#geese fill me with such rage

[yochaiyoki]

👁️>👁️

Some Moi pixel art by 🍮 Mao!!

(🍮 Mao is going crazy over technology this is infuriating maddening insulting defilibrating investigating demoralizing etc etc no order)

#maomoiverse #pixel art #just a little man #full of rage #the fury of a thousand scorned geese fill me

[envieuu]

ENVIE.ㅤ   ⠀✿ㅤ   ⠀⸺ ㅤ  THE BATS, THE BIRDS, AND THE BEASTS

the birds and the beasts declared war against each other. no compromise was possible, and so they went at it tooth and claw. It is said the quarrel grew out of the persecution the race of Geese suffered at the teeth of the fox family.

FEATURED. envie ensemble

WARNINGS. several mentions of a sexually and emotionally abusive boyfriend—this boyfriend and his doing was weaponized as an attack toward the girlfriend on multiple occasions, mentions of infidelity, physical violence, fist fighting, cursing, just mean words throughout the whole thing, and if any of these topics are too triggering to read about feel free to click away and i’ll see you in the next piece !

WORD COUNT. 2.1k

Yana’s been on edge for awhile now. She’s always teetering off the handle, that's the norm for her. But it’s been worse as of late. She’s been waiting for a moment to snap. She has so much rage in her that started from love. She thinks that’s the worst part of all of this. She has so much love, she just doesn’t know where to put it. So it all turns into misplaced anger.

And be reminded that Yana’s been waiting for a moment to snap. She’s almost there. All she needs is a little push and consider her snapped.

“How are you and Hyunjae doing?” The question takes Yana aback. She freezes right as she’s going to grab for the box of cereal in the pantry.

“Excuse me?” Yana says.

“I was asking about you and Hyunjae. How are you two doing?” Jiali repeats, picking another almond from the small glass bowl in front of her.

Yana finally unfreezes, grabbing the box of banana flavored cereal. She turns around, now watching her as she carelessly chews on the almond. “Oh, I didn’t realize you were so interested in my love life.”

Jiali looks at the younger girl before turning her attention back to her book. She lets out an airy laugh, popping another two almonds into her mouth.

“I was just wondering. I mean, since you did kinda cheat on him, I was wondering if you guys were doing okay. It’s no big deal.”

Yana hates when people try to dismiss her. That’s one of her biggest pet peeves. It sends her to the edge. And another one of her pet peeves, is when she feels like someone’s trying to threaten her. That’s what sends her over the edge. If it’s anything she learned from living with her mother, it’s that if you feel like someone’s gonna attack you, you attack first. Yana lives by that. Maybe always being in fight mode isn’t a healthy mechanism, but it keeps her at bay.

She retrieves a bowl from the cabinet, sitting it on the counter.

“You’re right. It’s not a big deal, which is why I’m wondering why you care,” Yana replies with a sickeningly sweet smile on her face. “What I do is my own business, dear.”

“That sounded really bratty, didn’t it?” Jiali returns.

“Bratty?” Yana questions, her eyes turning sharp and pointed.

Jiali shrugs, another mocking giggle bubbling past her lips. “Yana, come on. I mean, you did fuck another girls man to make a point. I’m sure that qualifies as cheating and I don’t think cheating really helps a relationship, right?”

“I would fuck yours too if he wasn’t a creep,” counters Yana.

Silence falls over the two of them. Yana smirks to herself. She loves the sound of silence, because it means that she won. To her, there’s no better feeling than winning. She pours the yellow cereal into the ceramic bowl, the sound of the breakfast treats hitting the glass filling the kitchen. She gets a gallon of milk from the refrigerator and pours it in the bowl until her cereal is practically drenched. She thinks she should reward herself.

She knows the way to push Jiali’s buttons. It’s to talk about her boyfriend.

“I suppose you thought you got me with that one, didn’t you?” Jiali huffs.

Yana says nothing in reply. She just stands at the counter with a victorious grin wiped over her face. She scoops up a spoonful of cereal and stuffs it into her mouth.

“Well, you didn’t. In fact, you only proved a long-standing theory of my own.”

“And what is that bullshit theory?” Yana asks.

A moment passes before she responds.

“It’s that you’re just as insecure and fucking weird as I thought,” Jiali says, getting up from her seat at the table, grasping her almonds in one hand and her book in the other.

The smug grin is wiped clean off of Yana’s face, replaced with a nasty scowl. She follows the older girl into the living room.

“Insecure?” Yana incredulously scoffs. “Me? Insecure?”

“Yes, I know it’s hard to believe that a narcissistic bitch like you could be insecure but that’s all just a front to hide the fact that you are an insecure, shallow whore who’s way too afraid of what’s in her own ugly insides so she projects on everyone else.”

“So, yes. You. Insecure.”

Yana feels that piece in her hanging by a thread.

“Oh, I’m the one projecting because she’s scared? You’re the one who’s taking all of your anger out on me because you’re too fucking pussy to take it out on your psychotic boyfriend!” She yells pointedly, stepping closer to the taller girl.

Suddenly, the door to Kiyeon’s room opens, revealing her slightly disheveled figure, her pajamas hanging loosely off of her body. She rubs her eyes, attempting to wipe the sleep out of her eyes. “What is going on?” She groggily asks.

“Ask this freak,” Yana narrows her eyes.

“What the fuck are you talking about, Kannika?” Kiyeon questions.

“She’s talking about a bunch of nothing,” Jiali interrupts. “That’s all she does.”

“Or is it too much truth? You never want to hear the fucking truth,” Yana challenges, stepping closer.

The two stand there, staring the other down with eyes so fiery they could burn holes through any material. Neither of them had realized up until this moment, but both of them have so much anger inside of them that it’s practically swallowing them whole. They can feel it engulf their bones and degenerate the marrow.

Yana has so much love inside of her that she doesn’t know where to put it. So it all turns into anger. Jiali has so much hatred inside of her that she never puts it anywhere. So it all just turns into anger.

“Everyone tries to tell you the truth but you just tune it out. All you know how to do is listen to your boyfriend and do what he tells you to do. You let him feed you lies, you ignore very real girls who suffer at the hands of your boyfriend, and you do nothing about it,” Yana growls. “You’re just as bad as he is and you know it. That’s the real reason you ignore it.”

“Kannika!” Kiyeon shouts in protest.

Jiali can feel tears swell in her eyes, hot at her waterline but she pushes them back for as long as she possibly can. If she cries now she knows that she’ll never hear the end of it from the younger girl. So she stands there, letting all the rage bubble in her. She can feel her body get hot, her head beginning to pound—courtesy of the irritation bulging in the pit of her stomach. She’s not sure she’s ever been this angry. It’s physically painful. It scares her. She never wanted to get this angry. Ever.

She clenches her fist so tight that her nails dig into the skin of her palms and draw blood. She hears her heartbeat pounding in her ears but she turns away from Yana nonetheless.

“You can’t just run away now—” Yana begins, her hand reaching to her shoulder to aggressively turn Jiali back toward her. However, she’s briefly cut off when Jiali grabs the shorter girl by both arms and slings her against the wall with a thud.

“How dare you talk to me like that after all I’ve done for you?” She yells, the tears beginning to slip, her throat tightening as she speaks from the bottom of her heart. There’s power behind every word she spits out. “For you to even raise your dirty fucking tongue and talk crazy to me? Have you lost your fucking mind, you ungrateful bitch!”

Yana’s eyes widened, her heart dropping at the sudden impact. She’s never seen Jiali so serious. Looking into her eyes now, Yana sees something different. They’ve argued before but this time is ten times more intense than the others.

“Get your hands off of me!” Yana lets out an ear-piercing scream. She reaches for Jiali’s hair and tugs roughly, enough to make her stumble but Jiali doesn’t go down without slamming the younger girl into the marble floors.

“Stop! Are you guys fucking crazy?!” Kiyeon gasps, immediately going to the two girls pummeling each other on the floor. She attempts to break it up but the two are stubborn as they swing at each other, fists hitting faces and grabbing at whatever they can to hurt the other.

Another figure descends from a room, completely stunned by the phenomenon occurring in her home. Mijoo’s hands rush to her mouth in utter shock. “Oh, my God! What is going on?”

“Don’t just stand there, help me!” Kiyeon commands.

Mijoo finally awakens from her frozen state, rushing to their sides, trying to pull apart the girls with what little upper body strength she does have. After what seems like forever, they finally pull the two apart, Mijoo holding Yana in what could be considered a bear hug on one side of the room and Kiyeon keeping Jiali backed against a wall, her own body serving as a cage on the other side of the room.

“At some point you guys have to stop this stupid high school bullshit,” Kiyeon scolds, her voice an embodiment of tired agitation. “I don’t know what problem you two have but it’s going to have to reach a head now because it’s not fair to Mijoo and I to have to break up your shit every day.”

Mijoo stays silent—per usual. She never knows what to do in these situations, never being accustomed to conflict.

“She’s the one who’s always mad. Tell them the reason you’re really mad, unnie,” Yana barks, staring pointedly at the other girl, her lip already bleeding from the altercation.

“And you…you need to respect her. She does so much for this group. And she sure as hell does more for you than your mother ever has,” Kiyeon assures.

“Oh, you really wanna talk about fucked up mothers?” Yana scoffs. “And I’ll respect her when she finally wakes up and respects herself.”

She still never drops the patronizing tone and mocking smile and lilt in her eyes. It’s enough to make Jiali want to fight all over again, having to take a deep breath to keep her from pushing Kiyeon into the nearest glass table, jumping over that, and clawing her face even more than she already has.

“Well if you can’t find it in that ugly soul of yours to respect her then you can’t stay here,” Kiyeon says.

Yana incredulously laughs with the roll of her eyes. “So I have to leave but the creep still gets to come over? Right.”

Everyone is silent after she says that.

“You know what, that’s fine with me,” Yana says. “I’m safer when I’m not anywhere he’s allowed.”

“Actually,” Kiyeon looks at Jiali. “She’s right. I don’t think he should be allowed here anymore. It’s not safe for anyone who stays in the dorm. I honestly don’t want him anywhere near us or you, for that matter.”

Jiali clicks her tongue angrily, pushing the younger girl, making her stumble where she stands.

“This is bullshit!” She argues. “Because she’s a bitch I get punished? This is so—so unfair and you all know it. I never stop you guys from having company over.”

“Well, it’s not really the same…” Yana snarkily comments.

“Worry about being homeless, stupid cunt,” Jiali argues.

“I always have somewhere to stay.”

“Well while you run back to that spineless boyfriend of yours, try not to give him any diseases,” Jiali fumes.

“Slut shaming, how cute,” Yana retorts. “At least my boyfriend’s not a felon.”

Jiali grits her teeth, pushing Kiyeon once again, this time hard enough to create space between the two of them. She steps to the side, “I hope you rot in hell, dumbass.”

Yana says nothing, just standing there with a smirk on her face as she watches the older girl descend up the stairs. Mijoo finally lets her go. Kiyeon and Mijoo both turn to look at her with a frankly annoyed expression.

Kiyeon lets out a deep breath, turning back to the rest of the living room, which has almonds and cereal sprawled over the nice flooring. She places a stressed palm onto her forehead.

