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copper-dragon-in-disguise · 3 months

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Could you do me a favor and tell me literally every piece of info abt dnd you can? Asking for an aster

@amethyst-aster (just so you see it)

hello!

so. this is long which is why there is a cut. i feel i ought to foreworn you that i read the entire players handbook cover to cover the summer i turned 11 because i was lonely and autistic. i memorized it (mostly. little rusty on some of the magic rules but whatever). /not sarcastic so! this is EXTREMELY LONG.

first up! your basics:

dungeons and dragons is a tabletop roleplaying game first created in 1974 by gary gygax. that's not so important. what is important is this: it is currently in its fifth edition (shorthanded as 5e). that is the one i know the most about and it is personally the one i think is the easiest to play, but thats my own preference. my biology teacher thinks 5e is bloody stupid and he plays the second edition (2e), which i find much harder and more limiting.

There are three core rulebooks, and a number of supplementary books.

The most important of those three (and the only one you need to know, really, unless you're the one running the game) is called The Player's Handbook (PHB). It contains the rules for building a character and playing them.

Because it will run you upwards of $50USD per copy, here is a pdf of it on archive dot org.

The other two is the Monster Manuel (MM) (a book of all the monsters in the game) and the Dungeon Master's Guide (DMG) (a book of how to run a game, but you don't need it as a player). They are here and here.

There are a number of d&d youtubers who have tutorial videos on this type of thing. my favorite is Ginny Di, but there are literally dozens out there.

BASIC TERMS

A Character sheet is the thing you have all the information about your character recorded on. It comes in several variations, but this is a free form fillable pdf version, and this is a free printable (both from the wizards of the coast (wotc) website, but the second is hosted on archive.org) (wotc are the company that owns the copyright to the game).

A class is the vocation of the character. its what they do with themselves, but its not necessarily a job.

A race is the character's species. this is also called their species, but in offical material you'll see it called their race.

A background is how their past shaped the character.

A backstory is that past.

Ability scores are the abilities of the character, they are determined with dice rolls. There are six of them, and many years ago someone explained them with tomatoes and that's still the easiest way to explain them in my opinion. You figure them out by rolling 4d6 and adding up the three highest numbers, for a total of 6 times.

ID in alt text. [I cannot find the original source, I am sorry, nor the graphic's source]

There are various types of dice, conveniently labeled with this image below:

ID in alt. [Source]

The d20 is the most important; its what you'll use to roll ability checks and saving throws and etc.

If you don't have your own physical dice (they are advalible online, at barnes & nobles, and at your local gaming store, but many people don't have a local gaming store (me)), you can roll them on many websites. My preferred one is this one, but any work. Google has its own built in, too.

MAKING A CHARACTER

So. You have your dice, now what?

Now you make a character sheet! there are many videos online explaining how to do this (there is a lovely one here and here), but i'm going to explain it here how I generally do it.

Step 0- OPTIONAL:

Take your character sheet, and come up with an idea. Who do you want to play? A gay disaster who can shapeshift? a hobbit? a chaotic ginger with too many cats and a habit of making deals with eldritch powers? You can be whatever the hell you want. alternatively, you can look at the options in the PHB first, and go from there.

Step 1- Pick a race/species.

There are well over 30 of these, and I'm not listing them all. But the ones advaliable in the player's handbook are as follows:

Dwarf. Your sterotypical mining, axe wielding, beared fantasy dwarf. ex: Gimli, in Lord of the Rings

ID in alt. [Source]

Elf. Traditionally depicted as tall, graceful, and living in the woods. Generally have pointed ears. ex. Legolas in Lord of the Rings.

ID in alt text. [Source]

Halfling. Literally just renamed hobbits, so they don't get sued. Known for being short and excellent cooks. ex. Frodo, Sam, Merry, & Pippin from Lord of the Rings. (I can't seperate them, it feels wrong)

ID in alt. [Source]

Human. We all know what humans are. Generally viewed as very adaptable species in d&d! also in real life. ex. Bill Nye the Science Guy.

ID in alt. [Source]

Dragonborn. A bipedal species descended from dragons. They're cool as shit. ex. I literally cannot think of one i'm sorry.

ID in alt. [Source]

Gnome. Known for being very tinkery, small, and causing mischief. Also, for some reason, for being in gardens. ex. Pike Trickfoot from Critical Role.

ID in alt text. [Source]

Half-elf. Half elf, half something else! They generally have a lot of angst, but not always. Sometimes people say they combine the best of both worlds (elf and human), and sometimes people say they have it really shitty. ex. Keyleth from critical role.

ID in alt. [Source]

Half-Orc. half orc, half something else! I dunno really how to describe them. ex. Fjord Lavorre from Critical Role

ID in alt. [Source]

Tiefling. A humanoid species with horns and a tail, and often brightly colored skin. Extremely Gender in my opinion.

Step 2- Pick a class.

There are 12 core classes, and one more added in a later book. I'll go over all 13!

ARTIFICER. A magical tinkerer. A bit like leo valdez in pjo? Their core stat is intelligence. In my opinion they're very complicated for a first character ever, but do what you want its your game i do not care.

BARBARIAN. If you want to wear no armor, have an axe (or other weapon), and charge into battle shouting, this is the class for you! its fun and decently simple for first time players, in my opinion. Core stat is Strength (and constitution).

BARD. Someoe who uses the magic of creation to do shit. Also known for seducing anything that moves, but that's optional. Core stat is charisma. Seems simple at first, but they have a lot of spells to manage at later levels, but they're not too hard. The main guy in the d&d movie is one.

CLERIC. They're healers and warriors. Generally have got some sort of divine magic, but don't necessarily have to. Semi-difficult? I haven't ever played one, so I don't know how easy it would be for a first character ever. Main stat is wisdom.

DRUID. Person who turns into animals and respects the enviroment. Basically, the lorax, but less orange and with more turning into animals (druid lovers out there i am sorry for saying y'all are the lorax please don't come after me with pitchforks). they're okay for a first character but they can be a little confusing. Main stats are wisdom (and constitution).

FIGHTER. Someone who fights things. The most basic of the d&d classes, and one of the simplest for first time players, probably, but I haven't ever played one so who knows. Main stats are strength or dexterity.

MONK. Person who punches people a lot. Like Aang from avatar: the last airbender. Main stats are dexterity and wisdom. They seem simple, but one of the mechanics is slightly confusing, but they're still really simple.

PALADIN. Your tradition knight. A guy (gender neutral) in plate armor with a horse and loyalty issues. I love playing paladins so much, they're great. Personally I think they're a little confusing. Main stats are Strength & Charisma.

RANGER. Someone who wanders through the forest and fights things, like strider (but not like aragorn) from lotr. Core stats are wisdom and strength. My first ever character was an elf ranger named Thia Nailo. She was awesome. Rangers can also have pet panthers and shit, and sometimes small dragons (not tiny dragons, though. Like horse sized dragons).

ROGUE. A thief. My second ever character, and the first one who I played for any significant length of time (thia's campaign died out) was a half-elf rogue named Enna Helder-Kromlin. Rogues are a really good class for first time players, I feel like. Core stat is dexterity.

SORCERER. Someone born with magic. Main stat is charisma. They can be a little complicated.

WARLOCK. Someone who made a deal with some sort of higher power (eldritch being, god(s), etc) for magic. they make bad decisions for a living and its awesome. my favorite ever character was an elf warlock named Mara. Her patron lived in a shield and she had a wisdom of 5 but a charisma of 20. Core stat is charisma.

