#gorg-go-gay

[mending-up-your-fences]

Brandi Carlile seeing Boygenius at the Gorge on her day off? That tracks

#schedule for the day: build a 50 ft bridge across a swamp #go see gay music at the Gorge

[turnstileskyline]

This is an ask about The Muppets. Take it as a free invitation to go on whatever Muppet-related tangent your heart so desires <3

im going to take this ask to talk about richard hunt :) he joined the jim henson company way back when it was henson associates, in 1969. he was 18, fresh out of high school, and already experienced in puppetry and performing.

hunt joined the muppet team in a very muppet-esque way, by calling sesame street from a phone booth and asking if henson associates was hiring. and, somehow, they happened to be auditioning people that same day. he worked the great santa claus switch in 1970, and aided in muppet appearances on programs like the ed sullivan show. on sesame street, he often aided in operation, frequently performing ernie’s right hand or the back end of mr snuffleupagus. one of his first main characters was sully, one half of the construction duo of biff and sully (biff was performed by jerry nelson, who richard hunt would often be paired with in performances). the story goes that richard hunt wanted to perform a frequent character, rather than assisting in the operation of other characters – and so he was assigned sully, who had no spoken or sung lines. hunt eventually took on multiple characters, like gladys the cow, don music, and forgetful jones, although following his death, many have been phased out or put in the background.

his most recognizable characters come from the muppet show, where he would perform scooter (the excitable stagehand of the muppet show often found pestering kermit backstage,) janice (the lead guitarist of dr. teeth and the electric mayhem, typically paired with jerry nelson’s floyd pepper,) beaker, statler, wayne, and sweetums. when fraggle rock began, hunt was one of henson’s core team of performers, so he was often shooting sesame street – a fact that didn’t stop him from performing junior gorg, gunge, mudwell, and the wizard, among others.

when jim henson died in 1990, he chose richard hunt to lead his memorial service. hunt had been with the muppets for 21 years at this point, and had become one of henson’s most trusted puppeteers and closest friends. he would often goof off backstage, entertaining guests to the studios with whatever puppet was closest to him. colleagues recall that he brought the energy to every set he was on, playing pranks on new hires, smoking joints with jerry nelson backstage, and inviting the cast and crew to gay bars with him after sesame street tapings. one of the most famous stories about him was his frustration with elmo, who he briefly performed before the furry red monster became a childhood icon. reportedly frustrated that he couldn’t figure out what to do with the character, he threw the puppet across the room, exclaiming to kevin clash (who caught the puppet) something along the lines of “someone else do it!”

he passed in 1992 from complications caused by the AIDS virus. matt baume has described him as “one of the most famous gay men in the world who nobody recognized”. following his death, the muppet workshop created a panel for the aids quilt to memorialize him. hunt was integral to the success of the muppets, due both to his skills in performing and to the energy and spirit he brought to every production he was a part of.

[c0ffeecr0w]

More South Park headcanons (ft Craig's gang)

Canon age and high school/college HCs, though most are in general about them (biology, personality, ecc)

Might edit in case I add something or re-edit them

Kyle plays guitar and violin pretty well, though he plays the latter for special events and occassions (ex. music class)

Kenny and Cartman have funny contact nicknames for their friends. Ex. Cartman has Kenny as "Poor Kid", while Kenny has Stan as "Cup Of Depresso" jokingly, though Stan isn't aware of it but he might find it funny since he knows Kenny's sense of humour. Rest of the 3 have Cartman as "Fatass" or "Doughboy" unsurprisingly

Cartman is the worst cuddler/kisser despite being a big marshmallow. Kenny can do it with ease. I mean, he's the master at it. Just look at his love for girls and getting along with pretty much anyone, especially Butters. Stan is also a pretty good cuddler but not as good as Kenny, plus he'd get a bit nervous when cuddling someone, though he's gotten over vomiting when nervous/in love.

Stan gets pretty hiccupy/burpy when drunk

He gets pretty bad hiccups when overeating too

Stan has a dad sneeze, Kenny has a kitten sneeze

Kenny is the coldest to the touch, Cartman is the warmest

Both Kenny and Stan have moments where they gorge themselves, not just because they're both stoners but for other reasons, such as Stan being the most active. Stan gets depressed the most while Kenny just has a bigger appetite (Stan has a bit of one too), plus doesn't eat much sometimes. Kyle is sometimes repulsed by it

Cartman loves food but doesn't eat as much as Kenny, who can eat an entire 8 lb steak if dared to. Cartman would probably get to about 3/4

Stan is a quiet sleeper, might move to his own side of the bed if sleeping with someone. He'd sometimes stay up thinking or scrolling through his phone

Kyle is the most restless. He's sometimes a bit nervous to sleep with someone, especially Kyle or Wendy

Kenny's a cuddler when sleeping with someone, whether it'd be Cartman, Butters, Stan, Kyle. He likes keeping people safe and calm with him. Spoon all the way

Kenny loves Horror movies. He can watch them all night. Stan however would be scared, hiding behind a blanket/pillow until the scary scenes/entire movie is over or just hug someone near him to comfort

Kyle has a fear of centipedes/millipedes after the Human CentiPad incident as well as Japanese food. He can't eat or look at it without feeling nauseous from it

Wendy started learning Taekwondo around third grade and has done it ever since. Has done it on Cartman twice

Kenny has a high spice tolerance. He can eat a Carolina Reaper as a dare and probably wouldn't need milk to wash the spice. Kyle and Butters on the other hand have the least. Butters would probably quit after eating a Jalapeno

Bebe also likes spicy food, though she can't go as far as passing Habanero spice (100/150,000 SHU)

Butters sleeps with plushies, even in his high school and college years. Cartman has this habit as well but no one knows he does aside from his mom

Bebe and Kenny both try a variety of makeup fashion types together

Cartman and Kyle have the best skincare routine. Cartman mainly does it to be pretty while Kyle is germophobic

Cartman has told only Butters and Kenny that he's gay. Stan thinks he's bi since he had Heidi in the past. Kyle doesn't know, doesn't care but assumes he is gay/queer due to the whole "ball sucking" demand

Stan and Kenny would be the ones who'd eat dog treats/pet food if there's no food in the house

Cartman smokes nicotine vapes, Stan does weed and Kenny smokes both

Both Kenny and Stan have almost gotten pulled over by the cops from being drunk and high and somehow escaped without them noticing

Butters likes the High School musical movies and Kenny watched them with him because nobody else would

Kenny hangs out with almost everybody. Stan's gang, Craig's gang, the Goth kids, the girls

He hates clowns. He couldn't watch It or Killer Clowns From Outer Space because of his fear of them

Stan occasionally talks to the Goth kids, though he's closer friends to Micheal than the rest of them

Kenny and Cartman both watch makeup vloggers. Butters mostly listens to ASMR or watches arts and crafts tutorials. Stan just finds a bunch of memes and animal videos while Kyle mainly uses YouTube for music aside from Spotify

Stan and Kyle are the only ones who have cars. Stan's is a blue pickup truck that he drives everyone around in. Kyle's is a red Sedan Chevy that he mostly drives Stan, Wendy or Kenny around, refuses to let Cartman ride with him. Cartman just takes Uber when at far distances and going someplace alone. Kenny is too poor and short on cash to own a car. He uses Kevin's broken ass Nissan

Stan is okay with eating meat as long as he doesn't witness the slaughter of an animal. He's squeamish to blood and can't watch horror movies because of it

Cartman prefers Rom-Coms (blame Liane)

Craig's Gang HCs

Craig doesn't like coffee, so Tweek makes him a hot cocoa instead. With extra love ^^

Tweek is a bird freak. He fuckin loves birds. He has a cockatoo named Java. craig suggested him to call him Jupiter (named after one of my cockatiels IRL) or Neptune because space.

Tweek has ADHD

He's consumed less meth ever since he and Craig started to become lovers. Craig has helped him after he found out his parents put meth in his coffee

Clyde is the closest to being Cartman's friend than the rest of Stan's gang. Cartman even supports him being a bit chubby

Aside from the rest of Craig's gang and Timmy, Jimmy is friends with Kenny, who crack jokes at each other from time to time. In general, Jimmy is pretty chill with most people, especially Stan's gang

Tolkien is closer to Stan and Kyle (also canonically happened in the show) who he hangs out with. They enjoy playing music together, which all 3 have a passion for as well as sports, especially Token since he's a pro at both bass and drums

Tolkien is the most sporty and physically active out of the gang, being a pro at basketball and football and is in the same basketball team as Stan

All of them are pretty much A to B+ students

Both Craig and Tweek have travel bags for their pets when they walk around town, woods/wilderness or go on holiday

Token is the most sane out of the gang aside from Craig. He'd be the one who'd tell everyone to calm down when Tweek and Clyde freak out or in rare cases, everyone else besides him

All randomly watch Big Bang Theory or Always Sunny when chilling together. Jimmy and Craig chose them

Clyde is the most extroverted compared to the rest of the gang, while Craig is the most introverted

Tweek loves Rom Coms, he sometimes forces Craig to watch them with him

South Park (c) Trey & Matt

#south park #sp fandom #sp headcanons #south park headcanons #south park hcs #eric cartman #stan marsh #kyle broflovski #kenny mccormick #butters stotch #wendy testaburger #bebe stevens #craig tucker #tweek tweak #tolkien #clyde donovan #jimmy valmer #headcanon #headcanons

[fox-daddy]

The arcana as stolen memes again, again

Julian; the desire to disappear vs the desire to be held and wanted

~~~

Mc: what is the most complicated way to cook an egg?

Nadia without missing a beat: Atmospheric re-entry

Mc holding an egg:...well shit

~~~

Muriel: What if instead of stepping out of my comfort zone I step into an even comfier zone?

~~~

Lucio: huge fan of when my speech patterns rub off on people enjoy when that happens

Lucio: NEVERMIND, my mum just said skill issue to me

~~~

Mc: I wish I had the ability

Muriel:...to do what?