“It’s not even ten in the morning yet,” is all she says, standing in disbelief. She’s tired. That’s all she can say and feel right now. This whole situation isn’t even worth being angry over anymore. She’s seen this play out time and time again. She’s tired of waking up with a headache. She’s tired of having to play mediator. She’s tired of having to walk on eggshells around them no matter if she’s at work or at home. The screaming, the fighting, the crying—she’s just tired of it all.

She’s tired of being tired.

#ʚĭɞ ― CHAPTERS ˊˎ- #ʚĭɞ ― YANA ˊˎ- #ʚĭɞ ― JIALI ˊˎ- #fake idol community #fake idol group #fake kpop addition #fake kpop girl group #fake idol oc #fake kpop group #fake kpop idol #fake kpop oc #fictional idol community #fictional kpop oc #fictional idol group #fictional kpop idol #fictional idol company #idolverse #idol au #idol oc #fictional kpop community #fictional kpop company #kpop oc

[pastafossa]

I have, admittedly, been slacking on updates. Just got to read Jane and Matt try to deal with the true foreign menace (geese). Pretty sure I woke the neighborhood laughing

I wanted Matt and Jane to face geese at least once, because they are indeed the True Enemies Of Mankind. I have never met an animal more filled with rage in my life. People who have never faced off with one underestimate them but they are so fucking angry and their wings hurt and their mouths are horrible, THEY HAVE FUCKING TEETH ON THEIR TONGUE:

Fun fact, the occasional mention in TRT of Jane having to fight geese off on a back road with nothing but a backpack is in fact inspire by my own encounter with geese. I came around a corner with the family labrador, and stumbled upon two canadian geese who tried to attack me. My dog (the backpack in TRT) was quite noble and chased them off over the hill. Which was all well and good except they came back with all their buddies, which is promptly when me and Porthos turned and sprinted back down the road as we were chased by the honking feathered horde.

Matt would absolutely underestimate geese until he dealt with a flock. And you know what? He could handle a few. But not a flock. No one is prepared for a flock of angry Canadian geese. No one. But he goes down fighting for Jane, and that's what counts.

#ask response #the red thread #on matt and jane fending off geese #story of me and dog escaping geese is 100% true btw #i have been wary of them ever since

[munsonmuses]

Razors and Tongues (Prince Paul x Reader)

Synopsis: Paul, much to the detest of his mother, has still been struggling to find a spouse, much less one that could carry an heir. And Catherine was desperate to end the war with the Swede’s. Why not kill two birds with one stone? That’s where the reader comes in. You, being in Catherine’s good graces, at least, enough that she won’t harm you, and treats you with a gentle hand, she decides to use you to push the narrative she holds. Unfortunately, you’re a bit vicious and viper-like in tongue, towards anyone but her. And although horrendous, absolutely detestable, and manipulative to the core, Paul can’t detach himself from the idea of you. Pursuing you like a pathetic puppy

Warnings: Cursing, mild gore, lots of references to breasts, reader is a female/has female anatomy, smut (incredibly rough, bratty, a prince gets what he wants smut)

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

The sound of the gun firing echoed, cracking through the quiet autumn air. Paul muttering bitterly to himself as he reloaded carefully. Aiming at the helpless buck and firing, watching it go down with a desperate cry.

“No, no I don’t want to marry some Danish Dunce of a woman, I have no clue who she might be, and I know she’s some air headed idiot-“ he told Andrey, aiming once more as he searched the wood for another helpless animal to suffer the consequence of his rage. “Or worse, she falls in line, within my mothers gaggle of vicious, barb tongued geese…” he muttered bitterly as he pulled back to look at Andrey.

Andrey shrugged lightly, looking him over carefully as he hummed to himself. “Well, nobody said you had to love her, or even like her. You merely have to fuck her.” He said as Paul scoffed, fixing his coat.

“If she’s that desperate for an heir I could fuck a common whore, we don’t have to go through all this work-“ he muttered bitterly as he stood, carefully packing away the firearm and beginning the trek back to the palace. Bitterly swallowing his detest in favor of his country, and the duty he was required to uphold.

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

You stared up at a portrait of the young prince, carefully swallowing the sweet peach wine within your glass. Eyes tracing every feature on his painted face. Catherine scoffing lightly.

“My son is…detestable, in appearance, to say the least duckling, but, he’s not awful. If you can overlook the weak chin, short neck, and pathetically flat cheekbones…he’s got my eyes. He’s cunning, vicious in wit, he’s gunning for the throne-“ she took a heavy sip, that would be better described as a gulp.

“-and he’s a bit of…a character. He falls relatively easy if he sees you as palatable. I know, that you don’t necessarily match that description, but he needs a strong woman to keep him in line.” Catherine mused, earning a curt nod from you.

“Don’t worry, I promise you I can provide an heir, and a placated prince…” you assured, before taking a peer at yourself in a mirror. The heavy and deep green of the dress you wore contrasting with the white lace that decorated your throat. The waxy red pigment on your lips, still in tact after your nursing of your glass.

“I can give you exactly what you-“

The doors flew open, cutting through your statement as his muddied shoes traipsed along the tile of the room. Stopping harshly and turning to look at you with a soft sneer.

Catherine, ever the diplomat, carefully approached you and took your hands, leading you over to Paul who looked you over with eyes filled with venom and malice. He expected a calm and docile sheep, desperate to please to look back at him. Instead, met with the eyes of a viper. Desperate to strike but searching for the optimal point. And for once, he felt mildly challenged.

“Paul, dear…I’d like to introduce you to the crowned princess of Sweden. Before you get smart with me, consider the opportunities it would create for our nation…” she insisted as he scoffed lightly. “There’s a month, between you both, to see how things go.”

His portrait didn’t do him justice, his face was much softer, sweeter. A soft jawline, and plush pink lips. His eyes soft, a forced hardness behind them.

“A suitable whore, a detestable wife-“ he said calmly as he looked you over.

“And you’re a pathetic excuse for a husband-“you retorted sharply.

And his breath caught in his throat, his face felt hot. But he wasn’t feverish in the slightest. He was being challenged by you, and it was ridiculously alluring. Oh good god…was he falling?

As you sauntered off, following Catherine and her close circle, looking back over your shoulder at him.

His body rigid, eyes frozen on you as you winked lightly and left. He had to have you…

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

The following three weeks had been filled with stolen glances, teasing, patronizing the poor man. And he was coming undone at the seems, because good god, you were ravishing. He couldn’t keep it together.

Watching you socialize, how you would make ever so sure you were tilted far too forward, were eating precious pastries and allowing the creams inside to rest on your lips for seconds too long, and subsequently licking them off your plush lips. All while maintaining stiff and unrelenting eyecontact.

Teasing him...

Calling him...

Challenging him...

As you dismissed yourself from the table, unable to handle another second of cruel gossiping disguised under the notion of "keeping each other politically updated", you felt a pair of eyes trained on you. Looking up, the prince scowling down at you from one of the many windows and shoving the curtains shut.

Despite the disdain on his face, you knew you'd won. Carefully snatching a pastry off the tray and heading inside. Meandering what appeared to be aimlessly, up to his study, and allowing yourself inside. His back to you, but the grunt he let out signified him acknowledging your presence.

"I brought you something to eat, lord knows you need it. You lock yourself away up here..." you unceremoniously sat yourself upon his desk, and held the pastry out to him.

Though he was looking right past it.

at how your breasts spilled ever so slightly over the lace that lined the square collar of your peacock blue dress, one that matched the hue of his suit perfectly (especially since he'd had it made and sent, due to personal preference). How the whalebone of your corset cinched and pulled everything just the right way. How the gorgeous pendant that hung from your neck had made its home beautifully between your breasts.

At his refusal to take the pastry, you shoved it unceremoniously into your mouth as he scoffed loudly to himself.

"You disgust me, how you stuff your mouth, a-and you guffaw like a goose! You tease and poke a-and you pull my mind as-astray and I just-" he looked up to see if you were listening, and you weren't, unsurprisingly.

That was IT.

He yanked you towards him, his lips practically shoved onto yours as you dropped the final half of the pastry gracelessly onto the papers that had still lied upon his desk.

His kisses were feverish and rough, biting and sucking at your lower lip till it was practically puffy and raw. Pulling back, you went to look away, yet one of his hands roughly cupped your jaw.

"Aside from all those things I want you, you're to be my wife..." he said, eyes dark pools of want and unabashed need.

"Now, let's stuff that pretty mouth with something else-" before you could even get a thought out, he shoved you to your knees, his hands moving quick to rid himself of his trousers. His cock already desperately hard as he took your jaw in his hand once more, tugging gently. He was desperate, but he wasn't a monster. He'd allow you to put in your two cents, even if he couldn't outright ask.

His prayers were answered as he felt his breath catch in his throat, watching as your pretty lips left hot and warm kisses along his shaft, lightly cradling his balls as the kisses stopped at the head, taking him into your mouth.

His eyes fluttered as he slowly placed a hand on the back of your head, his fingers grasping desperately onto the ringlets upon your head, your jaw slackening as he pushed in, deeper and deeper till your nose was nestled against him, soft gags leaving you. The beautiful peach of your lipstick staining his cock as he groaned to himself, the warmth around him addictive.

"This..." he shuddered as he pulled back, "is going to be an incredible marriage..." he pushed all the way back in.

He set his steady pace, it apparent that he was somewhat unpracticed as he fucked into your throat. If this was how the stretch felt in your throat, how delicious would it feel in your sopping cunt. Moaning around him as you managed to work your hand under your mass of skirts and undergarments, cupping yourself and slowly working two fingers over your clit.

A harsh gag left you as he shoved deep, gently pinching your nose between his fingers as he looked at you. "No, you are an educated woman, not some common whore, although you look otherwise...you will wait, patiently." He ordered as you subserviently moved your hands up to his hips instead.

Allowing him to fuck your throat like a depraved animal, because lord knows he needs it...and he just looks oh so cute with his lip tugged between his teeth and lazily whimpering your name.

It wasn't much longer before he had you panting desperately as he came down your throat, pulling back slowly as it coated your lips between coughs.

"Good lord Paul, you have ridiculous stamina..." you commented, earning nothing more in reply than two strong hands lifting you, and throwing you upon the desk. Papers scattering beneath you.

"Paul what on earth are you-" He ripped a thick strip of your underskirt, shoving it into your mouth, scowling lightly. "You talk too much..." he chastised, making quick work of the rest of your skirts.

Eyes widening, he carefully pushed two fingers into your cunt. Already soaking wet at his previous ministrations. Carefully prodding, his own eyes as wide as yours.

Sure, he'd had sex before...but he'd never loved anyone he'd had sex with.

Oh shit he was in love

He looked up at you, slowly removing his fingers before disappearing into the crashing sea of cerulean and royal blue fabrics of your dress, slowly sitting yourself up...what on earth was he do-OH!

The feeling of soft kisses being placed along your slit, the warmth of his lips addictive as he stopped his kisses at your clit, taking it between his lips and suckling lazily while easing his fingers back in, slowly pumping them while working your bundle of nerves.