WIZARD. Gandalf. Someone who studied magic and learned it that way. Main stat is intelligence. They can get really complicated, really fast, but they're still a viable option for your first time.

Step 3- Backstory

There are other things to do, but its late and i'm tired. What you need to do from here is figure out what your character's life was like before now. Or, if you dont want to, then get a vibe for their personality or something.

NOW WHAT?

When you have a character, your DM (Dungeon master, the person running the game, the ''narrator'') will give you scenario, and you roleplay your way through it.

Literally anything can happen. It's d&d. the rules are suggestions, not actual rules. Make it what you want it to be!!!!

If you have other questions please contact me I love them even if it takes me forever to answer them sometimes.

#d&d #dungeons and dragons #asks #amethyst aster

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oviraptoridae · 11 months

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started drawing a couple outfits i've worn recently & it turned into this year's Meet The Artist! i usually do one around this time of year. text is transcribed in alt text; description is too long so it's under the cut.

[IMAGE DESCRIPTION: a "meet the artist" styled character sheet featuring 3 drawings of the artist's fursona and an illustration of the contents of its bag. the fursona is a short, fat, scruffy brown hare with freckles, short lavender horns and long star-shaped ears. in the top left, labelled "outfit to get ice cream w/ friends", it is wearing an oversized teal t-shirt with a fishing logo, orange cargo pants, teal crocs, and a patchwork bag. in the top right uncolored sketch, labelled "outfit for chillin'", it is sitting cross legged wearing headphones, cargo shorts and a t-shirt with a cicada on it. in the bottom right, labelled "outfit for TWRP concert", it is wearing a black mesh shirt with a celestial pattern on it, brown cargo capris, and black loafers. in the bottom left is an illustration of its bag with the contents laid out, which extend through the background of the whole image. the bag is teal, blue, orange, and brown patchwork with floral embroidery and various pins. from left to right, the contents shown are: a green dice bag, a pouch of edibles, a red leather wallet with a face on it, two notebooks, a sketchbook, a smartphone with a dragon phone case, a big sticker-covered water bottle, two pill bottles, a tin of colored pencils, a pair of wireless noise-cancelling headphones, a pencil case with an isopod pin, and a carabiner holding a ring of keys. END IMAGE DESCRIPTION.]

#furry #fursona #furry art #meet the artist #ootd #outfit #hare #character sheet #jackalope #my art #sketchbook #sorry for how long the ID is. its hard to describe a piece of art thats just meant to show off a lot of different outfits and items #but if i dont do the ID someone else will and theyll probably do it wrong

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cyberslam · 5 months

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I've prayed enough, I rolled the dice

"Hangman" Adam Page/Swerve Strickland

[Ao3 link]

Swerve Strickland's forgotten, until he's reminded, and now he has to follow the chain into the unknown, way out there.

(Lord Huron inspired AU)

Ancient Names, Pt. I.

It was by a roadside stop.

A young woman, with ochre tinted skin and green eyes sat there, at a table just outside the entrance to the brown brick building. She had jet black hair, a thick curtain of bangs covering her forehead. Her clothes were unremarkable: a purple and red hoodie, ripped black jeans, and black converse shoes. More notably were her various black piercings and tattoos. Industrials, conch, multiple lobe piercings. A septum piercing, a labret piercing, snake bites, and an eyebrow piercing on her right eyebrow. All black, either small hoops or simple studs. Around her wrist, just barely peeking out from her hoodie sleeve was a tattoo of barbed wire that seemed to go up her arm.

By all means, nothing was flashy about her to Swerve. Some girl into alt culture.

Her feet tapped along to an unknown beat, as she shuffled cards and aimlessly laid them down on a taffeta tablecloth. The cloth was red, embroidered in a rainbow of different celestial shapes. Stars, moons, ringed planets, suns. There was a clear handmade quality to the embroidery job. She would pick up the cards, roll some dice, lay cards down, and pick them up after looking them over. Her face changed from apathetic, to amused, to something adjacent to excited. Intrigued, even?

Swerve had been watching her for a while from his seat in his car. Ditching the sports car at home, he rented an SUV with some reasonable mileage. It still was a nice car, a deep red and only a year or so old.

He had been traveling alone. Leather jacket, fur lined around the neck covered his torso. He wore a hoodie, black, under the jacket, and tight fitting jeans with basketball shoes. His own scheme was reds and blacks. It amused him, the overlapping color scheme between himself and the young woman. The smirk on his face wouldn't exactly go away. Something was tempting him to humor the young lady. He had been observing as people walked by her, either ignoring her like she didn't exist, or whispering to each other and avoiding her like she was toxic to the touch.

There was a plastic fold out chair across from her, tucked into the table. In the twenty or so minutes he observed, not a single person sat down.

It wasn't a surprise. Normally these booths were set up to sell things like honey or local fruits. It wasn’t like there were any prices or things like that written down. Just…this young lady dealing cards and rolling dice to herself.

Eventually, she stood up and went inside the rest stop building. That was when Swerve made his move. He exited his car, and walked to the folding table. Curiously, he looked over the set up, before pulling the plastic chair out and sitting down in it. There was a slight creak, the hard plastic bending a little under him. He leaned back, taking a photo of the table in front of him.

“That'll be five dollars.” The girl was next to him, silent like a stalking cat, holding a cup of something. Hershey's Ice Cream, with a straw in it. A milkshake.

Swerve hadn't even heard her come out but he didn't jump when she spoke. Still, a chill ran down his spine that he ignored, before looking up at the girl. He could better see her makeup too. Red around her eyes, thin black eyeliner, and black lipstick.

There was something about her dark green eyes; the amused smile on her face. It left another chill down his spine. This girl was cold.

“I’m kidding. I do everything for free. Sort of. I don’t take cash.” She moved around the table, sitting down across from the dark haired man. “I’m Caroline Cain.”

“Swerve. Strickland.” He introduces himself, leaning back in the plastic chair. He keeps up the unphased demeanor, despite the skin crawling sensation that wouldn’t get away.

Caroline hummed in response. “You’re looking for something, aren’t you?”

“Looking for something? Little lady, I'm not looking for anything.” Swerve knew he was lying, to her, and to himself.

“You’re searching. Wandering. Aimless. You forgot, and you need to remember.”

“Listen–”

“YOU listen.” Caroline snaps, squinting her eyes. She has the cards in hand, shuffling them and putting them down before grabbing the handful of dice. She holds them out, right in front of his mouth. “Blow.”

He follows the command as if compelled by her words.

She rolls the dice, the sound against the taffeta soft.

And then again,

And again.

Swerve looks over at the dice. A skull, a six, a four, and two twos.

“You’re looking for the Dead Eye. Your luck has been set back. You don’t even realize it. There’s much in your life you don’t even know you’re missing, you’re not seeing.”

Swerve stared down at the dice. At the skull.

“It counts as one. You’re real lonesome. A lone cowboy, hm?”

“I’m not the cowboy.” The response was automatic, Swerve snapping his head up. Caroline looked…smug? Curious? Her face was unreadable to him. It unsettled him.

“Mmm…no you’re not.” She nodded, putting the dice aside and grabbing the deck of cards. They were playing cards, simple enough.

The joker. And two twos. Three cards.

The joker, a dancing skeleton. One of the two cards was a skull, and the other was two moons. He’d never seen cards with suits like this.

“You’re looking for him. The joker, and you’re walking parallel paths. He and you, you’re undergoing a great change. You both have to follow your intuition. The ■■■■■ is broken, but you can fix it. Follow the ■■■■ ■■■■■. You need to–”

“That’s it. Whatever bullshit scam this is, it’s over.”