Mc:yeah

Muriel:...

Mc:...

~~~

Asra: I think we should have glowstick juice injected in our bones when we're born so if we break em there's a fun little surprise

Mc: whats the surpise?

Julian cutting in: blood poisoning

~~~

Lucio: if you step on a person's foot they open their mouths, just like trash cans.

Mc: trying not to encourage him by laughing*

~~~

Mc: one time Asra put a glass of milk on the table in front of me and I meant to ask them 'who's milk is this?' because I wasn't sure if it was for me or if they were putting it down on the table to go grab something else and I just stared down at the milk and said 'who's this?' and they turned around and without missing a beat said 'that's your new friend mr.milk' then we stared at each other for a solid twenty seconds before they asked if I was high.

~~~///~~~

(modern day arcana *not the au faking it*)

Nadia: the worst part about parallel parking is the witnesses

Mc: you know their are no witnesses if you're bad enough at parallel parking

~~~

Mc; those moments when straight people assume you're one of them and you feel like a gay secret agent

Nadia: lebionage

Portia:bi spy

Julian: it's an ace case

Asra: secret gaygent

~~~

Nadia: 'kobe' is for accuracy and precision while 'yeet' is for power and distance

Mc: I can turn this into dnd stats

Nadia:???

Mc:Kobe is dexterity, yeet is strength, oof is constitution, tea is intelligence, yolo is wisdom, and wig is charisma

~~~

Mc; You want to know one of my favorite facts? If you leave a hamster wheel out in the forest wild mice will come and run on it. That is one of my favourite facts.

Muriel:... bobcats and lynx's will sit in cardboard boxes abandoned in the forest. I asked Asra about it and they said 'cat's' while shrugging.

~~~

Mc; George Washington died in 1799, 15 years before the first dinosaur was classified. So therefore, Gorge Washington never knew about dinosaurs

Portia: Why does this make me so sad?

~~~

Nadia: if you add two pounds of sugar to literally one ton of concrete it will ruin the concrete and make it unable to set properly. Which is good to know if you want to resist something being built, French anarchists used this to resist prison construction in the 80's.

Portia: I'm just going to go ahead and take a note about this for purely educational purposes.

~~~

Julian: you got to be dunkin my doughnuts

Asra: you gotta be hutting my pizza

Portia: you gotta be mackin my donalds

Nadia: you're really innin my outs here, buddy. You're fivein my guys.

Lucio: ya whiting my castle. Ya darying my queen. Ya steaking my shake.

Mc: but are you belling my taco?

~~~///~~~

(ones with my oc's because why not)

Hunter: stuck in an elevator because Portia decided to jump?

Everyone minus Muriel and Julian: fucken mint

Hunter: Julian's had three panic attacks in ten minutes?

Everyone minus Muriel and Julian: Fucken mint

Hunter:Muriel hasn't said a thing since we got stuck?

Everyone minus Muriel and Julian: Fucken mint

Hunter: Lucio being immature and yelling the whole time?

Everyone minus Muriel and Julian: Fucken mint

Hunter: Asra has just been listening to music and trying to call Nadia to come get us?

Everyone minus Muriel and Julian: Fucken mint

Hunter: Kyle has to pee so bad he might get a bladder infection?

Everyone minus Muriel and Julian: Fucken mint

Hunter: Lucio's going to be the one we blame because we all hate his fucking guts

Everyone minus Muriel and Julian: Fucken mint

