technologists announce the next great breakthrough, think twice. The solution may be worse than the problem." Source.

Issues

Lies, Damn Lies, and Abortion: "In the decades since Roe, a proliferation of restrictions has cast a long and intimidating state shadow over abortion care and its providers — and it works: There are now six states that have just a single abortion provider. In Texas, restrictions passed in 2013 swiftly closed nearly half the state’s clinics before they were struck down by the Supreme Court in 2016."

Selling Self-Defense: "A look at the history of women’s self-defense shows that complicated, conflicting ideas about race, gender, and vulnerability are embedded in the movement’s very DNA. According to Wendy Rouse, author of Her Own Hero: The Origins of the Women’s Self-Defense Movement, in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, when women first began to study boxing and jiu-jitsu for both practical and political purposes, white men justified the sports as a way for white women to protect themselves from men of color when they weren’t around."

A poem about Silicon Valley, assembled from Quora questions about Silicon Valley. Source. Why do so many startups fail? Why are all the hosts on CouchSurfing male? Are we going to be tweeting for the rest of our lives? Why do Silicon Valley billionaires choose average-looking wives? What makes a startup ecosystem thrive? What do people plan to do once they’re over 35? Is an income of $160K enough to survive? What kind of car does Mark Zuckerberg drive? Are the real estate prices in Palo Alto crazy? Do welfare programs make poor people lazy? What are some of the biggest lies ever told? How do I explain Bitcoin to a 6-year-old? Why is Powdered Alcohol not successful so far? How does UberX handle vomiting in the car? Is being worth $10 million considered ‘rich’? What can be causing my upper lip to twitch? Why has crowdfunding not worked for me? Is it worth pre-ordering a Tesla Model 3? How is Clinkle different from Venmo and Square? Can karma, sometimes, be unfair? Why are successful entrepreneurs stereotypically jerks? Which Silicon Valley company has the best intern perks? What looks easy until you actually try it? How did your excretions change under a full Soylent diet? What are alternatives to online dating? Is living in small apartments debilitating? Why don’t more entrepreneurs focus on solving world hunger? What do you regret not doing when you were younger?

Technology

Disabled people don’t need so many fancy new gadgets. We just need more ramps: "Stair-climbing wheelchairs are an excellent example of the overlapping problems with disability dongles; people with mobility impairments know that there’s a problem (stairs), and they’ve repeatedly articulated solutions. But those solutions are not new gadgets. The problem here isn’t that most wheelchair users find stairs challenging. Rather, it’s that most built environments rely heavily on stairs, and that while elevators and ramps both exist, many designers choose not to use them."

'It's not play if you're making money': how Instagram and YouTube disrupted child labor laws: "They open boxes, play with toys, pull pranks and make slime. They sing, they dance, and they remember their lines: 'Subscribe to my channel!' […] But while today’s child stars can achieve incredible fame and fortune without ever setting foot in a Hollywood studio, they may be missing out on one of the less glitzy features of working in the southern California-based entertainment industry: the strongest child labor laws for performers in the country."

Part of an article in Interrupt 13, published in December 1970. “We don’t have democracy in our workplaces. Rather, we are part of an alienating class structure, that we, by working, support and enforce. Quitting work is not the way to remove the structure. We must understand the nature of our work in order to change it. We don’t have democracy because we are part of a labor force that is told what to produce and how to produce it by a capitalist class. What’s wrong with capitalism? Take a look at the increasing abundance of consumer goods that give decreasing satisfaction and fulfill less and less human aspirations, emotions and needs. Look at the unsolved contradictions between the wasteful standard of living in the rich countries and the impoverished conditions in the rest of the world. Look at the international monetary problems, the current trend toward economic recession in the whole capitalist world, the repression of the working class (like the restrictions on free wage bargaining when Congress passes laws telling railway workers when they can strike and what they can earn). Look finally at the tremendous gap between what we could make of this world with the power that science and technology have given us and the destructive horrors of war to which automation is being applied.” Source.

The Right

Why Won’t Twitter Treat White Supremacy Like ISIS? Because It Would Mean Banning Some Republican Politicians Too: "At a Twitter all-hands meeting on March 22, an employee asked a blunt question: Twitter has largely eradicated Islamic State propaganda off its platform. Why can’t it do the same for white supremacist content?"

An Eye on ‘The Base’: Transatlantic Militant Fascists continue to interact: ‘The Base is a militant fascist network formed in July 2018. [...] The group has been called by it’s spokesperson “Roman Wolf” an “international fraternal network of survivalists” but content posted online tells a story of a militant white supremacist group that promote violence and aim to instigate racial conflict.’

Flipping the Switch: “Michael Hari’s story shows how our increasingly divisive, conspiracy-laden culture is pushing troubled people toward extremism and violence.”

Activism

Missing Piece Project: "The Missing Piece Project envisions a nationwide, coordinated, mass dedication of objects at the Vietnam Veterans Memorial of Washington DC (the Wall) by Vietnamese, Lao, Cambodian, and other communities still affected today by the legacy of the conflict in Southeast Asia, allowing these communities to reclaim their past experiences, history, and memories, on their own terms."

Direct Action Item

Do you enjoy making art, of any kind? Make some radical art and share it with us :)

If there’s something you’d like to see in next week’s #RT, please send us a message.

In solidarity!

What is direct action? Direct action means doing things yourself instead of petitioning authorities or relying on external institutions. It means taking matters into your own hands and not waiting to be empowered, because you are already powerful. A “direct action item” is a way to put your beliefs into practice every week.