“Scam?” Caroline hummed, looking to the side. “If you say so.”

He pulls out his wallet, taking out a twenty dollar bill and throwing it on the table before walking away. She waves a little, smiling.

Swerve doesn’t look back.

The sky had been clear, but there was thick cloud coverage moving in from the southeast. It was dark, gray clouds. A storm was rolling in while Swerve got in his rental car. He drove away, turning his headlights on as he exited the parking lot. Something was harrowing about that interaction.

There was a chill in his bones as he drove into the storm, his head drowning in thoughts, flashes, memories that he couldn’t remember.

Hail hit his car, small pellets,

before driving into rain,

into snow.

The roads were winding,

up and down,

unfamiliar to Swerve.

His car drove into the mist, descending into the valley of a hill.

He was driving for hours.

He was driving for minutes.

Through decades, through eons, through nothing, through everything.

His younger self, somewhere on the streets of Seattle. His veins, filled with void. He didn’t know, but he did. He wanted to be somewhere, he had to be.

Where did he have to be?

A familiar face, familiar dirty blonde hair, blood spilling out. Choking on it. Gurgling up, uncanny taste of metal as he can’t breathe anymore, his neck is chained, he can’t breathe–

Swerve sits up with a start, in a motel room. Cold sweat drips down his forehead, the hum of the radiator and his own breathing filling the room. A car passes by, headlights briefly illuminating the room. There’s the shadow of a man, tall and broad. His hair is to his shoulders, and that’s all Swerve can tell. He’s familiar as much as he’s unfamiliar.

At the edge of the bed, there it is. The chain from his dream. The chain that was wrapped around the shadow’s neck.

He reaches out, and it’s colder than ice, and it hurts, but he reaches out and holds it and brings it up, and sees it, sees the rust and the dried blood, flaking off, and something compels him, draws him in, and he brings his lips to the blood and it’s sweet and it’s warm and it’s like everything he’s needed and it’s like nothing he’s ever had.

He knows now, his soul does, that this was what he needed to find. What Caroline had said. What she was saying. This chain was binding, and it had been broken, and now he had to follow it to way out there to find what he needed.

He had to follow the chain.

To him.

#d is writing #hangman adam page #swerve strickland #yaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay finally writing this thing that's been bouncing in my head #i have ideas for the next chapter hopefully ill start that soon #really go listen to lord huron though #whispering pines au

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thelemoncoffee · 2 years

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Kokichi but he's a mask artist.

ngl, i think mask art (ie: masquerade and theater masks) is really cool and i think it'd be neat if Kokichi was at least into it and at most alt talent au about it. He'd make all the masks DICE uses and likes to ge create experimental designs and shapes and other such stuff.

part of the reason i am thinking about this is cause i went to see The Lion King on Broadway and oh my god the fucking lion masks. I can't not think about how cool those things were and how interesting the mechanics are. And if you've never seen them, all you need to know to understand is they're masks that are heild up above the actor's head by some sort of built in arm, and with a remote they use it falls down and the arm holds it out about a foot infront of their face, then it can also pulls itself back up. It's so wicked to see in action.

The mental image of Kokichi being into mask art, finding out about these things, falling in love with the coccept, and through trial and error making his own mask with the same mechanic but without the robotic parts and instead analog mechanic cause he doesn't have access to the tech to do that their way with is just- aaaaaaaaa i want it. Kokichi making one of these masks and decorating it to look like a monster, then bringing it to school to scare the shit out of Kaito with.

#danganronpa #ndrv3 #danganronpa v3 #kokichi ouma #au prompt #au idea #au #mask art #Theater masks #masquerade masks

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pyonpyonpyon · 1 year

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𝑪𝑯𝑨𝑹𝑨𝑪𝑻𝑬𝑹 𝑺𝑯𝑬𝑬𝑻.

repost, don’t reblog

FULL NAME. Ramuda Amemura

PRONUNCIATION. ra · mu · da (alt: lam · da) a · me · mu · ra

NICKNAME. Ramu. Shibuya's Idol. Clone #001. Defective tool

GENDER. Cute, amab

HEIGHT. 5′1

AGE. 24 (4). During TDD, 22 (2)

ZODIAC. Aquarius

SPOKEN LANGUAGES. Japanese, English, Spanish, French, Italian, German, Russian, Latin, Greek, Mandarin Chinese, at least.

HAIR COLOR. Pink-purple ombre, some lighter pink strands

EYE COLOR. Light blue with pink hints

SKIN TONE. Pale

BODY TYPE. Slim upper body and less so for legs, baby face.

ACCENT. Japanese

VOICE. Childish and high pitched (deeper with some growl)

DOMINANT HAND. ambidextrous (often uses right hand in public)

POSTURE. Healthy, but has a tendency to slouch while designing.

SCARS. Large Y-shaped scar going from below his collarbones, meeting at the center of his sternum, and ending above his bellybutton.

TATTOOS. None... he wishes but he's so so scared of needles :(

BIRTHMARKS. Belly button. 4 faded dot-like marks on his back

MOST NOTICEABLE FEATURE(S). Hair and voice.

PLACE OF BIRTH. Chuuoku (?)

HOMETOWN. Shibuya

BIRTH WEIGHT. Below average.

BIRTH HEIGHT. Below average.

FIRST WORDS. "What is that...?"

SIBLINGS. Ramuda Amemura numbers 002-??

PARENTS. Created by Rei Amayado using some genetic material from his deceased wife.

PARENTAL INVOLVEMENT. Rei taught him how to smoke. Their contact is limited, and Ramuda despises Rei for creating and selling him to Chuuoku. However, he is dependent on Rei for candies now that Chuuoku threw him away. He doesn't know much about his original, but he is secretly scared of how much of him is himself and how much is due to his original.

OCCUPATION. Fashion designer.

CURRENT RESIDENCE. Empty Candy

CLOSE FRIENDS. Dice Arisugawa, Gentaro Yumeno, Ichiro Yamada, Samatoki Aohitsugi, Jakurai Jinguji

FINANCIAL STATUS. Rich enough to always give Dice money without care unless Gentaro stops him.

DRIVER’S LICENSE. None, but he was taught how to drive.

CRIMINAL RECORD. His criminal record is naturally clean.

VICES. Envy, wrath, lust(?).

ROMANTIC ORIENTATION. Demiromantic.

CHARACTER’S THEME SONG. Drops and Pink-Colored Love.

HOBBIES TO PASS TIME. Playdates, video games, designing, reading, going out.

MENTAL ILLNESSES. C-PTSD, OCPD (not illness, but possibly ADHD and/or ASD).

PHYSICAL ILLNESSES. Chronic clone disease.

LEFT OR RIGHT BRAINED. Right brained.

FEARS. Failure, death, needles, ghosts.

SELF CONFIDENCE LEVEL. He is very much confident of his skill in fashion design and managing his brand largely by himself, but that's due to his absolute perfectionism and his unwillingness to make a single mistake. If he does make a mistake, he'll likely panic severely the moment he's by himself and feel like he'll die, no matter how small the mistake may be. Despite how confident he may act, his overall opinion of himself is extremely low due to how he was treated by Chuuoku.

VULNERABILITIES. Himself and his past.

tagged : Stole it from @honeymoonparadise >:3c

tagging : Steal it!!