~~~

Hunter: I've got some kind of allergic reaction going on and my face is breaking out in a bad rash and Julian is freaking out and wants to take me to the hospital. Portia was like 'let's not make any rash decisions' and we high-fived and now Julian is yelling at both of us.

~~~

Hunter: someone will be like 'coca cola can remove rust from metal imagine what it's doing to your body' like psssh removing the rust obviously

Nadia: that's not how that works

Hunter: Yeah? while I don't have rust in my body so check mate

Nadia:

#the arcana #the arcana game #the arcana shitpost #the arcana memes #the arcana mc #asra the arcana #nadia the arcana #julian the arcana #portia the arcana #muriel the arcana #lucio the arcana #mc kyle #mc hunter

[anotherradfemlesbian]

Why are y’all condemning same sex attraction? Why are y’all reducing it to a sort of preference or a fetish for x genitals? Do you guys realize how incredibly homophobic this discourse y’all keep parroting is? Like, I’m done with this bullshit. Enough of masculine women claiming to be butch lesbians lusting after males. Same with the army of “femmes” who want “daddies girl-cock inside 🥺”. Enough of females that went from “not being like other girls” to being the most subversive people ever because they’re now trans gay boys who wear makeup and dresses and ohhh you’re so freaking cool lol. No. And on “trans lesbians”. You’re male. You literally can’t call yourself a lesbian. Leave us alone. Move on. Get out of our safe spaces. Please, do what you need to ease your dysphoria, have fun dressing, hope you find those who love and desire you. But, if you have some decency, please, stop calling yourself a lesbian. “Trans lesbian” was used to refer to trans men who felt attracted towards females (yk, same sex attraction but one of them has dysphoria and is trans, same as transmascs). And you took that term from them. You erased our history.

But no! It’s us, the bad cis lesbians and gays. We are so so mean to you! and so transphobic for not going to bed with you, my gosh! because our bodies don’t fucking work with someone of the opposite sex!!! Don’t go telling me this is due to trauma or I’ll fucking murder you.

Trans people and us were siblings until this batch of angsty teenagers, gorged on postmodern gibberish, arrived. You’re destroying decades of activism and education, you’re insulting us with the q slur. You’re all destroying our safe spaces, our communities, twisting our reality, claiming to be part of a community you don’t belong to. You’re ignorant homophobes. You have sentenced us. Fuck off.

#homophobia 2.0 #homophobia #lbgt #lesbian #gay #gender nonconforming #lgbtq #radblr #queer is a slur #lgbtq community #radfem #biphobia

[voidsentprinces]

Mylla: Another word out of your mouth, Aldis and I'll beat you to death. Solkzagyl: Nah, therapy would take too much time. Imma just create an entire gaslighting plot around my death to recreate batman for Ishgard. Wyrnzoen: We get into some mild shenanigans here. Curious Gorge: I could try to look inward and explore my emotions...or I could just keep hitting things. Fray: This is bullshit, this whole thing is bullshit, that's a scam, fuck the church, here's a dark soul crystal. Sophie: Walk, walk, fashion baby. Hamon: It isn't violence against the elderly, if I call it TRAINING and I AM the elderly. Widargelt: Going to have more royal drama than the Sultana. Foulques: Gridania is racist...they will never fix this. But I can! BECAUSE I AM THE BEST LANCER IN THE WOR--OH NO! Estinien: Ishgard is classist...they will never fix this. But I can! BECAUSE I AM THE BEST DRAGOON IN THE WOR--OH NO! Jacke: We can stab people AND stop acts of terrorism. Karasu: Just having a little giggle. Having a bit of a laugh. Master Musosai: DAME DA NE! DAME YO DAME NA NO YO! Drusilla: Grandad was mad that the Emperor trolled him and is now making it everyone's problem. Sylphie: You may not like it but this is what peak conjury looks like. Raya-O-Senna: Hello and welcome! A-Ruhn-Senna: Die in a forest fire. Alka: Is it me or is that tonberry kinda...cute? Leveva: I would say I am sorry for blacking out, beating you and then burying you up to your neck in the middle of Coerthas. But I am not. Jannequinard: It is QUITE fine, my dear Lady Leveva. You did only what the stars asked, as any astrologian worth their salt would do. Aries Rising and all that. Loifa: I could easily explain my motives and backstory but this quest line has to last 8 more levels. Silvairre: Gridania is racist and shall never change its wa--oh no something happened to me personally. I have seen the error of my ways! Sanson: I can still hear his voice. Guydelot: Gay, gay, homosexual, gay, gay Stephanivien: Gonne training requires a steady hand and a leveled head. So I shall send you to someone who will teach you these things. Rostnstahl: ...sorry what? That guy over there has been looking at me for a while. Joye: That's your reflection. Rostnstahl: Oh right...hey you, shoot that guy over there in the ass. Nashmeira: Therapy would take too much time, lets dance for people's enjoyment. Cocobuki: How do you feel about casting Fire I for 50 levels? Shatotto: An arrow may have your name on it. But a fire ball is addressed to whom it may concern. K'lyhia: If my calculations are correct, you are only in this to get God and Anime on your side. Y'mhrita: I hear you know my sister. Well good news, cause we're about to harnass the power of GOD AND ANIME TO OUR SIDE! X'rhun: Yeah, I don't know why people keep running past and yelling, "Would you care to fuck this catman". Martyn: I am helping cure the smallpox by putting on shows to raise awareness. Quickly, VOMIT A FISH AT ME!

[egg-emperor]

Yass. I love the egg empire existing as a fucked up, cyberpunkish, smog-covered Citadel where everyone, aside from Eggman and his harem , lives in complete squalor 😍

The average being would prolly struggle to even find food, meanwhile Eggy gorges himself on the finest foods and booze. Every day he has a feast for himself. He'd probably cheekily giggle with delight knowing that people and animals are starving , while he gets to stuff his fat gut. Food goes to winners like him and not losers like them. Hell he'd probably broadcast himself feasting, just to kick everyone while they're down.

It sounds like an absolute paradise 😍 In Eggman's eyes and mine because I love anything that makes him happy lol- but absolutely terrible for everyone else. He gets to live his dream in a perfect world by his twisted definition as it's completely reshaped in his selfish image and he the has high power and total luxury he's always desired, and a big gay harem to serve his needs and entertain him. It couldn't get any better!

He wouldn't treat his harem the best either but to my masochistic ass that's a plus and it'd be an honor to be a part of it hehe. Everyone else would experience the absolute worst of what this new world entails though. They've lost their homes, people they love, passion and enthusiasm for living and all meaning as he's stripped it away and replaced it with his plan and rules for them and they have to follow it all or be eliminated!

Ohh yes I love that so much, I've actually shared a concept very similar... elsewhere (in one of the blogs hinted at in my blog description), for reasons. 😳 People would definitely struggle to find food to survive, Eggman would want people to starve so it will make them give in to the robotomy treatment. If the propaganda didn't get them, they'll be begging for it just so they won't need to eat, only to regret it because they also have to give up all freedom and free will!

I imagine that as emperor, he heavily indulges in all the luxuries of life to an excessive degree in total hedonism and decadance and one of those is food of course. Because all the food in the world will belong to him alone then! And he can't let it go to waste he says, so he has many huge grand feasts to himself, but it's to celebrate his brilliance most importantly hehe. He deserves good food fit for an emperor and lots of it.

He loves to kick back before his big long dinner table full of tons of wonderful foods the entire way across and dig in to it all. He's free to gorge to his heart's content and eat like the emperor he is. Plenty of booze too! He always enjoys having a very full belly, being happily drunk, and getting some love and action from his cute harem as they feed him, give him his cuddles, kisses and belly rubs and other things while he relaxes ;)

It's endless elation, pleasure, and bliss for Eggman 💜 It's what everyone's lives, freedom, and happiness were exchanged for as they suffer in the hellish world he's created. He'd enjoy broadcasting his time lounging on his throne, feasting on all the food they don't get to eat while they hunger, and being loved up by his harem while he gloats about how great and powerful he is and shows off how much better of a life he's living than them!

He'd smugly ask if they're enjoying his beautiful new world and their new lives as much as he is, knowing full well the real answer and loving it. He'd ask if they're hungry while he gorges happily on delicious mouth watering food and say "well too bad, it all belongs in here now" and slaps his fat gut proudly while they watch longingly, desperate for even a single bite. The torment gets them closer to giving into robotomy everyday.

Their biggest nightmare was his biggest dream, their suffering is his entertainment, their detriment is his benefit, their squalor means his luxury. He took away everything from everyone from the world they knew, who they were and the freedom they had, and everything they loved and owned and left them with only suffering, all for his selfish gain. He loves to remind them of that every single day with great pride!

And I'd be delighted to be at his side as part of a harem of cute boys, as we all now exist solely to serve in entertaining and pampering the handsome emperor 🥰💜💘

#asks #dr eggman #eggman #dr robotnik #dr. eggman #my post #headcanons #food #victory

[gloombeauty]

Lana is touring are you going to see her? I tried to but tickets sold so fast and what was left was $800. The resell of the tickets was in the thousands of dollars. I'm looking forward to see Jesse Jo Stark. I know her tickets will be around $25-$40. The same with Pom Pom Squad. Lana's tickets are crazy overpriced. It's a real shame. 💔

I wouldn't go to a Lana Del Rey concert even if you paid me. Not in this day and age. With all the crazy gay teenage twinks screaming every song from the top of their lungs? Fuck no.

Then there's the atrocities being committed onstage. All those dancers - both male and female - need to fucking go. They are ruining those beautiful songs. Fans have been telling her this for years but instead of letting them go she adds more of them!

Don't get me started with seeing Lana fumbling for her vape on stage, singing half the songs while there's a background vocal recording going on, the terrible outfits she's wearing, those cowboy boots....nope.

The only saving grace she has right now is her band and those three background singers.

I saw Lana back in the day during her Ultraviolence tour. I am content with that.

I also saw Jesse Jo Stark back in the day. She was great back then and great now. I don't see her tickets being gorged to death with the prices because she's not really that famous. Which is a shame. She should be a big star with recognition by now. Pom Pom Squad tickets are also pretty good because they aren't that famous either.

I feel like I'm too old for concerts or maybe I'm just traumatized by the pandemic to want to get into crowds. I didn't even see Jack White's last tour.

Things that I use to be okay with I'm no longer okay with. The crowds and the screaming particularly. The ticket prices are insane.

No thanks, I'll watch the show comfortably at home on YouTube.

Enjoy seeing Jesse and Pom Pom. They are great!

#jesse jo stark #lana del rey #pom pom squad

[invisibleraven]

Comfort prompt--"breathe." Sweet tarts

By now, Carrie is pretty used to her dad's eccentricities. The crystals and meditation room upstairs, evidence of his ego in the foyer, all white walls and bland furniture.

She rolls her eyes as he uses his helicopter to see his quack therapist, or go get the latest fad vegetarian super food, even though it would be easier to drive, or hell, even walk.

But when he disappears, she's kinda freaked out.

Look, Trevor Wilson will never win the award for World's Best Dad, but he still always lets Carrie know if he's leaving. Yet when she wakes up that Sunday morning to no note, his room empty, the copter still there, she worries.