You gently squeezed his head between your plush thighs, your arousal soaking his hand and rolling onto his sleeves. Slowly pulling them back only to replace them with his tongue as you whined loudly. Immediately moving your gloved hand over his head through the fabric, holding his head in place.

Paul on the other hand, was eating like a man starved, sloppily sucking and lapping at your cunt, it running down his chin and pooling in a small puddle upon his desk as he laughed, sending vibrations through you. Earning a desperate moan from you, he only laughed harder.

And that was you undoing, crying out as you caught him like a vice between your thighs and came viciously hard. Panting as stars were the only thing you could see, vision clearing to reveal a both smug and wildly amused Paul.

"You talk too much, and moan not nearly enough..."

He roughly yanked you towards him once he was stood, grunting lightly as he carefully positioned himself and pushed in.

The both of you moaned in sync, the feeling of his cock sinking into you was heavenly. It was apparent he felt the same, by the twitching felt inside you. Neither of you were going to last long. with how well you'd been handling one another.

His hands took hold of your plush thighs, pressing your legs up beside your head, thrusts growing feverish and desperate as he panted and groaned loudly. The sounds of skin slapping, desperate moans, and panting for air, as Paul desperately rutted into your cunt.

Pulling the rag from your mouth, you tugged him to look at you.

"You are a bratty, brutish, villainous man...who has no use o his words...But you are also sweet, kind...a-and passionate! Y-You'll make a good husband!" You cried, pulling him down to kiss him.

That undid him, groaning into your mouth as hot ropes of cum filled you, earning a mewl from you as he let out a breathless chuckle.

"What a wonderful wife you'll be..."

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

Taglist: @punk-in-docs @mypoisonedvine

#prince paul #joseph quinn #prince paul x reader #shameless smut #joseph quinn x reader

[springvaletales]

((Session 41 is wrapped!))

Lex’s player was unable to attend tonight so we’re pushing her class-changing quest off to next session.

I have no big plans for tonight I plan to just drop a few prominent NPCs in the party’s way and let them do all the steering tonight.

Me, about a Player’s character from a paused campaign: “I miss Honk…” Bagelby/Honk’s Player: “Honk misses you too.”

Geese can only cry tears of rage or pride.

Bagelby’s Player: “Alright everybody…what’s the ultimate flavor of goose?” Sir Carl Jaeger’s Player: “Teriyaki.” Me: “Canadian.” Thiori’s Player: “Cool Ranch.”

“Would you still love someone if they turned into a worm?”

Bagelby’s Player actually has a very wholesome contingency plan for if his fiancee was turned into a worm that include building her a lovely little terrarium, hunting down the dark wizard that cursed her, forcing them to turn her back into a human, and then learning dark magic from said wizard to usurp their position.

Thiori’s Player: “If I turn into a worm, please give me to a bird.”

The party’s first stop was back to town, where they collected the twins Wayne and Zayne, who were…more than a little concerned to see them rock up covered in dirt, blood, and bruises, and lacking both several articles of clothing/extraneous body parts and an entire party member.

Thiori’s Player: “Okay, so…we can’t DISPROVE that we had a cannibal orgy…”

Cue a five minute distraction to discuss hot tubs with corn boilers and if the party could eat Thiori’s crab arms if necessary.

Me: “I want you guys to narrate your travel to and crossing of the Salancian/Kendaran border as if it’s an anime recap episode.”

Ena is drawing lines on her arms to track how far the purple is spreading up her limbs.

Bagelby, flashing back: “…and that time we started a coup…and that other time we started a coup…and that time we participated in a coup-“

Bagelby: “What were you guys’ favorite parts of our journey so far?” Thiori, having war flashbacks to fighting and killing his mutant ‘siblings’: “….I liked finding Erlenmyer.” *pats his horse* Bagelby: “My favorite parts were when I stole things! Like Maritza! And Lord Wiggles’ identity!”

Bagelby, breaking through the fourth wall: “There’s a robot-pirate island?!”

The party met Captain Asteroth at the checkpoint of the Salancian/Kendaran border, and he was not very happy to see Bagelby again, after our lovable rogue filled his office with eggs after their last meeting.

Realizing at the last second that Wayne and Zayne were basically shanghai-ed out of Blackstone City’s ruins and have no passports, Sir Carl Jaeger gave each of them one of his signet rings to get them through the checkpoint.

Bagelby’s Player: “Did you just adopt them?” Sir Carl Jaeger’s Player: “In a legal sense, yes.”

“One day your plot armor will not save you.”

“It takes a country to raise a bagel!” “Actually it takes some light boiling and some salt.”

The party re-entered Kendara in the Aubergine forest, and Ena immediately began foraging for the hallucinogenic Feywild slugs.

The only thing keeping the party moving with Ena and Bagelby high on slug slime is the horses’ instinct to follow the leader.

Thiori is making bear stew for dinner. No-one knows where he got the bear.

Ena failed her perception roll, so she didn’t notice Michael coming out of the woods to sit next to her for a good minute or two. Asahi watched it happen and said nothing.

Vashael and co. are camped out about a dozen feet away on the map, having been in the area to hunt down some of the cultists who had kidnapped them.

“Can you boil water if you’re casting Shape Water to hold it in the shape of a knife?”

“Use it against someone who doesn’t go to wizard school and you’ll cause some psychological damage.”

Both parties camped out together for the night, since they were so close already.

Bagelby made small talk with Naoka by telling her all about how they met her hero, Sebastian Winderwisp. Haaruma got jealous.

Michael asked Ena if she’d gotten his letter. Ena accused Velenna of deserving it for not telling the party all the details. Michael snapped back that he went out of his way to make sure people don’t learn exactly what the party had to drag out of his mother.

Bagelby and Michael did some good bonding over the fact that they both have and love their respective adoptive moms. Ena ate more slugs to cope.

Whenever Michael talks about his missing memories, his friends all pause to watch him.

Ena ate too many slugs and cried on Michael’s shoulder for a few hours before crying on Asahi and falling asleep.

“Horses are terrifying, and I’m thankful every day that they’re not real.” “I’ve got some bad news for you, buddy.”

The next morning, Thiori caught Vashael sparking u the fire again with his fire breath.

“He’s more useful as a lighter than as an adventurer.”

Both parties are heading back to Springvale, so they all saddled up and set out together - Bashur’s horse had extra space, so Sir Carl Jaeger, Wayne, and Zayne hitched a ride.

“You are over the maximum occupancy for this horse, but it’s okay because you’re only going a short distance.”

Springvale is getting ready for the New Moon Festival, and the market squares and surrounding streets are already lined with empty stalls and tables setting up for the party.

Some of the stalls are already active and are selling costumes and masks; Thiori bought a giant hat with a wide brim, and Bagelby stole an entire roguish outfit.

Thiori was given 20 sweetcoins (bread) with his purchase.

The party split up at the main square - Bagelby, Vashael, and Michael headed to Velenna’s house, Bashur went off to do his own errands, and Ena, Asahi, Thiori, and Sir Carl Jaeger & co. went to Bethany’s Tavern to secure lodging.

As soon as they entered the tavern, Bethany spotted Ena, and yanked them all into a vip booth with an enchanted soundproof curtain.

Lore drop: Ena is turning purple because her dragon ancestry has been activated by a sudden exposure to a great source of magic. The Taker would have been powerful enough, but he’s always careful with how much magic he exposes his children to, and when. A night with a dragon princess, however…~

Bethany confirmed that exposure to dragons can extend a mortal’s life, whether the dragon intends it to or not. It’s how she’s made it a thousand years in her prime without looking a day over 60.

Bethany told the group that the color change usually reflects the color of the dragon who donated the genetics (though mutations can occur) and sent them - to Ena’s horror - to the only other purple dragon she knew of….Velenna.

Thiori stayed behind in the tavern while Ena and Asahi trekked off to Velenna’s home, and tried to open the mysterious chained box he’d found in Skaadi’s temple.

The box is a very hungry and very frightened mimic, which Thiori tamed right there on the tavern floor with raw meet and scratches.

The chain around the box is enchanted to tighten when he box opens too far, and snaps it shut until it stops struggling.

Thiori took out his glaive and used it to break the chain around the box…while still on the tavern floor. He nearly hit several patrons and knocked a chandelier swinging.

Thiori was forcibly removed from the tavern.

He still has his reservation, but he must leave his glaive in the stables when he comes back.

Thiori now has a little mimic friend of his own. He has not named them yet.

Ena and Asahi found Bagelby outside Velenna’s house with Vashael’s horse Onward, working up the courage to go inside and ask Velenna to mentor him.

Ena told him what she had to tell Velenna, and told him to get his over with first before everything exploded.

Bagelby went inside, and found Michael making tea in the kitchen - Michael sent him out to the back garden for his mother, who was working on her tomatoes with Vashael’s help.

He asked Velenna to take him on as an apprentice, and she said yes, much to his surprise (he thought he would have to sell it harder).

With that out of the way so quickly, Bagelby then took out and showed Velenna the Heart of YAW, and told her about how Sebastian Winderwisp told them it was important.

He did not tell her about the ill-fated trip into Skaadi’s lost temple (yet).

Lore drop: The Heart of YAW is a power source for a Warforged doorman, built by a Warforged demigod, Pax Achilles, who was in turn built by Machine, mechanical daughter of Skaadi, and goddess of deceit, secrets, and innovation.

The Heart is a sort of GPS that lets the doorman keep track of the mystical traveling door to Pax Achilles legendary library, and without it, the doorman is stuck endlessly chasing the door, always one stop behind.

Returning the heart might grant the party access to this mystical library, and the knowledge therein.

Michael brought them a whole tray of tea instead of just a few cups, because he can see Ena still waiting outside with Asahi, Sir Carl Jaeger, and the twins.

When Velenna came to the door to see what all the hubbub was, Ena panicked, and cast Spirit Shroud.

She summoned seven spirits - four fire genasi (three related to her), and eyeless elf, a one-armed minotaur, and an Aasimar woman.

The Aasimar is someone from Michael’s past that he was close too, and even though he can’t remember her, he’s now reliving the trauma of her death.

Michael dropped the tea tray when the spirits were summoned, and all the cups shattered. Velenna’s tea set just can’t catch a break.

Velenna knows exactly what is going on with Ena.

#OOC #Quarantine D&D

[friedriceyeetzsche]

He stands in the middle of the parking lot, playing dumb, seemingly unaware that he is the source of my rage. I can tell by the subtleties in his sultry expression that he is proud of his vile deeds. He thinks himself protected, but laws are for men more cowardly than me. Today is the last day that I bow to the goose, and the relentless grip of my jerking arm will prove it.

#wildlife #bird #goose #rage #geese fill me with such rage #they know how much power they have over humans and they abuse it to the fullest extent #angery

[roseydeloom]

Playing Super Auto Pets and every time I decide to buy the swan it hisses and I have an instinctive reaction to hiss back and smack my computer. This swam is gonna make me break my screen one day

#the first time I bought it and it hissed I was so startled #then the second time it hisses I was filled with so much involuntary rage I saw red #swans and geese hissing automatically sends me into attack mode #super auto pets #steam game

[epicfangirl01]

The Origins of Goose! MC

I wanted to join the chaos that is @akuzondelivery 's Goose MC drawings. So here is more of my "bullshit fics".