#a game of tag;; dash meme #magical lollipop drops (ramuda)#pink colored love <ramuda hcs>#[teehee yoinks]#[anyways don't you guys think it's wild sometimes that if test tube baby ramu didn't have that one tube at his stomach]#[he probs wouldn't have a bellybutton? just something to consider]#[ramuda's life just kinda sucks :( so much trauma ever since he got created]

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brandingvewor · 2 years

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blackknightgargiefoodtopia · 2 years

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Emperor's Court (Part 1)

Almost a decade back, we were celebrating my hubby's grandma's birthday. After squeezing our brain juices out as to where to eat that would satisfy everyone's food kinks, we've decided to eat at Emperor's Court.

This be the entrance and signboard of the restaurant. It's located within Hua Ho Manggis Mall a little bit away from the Berakas area and almost towards the Muara area (I think), and is situated at the 3rd or 4th floor. I've heard about this place, and even thought about this place to be my wedding reception, actually, but judging by the size of the area, I don't think they're able to fit the colossus amount of guests we had that night

A podium to greet guests and check if you're on their reserve list

The Chinese name of Emperor's Court, read "Di Huang Ge", I think... ^_^;;

Waiting area for those who are either not reserved or waiting for their reserved table

This be the interior of the area. It definitely have the feel of an Asian restaurant in there, though it feels like one of those really posh kind of Chinese restaurant that you go only once in a blue moon, unlike Lucky Restaurant that still has a an air of classiness but still accessible to those with low budget

Since we are celebrating a private function, we booked a indoor private room, which is the typical enclosed area like this, and freezing cold, on top of that. Luckily I was wearing something nice and thick

First stop: Fish maw soup. Tastes wonderfully delicious, almost like drinking shark fin soup or something, and goes quite well with vinegar. Not too much, just a little bit. For shark fin soup, a little bit more is good, but for this one, little bit is better on the safe side <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_lP21juy08Ps/TSSLF6TzWvI/AAAAAAAAKVI/6omHwxztXk8/s1600/DSC03057.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_lP21juy08Ps/TSSLF6TzWvI/AAAAAAAAKVI/6omHwxztXk8/s320/DSC03057.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5558720773749955314" border="0" /></a> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_lP21juy08Ps/TSSLFv0kgpI/AAAAAAAAKVA/IW5-2nTKVuY/s1600/DSC03058.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_lP21juy08Ps/TSSLFv0kgpI/AAAAAAAAKVA/IW5-2nTKVuY/s320/DSC03058.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5558720770934604434" border="0" /></a>Then next up is the beef strips stir-fried with spring onions and garlic. Tastes almost like how my hubby's mom cook it, but just a little bit more flavourful. So flavourful that our nanny's son, who was also invited, grabbed a whole lot >_> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_lP21juy08Ps/TSSLFS0GTvI/AAAAAAAAKUw/TLiVwJFYmGc/s1600/DSC03060.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_lP21juy08Ps/TSSLFS0GTvI/AAAAAAAAKUw/TLiVwJFYmGc/s320/DSC03060.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5558720763147996914" border="0" /></a> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_lP21juy08Ps/TSSLFDqtQ6I/AAAAAAAAKUo/o7c_RAHfq34/s1600/DSC03061.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_lP21juy08Ps/TSSLFDqtQ6I/AAAAAAAAKUo/o7c_RAHfq34/s320/DSC03061.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5558720759082075042" border="0" /></a>Next up, tofu cooked with mince meat and mushroom dices. Usually we eat

that with Japanese tofu, but in this case, we decided to eat with the longish tofu, though I feel it's probably still Japanese tofu but made into this shape because the taste and texture is exactly the same <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_lP21juy08Ps/TSSKo_nALJI/AAAAAAAAKUg/N6GG1lQgNRs/s1600/DSC03062.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_lP21juy08Ps/TSSKo_nALJI/AAAAAAAAKUg/N6GG1lQgNRs/s320/DSC03062.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5558720276956458130" border="0" /></a> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_lP21juy08Ps/TSSKovprAQI/AAAAAAAAKUY/ZOHGu4Yy4Ts/s1600/DSC03063.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_lP21juy08Ps/TSSKovprAQI/AAAAAAAAKUY/ZOHGu4Yy4Ts/s320/DSC03063.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5558720272672686338" border="0" /></a>No Chinese cuisine is complete without a little bit of greens, so as usual, we ordered mixed vegetables, probably mostly cater to those who are more used to eating the usual common veggies that doesn't involve leaves XD <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_lP21juy08Ps/TSSKoeM_2jI/AAAAAAAAKUQ/FeiOwcizvGI/s1600/DSC03065.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_lP21juy08Ps/TSSKoeM_2jI/AAAAAAAAKUQ/FeiOwcizvGI/s320/DSC03065.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5558720267989015090" border="0" /></a> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_lP21juy08Ps/TSSKoPOfVsI/AAAAAAAAKUI/qauK5cwQP_M/s1600/DSC03066.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_lP21juy08Ps/TSSKoPOfVsI/AAAAAAAAKUI/qauK5cwQP_M/s320/DSC03066.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5558720263968741058" border="0" /></a>Also some baby kai lan as well, just the simple stir-fried kind with clear sauce and a hint of garlic <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_lP21juy08Ps/TSSKn81Uy-I/AAAAAAAAKUA/MeO9sAO1u-I/s1600/DSC03067.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_lP21juy08Ps/TSSKn81Uy-I/AAAAAAAAKUA/MeO9sAO1u-I/s320/DSC03067.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5558720259031354338" border="0" /></a> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_lP21juy08Ps/TSSJ-EiBQ0I/AAAAAAAAKT4/bzxlUGutKtE/s1600/DSC03068.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_lP21juy08Ps/TSSJ-EiBQ0I/AAAAAAAAKT4/bzxlUGutKtE/s320/DSC03068.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5558719539543360322" border="0" /></a> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_lP21juy08Ps/TSSJ-Ka0VII/AAAAAAAAKTw/jIkIN9S8hYg/s1600/DSC03069.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_lP21juy08Ps/TSSJ-Ka0VII/AAAAAAAAKTw/jIkIN9S8hYg/s320/DSC03069.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5558719541123765378" border="0" /></a>Then we have the steamed sea bass, which looked ah-ma-zingly delicious ftw! The fish was steamed till it's nice and soft until it almost melts in your mouth kind of feeling, and the freshness, matched with the sauce is just absolutely flavourful and tantalizing in your mouth. I waited till the last minute to see if anyone wants to take