Her dad isn't the type to go on walks, he's nowhere on the grounds, and his phone goes straight to voice mail. She curses them not installing cameras on the door, just so she could have checked them, but Trevor insisted the gate and razor wire was enough. Carrie had snorted at that-if Flynn and Julie could scale it, then how safe was it really?

She's honestly trying not to panic, but it's hard. Her dad's fame had started to wane a little since his last few albums had flopped, but he still had plenty of fans. Some of whom had threatened and promised awful things in the past. Had one of them finally carried through?

She knew it was too early to get any police involved, and even after calling Dr. Crystal, she had no leeds. So maybe it was desperation, maybe it was just needing to hear some reassurances-she called Reggie.

Reggie Peters had been her math tutor all year, and honestly the only reason Carrie passed with a high enough mark to graduate-her and numbers didn't get along alright?

But they had also struck up a tentative friendship, with Reggie sending her corny jokes or songs she might like, and she replied back with terrible memes and a playlist of gay country songs that made him laugh.

"Carrie?" he answered. "Not like you to call this early on a weekend."

The sound of his voice made her started to sob and she couldn't stop even as she word vomited over the phone at him. "R-reggie... my dad... he's gone and I don't know where he is and I'm freaking out and I didn't know who else to call..."

"Okay, slow down doll, breathe for me okay? Breathe."

Carrie hiccupped a little then slowly drew breath, blowing it out, over and over until the tears stopped. "Okay, I'm breathing."

"Good. Look, I'm gonna come over okay? We can figure this out, and then you won't be alone-you shouldn't be alone right now. You want me to bring you some snacks?" Reggie asked.

"We do have food here," Carrie replied.

"Yeah, no sugar no calorie no taste vegan crap," Reggie replied, making her snort. "I'm talking an actual snack-full of carbs and high fructose."

"Pink SnoBalls and the super spicy Takis?" Carrie asked.

"I'll get you a disgusting kale smoothie to even it all out," Reggie promised. "You want me to stay on the line until I get there?"

Carrie was so tempted to say please, to hear him cheerfully talk at her, have the comfort of his voice in her ear. But what if her dad called? Or worse, the people who may have her dad? So she shook her head before saying no. "I'll be alright-just... hurry please?"

"I'll be there in two shakes doll, I promise."

True to his word, Reggie was there before she knew it, and she barely waited for him to get out of the car before launching herself into his arms. Reggie caught her though, rubbing soothing circles into her back as he whispered words of comfort into her hair. "Come on, let's go inside and we'll see if we can find out what's going on, okay?"

"Okay."

Carrie let him hold her as they sat on the couch, gorging themselves on the snacks Reggie brought, while Carrie started texting and calling any acquaintance of her dad to see if they knew where he was.

No leads yet, and finally Reggie encouraged her to call the authorities, even if they waved her off, it would give her piece of mind.

Only as she lifted her phone up, an unknown number flashed on the screen. She gripped Reggie's hand, and he nodded as she answered. "Hello?"

"Carrie?"

"Daddy! Where are you?"

"Baby I'm so sorry I worried you. I went out to get some papaya-I even got an Uber because I remember you lecturing me about the helicopter. But then I found this cute little farmer's market and there's a booth here selling Filipino food like my lola used to make, and I got caught up talking to them. Didn't realize my phone died, so they're letting me use theirs. I'll be home soon okay?" Trevor explained.

"You didn't leave a note," Carrie sobbed.

"I figured I would be back before you got up, I am so sorry Carrie," Trevor replied.

"You'd better be. And bring me back some turon."

"You got it baby girl."

Carrie then looked at Reggie who was still there, holding her hand, smiling wide. "Actually daddy? Bring back two."

#filled prompts #ficlet #jatp sweet tarts #julie and the phantoms

[justonecitizenoftheearth]

So, I wrote this story a while ago:

This is a fanfiction about an old norse text! My friend proofread my final thesis about men who used a certain kind of magic in ancient northern Europe. This kind of magic is very strongly connected to women, so men using it were seen as unmanly, or ergi in old norse, which is also a term used for gay men. There is one story in the Heimskringla, a text about the first kings of Norway, about 80 wizards who practice this magic called seiðr living together. My friend liked the gay wizard commune very much, was very disappointed by their gruesome end, and asked for a fix-it. So here it is: The Saga of Rögnvald réttilbeini!

AAANNND: It has a sequel now (or more of an addition)!! You are holding in your hands (metaphorically):

The Travels of Rögnvald Rettilbeini

When Rögnvald leaves the oppressive enclosure of living with his disapproving family and community, he sets out on a travel through the Wilderness of middle-age Norway. Alone with nature around him, he learns to listen to the voices of the forest around him and trust his instincts and intuition. He makes it through a beautiful summer and a tough winter, but questions start to plague him when the loneliness of his solitary life becomes more and more of a burden. Is he cursed to only find shelter away from other people? Will he never belong anywhere but the solitude of the forest?

Read it on AO3

Rating: G

WARNING! This is about wilderness survival, and that includes hunting and killing animals, as well as processing their bodies. If that is something that you don´t want to read about, this story is unfortunately not for you.

@disorganisedautodidact

@fiifuchs

At the gate, Rögnvald hesitated. He was about to leave his home behind. His whole world, up to this day. His heart clenched, thinking about his grandmother. Rögnvald was about to turn his head, to look back at the long hall of his father, and the rest of the town. But then the memory of all the harassment, the bad looks he had endured for years, the pressure and disappointment flooded back. This was not a home. This was no place to stay. Solveig was gone and he would never be free to be who he was if he stayed here. With a deep breath, Rögnvald stepped over the threshold. The mountains were calling, and he had to go.

The forest embraced him like every time and soothed his wounded heart. The soft rustle of leaves and branches, the hum of insects and the occasional call of a bird welcomed him, and he lifted his head from his feet to watch the sun filter through the clouds and trees to paint intricate patterns onto the mossy forest floor. Rögnvalds steps were effortlessly soundless as he moved on, without haste, but steadily upwards. The wind carried the smell of the ocean up to him, salt and algae and freshness and he took a deep breath and smiled. This was home, and it was everywhere. With a new confidence in his movements, he lifted his head up to the sky.

The bright summer night found Rögnvald sitting on the edge of a small, but steep river. He crouched down on a rock, with his fishing spear in one hand and the other hand pressed against the wet stone. He closed his eyes and listened to the song of the water, the many different voices of it´s symphony, the wind whistling over the gorge, the flutter of a bird’s wing. He felt the force of the river striving towards the sea and the creatures in it, reading it´s direction, following or opposing it´s strong current. The heard the splash of a Dipper diving into the water and shortly after reemerging with its catch, struggling for a moment to climb to shore. He heard an eagle, a bit upstream, waiting for its chance. Slowly, he opened his eyes, just a slit, motionless he waited, part of the land, part of the hunt. He felt his prey approaching, before he saw a single scale. He caressed the fish with soft thoughts, coaxing it closer and closer and with a single movement, he speared the trout. Carefully, he pulled the fish out, marveling at the colorful body. “Thank you”, he whispered to the wind, before he took his catch back to his little fire at the ground of the gorge.

Rögnvald didn´t have a plan where to go, he didn´t have anywhere to be. He stayed close to the gorge for three days, then he moved on. He slept under the stars when the weather was nice and clear and under fallen trees and big boulders when it wasn´t. Some of the boulders he knew weren´t his to use and he avoided them. Sometimes he had something to leave there, a nice rock he had found, a feather, a piece of fish or meat. He left it at the edge of the rock and good things always followed. Either he found an even better spot to spend the night, or he stumbled upon a batch of or wild strawberries, or he had a particularly good hunt that evening. He learned to respect the forest folk and they respected him. Rögnvald learned to listen to all the voices of the forest, his inner voice included. With every day, he trusted his instincts and intuitions more until the decisions he had to make every day to ensure his survival came so naturally to him that he stopped realizing they were decisions. He started living like one of the other forest creatures, free and without worries, without plans and without a real sense for the time passing. He sang with the birds and wolves, danced with the wind and leaves, hunted with the bears and eagles, hid from stormy weathers with the hares and mice or endured it with the pines and willows.

Of course, it wasn´t always easy. Sometimes the fish and game ignored his calls and he had to go hungry, since it wasn´t time for berries or mushrooms yet and wild herbs did only get him so far, but in this situations, he often remembered something that his grandmother had told him, but that he hadn´t used since then. When he stomped through an overgrown meadow, the smell of the crushed plants rose to his nose and he realized it was ground elder. Together with the stinging nettles he found, it made a rich dinner[1] . The geese came back to breed and he had eggs and the occasional goose. Summer came in all its richness and he drank blueberry soup until his lips were permanently blue. One precious day he found a nest of wild bees and the stings were worth the feast. When he left the place, he saw a bear trot out from the trees. Cautious, Rögnvald stopped, but when their eyes met, he saw a kind of companionship that he hadn´t expected. Part of the forest, part of the dance of life. He smiled and licked his honeyed lips.

Life around him flourished and the days were long, there was no darkness anymore, just a soft twilight in the quiet hours of the deep night that soon blossomed in another bright day. Rögnvald swam in the mountain lakes and cold rivers, then he lay in the sun until it had dried and warmed his cold skin. He was lean and muscular, tanned of the countless days under the summer sun. His step was soft and sure and his eyes calm and keen as a wild animal´s. He seldomly talked, not even to himself, he rather imitated the many beings around him. His days in the constricting closeness of the town seemed to be bland and far, far away.

The mountains around him rose higher and higher up into the sky. Rögnvald kept to the valleys at first, following the rivers coming down from the heights. He fished and hunted, collected berries, made tea from the fresh new tips of spruces, and dug for edible roots. Summer followed him up the mountains, making life flourish around him. One morning, he looked up at the barren summits of the surrounding mountains and took up his staff. He left the valley, finding a path between the overgrown trees and boulders in the forest. He climbed up over steep passages, moving left and right to find the safest way up to the top. The trees around him dwindled, they lessened in height, then in number, opening a path for him. He had to balance over the cover of blueberry bushes and needed his staff more than once when he stepped into an invisible hole. But the vegetation around him grew shorter and the wind sharper. He looked up and saw a wondrous land. Grim and rough, but full of a foreign beauty. Barren rock and low bushes lay scattered over the plateau. He saw water glittering in the distance and the wind whistled over the open land. A few reindeer grazed in the distance and the clouds moved fast over the blue sky. And then he turned around.