4:26 PM

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

Levi, dashing into the library: Have you seen a goose??? This high, this big, white feathers, honks, and looks evil?

Satan, sighing and closing his book: Why do you need a goose?

Levi: Well......... I downloaded a new game called The Un-named Geese Game, but I kinda, accidentally ordered it through a fake Akuzon link.... And now the goose actually came out of the came to haunt us.......

Satan: How do you not recognize a link to Akuzon??? Everything you order comes from there.

Levi: It was a release that was on sale, okay?!? The game's price skyrocketed hours after release, and I couldn't buy it before Lucifer's mandatory RAD lecture.

Satan: Well, I haven't seen it.

Levi: Ugh!!!!!! You're no help at all!

4:52 PM

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

Asmo, coming home from Majolish: I can't BELIEVE I found so many great deals today! I'm going to try these outfits on for the rest of the night.

Asmo, opening his door and screams bloody murder: MY CLOTHES! MY BATH BOMBS! MY MIRROR!!! They're all destroyed!!!! How can I admire my beauty now?

Levi, hearing Asmo from down the hall: *slowly backs away*

5:18 PM

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

Beel: WHO LEFT THE FRIDGE OPEN AND PULLED EVERYTHING OUT?!?! All of the food spoiled!

Belphie: Beel, calm down. We'll buy mo-

Beel, calming down slightly, on the verge of exploding: Well at least I hid my blood grapes in the drawer........

Beel, finding the drawer empty: WHO ATE MY FUCKING GRAPES?!?!

Levi, stopping in the kitchen door, panicking: I-I don't know! We'll buy more! I still have a snack horde behind my games on the top book shelf, go ahead!

Beel, instantly calming down: Okay. Thanks, Levi!

Belphie: Just for pissing off Beel, I'm taking a nap in your tub.

5:20 PM

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

Mammon, smiling as he gives Goose MC a grape: Hey there, little one. Ya hungry?

MC, eating happily: Honk! Honk!

Mammon, grinning: Hey, I saw you pages from Satan's books before throwing them in Henry's tank. If ya can get Goldie, I'll give you more, got it?

MC: Honk?

Mammon, grabbing his phone and pointing to a picture of Goldie before opening Lucifer's door: Let's finish this mission.

5:23 PM

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

Lucifer, in his demon form: MAMMOOOOOOOOOOOOON!!!!

Mammon, begging for his life: It's not my fault!!! I came in to stop this goose from destroying the place, because I knew you would blame me for the burning records!

MC, filled with rage and pulls at Mammon's pocket: HONK HONK!!!!!

Lucifer: Really? Then why are there grapes in your pocket and why is Goldie in the fire?

Mammon: THE GOOSE FUCKED UP THE PLAN, OKAY???

5:47 PM

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

Lucifer, holding MC: Which one of you let this goose in?

Satan: Levi did it. It was one of his stupid games again.

MC, snuggling against Lucifer, recognizing a fellow sadist: Honk!

Levi: I'm sorry!!! It's not my fault the link looked real!

Lucifer: Well, since you caused this trouble, why don't we let our little friend here decide your punishment?

MC, squinting: Honk.

6:03 PM

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

Levi, sobbing: NOOOOOOO!!!! My limited edition 'My Brand New Game Turned Out to Be a Cursed Pirated Version, and Now a Demonic Goose From Hell is Ruining My Life' collector's figures!!!! Those were in mint conditionnnnnnnnnnn.

MC, having happily destroyed Levi's room and walking up to Lucifer: Honk!

Lucifer, filled with pride and amusement: Good goose. Let's introduce you to your new brother, Cerberus. I'm sure everyone will love your company.

MC: Honk.

#mya's works #mya's bullshit #this is vey dumb #why am i like this #obey me #leviathan obey me #obey me lucifer #mammon obey me #satan obey me #obey me asmo #obey me beel #belphie obey me #swd obey me #obey me shitpost #also #after being forced to name them #Levi called the goose main character #or mc #because you play as the goose #also this is supposed to be untitled goose game #in case you don't know

[oraganji]

IF ANYONE WANTS WRITING INSPO

ok here’s the thing. I’m way too lazy and unmotivated to write a whole series, I am in awe of anyone who can actually do that or has done it. But in the spirit of ✨ hypocrisy✨ , of course I love reading them, and thinking about ideas for some series that will never actually come to fruition. So, for all the ACOTAR writers out there, I have a way-too-long idea for an Azriel x reader that I want to read as a series, or even like a couple of snippets of writing. Here it is:

Ok, so our (preferably female bc it’s my request but I’m not trying to disclude people here it’s just my preference) MC (I like the name Kora/Cora, or Arya, whatever, but y’know, since I’m not writing this, it’s not exactly my decision to make, it could just be Y/N, that’s fine too). Anyways, she’s half-seraphim, from Cretea, and is the commander of the seraphim/Cretea army. Now, here’s where the pick your story begins. I was thinking that she could be Drakon’s sister or something, to make her a princess, even though she only acts like a commander (I love nicknames that have a meaning. So like if Azriel calls the reader angel, it’s because of her white seraphim wings, and if he calls her princess, it’s because she actually is one). So she can either be his sister, or just the commander. She was old enough to have fought in that big war that happened with Miryam and stuff about the humans or whatever. IMPORTANT PART OF THIS: MC has water and ice powers, but to a massive scale. Like she can raise ocean tides, create snow/hailstorms, all that good stuff. I was thinking she could be called a Tidemaker, like in the Grishaverse, but you could totally change around the name. That’s the base of her character. Other than what I described, free reign to whoever is crazy enough to read/write this.

So now, I think of this as a slight (major) rewrite. This takes place right after Feyre makes it back home from enemy Tamlin. So, Hybern’s armies attack Createa for some UnKnOwN reason. Maybe MC’s dad/parental figure dies in the battle, and MC is filled with grief and rage. MC fights against them until she’s bloody and battered, using the ocean and sky as her weapons. Cretea is utterly destroyed, and she tries flying to a safe place. She had met Rhysand, Cassian, and our boy Azriel before during that Great War, because she was a commander, and the Night Court was allied with Cretea at the time. She remembers this, and tries to fly all the way to Velaris. She just makes it before collapsing/passing out, and Azriel’s shadows bring him to her.

Now, our boy is shocked because he actually used to have a little crush on MC the war so many decades ago. He sees her about to die and starts to ✨ panic✨ , obviously. So, I’m thinking he tells his shadows to find Madja, and busts into the House of Wind or something, and like alerts everyone by just saying “it’s Kora/Arya/MC”. So blah blah blah, cute Azriel taking care of MC moments, she tells them what she remembers about being attacked, etc. ALSO, i think it would be SO GREAT if Cassian and Rhysand called her Goose, instead of dove, or one of those other cheesy nicknames. Geese still have white wings, so it kinda fits. I just think it would be kinda funny if the first time they were meeting to discuss war strategy, MC showed off all of her powers, and established herself as a powerful, bad b****h, and these idiots call her a goose. AnYwAyS, time skip to the meeting with the high lords cause I don’t think things through. MC comes in later than our night court buddies because she “likes to make an entrance”, and walks in there with like a crown of gold laurels (i like that as a crown idea), and like a sage green dress or something (GREEN AND GOLD IS SO PRETTY), and is all like “hello ladies! and boys. What did I miss?” after not being there for like 200 years. Everyone is shocked, and she has a little spat with Beron, where she’s like “You’re just itching to play, huh Beron? Well, I’ll warn you, fire doesn’t tend to thrive with someone like me *smirk*.” I’M DYING. And meanwhile Azriel’s *mini* crush is slowly developing even more. So after that idc what happens, BUT. I think it would be great if Cassian made MC a general or something to help him out in the war with Hybern. Then, when she goes to leave after the war, to rebuild Cretea, and Rhys and Cass ask her to stay, she give a condition, which is that she wants to train the Illyrian girls. And she would leave after she feels like that initiative is set in place. So once she sees that females are being trained, she leaves. Later, Cass invites her for winter solstice very last minute, so she comes with one gift, for our special somene, AZZY BOY!. And it’s a moonflower in an ice sphere, cause headcannon: Azriel likes moonflowers, and so does MC. One day they were walking together or flying together, and she saw some, and pointed them out. Then Azriel plucked one and TUCKED IT IN HER HAIR OMG GET ME SOMEONE LIKE AZRIEL. And he’s like amazed that she remembered and saved the flower. Crush level rising. But at the same time, Elain seems interested in him, which MC can see, and thinks that Az likes Elain, so she goes back to Cretea cause she a little bit jelly.

I’m not a romance writer, so I was just thinking that once Cretea is close to rebuilt, MC invites everyone to come visit, and is taking a stroll with Azriel. She sees moonflowers again, and this time she plucks one and puts it in his hair, and goes “Damn. I bet I didn’t look this good when that thing was in my hair.” And then Azriel mutters under his breath, “you did. you looked ethereal. like an angel.” but MC kinda hears a little bit of it, so she gives Azriel a little kiss on his jaw, cause she can’t reach his cheek (THE HEIGHT DIFFERENCE I’M SCREAMING) and says “I heard that Az. I think you look ethereal too.” He’s one blushy boy after this. omg why am I like this. But, plot twist, Elain saw this whole interaction go down and gets PISSED. Meanwhile, MC drags Azriel around, while he trails behind her like an awestruck puppy. She finds a starfruit tree (which I’m making native to Cretea, like it’s a rare thing elsewhere) and gets some seeds from them from Elain, saying that it would be good for her garden. And Azriel just thinks about how thoughtful she is, even to people she doesn’t necessarily like. They get back, and Elain is complaining about how Azriel chose MC over her to Nesta , who I think would be besties with MC. MC walks into the room and hears. Elain realizes this and tries to insult/yell at MC. But MC just had a sad smile and goes, “I brought you some starfruit seeds, Elain. They’re only native to Cretea, and I thought it might be good for your garden. Good night Elain.” OK so this is why I think it would be good if MC was Drakon’s sister and a princess. She knows she’s a princess, but she really only considers herself to be a commander. She’s debating going back to Cretea, or staying, and she tells Azriel that she’s prob gonna leave soon. And our bat boy is all ✨ panik✨  when he hears this. He says “But I wa - everyone wants you to stay”. MC smirks and goes “what were going to say Az. They’re like really close together now, so Az leans down and gives her a gentle kiss and goes, “I want you stay”. MC is stunned for a moment, and looking dazed, goes “well then I guess I’m staying.”AHHHHHHHHH. She can prob be a general under Cass.

OK SO I DO HAVE AN IDEA FOR MORE WITH OUR ANGEL AND DEVIL. Where they discover the mating bond, there’s a big threat on Cretea, MC is a bad b***h as always, and protective Azriel makes several appearences.

Y’all can make up some situations after this as well, or if you want, which I don’t know why you would, my disorganized mess of a brain can write more about the thing above.