the head and got the green light before mauling it to bits Xd <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_lP21juy08Ps/TSSJ91j5wNI/AAAAAAAAKTo/1y55F0z0CXw/s1600/DSC03070.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_lP21juy08Ps/TSSJ91j5wNI/AAAAAAAAKTo/1y55F0z0CXw/s320/DSC03070.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5558719535524724946" border="0" /></a> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_lP21juy08Ps/TSSJ9mZimAI/AAAAAAAAKTg/CAihOflxneM/s1600/DSC03071.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_lP21juy08Ps/TSSJ9mZimAI/AAAAAAAAKTg/CAihOflxneM/s320/DSC03071.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5558719531454732290" border="0" /></a> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_lP21juy08Ps/TSSJ9TrtCcI/AAAAAAAAKTY/3QdE5zI7U6M/s1600/DSC03072.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_lP21juy08Ps/TSSJ9TrtCcI/AAAAAAAAKTY/3QdE5zI7U6M/s320/DSC03072.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5558719526430640578" border="0" /></a>We also have the roasted whole chicken (minus the head, of course) buried in a mountain of prawn crackers aka keropok. Tastes pretty good, though just a liiiiiiiiiiiiiittle bit dry, but amazingly yummy if dipped in soya sauce mixed with cili padi. Nice and spicy. There's the plum powder actually but looks like not everyone is a fan of dipping their chicken on that <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_lP21juy08Ps/TSSHvQrtJbI/AAAAAAAAKTQ/DbHOlpA8Rmk/s1600/IMG_0022.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_lP21juy08Ps/TSSHvQrtJbI/AAAAAAAAKTQ/DbHOlpA8Rmk/s320/IMG_0022.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5558717086083917234" border="0" /></a> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_lP21juy08Ps/TSSHvbgtiOI/AAAAAAAAKTI/lS6w2hAzPU0/s1600/IMG_0023.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_lP21juy08Ps/TSSHvbgtiOI/AAAAAAAAKTI/lS6w2hAzPU0/s320/IMG_0023.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5558717088990595298" border="0" /></a> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_lP21juy08Ps/TSSHvGZj6qI/AAAAAAAAKTA/2hDj8Z4Ud5M/s1600/IMG_0026.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_lP21juy08Ps/TSSHvGZj6qI/AAAAAAAAKTA/2hDj8Z4Ud5M/s320/IMG_0026.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5558717083323460258" border="0" /></a>My hubby finally got to eat the dessert he didn't get to eat during the wedding, which is the sago chilled sweet soup (due to the games being late and Mike being a chatterbox). Nice and sweet, and tastes delicious chilled. Though to be honest, I'd prefer if it were just as it is with the sago and the sweet soup. The honey dew was a bit of an overkill <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_lP21juy08Ps/TSSHu5KUr-I/AAAAAAAAKS4/bFLnfFKpDMs/s1600/IMG_0021.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_lP21juy08Ps/TSSHu5KUr-I/AAAAAAAAKS4/bFLnfFKpDMs/s320/IMG_0021.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5558717079769886690" border="0" /></a> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"

href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_lP21juy08Ps/TSSHulU515I/AAAAAAAAKSw/znjxMvi8nXg/s1600/IMG_0027.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_lP21juy08Ps/TSSHulU515I/AAAAAAAAKSw/znjxMvi8nXg/s320/IMG_0027.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5558717074445555602" border="0" /></a>The other "dessert" we had was of course, the creme de la creme of the event: the birthday cake! After wishing my hubby's grandma Happy Birthday (she's 89!! Can you believe it?!) and singing the birthday song (as well as letting the kids blow out the candles by demand XD), we had some cake each. It's the usual fruit cake, with the a combination of fruits as topping and filling, and oddly enough, even though my mom-in-law said it's just regular cake with nothing else special on it, it tastes suspiciously like cheese </div> There you have it. A nice birthday function in a hotel where I successfully take each and every dish clear as day without worrying that everyone is grabbing a piece with nothing left to capture or blog about. Lucky~! ^_^

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diceyclipse · 1 year

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Fey Garden - Two Luna moths flutter around a bush of Helichrysum in the garden, drifting between sparkling moonrays.

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lonely-dog-song · 3 years

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my humble dice collection

#image id in alt text #lonely dog speaks #idk where the green dice came from but im guessing i got the others at flea markets #i just realized 1 of the green dice has only 2s and 6s on it.. what the does that mean #i dont particularly play games involving dice. i just like shapes (also the orange and brown ones look cool bc theyre old)

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that-tall-queer-bassist · 3 years

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My personal Pros and Cons of my ADHD

Pros

-noticing all the little details and appreciating them in the fullest

-Emotional Dysregulation, because when I get a new plant, or find that one oddly shaped metal marble I lost a while ago, I am so excited it’s pathetic, but I love that feeling of pure joy.

-hyperfixation of the week/day/hour (i know some people describe it differently, let me be pls) . I usually switch between art mediums, and/or a few video games/social media sites. for example, I’ve been on tumblr for 3 hours as i write this, after not touching it for, i think a month?

-nuerodivergent friends. They’re just better.

-the ability to completely drown myself in information to ignore reality. Is it healthy? no. But i simply cannot handle another existiential crissi rn, so i will instead play minecraft while listening to alt rock playlists on youtube because getting spotify sounds like a lot of work.

-my ability to retain absolutely useless information, from either my, or my other nuerodivergent friends hyperfixations/special interests. I can explain to you in terrible formatting if it’s out loud, the evolution, history, training, anatomy and roles of the horse in our world, and how ao3 works, and what makes or breaks a fanfiction.

-Object Impermanence. When i literally hide myself a treat or surprise and forget about it, then get so excited when i do find/discover it again. I hide google questions, and/or song lyrics in my tabs :) its so fun. Also, hiding away stressors. Again, healthy? no, but i don’t feel like having anxiety all day, so whatever.

-Emotional Dysregulation, again. I can switch from sad or angry to happy and excited/content in a few seconds. It’s also great for getting my siblings out of their funk. ex., my sister is mad at me. I make a silly voice repeating what she said or cross my eyes at her. she laughs, then we can talk and have constructive conversation about why she shouldn’t get that upset about me “cutting off her reading time” when we share a room and I want to sleep, and know that she will be very tired tomorrow if she doesn’t also go to sleep. (We have this conversation almost every single night, i’m not even joking)

Cons

-Emotional Dysregulation. When i get upset, I’m Upset. Like, big time, ruining friendships and familial ties if i let it get out of hand, Upset. Yeah.

-Time Blindness. Constantly late, or early, or under or over estimating the amount of time it takes to do a thing, not eating til 4 because you forgot but you also should just wait til dinner, but now its 9 and I still haven’t eaten-

-Executive Dysfunction. I can’t do the things needed to function. Don’t have the mental energy to explain this one, so google it i guess? There’s a whole checklist of things you need to be able to do to function, and i can do like, three on a good day.

-Sleeping Trouble. People with adhd have trouble falling asleep, staying asleep, and waking up. So, sleeping trouble. So I’m constantly tired.

-Internal Clock is SLIGHTLY OFF. Nuerotypicals have that normal sleep schedule. Adhd ers have it shifted forward by, i think, 2, 3 hours. So we go to sleep later, and wake up later, and that’s the only way to get a healthy amount of sleep. My entire family also eats dinner super late, which might be because we’re weird, but I suspect the inner clock thing cuz we all got adhd.

-Object Impermanance. I hid my math homework one time. I failed that class.

-Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria. Never trying, or starting cuz I’m so terrified to get a bad reaction. Constantly masking around certain people to appeal to the few of my Nuerotypical friends. Or, y’know, majority of my extended family. They’re ableist. and homophobic. And transphobic. And racist. and sexist. The list goes on, but, yeah. Never coming out to them! :D

-Masking. It’s exhausting and I can only handle so much of it.

-Not Masking around nuerotypicals. The shoot down after finally revealing my true thoughts, urges, feelings, stims, etc. just sucks. Super disheartening.

-Squirrel or shiny jokes when they’re made by people without adhd. Yes, I do get distracted by squirrels, and shiny things, and dice. Stop pointing it out, and/or putting me into yet another box of your labeling.

-saying that I’m lazy, worthless, or a disaster when really it’s not helping. I already have that internal monologue, you adding to it and giving it some truth/extra ammunition is not. helping.

-Emotional Dysregulation. Again, because mood swings. like, I’m trying to be rightfully angry with you. Stop making me laugh with you’re silly faces or pointing out of a weird face someone made in a picture you took.