The view was breathtaking. Far below, he saw the valley of the river that he had followed. Only in a few places the trees drew back enough to allow the glint of the water to reach Rögnvalds eyes. The forest below swayed in the breeze. The mountains on the other side of the valley rose up even higher into the sky then the ones that he had just climbed. A white sheet of snow and ice covered their tops, and ran down into the cracks in the mountain sides. On the way down, the ice crumbled, crevasses crossing and breaking up the smooth surface, unveiling a shimmer of the deepest blue. Rögnvald stared at the mighty glacier, following the lines of the breaking ice. Cloud shadows drifted over the snow-covered surface and drew patterns on it. The wind changed direction and carried the icy cold over the mountains, raising goosebumps on Rögnvalds arms. He tilted his head and when he looked at the glacier again, his newfound instincts started to ring an alarm in his head, louder and louder. This was not his place. It looked beautiful and smooth, like a walk on a fluffy cloud, but the bitter cold and the multitude of cracks in the ice were a warning to all who would hear it. This was not a place that would suffer a living being setting foot on it. This was the land of gods and giants. Rögnvald bowed his head in understanding and turned around again, to face the barren tundra he had worked so hard for to reach.

The mountain plateau was littered with little lakes and wetlands. Rögnvald saw a multitude of different birds, he heard their warning calls, and they fluttered around him as he explored the new land. After the weeks in the forest, he felt exposed in this open landscape, the wide-open sky a stark contrast to the cover of leaves he had rarely left. The reindeer avoided him, but he saw a wolverine following their tracks and kept his distance. A polar fox looked at him curiously, but then continued to hunt for ptarmigans. The traveler considered to follow his example, but looking around, he found that he would not find enough material for a fire, so he decided to wait until he would make his way back to the valley. The plants he found were so interesting though that he forgot about time.[2]  He found blueberries, lingonberries, and cloudberries. It seemed that the vegetation on the protected southern slopes was completely different from the barren tops or the northern slopes and Rögnvald collected and explored until the sun sank behind one of the flat mountain tops. He frowned, since he hadn´t planned on staying in the open tundra throughout the night, but he had come prepared anyways.

Rögnvald found a grassy, dry spot next to a stream where he sat down. The birds settled for the night and fell quiet one by one. Nothing could be heard except for the wind and the murmur of water. Rögnvald spread out his fur and blanket and ate some of his dried provisions while the shadows grew deeper. He closed his eyes and stretched his mind to the land in a gentle plea to leave him in peace during the night, as he would bring nothing but peace during the dark hours. Then he curled up in his blanket and fell asleep to the sweet song of the running water close to him.

A strange light woke him up at an unusual time. He was used to the light summer nights, but they had been diminishing, the darkness crawling back in the small hours. But now, as he opened his eyes, he was met by a clear sky, littered with stars. The northern horizon was still a bit light, but the dark sky above him, unobscured by trees, houses, or the shine of torches, looked like a coat covered in diamond shards. Never had Rögnvald slept under a sky that open and for a moment, he dug his hands into the grass underneath him, scared of falling in the endlessness above. But then he did nothing but marvel, until the eastern horizon turned pink with the dawn of the new day and the stars blinked out. Then Rögnvald fell asleep again, feeling richer and smaller than ever before.

On the way back to his valley, Rögnvald shot two ptarmigans, as he had planned. He couldn´t help but notice the first leaves of the dwarf birches turning yellow. “Autumn always sends his messengers ahead of time”, he thought, already dreaming about the ptarmigans sizzling over his fire.

Until he woke one morning, and the world was covered in a thin layer of white. It melted soon enough, but winter would come, and he had to be prepared for it. So Rögnvald turned around and made his way towards the shore, out of the mountains that would turn into a frozen wasteland soon enough. The fjords always bore the risk of meeting people, but at least they would stay open during the winter. Rögnvald found a cave next to a small river that he would be able to follow down to the Sørfjorden, and he began to prepare. He collected grass and dried it in the last warm days of the year. He collected more firewood than he could think of ever needing, and wild apples, berries and mushrooms, which he dried as well. One more time he made his way up to the high mountains to hunt. He got into a terrible snowstorm and only the familiar valley singing its sweet song led him back to safety, but he was dragging a reindeer with him to the cave.

Drying the meat and working on the skin of the reindeer took days of hard, frustrating, and dirty work and when Rögnvald looked up again, the forest floor was covered with fallen leaves. It made it easy to hear the rustle of paws and Rögnvald hunted smaller prey, rabbits and deer, the work seemed never ending and the shortening days were filled with preserving everything he had collected. He dried the sinews of the animals and kept them smooth with their fat, then used them to sew gloves, a hat, and gaiters for himself. He coated his leather boots with the same fat to make them waterproof and added an inner layer of duck down, so they would keep himself warm. The nights turned frosty, and the edges of the river wore ice in the mornings. The sun only peeked over the mountain tops in midday and barely warmed Rögnvald anymore. The land grew quiet, and he grew anxious. Had he done enough? Had he forgotten something? How long would the winter last in this part of the land? Would the fjord stay open, so he would be able to live off of the sea if nothing else? He desperately missed Solveig and not being alone. For the first time since he had left, he missed the voices of other people around him, the comfort of not being the only human being in an unforgiving and harsh wilderness. He awoke at night with wet cheeks and an aching chest and wondered if that was the price for being himself and if he was willing to pay it.

Winter came, unforgiving and uncaring and more beautiful than Rögnvald remembered. The glittering snow and ice made him reach out more than once in wonder, only to have the unique crystals melt on his gloves. Then the days turned dark and bitingly cold for real and Rögnvald barely left his cave. He barred the entrance and only left space for the smoke of his fire to escape. The inside of the cave turned smoky anyways and he sank into a kind of waiting slumber. He slept most of the time, having dark and light and wonderous and frightening dreams, barely noticing whether it was night or day, eating when he was hungry and watching a spot of light that came through a hole in the cover of the barricade wander of the side of his cave when the sun shone for precious few hours. One day he thought with a smile that he would never look at bears and squirrels the same. His thoughts became slow and drowsy, but one night he startled awake and knew that the longest night  had come. He felt dark powers stir and struggled out of bed to relight the fire. With a stumbling mind and shaking fingers he fought with the reluctant embers, mumbling invocations to the forces of nature and the gods of life and fertility. He strew sage into the flames and the fresh smell lifted the fog in his head a bit. With the clarity came the crushing awareness of how alone he was. The deadly forces that awoke in the darkest time of the year screamed and whispered cruel things in his mind and he swayed back and forth in front of the flames. Then he heard a different voice, the voice of his grandmother. He heard her soft songs of live and growth and warmth and with a breaking voice, he joined in. Singing and crying, he made it through the night.

Rögnvald stayed more awake during the dangerous days between the years, and every day, the sun stayed longer. But the cold wouldn´t retreat for a long time and he looked at his shrinking provisions with worry. He had known that they wouldn´t bring him through the winter, but he hadn´t expected his own apathy. Now he would have to go out again to hunt and forage what he could find.

Rögnvald started to lay out traps for snow hares and birds and made his way down to the fjord. He collected clams and oysters, but getting his hands wet was painful and dangerous. He tried to fish, but the fish stayed in deeper waters where he couldn´t reach them. At least he could keep the kelp that he pulled out of the sea to eat. On the way back he checked his traps. One had been successful, but a lynx had found his catch before he did, and he found just one foot and some bloody fur in the snow. Rögnvald shrugged, he was not the only being trying to survive the winter. He would try again the next day. He made soup out of the clams and kelp and dozed off, tired from the walk through the high snow.

The next day came with howling winds and snowdrifts. With worry in his belly, he ate the last of his soup. He still had some provisions, but they wouldn´t last much longer and if he got sick or hurt, he wouldn´t survive without them. So Rögnvald kept to tea and decided to wait.

The storm lasted for days and after that, it was nearly impossible to leave the cave. Rögnvald swallowed hard when he saw the wall of frozen white that awaited him in front of his door. His heart clenched painfully, and he knew instinctively that  he would have to fight for his survival from now on. He dug a way out into the snow, but soon understood that it would be impossible to get down to the fjord in one day. Instead, he dug his way to the river and hoped other beings would find their way there, but it was frozen and wouldn´t provide water to any being. Fear gripped his heart tight. Would this first winter be his last? Why didn´t he prepare sooner? Why didn´t he think about winter when there was an abundance of everything? Why had he been so stupid, stupid enough to die in the winter of the first year he had tasted how sweet life could be? He felt his chest getting tight and he stood in the freezing wind, tears cooling on his skin and gasping for air. Then he balled his fists. His blood was still flowing, and his arms were not yet stiff and cold. He was not dead yet! 

Rögnvald wiped his face and closed his eyes. He forced his fear back until he was as indifferent to it as to the rustling of the wind in the bare branches. He listened with all his senses. He listened to the wind above him and searched for life in the river below. He thought of the lynx that could hear mice rustling in their burrows, even under the ground and a snow cover half as thick as a man tall. He thought of the raven, soaring above, and searching the white wilderness for signs of carrion. He thought of the wolves, following the scent of reindeers for days. He listened deep into this vast wilderness. There was a lake, and still fish in the depths of it. There was better weather coming, no tinkling of new snowflakes came from the clouds above. There were still animals in the woods around, and he would find them. He would survive!

Rögnvald prepared fishing rods and bait, he took his axe and made his way up to the frozen lake. It was hard work to hack a hole into the thick ice, but when he lowered the bait on the hook into the dark water and filled his waterskin with it, he couldn´t help but hope. He searched the surrounding forest for tracks and laid out traps for rabbits, foxes, or other small game. Then he waited. He huddled himself in the fur and shuddered. The wind drew mesmerizing patterns into the snow. The sun was veiled by a thin layer of clouds, casting a shadowless half-light from its position low over the horizon. Rögnvald listened to the gurgle of water, the groaning of the thick icesheet under his feet, the whisper of the wind. He heard the low rustling and thumping of snow falling off of trees. He heard the bright tingling in the clouds, almost out of his hearing range, the sound of snowflakes being swept away, blown off the mountains in the harsh wind. He closed his eyes and listened. The wind. The snow. He heard a snuffling under the snow and the quiet, so quiet squeak of a mouse. A crunching sound in the forest spoke of big paws that broke the surface of the snow. A lynx, listening to the same quiet sounds of life that he was. Then he sent his attention to the water that was splashing against the sides of the ice hole, already starting to freeze over. He breathed deep as if he was about to plunge into the freezing depth, and sent his spirit down. It was dark. Cold. Nothing moved. He moved deeper. There, a dark shape, flowing in a weak current. Some kind of seaweed. And then, a fin. A plump body. Slow movements. Rögnvald almost heard the voice of his grandmother. He felt a power rush through him, the ancient drive to survive, the hunger, the desperation. And something different. Something more than he was, more than he could understand, but he gripped it tight, and called. He coaxed and tempted, gave the plump body some of his power, some of his hunger, showed the way to the bait, gave the fish an impression of the satisfaction that he had felt eating the same food. Begged and threatened and poured everything he had into making the fish do something that he wanted it to do. And he startled awake back into his body when the fishing rod in his hand started to jump.