OMG THIS WAS WAY TOO LONG. Plz tell me if u guys liked this, or are actually gonna write this crap. And let me know is you have questions! Have a nice day lovelies!

#azriel x reader #Azriel #azriel imagine #acotar x reader #azriel acotar #reader insert #fic inspiration

[drlauralwalsh]

You and Your Grieving Parts

Do you ever think about your...parts?  No, not those parts, you mischievous little spark plug!  I mean inside your mind - the parts that get weird ideas, warn against danger, are mean to you, and tell you to engage in late-night food rituals.  That last part might just be me.  Seriously though, I’ve been doing some research into the parts of my mind. The idea that our minds have “parts” is not a new idea. Like right now, a part of me wants to keep writing to you and another part just wants to nap. Oh the drama inside! There is one theory that explains this and it has intrigued me since grad school: Internal Family Systems.

INTERNAL FAMILY SYSTEMS (IFS) THEORY

The IFS theory believes that the mind is made up of a number of sub-personalities or parts, each with their own set of beliefs, opinions, and responses, and that interact with each other.  At the core is the Self, which has the ability to lead the parts but isn’t always up to the task.  No single part is bad but like an orchestra, the parts can be in harmony or honk cacophonously like a flock of agitated geese.

Along with the core Self, IFS sorts the other parts into categories by function: Managers, Firefighters, and Exiles.  Managers and Firefighters protect you from feeling the pain of the Exile parts.  They have the same goals but use different strategies.  Managers constrict and hold you back while Firefighters automatically react and let it rip.

MANAGERS

Manager parts proactively run the day to day operations of the system and are considered the most “acceptable” parts because they say very adult things and sound most like the core Self.  They maintain balance within you through control.  Managers parts are perfectionist, judgmental, self critical or people pleasing.  They want to prevent humiliation and abandonment by keeping you busy, criticizing what you do, worrying, sabotaging connections, and generally being a control freak.  They strongly believe in self sufficiency and are generally relentless, exacting, chastising and sometimes, anxious and depressed.  They’re really good at giving you a false sense of security by telling you it’s doing it so you’ll look good to others.  A typical Manager thought is, “You really should stop bothering people with your sob story.”

FIREFIGHTERS

Firefighters are your first responders.  They automatically fly out the door to rescue you when something hits too close to home.  They extinguish the fire of pain by smothering or creating a diversion.  They attack “enemies” and get defensive in an effort to control or suffocate emotions.  These are the parts that have anger issues, spending too much money, drink too much or use drugs, get obsessive or suicidal, self harm, or dissociate.  They like to eat too much. binge watch TV and endlessly play video games for hours.  They don’t give a crap about the goody-goody manager parts.  Those weenies don’t know what it’s like to charge heroically into danger.  Firefighters are really good at distracting you from upsetting, painful or overwhelming feelings.  A typical Firefighter part thinks it’s better to rage than to show vulnerability - even in the privacy of your own head.

EXILES

As a psychologist, I get to see other people’s Exile parts more than the average person.  I’ve developed such a knack for it that the Managers and Firefighters appear almost transparent.  When I’m interacting with someone who’s leading with one of those parts, I can see through to the Exile it’s protecting.  Just wish I could more reliably turn that super power on myself!  Exiles are the younger parts that hold pain from the past.  You compartmentalize and isolate them from the rest of the system for their safety and stability in the system.  Because of their vulnerability, they also seem kind of dangerous.  They’re the parts of you that are scared of being abandoned, get intimidated, experienced trauma, and feel a lot of shame.  This is where the Big Four live - not good enough, too much, if you really knew me, and everyone leaves.

Exiles are desperate to tell their story but Managers pessimistically believe your pain is a burden to others. Firefighters flat out refuse to put you in danger of being hurt again.  If a sad, little kid part of you revealed a disgusting longing for an authority figure’s approval during a job interview, a Firefighter part might change the subject while a Manager sabotages the rest of the meeting.  Neo-exiles are the parts we hide within close relationships.  Imagine a romantic partner or friend that gives you attention when you’re doing something nice but ignores your bids for reassurance.  You’ll shut down the needy part of you to maintain the relationship. The message from that person you tell yourself is that only your good parts are acceptable.  

THE CORE SELF

So far, we’ve been describing the orchestra - or if you’d prefer, the various departments of your business or the governmental branches of your personal nation.  Let’s switch to the head of it all - the conductor, the CEO, the President, YOU.  In the center of all of this is your core Self.  It’s a beautiful place to be.  It doesn’t need work because it’s already perfect.  It spontaneously emerges when the air is clear and all is safe.  It is the natural essence of who you are and is sheltered from damage or destruction by function of your parts.  

You know you’re in your grounded center when you feel authentically chill.  Some theories describe the Self by the 8 C’s:

Confident

Courageous

Creative

Clarity

Compassion

Calm

Curious

Connected

I know I’m in that place when nothing said or done can move me off my square.  For instance, I am confident about my intelligence.  If some bozo tried to lecture me about how I’m really a dummy, I might get a little irritated but he’s not going to shake my confidence.  Now if the same bozo flicked some booger comment about something more vulnerable, that might temporarily knock me off-center.  Note: my own managers and firefighters have censored me from revealing said vulnerability for my own protection.

WORST CASE SCENARIO

Your personal configuration and manifestation of parts was constructed to deal with your worst case scenario to date.  Since we have different histories and experiences, each set of parts is like a fingerprint of the individual.  While I’m currently working hard to lead with my core Self, recent events (i.e. the death of my wife) have thrown the system into a reorg process.  All previous worst case scenarios were blown out of the water and my mind’s company is frantically looking for new hires in two main departments.  I thought I’d give you a peek into the frenetic remodeling of my inner Self as the parts run around with their pants on fire.

Exile: [Can’t speak and just cries endlessly into the void.]

Firefighter: “Oh shit!  Their wedding song started playing overhead at the grocery store!”

Manager: “It’s fine.  Everything is fine. Close your ears, stop being a baby and don’t think about it.”

Exile: “But I can’t stop thinking!” [Stops responding as snot clogs up nose.]

Firefighter: “Leave the store!  Leave your groceries where you are!”

Exile: [Blows nose, hides in deserted health food aisle.]

Manager: “Someone could have seen you out there.  Now go check out and remember to smile at the clerk.”

Firefighter: “I think it’s a great time to call it a day and watch more episodes of Designing Women.”

These parts are obviously clueless as to what to do with this newly emerged and devastatingly sad grief Exile.  She’s a little girl part of me that either pitifully weeps or gets hulk-smash rageful.  She isn’t a new part; she’s come out of semi-retirement to hold my overwhelming grief.  She believes that everyone will leave her and she’s left on her own to figure everything out.   She thinks things like, “Why don’t people notice how sad I am???” She doesn’t know a Firefighter distracts her from feeling with a stupid magic trick while a Manager runs around pulling the curtains around her so no one sees.  All the parts are trying to help but the animals are loose at the circus.  Though the Exile doesn’t know it, she’s waiting for my core Self to step in and corral the monkeys.  My Self knows what to do if I can only find and access it.  Stepping from the shadows, my centered Self brings a soothing presence that stops the commotion and quiets the protectors.  Here’s an example:

Manager: “You should shower and do a little cleaning.  This place is a mess!”

Firefighter: “Honestly, I think eating a little cookie butter will make things better.”

Exile: “[Sobbing] Things are never going to get better!  I don’t want them to get better!”

Firefighter: “I know!  Let’s listen to Rage Against the Machine really loud in the kitchen!”

Manager: “Fine, don’t shower even though you stink.  Don’t change clothes either.  It’s not like anyone sees you anyway.”

Firefighter: “Uhhh, isn’t that friend coming over tonight?”

Manager: “Oh yeah!  He’ll certainly notice those dishes that have been in the sink for 3 days.  Just sayin’...”

Exile: “Oh no!  [Hangs head in shame] People will find out how horribly disgusting I am because I haven’t run the dishwasher or broken down and recycled the Amazon boxes.”

Firefighter: “Just throw everything in the backyard!!!”

Manager: “Stack up all the piles neatly so it looks like you wanted them there on purpose.”

SELF: “Alright, let’s think about this.  What if you broke down the boxes right now, put them outside, rinse the dishes, and filled the dishwasher all while listening to Rage Against the Machine?”

Manager: “That’s not enough but okay, fine.”

Firefighter: “Great ideas as always.  I’m going to rest up for the next emergency.”

Exile: “Thank you for listening to me.  I feel a little better and I think we can do this.”

SELF: “Great. Afterwards, everyone can take a break and zone out in front of the TV.  Now put on that music and let’s get to work.”

WHO’S IN CHARGE?

As long as there’s no one in charge, your mind is a confusing and chaotic miasma of competing needs.  Ideally, the Self steps up and takes over negotiation between the parts and directs the next steps.  However, sometimes a part fills in the leadership role.  You know you’re leading with a Manager when you feel buttoned up, intellectually sharp and emotionally numbed out.  Leading with a Firefighter part feels like a continual state of irritability and agitation and keeps you ‘at the ready’ to react to danger.  Exiles are rarely in charge because they’re really bad at it.  They collapse the system and insist on activities like staying in bed all day.

WORKING WITH YOUR SYSTEM

As with most life problems, the first step is awareness. You’ve got to get to know your parts - their personalities, beliefs, and functions - before trying to intervene in their conflicts. Like I said before, there are no bad parts - just competing beliefs and strategies. A given part feels strongly that it’s right, sees it how it really is and knows the truth. Every thought or feeling originating from a part is trying to help you out, even if it doesn’t seem that way. The part of me that says no one wants to be around me is actually trying to protect me from rejection and abandonment. Unchallenged, that part will keep me from connecting to supportive people.

OBSERVING AND IDENTIFYING PARTS

It may be difficult to put your finger on and capture a particular part.  When you’re ready, there’s a few ways to access them.  Start by being curious and non-judgmental.  Think of your centered self as just a researcher interested in data collection.  Reassure yourself that nothing has to change as you’re presently in observation mode.  

Take your emotional temperature by asking yourself how you feel right now.  Ask to see what emotions are already present and how or where your body feels with that emotion.  Observe those messages that are on repeat in your mind.  Alternatively, you can access an upsetting memory from the past and examine it.  Ask yourself, what exactly was upsetting about what happened?  Did you feel afraid, sad, anxious, angry or something else?  How did you react and what did you do?  Did you rage, freeze, numb, avoid, or try to smooth it over?  These questions will reveal clues to what was exiled and what managers and/or firefighters protected you.  If at any time your brain says, “I don’t know,” consider that another protector part and explore accordingly.

STAYING CENTERED

Once you’ve got a handful of observations, pick out one voice and interview it.  More than likely, you’ll be talking to a protector - probably a manager.  Getting it talking by asking what it believes and it’s job in the system.  Ask how old it is and what it looks like.  A voice that says. “This isn’t fair,” may believe you get dumped on more than most and thinks the job is to  protest on your behalf.  It may show up as a finger wagging old man who suggests that something must be wrong with you because this keeps happening.  What’s protective about this voice?  What kind of Exile is it defending?  Be gentle with digging down to the Exiled little kid part underneath.  Kids are delicate and need protecting.  If you find yourself continuing to have strong emotions or becoming reactive, you’ve likely run into another manager or firefighter.  Interview and explore this part before moving deeper.  We can’t access, validate and utilize the burdened exiles without honoring how the system set itself up to protect us.