-the stigma about the hyperactive subtype. I’m inattentive. I have No Energy. Ever. Sometimes i have restlessness, but there is still no energy. Stop portraying me as bouncing off the walls, especially with caffeine. Caffeine just catches my body speed up to my brain speed, settling me down a bit, at least mentally.

-people not getting when i say I’m overstimulated, or need some time alone to process or re-energize, and following me, or continuing to do the overstimulating thing. I will literally. lose. my. mind.

-when people shut me down after I share something that is really important to me, or make fun of me for liking something an “abnormal” amount. Flashbacks to overnight camp, when whenever I said anything about horses, they said I had to do five squats, and when i got really excited about discussing the differences in riding styles/types with another person who really liked horses, but rode english, they said that it was obnoxious, when i was just.. excited to finally find someone to talk to and who felt the same way after, basically, years and years of no one getting it or wanting to listen or talking with me about the thing. To this day I don’t discuss horses with anyone, cuz it hurts so much remembering that, and the fear of it happening again is still there.

-seeing other people be ashamed about their adhd and hesitant to mention until i talk, like, super openly about having it, in like, the first 5 minutes of knowing each other. It just.. hurts.

-I’m super empathetic, not in a way that’s helpful though. Like, wincing, or limping myself because I saw you drop something on your foot, and am imagining it so vividly that it feels like it happened to me. Reading a fic about abuse or depression, and it hitting too hard and hurting me almost physically, and on a personal level because I simply cannot handle it. Feeling someone else’s pain so vividly that i can’t comfort or help them in any way, because I am so preoccupied with feeling their pain.

-never being able to finish things without starting something else. All the WIPs in my google docs, istg, i will be driven insane by it.

(y’know, this was kinda fun. As a rant, but also as a way for me to identify things about myself and my adhd that i like. Like, I know its so much shorter, but I have a hard time with positive self affirmation, so it was kinda nice. I might do it again, but just the pros part cuz the cons are kinda depressing ngl.)

(OH, Y’all should reblog with your own personal pros added on! You can add cons if you’d like to :) I’m just interested in seeing how your experiences/feeling differ from mine :) )

#adhd #adhd life #executive dysfunction #positive affimation #but it's only the begining ig #i might delete positive affirmations #idk #pros and cons #pros and cons of my adhd #nuerodivergent #nuerodivergent friends are the best #i will elaborate at some point #I've been on tumblr too long

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bardmau5 · 2 years

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It is #WIPWednesday my dudes! I’ve been making my own dice masters! We now have 2 alt d4 shapes and a clipped version of the d4, d10, and percentile. I'll finish clipping the d8 after dinner <3

#d&d #dnd #dungeons and dragons #dice maker #my dice #polyhedral dice #RPG dice #dice

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socialdistancingdiaries · 4 years

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Keto Chicken Taco 26/05

I’m trying to do less carbs this week to keep it a bit keto so I made keto tacos with cheese shells instead of the usual corn or flour tortillas.

Serves 1

You will need: 3 tbsp shredded cheese 2 chicken thigh fillets 2 tbsp ancho seasoning (alternative in method)

For the cheese shells spread some shredded cheese on a baking tray in a thin-ish layer in a circular shape.

Put it in the oven for 6 minutes at 180 degrees c. Once you take it out leave it to set for like 3-4 minutes.

Carefully peel the cheese off the tray and put it over a rack or a rolling pin to shape it a bit. You can skip this step as I did and left it as a bottom layer.

For the chicken I used the ancho rub from wahaca and air fried it. Dice the chicken after into bite sized pieces.

Alt: a good spice blend for a dry rub if you don’t have the ancho one: cumin, cayenne chili powder, salt, pepper, paprika, coriander powder, a dash of oregano and some chili flakes for an added kick.

I served it up with some homemade guacamole (recipe in previous mexican food posts) and shredded lettuce.

#mexican food #keto #ketoeating #easy food #foodie #keto taco #guacamole #cheese #ancho #ancho chicken #healthy dinner

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majirocksoff · 5 years

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Majima breaks Kiryu out of prison; now with alt backstories. Majima x Kiryu / Kiryu x Nishiki (implied) Takes place during Y1. (Longfic, 70k words+)

His name is One-Thousand-And-Five.

Yesterday he was someone else, had been given, with the manners of a machine and the politeness of policy, the name, Mr. One-Thousand-And-Six.

Tomorrow he will be someone else again, at the ringing of the perfunctory bell that divorces one day from another: Mr. One-Thousand-And-Four.

In between the going-aways and the coming-tos, he collects names like dust. He goes to the chow hall, and he becomes Wait Your Turn; in going to the yard he becomes Thirty Minutes More. At the shower he gains a uniquely ephemeral identity: Batch-Two-Quickly-Now. He goes in, let the water scald off his skin, be reborn in water burning so hot it strips him red. Coming out shiny like a cooked lobster, he can wear a new identity for the rest of the night: The Dogshit of Dojima.

— —

In his prison cell he is nothing, his action is waiting.

Waiting is not inaction, this is the second thing you learn in prison.

Before prison you have assumptions, and the assumption is that waiting is just something that happens while the rest of your life is unraveling, becoming, acquainting itself to happenstance; fusing itself, in chemical reaction to coincidence, so that events may soon happen. You are always about to do something while you are waiting: buy groceries, run errands, break someone’s neck. Waiting is anticipation, a pre-meditated murder of time.

You were wrong, you know that now. Waiting is action, this is what you learn in prison.

It is an action that must be actively done. You fold yourself as small as possible into diamond-shaped patterns in the privacy of your cell (waiting is not done in public, it is sacred). You may sit cross-legged or seiza, stand on ceremony or leaning coolly, curled up in your bed with an arm tucked behind your head. Sucking your thumb, if you must.

Your exterior does not matter when you’re waiting, what matters is your interior, which must be shrunk. You shrink yourself inside, small-small as possible, until you can be turned around and poured out, and out-plop comes your soul and it won’t fill even a leaky thimble. You do this by stripping identities out of yourself.

Once upon a time you might have wanted to be great, for example, to follow in the footsteps of Kazama-san, to trace yourself in his shadow.

You take this desire and you erase it, line by line from the top, beginning first from the greatest concept then extending to everything else. You first forget the sentence whole; then you dismiss in inches and angry nights everything else: Kazama-san, the concept of greatness, the idea of footsteps, the desire of wanting, an entity of ‘you’, the stretching of time, once of the past, until at last you can be left alone with nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

Then you wait.

— —

The first thing you learn in prison, is that you have no identity.

You’re given an ID the moment you step in, and you think philosophical thoughts: ah, is this what I shall be? You were wrong, of course, because a series of number is an identity, and that identity is more solid than what you’ll eventually end up with.

Your identity becomes the days you have left, because 8-1-5-7-6 rankles your ears and bedevils your patience. At roll call, they put existential fear into you: will you be here for eighty thousand days, each by minutes longer than the last? You cannot. You fear. Your soul trembles and weep. You cast it off and take a new name: Mr. Three-thousand-six-hundred, all ten years to be waited tattooed on you; it is a long time but it can be waited. In contrast eighty thousand is forever.

When you take on the others it becomes easier; take them on in the secret corners of the prison where lips can split, skulls can break, nails torn one by one out of grasping flesh. There are many corners where the guards don’t see, willfully blind, and here you can be beaten by anyone: your seniors, your juniors, your hitmen, your old friends, your new enemies. Gradually in blood you extract from them new names:

The Dogshit of Dojima, that fucking backstabbing cunt, the lil Tojo shit, why ya staring, asswankcuntsucker, goddamned cocksucker, oi fuck off, are-ya-happy-now-ya-murdering-cunt, and so on.