That night, Rögnvald curled up as close to the fire as he dared, sucking every bit of meat off the thin bones of the fish, while trying to ignore the bit that was wrapped in a bit of bark. He would be glad for it the next morning. And he was, since the traps came back empty, and he didn´t find a fish to call. Everything became a struggle. Digging the way to the shore. Keeping the fire going. Finding enough wood to feed it. Going out to find food, day after day. He felled a birch, taking the outer layer of bark for the fire and scraped off the soft bark underneath, baking dry bark bread. The cold sapped him of energy and he tried to spend as little time outside as possible, laying down and resting whenever he could. He became cold easier and longed endlessly for light and warmth as snowstorms howled around his shelter and let him shudder. He rolled himself tighter into his furs. A deep-seated instinct told him that if he should fall sick, he wouldn´t see the green of a new spring. He ate any animal that he could catch. He didn´t hesitate to, in his drive to survive he thought as little about morals and fairness as the lynxes and wolves whose trails he found in the snow.

Rögnvald saw the sun rise higher every day. He soaked up the light and warmth, sitting in front of his cave and hiding from the frosty winds, capturing every bit of energy that was sent his way. When the snow started to melt, he had an easier time moving around and could roam farther to look for food and firewood. He watched the snow melt with a grim satisfaction. He had outlasted the winter.

The first green of spring found Rögnvald thin as a bear waking from winter hibernation. His clothes hung loosely around his frame, his face was sharp and angled and his eyes had a wild, intense look that would have taken aback even the fiercest warrior of his town. But there was no one around to witness him fall to his knees when he found the first dandelion, digging it up with the roots, wash it and look at it, disbelieving, until he ate it, leaf by leaf, until he devoured the root in tiny, grateful bites.

The snow persisted still in shadowy spots, defying the strengthened sun and the regular rainfall, when Rögnvald left the cave. He made his way down towards the fjord, and following it on narrow paths north. He didn´t go long each day, still trying to preserve his energy, painfully aware of how little reserves his body had left. But he found progressively more food and with warmth and life returning to the sea, he had more plentiful meals and regained his strength quickly. The warm spring days revived his spirit, and the more varied food did wonders for his body. Soon, he was running through the forest with the deer, as sure on his foot as they, he danced with the birds and called out to the geese returning from their winter quarters. He bathed and washed the grime and fear of the long winter off in the icy melting water that streamed down the mountains and laughed at the glitter of the water drops in the bright light. He found another cave and spent a few rainy days there, just languishing in the knowledge that he wouldn´t have to go far to find food this time. It took Rögnvald some time to follow the fjord up to Hardangerfjord, and he followed even that, but then had to decide whether to stick to the coast or to face the cold and wet mountains. He also found more and more signs of humans and realized that he didn´t know anymore how to meet them. He hid from their view, but listened to the voices, the songs and laughter of the people in their small settlements, a deep longing in his chest and his throat tight. He lounged under their windows, listening to them talking about banal things, banal everyday things that had never seemed sweeter and more precious than to this lone traveler, hiding in the wet grass and biting his hand to not cry aloud at the sound of children playing and their mother´s laugh. Never, he thought, never had anyone been lonelier. But when he heard steps on the threshold of the house, he melted into the forest, as effortless as any animal.

Rögnvald looked at himself in the reflection of a lake, his wild beard and hair, the angled face underneath, his torn and repaired clothes, the rough fur that he wore on top. They would not welcome him, not like this. Also, he didn´t have any money to buy anything and would be treated as a beggar. He still started to comb and braid his hair and beard, so he could travel on the streets without calling attention to himself, but he saw in the eyes of the people that he met that they could feel something was different about him. He avoided their gaze, their confusion, fear, and hostility, even their curiosity. But he didn´t get attacked and sometimes, only sometimes, someone greeted him, and so he decided to take the way through the next town. But almost as soon as he stepped foot into it, he knew that he shouldn´t have. Or at least should have seen this coming.

The road was muddy from the last rainfall, and his boots made a sucking sound every time he took a step. As did the boots of everyone else. The cacophony of people walking and the echoes catching between the wooden wall around the town caught Rögnvald off guard. Then a bunch of children came screeching and giggling around a corner and made him jump. The neigh of a horse and the rumble of a wagon made him flinch away and he knew that people looked at him suspiciously, so he tried to walk away, into the town centre. The sharp angles of the houses seemed to cut into his perception, making the sounds jump into every direction, the narrow passages tightening his chest. He passed by the market, the constant rush of voices, pitchmen trying to sell their goods, clamoring, bargaining with their customers, children, chiding mothers, farm animals grunting, neighing, and clucking. It was unbearable, impossible to grab a clear thought[3] . The smell of humans, food, feces, animals, and the rough ground made him gag. Rögnvald hid behind a corner, pressing his hands over his ears and his back into the solid wall, trying to grasp a clear thought, waiting for his frantic heart to calm. When a hand touched his shoulder, he almost lashed out, but instead threw himself to the side, where he lost balance and dipped into the stinking mud. His eyes flew open, and he stared into the insecure, but unafraid eyes of a young woman.

“Are you alright?”, she asked, slowly crouching next to him.

“I think… I don´t…”, Rögnvald tried to find his footing, in every sense of the word. While he got back up to his feet and waited for her to do the same, he thought about what it was he really needed.

“Do you know the way out of the town? Towards the east?”

She was taken aback for a second, but nodded and bade him to follow. He focused on her back in front of him, her curly light hair, her shoulders, the sound of her steps. It helped him to get through the ocean of sounds and smells. When she turned around to face him, he saw that they had reached the wooden gate. There were a lot less people around and the narrow road led into the forest, towards a steep gorge. He looked back at her. “Thank you so much.”

She shrugged. “My brother gets overwhelmed by too many people, too. Hurts his ears and head, he says.”

Rögnvald smiled. “But I´m not your brother and yet, you helped me.”

The woman shrugged again. “Most people think he´s insane. I know he isn´t, but nobody believes me. I didn´t want anyone else to find you like that.”

Rögnvald nodded. He had heard of people like her brother, and knew they often were ostracized. He reached into his pack and pulled out a small figure, a raven that he had carved in the endless winter hours in his cave, one that had been too well made to leave behind. He gave it to the woman with a little bow. “I hope your kindness returns to you sevenfold.” She took the figure automatically and marveled at the detailed work. When she looked up to decline or thank for the gift, she didn´t know which was appropriate, there was no one there. With a shudder, she stuffed the raven into a fold of her dress and turned away from the dark and mysterious forest, in which the dark and mysterious stranger had disappeared without a trace.

Rögnvald ran, his feet barely making a sound as he darted down the road and into the depth of the fresh new foliage. When he reached the stream at the bottom of the ravine, he stopped on a narrow bank of gravel, letting the rushing of the water and the rustling of the leaves in the wind calm his frayed nerves. He didn´t think it would be like that. He hadn´t known he had forgotten how to be amongst his own kind. He didn´t think it possible and it frightened him, to know that he didn´t know how to be amongst other humans. Was that his lot? Did winning the forest mean losing his own kind? Did he have to pick? Was there no other way? Shaken and wounded, he unbuckled his pack and lay down at the edge of the river. He let the whispering water sing him to sleep, while longing and dreading other voices, voices out of human throats and hearts.

Rögnvald found that the heights of the mountains were still wet, in the middle of thawing, but passable, so he slowly made his way east, crossing the mountain plateaus as fast as he could and spending more time in the lush valleys between them. It seemed to him that every time he came down from a few days of wet and cold, sinking into swamps and resting under bushes whose leaves barely showed as little green buds, the green valleys had more gifts to give. The first strawberries were a welcomed surprise, as were goose eggs and wild garlic. Live became plentiful once more, the nights light and the days warm. Soon, he was swimming again in the warming water of the lakes, and resting on the sun-warmed rocks beneath. He watched goslings and fawns taking their first steps into a bright and green world, knowing nothing about cold and winter. Rögnvald moved slowly, without a real goal, without knowing where exactly he wanted to go, turning east towards the broad river valley. He soaked up the glory of summer, the memory of the harsh winter still fresh in his mind, although it seemed absurd to him how he could have been that cold and that lonely. It was hard to forget how he had felt in the town, how overwhelmed and uncomfortable he had been, and with the bustling life all around him, it wasn´t as lonely. But he was also aware that he didn´t want to spend another winter like this, didn´t want to risk it again, didn´t want to face the terrible game of life and death, the darkness, the cold, without another soul at his side. He considered taking a wolf pup as a friend, but when he had finally found a litter and watched them play, watched their mother and the whole pack coddle and care for them, he knew that it would be cruel and wrong, so he left empty handed. He went to a little waterfall he had found, and looked at his thoughtful reflection in the water. He searched his features for traces of his grandmother, wanted to feel like her wisdom did live in him, needing her close. Missing her so much that it felt like his heart was going to rip apart. “What should I do, grandmother? Where will I find someone like me? Where do I go from here? Or am I cursed, doomed to live alone forever? What am I supposed to do now?” He whispered all his fears and feelings and the thoughts that plagued him at night out into the open air, to be washed clean by the brook he was sitting at, and when his thoughts had finally cleared and he had spit out all fears that had poisoned his mind, he could hear Solveig speak, as if she was sitting right next to him. “Go north and west. North and west. North. And. West.” It was clear. It was simple and he arouse lighter and surer of himself than he had come.