Once you’re working with a particular part, another angle is to check back in with your calm and centered Self.  What do you understand about the part?  What do you think is going on?  Can you find empathy and appreciation for the part?  Even our nastiest parts work really hard on our behalf.  A critical voice is mean but its heart is in the right place.  An obsessive or addictive part is trying to soothe the system in the best and only ways it knows so far.

TRUSTING RELATIONSHIPS

Getting to know your parts is the process of creating trusting relationships between them and the Self.  This is the next step in the process of converting your protectors and split-off exiles into your allies.  Think about how trust is built with other people: consistent interactions, listening to and honoring what’s said, believing their words are important - even when you don’t understand.  That’s exactly how we build rapport with the different parts of ourselves.  It may be scary or unpleasant to get close to your inner critic or the tightly-wound explosive rage but it’s a vital step.  Like a good CEO or President, once your core Self begins to get everyone on board, it’s easier to know what to do when life throws you the next curveball.

I’ve got a story for you from back when my wife was still alive.  I left to go grocery shopping but stopped in at the craft store to shop for just myself.   This nagging little voice kept popping up but I successfully shoved it back down at the craft store.   Entering the grocery store a short time later, I could no longer ignore a little girl voice on repeat: “She’s going to be mad at you!” Sighing, I got centered and engaged it.  Here’s how the conversation went:

Little Girl: “She’s going to be mad at you!”

SELF: “Okay, well, we can handle that.  Why will she be mad at me?”

Little Girl: “Because you took too much time at the craft store.”

SELF: “Why is that a big deal to you?  What are you feeling?”

Little Girl: “I’m worried she’ll be mad and call you selfish because you took time for yourself.”

SELF: “Okay, well if that happens, I’ll take care of it.  You don’t have to explain it to her.  I don’t think she’ll actually be mad but if she is, I’ll be in charge.  How does that sound?”

Little Girl: “I’m still worried but I’ll try it your way.”

SELF: “Great. Thank you for trusting me. No matter what, it will be okay.”

This is the actual transcription of me engaging with a worried part.  For the record, it’s not grounded in current reality.  Naturally, Patty would be concerned if I hadn’t returned from shopping if it had been a few hours but she wouldn’t be mad.  I already had a relationship with this part - the Little Girl.  She’s about 5 or 6 and feels too small and powerless to change things in the world.  She’s used to being  dismissed and pulls at my sleeve to warn me about all the monsters lurking in the shadows.  She’s protected by another part - my rebellious teenager.  If I’m not gentle with the Little Girl, the Rebel leaps to her defense and commandeer the entire system.  The Rebel says things like, “Oh no, you fucking didn’t just do that!  I’ll show you!” and promptly turns off all inhibition and motivation and steers us back to the craft store to buy $100 worth of crap.  I’ve learned my lesson - listen to and trust the Little Girl, or else it’ll cost me.

YOUR PARTS IN GRIEF

I’m still getting to know and lead the parts of me as they grieve.  As with outside life, my internal life was thrown into disarray after Patty died.  I had all the parts nicely organized, productive, and had good working relationships with all.  Death took my puny little shoebox diorama on the inside of my mind and… shook it up really hard.   I was so proud of my hand painted little figurines, all precisely glued in their rightful places.  A manager most assuredly came up with that idea.  Now, there’s a part of me that just wants to toss the whole thing and another part that’s picking up each piece, crying over its brokenness.  

All I can do is be patient with myself for now as I sort through the pieces in the shoebox.  I tried throwing it out but it just reappeared.  I’m working on getting the lay of the land.  I’m doing my best to accept and soothe the broken parts - even as they overreact, judge me for not keeping things cleaner, numb out with cookie butter, and cry at the grocery store.  We are trudging down the road right now but when I get to know everyone again, I’ll call a meeting and figure out what’s next.

#grief #parts #Internal Family Systems #mind

[lu-undy]

Chapter 83 - SBT

Here it is!

"The tea's the same…" 

Mundy's fingers were still shaking on the tea cup. Caroline gave a short chuckle. 

"Of course it is. Your father likes it as much as he hates to change his habits, eh, Mike?" 

"Guess so." Mike answered. 

"So tell me…" Mundy frowned. "Were you just… here, all these years?"

"Yeah, we were." Mike answered. 

"How did you survive?" Mundy put the tea cup back on the coffee table. "Why didn't you say anythin'? How did you find me?"

Mike sighed. 

"Tell him, Mike." Caroline pushed him. 

"Right…" Mike scratched his almost bald head. "All the answers to your questions are the same, it's thanks to Maurice. Remember Maurice, the beggar?"

"Yeah…?" Mundy raised a surprised eyebrow. 

"Well, he got us out of trouble, your mum and I, before it was too late and just in time." 

"How? And hold on, I've been working with him last year, he didn't say anything!" Mundy burst out. 

"Calm down, Micky, listen to your dad." 

Mundy calmed his voice but didn't manage to calm his racing heart and breath. So Maurice knew in all that time and he said nothing?!

"Well, here's what happened. That day, when those thugs set everything on fire, your mum and I quickly realised there wasn't much we could do or save. We tried to make it out and we did but not without a fight. I grabbed the rifle that we had and shot in the air, trying to scare whoever was burning everythin' up. It did the trick for a few seconds that were barely enough for us to run and hide reasonably out of sight, in the bush." 

Mundy drank his father's words like gospel while his mother held his hand to calm his trembling fingers.

"We watched everything we had just burn and fall. Your mother here cried every tear in her body. We felt terrible for the chickens and geese, and we hoped they managed to run away even though we knew there wasn't much room for an escape for them." Mike paused to catch his breath. "Your mum and I stayed low in the bush, waiting for it to pass and to finally come out of hiding but before we did, a young man found us. God forgive me, I almost shot him. He was one of Maurice's."

"How did he end up there?" Mundy asked.

"Turns out Maurice was watchin' over us."

"Why?" 

"Cause we were good people to him. He was just keepin' an eye on us and we never knew but God, did it save our lives. The young guy stayed with us and dragged us away to safety, in an old 4x4. He apparently had a shed in the bush. He drove us to town and hid us away for a while, in an old, abandoned house. Your mum and I stayed there for a while, bein’ fed with other poor souls. Your mum helped the kids, I repaired the odd broken thing. We only survived thanks to Maurice.”

“How did you end up in this house?” Mundy asked.

“The problem was the money. See, cause we were officially declared… dead, I stopped receivin’ my pension. Couldn’t get access to any money and whatever little amount of savings we had. But again, somehow Maurice sorted it out and put us again to safety in this house. We changed names and hid here.”

"Hold on," Mundy frowned. "You knew I was alive, right?"

"Yeah, I mean, you were off for a contract and not with us. Unless the thugs had somethin' against us personally, they wouldn't go after you." Mike answered. 

"And we asked Maurice, he said you were fine." Caroline added. 

"Why didn't you or him tell me?!" Mundy exclaimed. "D'you know what it's been like after you died? D'you have any idea what I've gone through without you?!" He roared.

"Micky, sweetie…" Caroline put his cup of tea away and lowered her head. 

"After a few days with Maurice, he discovered that the reason why the house and farm were burnt was because the blokes sending us letters relentlessly to get us out and drill for oil had gone impatient. I wanted to report everything but Maurice said that if that bloke was able to burn property and decent folks for it without fear, chances are regular police couldn't do anything against him. Apparently, he'd heard of the guy, he'd robbed a chain of banks in France a few months before and no one managed to catch him!" 

Mundy remembered Lucien telling him that Marie and Jeremy got killed because some robbers were being chased by the police. Yeah, Duchemin was in France, robbed a few banks and flew to Oz where he started digging for oil. 

"But why not tell me?!" 

"Because that would give us away!" Mike answered. "If we're alive, chances are, we'd try and claim our property back and they'd never stop chasing us!"

"But… But… I'd have hidden with you! I'd have helped you out! I'd have…!"

"Micky, we feared too much for our lives." Caroline added. "We dressed and lived like beggars to be able to survive, and it worked, while Maurice tried to sort out our money. God only knows how he did it but bless his soul."

"Enough about Maurice! I could have done that if you had just told me!" Mundy stood off of the sofa and started pacing the room to calm the rage boiling in him. "I could have helped! I'm your bloody son, a grown up and able man, aren't I?!" 

Caroline shook her head while still lowered. 

"Son," Mike stood up. "Your mum and I wanted to protect ourselves and protect you! We didn't want any shady criminal to run after us or after you! Cause he could, eh! He could just track us down, your mum, you and I until he puts us in the ground himself! Is that what you'd have preferred?!" 

"No!" Mundy shouted back. "But just tell me! What would it have cost to send me a word, a letter, anything?!" 

"Mundy, your mother couldn't eat and sleep for days! We were close to getting her to a hospital, her nerves were so thin! But we couldn't afford it! Not as long as our names hadn't been changed! We went through hell and back, son! Don't you dare think that we did what we did because it was easy!" 

"Yeah well in the end, it bloody was, wasn't it?! Hiding here for more than ten years!" 

"And how hard would it have been for you to leave your bloody rifles home and do honest work, hm? Earn decent money and watch after your old folks?! But no! Mister Mundy wanted to save the animals more than he wanted to actually live a normal life!" 

Caroline put a hand in front of her mouth and another one on her cheek. Not even an hour spent together and Mike and Mundy were already arguing… 

"That was my job, Dad, a job that no one else could do or did do!" 

"Well, wasn't there a reason for that?! You were sticking your neck out and asking to be shot down like those beasts you were protectin' better than your own parents!"

"No! I was doin' the only thing I could do! Back then, I didn't know anythin' else but shoot a rifle!" 

"O'course you did! What about the saxophone? What about the farm? You knew how to deal with them and you were good at it! Besides, you sayin' that in the past? You don't hunt anymore? Finally came around to learnin' some proper job and droppin' the guns?"

Mundy's jaw clenched harder. 

"Course I ditched the bloody things! What did you think? That I'd go on huntin'? Ya said it yourself, I was miles away when you needed me, felt awful!" 

"Shame it didn't feel awful sooner." Mike concluded coldly, his voice down to its normal volume. 

Mundy stared at him for a while, overwhelmed by what just happened and starting to process it against his own will. Gosh, his father still couldn't understand, could he? 

The Aussie's eyes went to his mother and it broke him. She was giving him the same eyes that she always had, the same eyes that pleaded for them both to stop arguing for the billionth time. Mundy sighed and exited the house. He walked in the street, fuming. 

He didn't want to go back home and face Lucien and his million questions. He didn't want to have to tell the story and feel all of it again. No. So Mundy put his hands in his pockets and walked back in the direction of the city. 

Gosh… What a day… 

If someone had told him his parents were alive and he would see them again, Mundy would certainly expect tears and hugs, not an argument. Well, both happened in the end. He should have left before asking any questions, he shouldn't have gone that way. Yeah, alright, that's plain stupid! Of course he had to ask! People don't go and die only to come back to life! 