They’re fine names; at least they don’t have numbers.

— —

The man with the one eye comes and instantly breaks every rule. He is an earthquake: in his presence you must obey new rules, run for high ground, cower in clear spaces.

He comes, swinging his hips like a new officer, twirling his hands holding an invisible bat, eating with his lips a pop song five years too new for you. He peels back the skin of the cell the moment he arrives. He overturns containers. He looks into the toilet, opens up the flusher, cracks open the sink to examine the deep sadness of the hole in the middle. He takes out his sheets, folds it messily so that he can lay in it like a well fucked boy.

All this you see, his cell is right opposite yours.

“Yo,” He says. He puts his legs up in a cross, carefully, making space for the steel tips he must have worn once. He straightens the eyepatch he was allowed (they had tried taking it from him, but realized too late it was too much a part of him, it would have killed him).

“What’s yer name?”

You are surprised. It is a terrible question, a faux pas, an abhorrent question never asked in prison. How could he, how dare he?

A name? He wants a name? But you don’t have a name, you’re a condemned spirit. You’ve worked hard to get this far. The Japanese dream: work so hard you don’t know who you are. Once you had a name, and it’d laid discarded in a laundry pile. You wait for him to understand how rude he’s been and go away.

“Oi ya deaf? Ya want me to go over there and beat it out of ya?”

There’s three feet of corridor and two sets of bars separating you, and you see that he means it.

You lick your cracked, chapped lips, tried hard to recall…

“My… Name?”

“Just my luck,” He swore. “I’m roomed with a fuckin’ idiot. Your name! Your name! Are ya daft?”

He needs to be patient. Names are the first thing to go, and the last thing to be replaced. He doesn’t know what he’s asking, demanding a name. Oh, the weeks to come, wracked in the throes of identity. Does he not know? Does he not care, how much this hurt, to recall a name?

Reluctantly, slowly (time itself is slow here) it is said.

“My name is… Kazuma. Kiryu. Kazuma, Kiryu, Kazuma. Yes, that’s my name.”

Oh, he says, mouth perfect on an O. The Dragon of Dojima? That Kazuma-fucking-Kiryu? That you? The Dragon of Dojima? The fucking Dragon of Dojima?

“Hell yeah! Always wanted to fight me a dragon! Sit tight in that cell, dragonshit, because I’m comin’ for ya Kiryu-chan!”

— —

Majima Goro was introduced to him in bits of nerve, bones, and tissues.

Kiryu goes as far away from him as he can. Now that he has identity it is not so easy to walk the hallways of the prison; it clings to him like bits of plastic wrap, tight and suffocating, each piece determined to make themselves be remembered. Every nook and cranny and day and night that once he’d lived as a young man of Kamurocho, clamored to be the one to dice his anonymity to pieces. He will not be forgotten, he cannot forget, not if they have any say about it.

In the manner of Majima’s walking and the dance of his fingers on the cutlery he sees the glittering manner of a younger Kamurocho, a visitor, a stranger, here to tell him: time has passed, but not enough time yet so that you can see it firsthand. Time is here to visit. The outside world has been let in, poured angry but fearsome into his cells.

The rattling of Majima’s bars replaces his roll call, his silent private mornings.

“Hey,” He screams (he is always screaming, he has no other verb). “Hey Kiryu-chan! Wake up, I’m bored!”

At night he rattles them like chains, screaming again: “Tell me a bedtime story, Kiryu-chan! Hey? Ya ignorin’ me? I can’t sleep, why don’t ya stay awake too? We could play imaginary shogi, how 'bout that?”

He is gyoku; the king that has come to sweep all of Kiryu’s neat, patiently-allocated time away and replaced it with himself, loud and trying, rolling over all the hallways into the secret corners where he is allowed to beat up Kiryu.

The first time he does this he shatters bone, broke clean through in one piercing fist Kiryu’s entire cheekbone, part of his jaw. Lovingly Majima brought him to the sink and tended his wounds; he tended him five times, smashing Kiryu up-down-up-down onto the metal until it shatters Kiryu’s nerves, it was so loud, and the metal had caught him in the ear. Majima left him tended, tender, tenderized, lying in a pool of blood leaving him rapidly for the freedom of the drains. The water, slow and warm now, cascading over him, lights bright and disorienting, the smell of soap mixed with the secrets of prison bathrooms.

He is made to realize he is fuhyo; a low mere degraded pawn. Like a pawn he could only move forwards, could not retreat, could then only be pushed into Majima’s arms, holding him in a chokehold over metal plates of curry and rice.

“Ya not such hot shit, Dragon of Dojima,” Majima tells him, whispering in his ear. “Ya just plain shit. I’m so disappointed. Ya disappointin’ me here, with your lousy ass performance. Kiryu-chan, ya need to shape up. Ya the best entertainment I’ve got around here and you’re so. goddamned. boring.”

He cracked his neck and laughed the whole time Kiryu goes down.

Once Kiryu remembers, he would have soared with Majima in his clutches and brought him down like thunder, would have stepped on him and never realized it - ah, might have thought, it’s dirtying the soles of my shoe, the little soul of Mad Dog Majima stuck in the rubbery meat he walks on.

“Kiryu-chan!” The hound howls. “Kiryu-Kazuma-chan! Come on, let’s play imaginary shogi! Are ya mad I beat ya? Or are ya mad that I beat ya up? Don’t be such a princess, Kiryu-chan! Let’s play, let’s play, let’s play!”

The hellhound becomes a puppy at night, frolicking in the lonesome cells; his cell bounded by Kiryu’s bounded by others. Only other people don’t matter to him; only strangely, Kiryu mattered to him. Kiryu was fun, Kiryu was gokudo, Kiryu had a past. The others Majima couldn’t wake up, couldn’t ask: who are you? What did you do to end up here? They can’t answer him, all of them mute and anonymous, because most of them have worked hard to forget, and unlike Kiryu could not be brought back.

With their sad sunken eyes and closed eyelids they watch Kiryu and Majima play imaginary shogi; kei-ma leapt over kin over gin, pushing aside hisha, storming onto kaku. Who are you, Kiryu whispers one night in bravado. He pressed his head back against the cell bars, sitting with his eyes closed to better remember the shogi board. Hands folded loosely across his lap, moving invisible pieces around.

I am Kei-ma, Majima whispered. Kiryu collects this identity, examine it in the moonlight, thinks fragmented thoughts –

“Are ya an idiot, Kiryu-chan? It just looks like my name - it’s a joke! Ya stupid ass thinking it means anything?”

He grinned, laughing so hard he overturns their imaginary board; neither can remember now which pieces were where. “This prison getting to ya, you’re a goddamned old fuck now.”

— —

Trapped now in the machine of his identity, Kiryu loses his numbers. He realized this one day when he had to go down to the office, to ask with form in hand exactly how many days he had to wait; the answer came back and surprised him, he is holding less numbers than he thought he had. They had slipped through his fingers and rolled into forgotten corners when he wasn’t watching.

He is now Mr. Nine-Hundred-and-Fifty, a whole month having passed him in scorn. Those numbered days he could no longer wear; Majima had forced his identity back onto him and they won’t go on now, came on like a loose coat, baggy in the elbows. He can no longer wait, at least wait the way he used to. There is no patience to be had, with Majima strolling bored and callous into his privacy, intruding with answers, leaving with questions.

Why are you here, Majima-san, he asked - desperate to give Majima more form, more identity, to know more so that he can become less to Kiryu.