Knowing that he was on the right path gave Rögnvald the peace of mind to enjoy the gifts of summer around him, to light a big fire and dance around it when midsummer came, even though he danced alone, he felt the invisible forces of the forest rejoice with him at the victory of the light. The bustling life around him kept him company and he continued to learn and listen to all the voices of the forest around him. He noticed the days getting shorter, but warmer still, and the world bloomed around him, and with every step north-west that he took, he nurtured his hopes, and a conviction grew in him that he would find what he was looking for. He wasn´t in a hurry. He had found his inner voice, and it was unwavering and infallible, and he followed it north and west in his own time.

The days passed on, he could gorge himself on blueberries and wild vegetables, caught fish and rabbits that were more than skin and bone and lean muscle, he collected the first wild cherries and carrots. Time passed on and every day was shorter than the last. The land grew steep again and Rögnvald crossed another mountain range, harsh and beautiful as life itself. When the land started to lower under his feet, he knew he was nearing the coast. A little nervous voice asked him what would happen when there was nothing but the sea in front of him, when nothing but icy waves awaited him north and west. He asked himself if he was supposed to take the long journey to Iceland, if that was where fate was leading him, and wondered how he could make that happen. But his conviction was strong. If Iceland was the place he was supposed to reach, to Iceland he would go.

When Rögnvald awoke, his breath in front of his face came out as a white cloud, mixing with the fog around him. The sun was a dim speck of light behind the veil, and his reindeer fur was glittering with droplets. Shuddering, he tried to relight the fire from the day before, his hands clammy and his teeth chattering. It had been some time since sleeping outside had made him feel that cold. The hot tea, made of dried mint that he had found the week prior, revived him though, and the sun soon dissolved the fog. He looked back up the mountains that he had crossed, and the steep flanks glittered suspiciously. Frost was creeping back towards the land, and he remembered how he left the high mountains for the first time the year before. “Autumn always sends his messengers ahead of time”, he murmured to himself, smiling at how confident he had been. The smile died though when he thought about the fact that he hadn´t started to prepare for winter now, either. He hadn´t planned on it. He had been convinced that he would have found wherever his feeling, his intuition would lead him, before that was necessary. It was too late to go to Iceland that year, by the time he would have found someone willing to take him onboard, autumn storms would have made the North Sea unpassable. With a deep breath he banned his anxious thoughts. There was a reason he had come here. There was something waiting for him, and he would be fine. Something. Or someone. He grabbed his walking stick, smooth from the many hours in his hands, and started to walk.

Rögnvald made his way downhill and towards the Sognefjord. He was sure footed and the rising temperatures as the morning turned into midday lifted his mood. He still had time. When the day reached its end, Rögnvald reached the edge of the forest and stepped onto a meadow, still littered with flowers. From here, he had a wide view of the fjord, the glittering water spreading out underneath him, and the mountains rising in the north. A huge ice cap covered the mountain range west to east, like a sign: You can´t go further north. This is the end of your journey. Peace settled over Rögnvald, a peace and contentedness that he couldn´t explain. He stayed for a moment longer, enjoying the view and watching a few sheep around him graze. Their bleating made him smile.

The rustling sound of steps behind him made him turn around. A man smiled at him; his face alit by the soft glow of the setting sun. Rögnvald noticed long blond hair, shining green eyes and a firm grip as they greeted each other. The strangers´ voice was deep and rich as he announced his name:

“Frodi”

“Rögnvald”

They smiled at each other and Rögnvald followed back to Frodis hut.

#norse mythology #rögnvald rettilbeini #rögnvald really deserved better #our gay wizard commune #fanfiction #norse paganism #writblr #nature #scandinavia

[teekays]

For the ask thing … np 💗💗💗

NP... thank you i was hoping someone would ask this one i have a LOT to say. clocking in to my shift at the she/her-ing male professional athletes factory

First impression

first impression was Wow Pretty but also i was not a flyers appreciator at the time so i was like well. okay. whatever. it was right around the time of the vegas trade and i was doubly not a vegas appreciator so even tho she was sooo gorg i wasn't super invested. also at one point between like getting into hockey and getting into tknp i made a joke tweet abt how we need an nhl player who listens to car seat headrest and one of my mutuals was like "we already have that it's nolan patrick" and that was like... a flame held to my soul. the interest really sparked there

Impression now

my best friend. my beaft. i think she is wildly misunderstood by a lot of people but the people who Get It really and truly get it... she's a princess she's just some guy she's a bitch she's a lover she's a child she's a mother she's a sinner she's a saint. i love it when girls are kind of mean and love to lie and get embarrassed over the tiniest things like having normal human emotions and they actually care so much despite trying really hard to look like they don't care <3 i love that she's very like... very guarded and reserved (or attempts to be) but also sometimes you catch moments of her like not being able to help her reactions. betrayed by your own fond smiles and blushy cheeks!!! i also think she is much sillier than we give her credit for and that is underutilized. locker room dance you will always be famous

Favorite moment

aforementioned locker room dance... "dove original. it's ladies"/"it's not ladies. but it is dove original.".... all of her old tweets especially "now THATS a sandwich people".... "don't ask about my rosy cheeks".... also signing nico's name at the draft. are you gay or something

Idea for a story

it's a cop out to say vip room so i will say i have a silly little draft going about computer repair secretary tk and Watching Gay Porn About His Sexuality Crisis nolpat that is making me giggle alyssa edwards style as i write it

Unpopular opinion

SHE IS FINEEE SHES NOT SAD SHES NOT CRYING HERSELF TO SLEEP EVERY NIGHT we need to put an end to the nolan patrick sadposting industrial complex. she is living her life. she's hanging out w friends. and the trade was actually a good thing! philly was kind of a terrible place for him to be w all his injuries and stuff because their doctors were shit and there were a lot of issues w privacy and stuff and people just being kinda mean about him that imo was unproductive! a fresh start is a good thing! even if it means you have to leave your weird little soulmate haven't you guys ever heard of phone sex. also yeah estrogen would fix her

Favorite relationship

i am obviously a tknp diehard til i die like absolutely perfect vibes. my exact type of pairing i always fall for. that being said the nico nolan dynamic was sooo good to me she was really out there blushing and giggling in front of god and everyone trying to get a good grade in Making A Cute Boy Laugh. and she DID!

Favorite headcanon

i know he lies about not enjoying a fruity little cocktail. i know it in my heart. get the lychee martini nolan it's FINE

#i have so many of these thank you guys for giving me a venue to be absolutely insane #asks

[killingitreservoirdogsstyle]

Hi! I was wondering if I could put in a request for an HC of what it would be like to be roommates with Mr. Orange? Feel free to delete this if you’re too busy!

BACK AT IT AGAIN EVERYONE, at least for now, lmfao! Thank you for the request, anon, I super appreciate your patience after all this time and I apologize for how ridiculously long it took to do these up! I hope its okay that these are going to be shorter, as I only have a minimal amount of free time before I have to be right back into school. How has everyone been lately? Anyways, I think this is a FANTASTIC idea and I’m excited to write about it! Coming right up anon! All credit to the GIF goes to its owner, its not mine!

Gonna tag my besties, @itscrimsonsixx and @scarletcountesss here, what do you girls think Orange would be like?

FANDOM: Reservoir Dogs

GENRE: Requested Headcanons, Platonic!

SYNOPSIS: Freddy Newandyke is a gender neutral reader’s roommate, who gets up to some crazy stuff!

TRIGGER WARNINGS: Swearing and that’s it, it’s quite fluffy! <3

Oh, you are not prepared for the shenanigans and hijinks that this overgrown child will get up to alongside you! If you were looking for somebody mature, calm, and quiet, the polar opposite is what you got with Freddy. He may be goofy and kiddish, but he’s not intolerable, and is actually quite a responsible roommate when compared to other jerks who you could have landed. 

His stuff being strewn absolutely EVERYWHERE. He is not a person who is set on organization, tidying is the bane of his existence. Expect there to be comic books, dirty underwear, half-eaten cereal boxes, even action figures all over his bedroom, never crossing into your part of the apartment. When you’ve tried to talk to him about it, he promises to start trying to make an effort to be cleaner, but it never takes effect. Truthfully, you don’t mind, and think it’s kind of funny. 

The two of you staying up to play board games and card games, personal favourites being Cards Against Humanity, Killer Bunnies, Villainous Marvel Edition, and of course, DND, like the nerds you are! 

Also binging old movies and TV shows on Saturdays and Sundays, he’ll bust a quarter of his paycheck just on snacks for you two to gorge on for a fun evening together. 

Him being there as emotional support if you need him and likewise. There are times when the two of you have had especially rough days, just needing some quiet time in the other’s company or a laugh. He’s super great at making you giggle with his stupid antics, it’s the cure for any malady after all in his mind. But if you need to be alone too, he’ll respect that as well. Whatever you need, he’s there for. One time in particular, Freddy was quite depressed after a nasty outing with the ResDogs. You cheered him up by whipping up some guacamole and taco chips, plunking him down on the sofa to watch Lost Boys for the billionth time. He’d lay his head on your shoulder, platonically of course, and get lost in the movie with you as his cares melted away. 

Not minding whether or not you bring home any friends or dates, he’s really cool with it as a whole as long as you guys don’t make too big of a mess, respect him and his boundaries, and don’t lay a finger on his mint collection of comics. He’s busting out the lightsaber toy if they get anywhere near his pulp children, no questions asked. 

You are one of the only ones to know about his undercover work with the Reservoir Dogs, him trusting you not to tell. You don’t, of course, keeping your mouth shut when White and Eddie and Brown all come over to hang out. They like you too, thinking you’re pretty cool too. You’re also the only one to know about his affections for White, the desires he harbours for the grizzled criminal. The gay pining is just too adorable, better than any romantic comedy. A part of you wishes you could play matchmaker for the two guys, however you like Freddy too much to get that involved. But you wait in the sidelines as their biggest fan, ready to do whatever you can to make sure they realize the love they have for each other. 

Overall, Orange is an excellent person to have as a roommate, a better one that you could not have dreamt of having!

I hope that these were sufficient, anon, please do let me know if you don’t like them and I can whip up some new ones with no hard feelings at all! Please have a wonderful week everyone and thank you for all your continued support despite my absence! Love y’all a ton, Moxie out! <3

#killingitreservoirdogsstyle #Quentin Tarantino #Reservoir dogs #resdogs #mr orange #mr orange x reader #platonic headcanons #mr orange headcanon #freddy newandyke #freddy newandyke x reader #tim roth #tim roth x reader #anonymous request #thank you so much anon! #movies