Oh. 

Yes, yes, they did. 

Lucien first, and now his parents. Yes, they did. What the hell…? 

Mundy's feet soon led him into the city. He walked with his head low, not seeing the passer-bys, the shops, the cars and traffic. For him, there were only his brown boots and the grey pavement. 

Hold on. His father had said that his mother was nearly taken to the hospital after the events…? Gosh. Mundy screwed his eyes shut as he imagined the pain and distress his mother had to endure. Fuck! It was always the same, wasn't it? Mundy and his father argue while Caroline sits on the side with enough sadness in her eyes to fill the ocean twice!

Mundy felt it in him. If he could, he would at least pretend to get along well with his father, just for his mother's sake. But Mike always found the words, he always found the way to rub salt into the wound. It was ridiculous… More than ten years apart and they still couldn't have a decent conversation. And what ten years, eh? Mundy didn't even have the chance to tell them that he too had died for ten years, that it had taken him that amount of time to heal and manage to turn the page. That, and Lucien. 

Mundy stopped walking sharp and blinked a few times to finally look around him and make his brain accept external stimuli, wake up his ears and all his senses. 

Lucien. 

When Mundy's parents died, the Aussie's heart was left empty until he saw that stunning Frenchman sing at the Queen Victoria. And Mundy had gone there because of a blue and golden cufflink, where Johnson's alligators had been stolen. Gosh it seemed all so far now, almost as if it was a dream, and it hadn't really happened. 

Mundy sighed. Lucien had taken all the space in his heart and his mind now. Mundy was far from unhappy with it, he loved him with all his heart, so to speak. Hm. He wondered what he was up to, without dwelling on it too much. The Aussie didn't want to go back home yet, so he went on walking in the streets. 

Unbeknownst to him, Lucien had driven back to Mundy's parents. He waited there but Mundy wasn't exiting the place. Hm. He decided to have a look inside. Carefully, the ex-spy approached the house and made sure that no one would see even just his shadow passing by, through the windows. He got closer to one of the living-room ones and discreetly took a peek. 

"Oh…" 

Caroline was on the sofa and Mike was facing the fireplace. Both held their heads lowered. Lucien could see they were talking but it was low enough for the window to muffle the content of their conversation almost completely. The Frenchman squinted to read on their lips. 

"I know, Caroline. But it's the truth." 

"Mike… Come on." 

Lucien had seen enough. The disappointment on Mundy's parents’ faces was clear enough, the reunion hadn't been a success. He needed to find Mundy.

He hopped on his motorcycle and headed back home and unlocked the door. 

"Mundy?" 

"Meow…" Perle and Soot came trotting to Lucien and brushed themselves on his legs. 

"Mundy?" Lucien looked in the living-room, the kitchen, the bedroom and even the bathroom.

"Mundy n'est pas rentré?" 

[Hasn't Mundy come back home yet?]

"Meow." Perle answered and he sighed. 

"Où est-il alors?"

[Where is he then?]

Lucien looked through a window and saw the orange sky of the setting sun, turning the street in warm colours, while in his heart he wondered about his lover. 

Much further away from their home, Mundy was wandering in the streets. He let his feet decide where he needed to go while his head ground on his conversation with his parents and played it on loop, like a broken disc. 

He didn't notice the streets turning orange under the setting sun and his shadow flowing longer on the pavement. His eyes were glued to the ground and he carefully avoided a beggar sitting there - oh!

He turned back and looked down at the man in rags. 

"You with Maurice?" 

The beggar ignored him. 

"Look up, mate. I'm M, work with Maurice. I probably served you soup over the past few months." 

The beggar looked up. 

"Oh, sorry mate…" He stood up and pulled his trousers up, adjusting them. "Wanted to see Maurice?" 

"Yeah." 

"Last I knew he was home, go ahead." 

"Thanks." 

Mundy headed for the dirty neighbourhood and walked straight to a house. A beggar let him through underground and by the time he arrived at the door behind which Maurice was, his mind was set. 

"Maurice's is busy, mate." 

The well-built man at the door said. 

"Listen, you either let me in now or I swear you won't wake up to see the light of the day tomorrow."

"I'm sorry but-"

"Did I bloody stutter?" Mundy asked with his jaw clenched and every vein in his body pumping blood fast. 

The muscular bodyguard remembered that the last time someone had insisted on entering the room like that, the man was even smaller than the one he was facing, and maybe even slimmer. But he somehow ended up unable to use his voice for days and a bad throat for equally longer. 

"Right…" He took a step aside and Mundy stormed in the room. 

"Maurice!" 

"Mundy, I am already meeting someone, pray take a seat and - argh?!"

Mundy had walked straight to the tall beggar who was indeed meeting someone else. He shoved whoever that was aside and took Maurice by his collar, he pushed him on the wall and went to the tip of his toes, his canines shining fiercely under the low light of the room with the oval table. 

"What…? What's wrong with you…?" Maurice tried to speak while his throat was crushed by Mundy's knuckles.

"Me?! What's wrong with me?! That's rich comin' the one bloke who's been lying to me for more than ten years!"

"Gnh-! Y-you saw them - argh?!"

"Yeah! Lu' took me to them! You knew for ten years and I saw my parents, yeah! Give me one good reason to not pop your teeth out right here and now, just one!"

"Have you… Ever asked L… when… he knew…?"

Mundy released his grip on Maurice and the tall beggar fell to the floor, a hand to his throat. 

"No." Mundy answered. "But I don't need to!" He pulled Maurice back up to his feet from his collar and pushed him hard against the wall again. His back hit the wall with a muffled thud. "Why didn't you tell me? Why?!" 

"Because you would have blown their cover! I was trying to keep them safe, Mundy!" 

"You could have told me! What harm would it have done to them! None!" Mundy roared back. 

"You are wrong, mon loup." 

[My wolf.]

Hearing the voice with the French accent made Mundy spin on his heels. Lucien was at the door. He crossed the room and undid the button of his jacket with one hand, fluidly. 

"What would have happened if Maurice had told you that your parents were still alive?"

"I…" Mundy's whole attention was on Lucien, and his hands let go of Maurice again, who flopped to the floor. "I'd have tried to get who did this…"

"And what if you had found him, how would you have dealt with him? By reporting him to the authorities?" Lucien went on as he now stood only a metre away from Mundy. 

"Guess so, yeah." 

"I would have told you to not do it." Maurice's voice was thin and he could barely speak. He gathered what little strength Mundy had spared in him and pushed himself to stand on his two feet. "I'd have told you… No police could deal with him… And if you had found him, we would have before you. From there, we can assume that L would have dealt with him before you could." 

"But both of us were mourning." Lucien looked up at his lover and put a hand on his cheek, brushing it gently with his thumb. "Mourning and healing. So what would have happened to the young and wild Mundy, hm? At best, he would have gone on a wild duck chase and ended up empty-handed because someone else would have dealt with Duchemin. At worst, you would have ended up killed before you could even catch a glimpse of him. After that, your parents' days would have been numbered. Duchemin would have enquired about you and found that you are the son of those poor farmers he thought he had killed." Lucien paused to catch his breath. "By lying to you, Maurice saved you and your parents." 

"But… Hold on…" Mundy turned to Maurice who had sat on his wooden throne. "Why did you help me get Duchemin if that could have killed me and my family?"

"Because he knew that I would get him before you do." Lucien answered and Mundy's head swooshed back to his lover. "I would get him before you do, and the difference is that this was my mission, I signed for it and was paid for it. If I died because of it, so be it, that was a risk that I gladly took. But you? You were asking for nothing but justice for your parents." 

The Frenchman adjusted the collar of Mundy's polo shirt and splayed his hand on his chest. He raised his doe eyes to him and Mundy's mind imploded. He didn't know what to think anymore. 

"Follow me." 

The next thing he knew, Mundy was back home, lying on the sofa with his head on Lucien's lap. The Frenchman played with his lover's soft, brown locks of hair between his slim fingers. 

"Tell me, mon amour." 

[My love]

"I… I don't know what to think… I just wanna sleep and forget it all." 

"Why?" 

Mundy frowned. 

"Because… It was horrible…" Mundy turned and laced his arms around Lucien's waist, burying his head in Lucien's lower abdomen. He held him dearly and curled his long legs on himself as he closed his eyes. 

"What happened?" 

"Don't wanna talk about it…" 

"As you wish." Lucien kept brushing his lover's hair and put his other hand on his back. Perle and Soot jumped on Mundy and laid on him, to warm him up. They brushed themselves against him and purred. "Je suis là pour toi, mon amour. Tu peux tout me dire…"

[I am here for you, my love. You can tell me anything…]

"I know…" Mundy mumbled. "Thanks, luv'..." 

And Lucien heard the sound of a kiss that he felt on his shirt, on his abdomen. He smiled.

#tf2 sniper #tf2 spy #sniperspy #SBT

[elmo-is-a-forgotten-god]

Canadian geese fill me with so much unbridled fucking rage

#shitpost #shotpost #funny memes #memes #geese #beedy eyed motherfuckers #they can rot in hell

[texanredrose]

What did Roman do to in dnd?

L I S T E N

It’s early in the morning for me when we play DnD. I have to wake up around 0430, get a few things done, hopefully don’t zone out/fall back asleep, and eat breakfast before the 0600 (my time) start. 

Today, while we were waiting for @kambiteydragon to finish a WoW raid, shenanigans began. First, @theunredeemable posted a picture of what another session’s screen looked like due to shenanigans, and I started complaining because there were 8 dicks drawn on the map. (Subsequent investigation proved there were 11 dicks on the map; the longer I looked at the map, the more dicks I found.) There were two other things on the map: a duck and Solaire. Now, while I was giving Roman shit for the lack of creativity over the bouquet of dicks, @mistfather drew a duck on our game in one click of the mouse. Which, honestly, was impressive and creative. This duck became the Duck of Doom. Then, a second duck was drawn, and I realized that this meant a goose needed to be drawn, because Duck, Duck, Goose.

And this, my friends, is where things began to spiral.

You see, while Kandar drew a goose based off Untitled Goose Game, Roman was talking about how Elsssa would Chaos Bolt everything, as she’s wont to do. The wires in my brain became crossed and I started to laugh. Because, for some reason- a reason known only by the powers in Heaven, Hell, or both- I smashed these two things together and produced Chaos Goose. It’s like Chaos Bolt, except instead of a bolt, a goose flies towards the target.

I said this out loud, to share the insanity.

And that’s when we lost all semblance of control. May day, may day, we dove headfirst into the deep end.

Roman, enamored with the idea of Chaos Goose, began suggesting a subclass called “Goose-mancer”. Naturally, I couldn’t let a subclass have only one unique spell.

So, here’s a list of some spells a Goose-mancer can use.

Chaos Goose, 1 bonus action, 60ft range, instant, shoots a goose at a target. The goose remains active for 3 turns and attacks the first target it hits regardless of if it's conscious or not. Chaos Goose has an AC of 15 with advantage against attack rolls and hits +9, 2d8+4 damage on hits, half damage on misses. Chaos Goose, if its original target is rendered unconscious, will continue to attack unless something else attacks it. Chaos Goose will attack the nearest PC if all enemies are unconscious or destroyed.