#radthursdays

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newlyfaenesta · 7 years

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A Court of Princess Brides, post 4

Rhys: This will all soon be but a happy memory, because the High Lord of the Night Court’s ship Velaris is anchored at the far end. And I, as you know, am the High Lord of the Night Court.

Feyre: But how is that possible, since he's been ruling over twenty years and you only left me five years ago?

Rhys: I myself am often surprised at life's little quirks. You see, what I told you before about saying "please" was true. It intrigued the High Lord, as did my descriptions of your beauty. Finally, he decided something. He said, "All right, Rhysand, I need an heir, and I’ll consider you for tonight. I'll most likely kill you in the morning." Three years he said that. "Good night, Rhysand. Good work. Sleep well. I'll most likely kill you in the morning." It was a fine time for me. I was learning to fence, to fight, anything anyone would teach me. And then it happened.

Feyre: What? Go on.

Rhys: Well, the High Lord had grown so rich, he wanted to retire. So he took me to his Court of Nightmares and told me his secret: "I am not the High Lord of the Night Court," he said. "My name is Keir. I inherited this court from the real High Lord of the Night Court, just as you will inherit it from me. The real HIgh Lord has been dead for fifteen years." Then he explained the name was the important thing for inspiring the necessary fear. You see, no one would surrender to the Bastard Rhys. So I have been the High Lord ever since. Except, now that we're together, we can get married and I can name you the High Lady. Is everything clear to you?

[Feyre nods]

***

Feyre: We'll never succeed. We may as well die here.

Rhys: No, no. We have already succeeded. I mean, what are the three terrors of Under the Mountain? One, the Middengard Wyrm - no problem. There's a slithering sound preceding its appearance; we can avoid that. Two, the Weaver’s Cottage, which you were clever enough to discover what that looks like inside, so in the future we can avoid that too.

Feyre: Rhys, what about the B.O.U.S.'s?

Rhys: Bogges Of Unusual Size? I don't think they exist.

[Immediately, an B.O.U.S. attacks him]

***

Feyre: If we surrender and I return with you, will you promise not to hurt this man?

Tamlin:May I live a thousand years and never hunt again.

Feyre: He is a sailor on the ship Velaris. Promise to return him to his ship.

Tamlin: I swear it will be done. [aside to Hybern] Once we're out of sight, take him back to the Spring Court and throw him in the Pit of Despair.

Hybern: I swear it will be done.

Feyre: [to Rhys] I thought you were dead once and it almost destroyed me. I could not bear it if you died again, not when I could save you.

Hybern: [to Rhys] Come, sir, we must get you to your ship.

Rhys: We are men of action. Lies do not become us.

Hybern: Well spoken, sir. [Rhys notices Hybern's hand] What is it?

Rhys: You have six fingers on your right hand. Someone was looking for you.

[Hybern knocks Rhys cold]

***

Rhys: Where am I?

The Attor: [raspy voice] The Pit of Despair! Don't even think… [clears throat] ... don't even think about trying to escape. The chains are far too thick. Don't dream of being rescued, either; the only way in is secret. Only Tamlin, Hybern, and I know how to get in and out.

Rhys: So I'm here till I die?

The Attor: Until they kill you, yeah.

Rhys: Then why bother curing me?

The Attor: Well, Tamlin and Hybern always insist on everyone being healthy before they're broken.

Rhys: So it's to be torture?

The Attor: [nods enthusiastically]

Rhys: I can cope with torture.

The Attor: [shakes head enthusiastically]

Rhys: Don't believe me?

The Attor: You survived Under the Mountain, so you must be very brave, but no one withstands The Cauldron.

***

The Suriel: Boo. Boo. Boo.

Feyre: Why do you do this?

The Suriel: Because you had love in your hands, and you gave it up.

Feyre: But they would have killed Rhys if I hadn't done it.

The Suriel: Your mate lives. And you marry another. (turns to crowd) True Love saved her Under the Mountain, and she treated it like garbage. And that's what she is, the Queen of Refuse. So bow down to her if you want, bow to her. Bow to the Queen of Slime, the Queen of Filth, the Queen of Putrescence. Boo. Boo. Rubbish. Filth. Slime. Muck. Boo. Boo. Boo.

***

Tamlin: Then we will simply alert him. Beloved, are you certain he still wants you? After all, it was you who did the leaving when we were Under the Mountain. Not to mention that members of the Night Court are not known to be fae of their words.

Feyre: My Rhys will always come for me.

Tamlin: I suggest a deal. You write four copies of a letter. I'll send my four fastest ships, one in each direction. The High Lord of the Night Court is always close this time of the year. We'll run up the white flag and deliver your message. If Rhysand wants you, bless you both. If not, please consider me as an alternative to suicide.

#a court of princess brides #acotar #acomaf #acowar #crossover #the princess bride

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weracetogether · 6 years

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Adventures in SwimRunNC- Race Report (and more)

In April the 140.6 Patrick and I were set to race in October was cancelled. A few things came of this-- disappointment and opportunity. Sure we were no longer going to be racing across Delaware but little did we know what exploits were ahead of us. I went looking for something "fun" and "different". A friend had mentioned SwimRun events to us previously. A quick google search lead me to SwimRun NC. I don't recall which race we were driving home from as I sat in the passenger seat and inputted an application to the race.

Starting out

The TOP

All smiles and love

Unpacking at Home :)

#IFTTT #Blogger #Triathlete #Triathlon #WeRaceTogether

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