What crime did you commit? Who did you kill? How did you live?

“Wouldn’t ya like to know, Kiryu-chan? I’m bored, bored, so maybe I’ll tell ya - but ya have to beat me first.”

They dance in the yard. They have exactly six minutes before the officers come with batons and extra days, so they must be quick, trading fists until their faces are bloated with blood and torn epidermis; Kiryu dancing better now but still far from a match to Majima, so that Majima danced with him only because he had no better partners. A fallen dragon made of shit was still better than just plain shit. Majima pivots on the officer, says: it’s me, I started this.

An act of generosity. It surprises Kiryu, he doesn’t know what to say, Majima taking this sin into the confession of his records.

“I ain’t plannin’ ta stay here twenty-five years, so what’s a few months that I won’t be around for?” He bared nasty teeth at Kiryu. “I ain’t like ya. I ain’t the wallowing sort. I’ll be out before six months is up.”

Oh, Kiryu said. Glad but sad, sad and glad. He is relieved that Majima in leaving will restore him to his formless mass again; bittersweet that he loses such a strict mold. Kiryu Kazuma Kazama Nishikiyama Dojima. Things he can’t forget as long as Majima is around, rooting him, anchoring him without his permission and against his wants.

“Whoooo—”

— —

The days are slipping away so fast now that he has to seize it with both hands clenched so tight his knuckles go white. Stay, he commanded. Stay. Seizing his miserable days in his hands, he watched Majima prepare for flight. By inches and minutes and lost seconds he withdraws from Kiryu, become more and more likely to disappear during yard time and bath time and free time, to meet with associates strange and shapeless huddling in the other yard.

Lined up against theirs but separated by a fence is the small-timers, the low-hitters, the off-ballers, little people who won’t be doing more than six months in the most deprived luxuries, off-site beside them, counting less than one-hundred-eighty-days.

It is these people that Majima meets, forehead-to-forehead like lovers, whispering convoluted plans calculated like algebra. When they hide, when they bother to hide, Majima scratches at the fence with loose-tipped fingers, plucking the fence like a guitar, plucking tunes at his associates until they come: unwilling but bowed by Majima’s boys who’d sequestered themselves in the smaller prison.

Where is — He demanded.

What is —

How shall —

How does the flight mechanism work? How does Kiryu find out? He finds out in nerves; Majima sometimes, sidling up to him, having the nerve to ask: I have a question. Where is the control room for —

Kiryu frowning, turning away, saying go, go I don’t know, don’t trouble me, I’ve never seen, I couldn’t possibly know, I never meant to go, never meant to leave, this prison is for me, nine-hundred-days only left to be. Majima beating him with his fists until he lay shivering and nurturing wounds on the ground, beating his identity into him.

Tell me what you see, Majima demanded.

“Kiryu-chan, don’t ya lie to me. I’ve been watchin’ ya watchin’ and ya know it. Ya just don’t know that you know it. Well, that’s what I’m for. I’m going to beat your piece of shit memory into your head.” He seized Kiryu by the collar, lift him up so that he could be closer to the sun, shaking him over and over again.

“Tell me! Where is it? You know where it is!”

Come, Kiryu told him, spitting out blood. Led him to the dark places in the prison where things can be seen, push him into corners angled right, take him away from plans angled wrong. You’re not doing this right, he told Majima. This control room is patrolled all the time, six-at-a-go, it’s a no-go, a no-show, what you want, really want, is this other place. You won’t know it unless you’ve been like me; a man without identity, they don’t let anyone see if they’ve got eyes. The crow-pig comes and pluck out your eye, one on each side, if they see you waiting to watch.

“I get it,” Majima said. “Thanks.”

More, “Hey, ya wanna come with—”

No, he said, he only had nine hundred more to go, it didn’t mean anything to him. All he wants is for Majima to leave, and quickly - so that he can once more be subsumed by anonymity.

— —

In bits and pieces he watch Majima assembled his plan; in his patience Kiryu had learned to see everything, and in so seeing saw that his plan would work before Majima himself knows it. Majima shrunk and wrapped himself in ignorance until the plan itself is executed. He goes with the flow, himself. Doesn’t need to have foresight. He’ll work it until it works, even if he fails this time. They waited calm and nerveless in their cells for the escape that will come soon.

“It’ll work,” Kiryu told him sleepily. Tomorrow, he’s thinking. This will be their last game of imaginary shogi, so he slipped: slipped the golden knife in and ate Majima’s king whole.

“Damn, ya good, Kiryu-chan. Ya totally wreck me this time.”

“Thank you for teaching me how to play.”

“Teach ya? Kiryu-chan, ya always knew how to play. Don’t ya know? Don’t ya remember? You could do anything you wanted - that’s why you were the dragon. All I did was make ya remember.”

Oh, he doesn’t remember anymore; all he’d wanted to was forget. Tomorrow when Majima is gone, he’ll go back to forgetting again. Reverse-engineering an onion, putting back layer by layer his thin skin to cover the sound of the silence inside. Eight-hundred-something more days to be lived. The days had leapt from his hands but he’ll have them back under rein again. When Majima is unleashed.

“Good luck, Majima-san,” He said.

“Thanks, Kiryu-chan. Couldn’t have done this without ya,” Majima said.

— —

He comes awake, frightened by the silence.

Kiryu sat in the dark and listened: there were no sounds. Not just the greater sounds of the outside world: cameras that had stopped working, alarms silenced and napping, doors grinding to a halt in mid-air. There is silence in him everywhere that frightens him - he can no longer hear the sound of forgetfulness, he’s forgotten how to forget…

A knife pressed itself tightly to his jugular, nicked him not because it’d miscalculated. Its owner was just sadistic, wanted him to bleed, wanted to see the sheen of a dragon’s blood.

“Kiryu-chan.” whispered Majima. “Ya coming with me.”

“No,” He gasped. “No.” He wanted to stay, was terrified by the outer world.

“I ain’t givin’ ya a choice. Ya coming with me, whether ya like it or no. Ya my present to that fucking Nishikiyama cunt.”

He pushed his knife in. Hissed orders at Kiryu until reluctantly, Kiryu unfolded himself and groped with seeking hands in the darkness. At length he found the thread of the plan, and began to follow it as it unraveled in the darkness of the prison, its silvery length glowing with hope. They walked down the halls quiet and empty illuminated by the shining spool. Somewhere somehow Majima had secreted all the officers away.

The inmates lined row by row in their rat-holes to watch them, trapped in their cell that wouldn’t open. When they realized what had happened, they howled like hell itself - unfair! unfair! unfair! - and hands scratched, brushed, rend at them from all sides. The inmates will drag them down to the pits if they could only reach…

Outside.

Air the same but different; they’re on the other side of the fence now. There is a motorcycle waiting, a snakeskin jacket, a small tanto and a helmet. A set of clothes prepared by someone who thought Kiryu was as big as he’d seen Kiryu last. Untrue, he has shrunk now, made skinny by the weak broth of prison.

“Put on the helmet,” Majima said. There was only one.

“Don’t you—”

“I can’t fuckin’ see with a black glass on, asshole. Vision strictly 10/20. 'sides,” He smiles. “That skull of yours worth ten of mine, isn’t it?”

Kiryu knew nothing; there was too much not being said. He climbed onto the motorcycle, clamped loose hands around Majima’s middle, and then they flew, across snowy landscapes into the cold and a freedom he never wanted but had received.

#kazumaji #majima #majima goro #yakuza #fanfic #ryu ga gotoku #kiryu kaz

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