Geesageddon, 1 action, 120ft range, duration 1 hour, calls forth a dark cloud 50ft in diameter centered on a spot of your choice. Anything directly beneath the cloud is subject to the relentless attacks of several flocks of geese. Ignores AC. Damage: 6d10.

Healing Goose, 1 action, 60ft range, 10 minutes, summons a goose to fly in a circle. All friendly creatures able to hear its honks are healed 2d10. If Healing Goose is the target of a spell or attack, Healing Goose stops healing and does 2d10 psychic damage to enemies who can hear its honks of rage.

Duck Duck Goose, 1 action, 120ft range, 1 hour, verbal, summons a flock of ducks with 3 geese hidden among them. Every turn, roll a d6. On evens, the 3 geese target random enemies (never the same one) and attack with +5, 2d6+3 damage. On odds, the ducks fly in random directions and sow confusion, all characters except the Goose-mancer have disadvantage on ranged attack rolls.

Then, the question was posed: which class would the Goose-mancer be a subclass of?

I, naturally, said Sorcerer, as it’s a wild magic deviant if I ever saw one, but then thought better of it. The power of the goose cannot be contained. The goose is a subclass of every class.

Goose Barbarian - honks for a battle cry Goose Bard - all spells require honking Goose Cleric - prays to the Goose Goose Druid - calls upon the power of the goose Goose Fighter - trained in the relentless fury of the goose Goose Monk - trained in the focus perseverance of the goose Goose Paladin - all smites are replaced with honks (as in, Branding Honk) Goose Ranger - goose familiar Goose Rogue - sneak attack replaced by sneak honk Goose Sorcerer - goose magic Goose Warlock - goose patron Goose Wizard - goose school

Then, I made some more spells.

Goose Of Death 7 necromancy Casting Time: 1 action Range: 60 feet Components: V S Duration: Instantaneous Classes: Sorcerer, Warlock, Wizard You send forth a goose filled with negative energy to attack a creature that you can see within range, causing it searing pain. The target must make a Constitution saving throw. It takes 7d8 + 30 necrotic damage on a failed save, or half as much damage on a successful one. A humanoid killed by this spell rises at the start of your next turn as a zombie that is permanently under your command, following your verbal orders to the best of its ability. It can only understand honks.

Find Goose 2 conjuration Casting Time: 10 minutes Range: 30 feet Components: V S Duration: Instantaneous Classes: Paladin You summon a spirit that assumes the form of an unusually intelligent, strong, and loyal goose, creating a long-lasting bond with it. Appearing in an unoccupied space within range, the goose takes on a form large enough to bear you. The goose is a celestial, fey, or fiend (your choice). The goose can only understand the direction to attack; all other communication must be in honks, which it will likely ignore. Your goose serves you as a mount, both in combat and out, and you have an instinctive bond with it that allows you to fight as a seamless unit. While mounted on your goose, you can make any spell you cast that targets only you also target your goose. When the goose drops to 0 hit points, it disappears, leaving behind no physical form. You can also dismiss your goose at any time as an action, causing it to disappear. In either case, casting this spell again summons the same goose, restored to its hit point maximum. While your goose is within 1 mile of you, you can communicate with it telepathically. You can’t have more than one goose bonded by this spell at a time. As an action, you can release the goose from its bond at any time, causing it to do what it wants. You cannot regain control of it.

Goosedance cantrip divination Casting Time: 1 action Range: Touch Components: V S Duration: Up to 1 minute Classes: Cleric, Druid You touch one willing creature. Once before the spell ends, the target can honk and roll a d4, then add the number rolled to one ability check of its choice. It can roll the die before or after making the ability check. After the ability check, the target must attack one creature within 5ft while honking in rage. The spell then ends.

Then I realized, there had to be other animals to balance the power of the goose.

Meanwhile, Roman and Kandar began filling the tomes of the many goose-related fiction out there, like Goose Souls, Goose Fantasy 7, Resident Goose 3: Gemesis. Video games, movies, TV shows- all were touched by the goose. (Where in the World is Carmen Sandigoose?)

Today marks the first Honkening.

How many more will pass before the goose finds you?

[freeformtarsier]

I hear the geese.

It fills me with rage.

[rotttnapple]

count: 1,379 tw: loss, death, sadness, animal death mention (non violent) part 1 | part 2 under a cut because of the absolute sadness, okay

country roads, take me home @pohocounty

“Can you take me out on the porch for a spell, darling?”

An old voice, soft and dusty, still smiling in it's age. Dulu nods his reply, making that long lean down (his back gives a twinge, he makes no complaint) to pick up a body as light as a crow. Frail bones and paper-thin skin. Charley rests a head gone white as the snow atop the mountains against Dulu's strong chest, arthritis bunched hands folded in his lap. There is no pain, his mind is clear, he knows his time is near and he would like to look out on their land one last time.

Dulu carries him through the house full of their life, art and artifacts, photos of marches and causes and lost children they called their own long since grown. Photos of children and grandchildren and great-grandchildren. Christmas cards and birthday cards. Celebrations of old festivals with old friends, some as ancient as Dulu, campfires and bonfires. Dulu nearly invisible, covered in kittens. Dulu with his arms full of a litter of mutt puppies. Dulu and Slaughter. Snapshots papering the fridge, selfies that spanned long years, good years and hard years, fences repaired and roofs replaced. Their old home, it's walls warm, full of laughter and love. Dulu is careful setting Charley down in his rocker, it's wood worn smooth from a thousand, a hundred thousand touches. The boards underneath show the movement of that rocker, neat grooves in the cedar wood. There's a willow tree out there in the yard, full of corn and pumpkins and flowers, it's trunk a broad expanse, planted some sixty years past. Dulu's settling that quilt over Charley's lap now too, the old man that was once a young man gets chilled so easily now, even in the heat of the summer. Charley doesn't rock now, he's too fragile for that, but when Dulu settles down next to him, he lays a hand on that broad forearm. Dulu can feel the ponderous beat of Charley's heart in his fingertips.

“Seventy-two years.” Charley murmurs. Dulu nods again, daring a low, chuffed grunt. He doesn't dare say too much, as little as he speaks. There's a strange sting in the back of his eyes, dark brown, the color of fresh turned earth. No, he doesn't dare say too much.

“You're going to keep this place going?” Another nod from Dulu, the smallest little grunt. There's a thickness in the back of his throat now, he tries to swallow it down and finds that it won't budge. Not one bit.

“And brush your teeth.” A big orange cat slowly, carefully, reaches out with one paw to tap at Charley's blanketed lap. With exceeding care she moves the rest of her mass there, settling down and purring soft and deep. There's snow around Poppy's whiskers too, it's been many long years since Dulu had taken her out of the tree amid the raging floodwater, Poppy and her three tiny kittens, trapped up there in the fork of an elm with the water rising fast below them. Out there on the farm a small herd of deer meander past a tom turkey (he ruffles his feathers and gobbles fetchingly to no avail), nibbling as they go. “Yuuh-yea.” Dulu manages to speak, just a little. His voice is lower, gruffer than it usually is. Charley doesn't mind, he rests his other hand on Poppy's warm orange coat.

Dulu knew man's time was finite, he had known it for as long as he had walked this earth. He knew this would hurt, but it still didn't prepare him for the pain. It had been coming a while, little signs here and there. Sometimes Charley would wake him, ask if he wouldn't mind checking on Slaughter out in the barn – Slaughter, long since buried, still Dulu would yawn and stretch and walk out to the barn where new eyes glowed in the darkness. Assure Charley, in his way, that the cat was just fine so his partner could rest without worry. Ask him if he's fed the goats, Dulu knowing he's talking about Speedy the First and her companion Peaches, also gone many, many summers now. Man's time was finite, but it didn't help that lump in his throat any.

Seventy-two years. They'd had a long life together, a good one. Two old friends, two old life partners, two old men, sit together on the porch as they had sat thousands of times before. Listening to the peace-noise of the farm. Guinea fowl and chickens, ducks and geese, goats and donkeys and turkeys and crows. Crows landing in thick blankets on the barn roof, weighing down the branches of trees. Crowding the perches in the corn, lining the fence.

Dulu realizes he can no longer feel Charley's heartbeat in his fingertips. No longer hears the slow, ponderous draw of his breath.

Dulu can't stop the heavy, braying sobs that spill out of him like thunder. The crows take flight all at once, and for a moment they block out the sun.

Dulu digs the grave with his hands, it's more efficient than the shovel. Great big scoops of black dirt, one after another, until the pile looms over his kneeling figure. He pats the bottom smooth, not wanting any rocks poking at his friend. Pats it real smooth before he stands (knees popping like firecrackers, he's not so young himself, hasn't really replaced nothing these past few years) and takes slow, even steps back to the house where Charley rests in his funeral shroud, a bunch of snapdragons – daughters and sons of that first one, the very first one seventy years ago – resting on his chest, over where his heart once beat so strong and young. A heart that now rested next to his, so carefully wrapped. There was just some things Dulu didn't want Charley to see.

Out there among the graves, of crows, of dogs and cats, goats and birds and deer, some that didn't make it farther than their infant days and some that lived well into their golden years, Dulu takes the earth and lays it down one hand at a time. Gently patting it down, settling it around, over, until the grave is filled again. He plants flowers atop it, flowers that Charley loved.

Later he'll set a great, ancient river stone at the top. A guardian stone, Charley's name written in the old tongue, but first he has something else to do. Something Charley had asked him to do, many years ago.

For the first time in a timeless age Dulu isn't sure he'll be able, not with that thick lump sticking in his throat still, but he swallows the heart well enough and it joins the beating of countless others. For a while, Charley allows the man his space. He gives Dulu his time to grieve.

Charley's young again, still so full of life even in death, there to remind Dulu to brush his teeth, showing him how to thread the sewing machine so his clothes don't fall to tatters all over again. He's there in the comforting touch of a hand resting on Dulu's arm, there and not there all at once. Charley's voice is gentle as he tells Dulu which vials to use, how to draw blood, how to give shots, how to mix the formula just right. Which formula is right because there's so many different kinds in the cupboards now for all manner of animals in need. He's there to help him change bandages and splint wings, he's there to remind him to be careful.

Charley's there, rocking his chair again, mindful of kitten paws and kitten tails. Laughing with him, still pulling those booming belly laughs out him like a magician pulls a rabbit out of a hat, singing songs so old they're all but forgotten when Dulu settles his guitar in his lap and plays the tunes. Wishing him sweet dreams every night, nagging him to eat breakfast every morning. Gone from life and yet immortalized in death.

When I'm gone, Dulu, I'd like you to take a little piece of me. Take a little piece of me, I don't want you to ever be alone again. Promise me that, please. I promise.

#;charley #;dulu #don't look at me i'm too sad!! #tw: loss #tw: death #tw: sadness #tw: animal death mention #no violence :( #just tears #verse: jeepers creepers (crow dad) #thanks I love stabbing myself in my own heart #I swear I will write happier things in the coming week ok #much happier things #pohocounty