[blorbologist]

maggie! my sister and I are planning a road trip to canada this summer so as a canadian, anything you recommend doing, any absolute must sees?

!!! Oooh, have fun!

I can only really give concrete recommendations for Quebec and southern Ontario, and the later with less than a year of experience - so if you're headed to the prairies or BC I'm not much help.

For Québec:

If you stick to Montreal and the touristy areas, you lively won't need all that much French! Usually people clock that you're a tourist and will switch to English if they can. Less likely the farther you get from Montreal and the Townships.

Goes without saying, try a good poutine (There’s an invisible S in there, we pronounce it more like.. poutsine lmao)! Don't get it from a big chain except maybe Belle Province or Poutineville, the very best I've had have usually been from lil cantines. If they’re not using fresh cheese curds don't trust em.

Also Beaver Tails (a fried pastry brand). Usually have lil kiosks near events and sinfully good. My brother and I go bonkers for them.

In Montreal proper, I'd recommend a walk on Mt.Royal! I forget if the inside skating rink at Atwater is still available this time of year, but might be worth looking into. Vieux Montréal is a nice place to romp around, especially around the canals and the Atwater market. Avoid driving in and around MTL it's a living hell, move around by bus or metro(subway) if you can, you can get day passes easy enough. St.Catherine and Mt.Royal streets usually have fun stores and restaurants to poke around in, and the gay village is great! I'm pretty sure most amusement parks in the USA are bigger than La Ronde, so don't waste your time with it.

Zoo de Granby is one I went to a lot as a child and they do great conservation work and have beautiful exhibits + a fun water park! Bromont is great for winter fun, but wrong time of year, and their water park can be hit or miss.

Both Bromont and Sutton are great for hiking (I have good memories of getting up to a lake on Mt.Sutton just as the mist revealed it, so cool). Apparently so is Owl's Head, but I've only skii'd there. Bromont is expensive and the cops are real sticklers, Sutton is a lot smaller and personally I think more cute and chill.

Lac Brome/Lake Brome is just about the most anglophone place in the province outside of Montreal! You can do a lot of kayaking, boating and even just driving around the lake is nice. It is a tourist town with its businesses catered towards Montrealers weekending there, so everything is closed Mon/Tues but open over weekends. Just a very cute and anglophone town.

Memphremagog / Magog is both an okay town and a really great lake, bigger than Lac Brome if you'd rather get on the water there. Also fun local myths of a lake monster >:3c

If you like murder mysteries, Louise Penny based many locations in her series off of areas in the Townships - such as Brome Lake Books('s old location) and Abbey St.Benoit (which has great cheese). There are maps to help her fans run around and see the locations irl!

Due to the dairy industry there's a lot of great cheese and icecream in general. Coaticook has great icecream and a cool gorge (my ex lived there), but it’s very French so you might have trouble.

A personal highlight: drive up the St.Lawrence. it's gorgeous, sometimes there are whales, and just. Amazingly beautiful. Fuckoff cold water tho.

There are a ton if beautiful national parks in Quebec; Bic is a highlight personally.

For southern Ontario:

Niagara Falls is a mixed bag: the falls themselves are incredible, absolutely awe inspiring (I remember getting to my hotel room after and writing in a frenzy - the MIST from them hits you SEVERAL HUNDRED METERS AWAY). BUT the area around them are a tourist trap, overpriced and iffy.

I haven't run around Toronto much beyond getting lost going to n from the airport, but I've heard decent enough things?

Iirc there might be more Freedom Convoy bullshit going on in Ottawa, so keep an eye on the news if it's on your bucket list.

Also have heard p good things about the national parks, almost went camping with the other grads before schedule conflicts popped up.

Haven't done much due to gradschool unfortunately :c

I also know that Alberta has an incredible dinosaur museum with some amazing specimens, and Dinosaur Provincial Park is teaming with big fossils (almost went on a dig there but Covid happened).

Hope some of this helped!

#ask

[nasuversekinkmeme]

Weekly Roundup: Prompts (June 27-July-04)

Tsukihime

Screw it, Akiha ABDL

Pet play: Ciel takes Arcuied round the back and puts her down like Old Yeller

Fate/Stay Night

Shinji gets isekaid after that one time he gets killed in canon but life isn't any better for him in the new world(by his standards at least)

shiki vs taiga swordfight. battle of the ages

taiga learns tiger drop which negates all damage

okay , for real , outta all the f/sn masters, i bet shirou would have the easiest time adjusting to the chaos of life at chaldea . an rin is stuck on the struggle bus with now way out the second she meets BB.

a wave of peace and quiet flows through the clocktower , why ? rin & luvia were tf'd into hex maniacs and no one wants to turn 'em back to normal b/c they aren't total assholes in that state . hell, shirou's even okay with those remaining like that , especially since luvia's taken up gardening. having a friend bring fresh produce when they pop over unannounced has done wonders for his cooking.

Rin Tohsaka being TF'd into Luvia's trophy wife

Smut, unsanitary, Ruby fully re-brainwashes Rin like when she was a kid and makes her piss herself live on stage in front of thousands of people in her old Magical Girl costume. The brainwashed Rin of course finds this very erotic and ends up fingering herself as she pisses buckets.

Fate/Extra

edit BB.exe, setvar arousal=TRUE, setvar canorgasm=FALSE, setvar pleasure=5*pleasure, exit

FGO

Gudako after eating Van Gogh's flesh from her valentine present is in great need to get another bite

kadoc & gudako should bond through shoplifting at sephora

Smut, there’s plenty of content about morgan and her husband. where’s the content of morgan and her wife??? I wanna see gudako dutifully satisfying her witch wife’s needs in the bedroom; bonus if Morgan has a dick (as in in a trans way, because fuck yes). let gudako suck her wife off dammit!!!

somebody at chaldea figures out after xxx or more years of repression they are not straight and/or cis. specifically a servant because post mortem milestones of life are extremely funny to me

Smut, I humbly request for mash/morgan porn where morgan refers to mash as her "trophy."

Ophelia Phamrsolone learns her last name is entirely because of a centuries-old typo. Several typos. Drunken insistence a scribble was legible, really.

all of the support servants of Chaldea (such as Scathach Skadi, Merlin, Waver, etc) decide to go against Gudako because she always overworks them during grinding sessions. It’s up to the writer to decide if they succeed or DIE because of Chen Gong

Raikou and Tiamat fight over who's Guda's mother. End up solving the problem by marrying each other.

The Chaldea mom club learn about the amount of servants in love with Gudako and decide as Gudako's mother(s) that they need figure out who is worthy of taking the masters hand in marriage. Cut to B.B hosting the matchmaking equivalent of America's Got Talent with them prize being to marry Gudako.

let's put beryl in the chen gong cannon

castoria and guda use each other as chew toys and nobody is sure whether or not its a sex thing or not(correct answer is sometimes yeah but not always)

Guda finds out that she has a weight gaining kink/wants to fatten up after spending too much time watching how happy Caesar and Cleopatra are

warhammer 40k tournament at chaldea ,

a few people at chaldea play 2 truths and a lie : here's gudako's list: i run a salamanders army on the Warhammer 40k table top ( true) when i took this job , my main goal was to not die a virgin & by the emperor did i succeed !(true) and i have my coochie pierced ( false)

Chaldea holds a pride parade. Turns out every single servant is queer in some way, at least once modern concepts of gay and bi and trans and whatnot are explained to them, so there's a 100% turnout rate. Somehow nobody saw this coming.

this is a *big* request but with most of his lines being translated now i crave bhima gorging the absolute hell out (wg, stuffing, anything in between)

Smut, Due to the presence of a large number of people who can actually go blow for blow with her in Chaldea, Barghest regularly engages in battle sex. Powerbomb into mating press is a hell of a drug.

Smut, After Morgan tells Gudao to get rid of all his other Berserkers and asserting that she's the only one he'll ever need, he finally puts his foot down and disciplines the former Queen of Fairy Britain. Things don't go quite as planned and naturally, this has unintended (sexy) consequences. Now, Morgan starts causing problems on purpose just so she can be "punished" by Gudao, much to his consternation.

Smut, Gudako gets sent with Mash to Aesc and the threesome is so good that all their traumas vanish, the Lostbelt is fixed, and Queen Morgan has two new Consorts.

gudako convinces castoria to kill gudao so castoria can stay with Gudako. unfortunately castoria and Gudao murder each other, and what will gudako do?

There’s a reason why despite the constant Arts farming, Castoria is still alive: She drinks 10 cups of Monster just to stay awake and alive. Bonus points if her stash of Monster Energy Drinks are stolen or is found.

Arcueid & Kukulkan, ultimate one squad

Smut, Dobryna getting summoned in place of her husband to protect him and then fucking Guda sounds like an ntr plot, so why not write it like one?

Alexander/Iskandar meets Berserker Darius only to realize his ancient rival is nothing like he remembered. Can be played for comedy but I'm imagining more the scene from Sopranos where Tony and Junior meet for the last time

Scheherazade plans for, and goes on a date with, Nitocris. Swaps back and forth between Scheherazade being anxious and hyper-over-planning for every negative contingency and Nitocris comforting her as things go very well actually.

Smut, nitocris says she wants to marry master( which ever one you want) and the other pharaoh/egyptian servants and their partner help her become a good wife in-n-out of bed due to this master pass out the first time they have sex.

Baobhan Sith keeps trying to be a mean girl, but ends up accidentally helping everyone, and gets mad about it. The last straw is when Guda praises her, so she decides, in a fit of impulsiveness, to do the most diabolical thing she can think of doing to Guda; Baobhan Sith steals their first kiss. The only problem is that Guda was actually saving their first kiss for them anyway, so it was all for nothing.

arjuna & junao try out the twin- switch trick , their success in fooling people will depend on the prompt filler

Dinofucker Olgamarie

Join us on our new Chaldea game show, “Justify! That! Atrocity!” Starring featuring guest stars like Gawain, Mordred, Abigail, and many more!

Ereshkigal and Ishtar inherited Rin's dumb Bissexual rizz and end up creating their own harem without even realizing it

chaldea summoning galahad by complete accident. meanwhile, lancelot is FREAKING OUT about this

Berserker Lancelot is always just emitting that freaky growling noise of his due to the chronic pain, and thus is constantly miserable. That is is, until Tomoe Gozen shows him Microsoft Flight Simulator, and the simple happiness overtakes the pain and rage

Smut, Director Olga Marie can't stop masturbating

Smut, Castoria + prostitution. A country girl gotta do what she gotta do all alone in britain yknow.

After Guda is captured by the mages Association so they can transfer their command seals to a more trustful user who will give better use to their army of servants, a servant finds them and begs them to escape, that Chaldea can keep them safe, while Guda begs them to kill them, that way nobody will go after Chaldea and there won't be a risk that these command seals will fall in dangerous hands

the real dobryna already had imposter syndrome due to being just a squishy human while his wife & daughter(s?) are some pretty dang strong monsters. and his wife committing identity theft in order to join chaldea just rubbed salt in the wound. now it's up to the koyan twins to solve their dad's problem , because if they don't , he's gonna run off & elope with gudako.

due to boredom, Castoria tries the Grimace Shake. It is up to the writer to decide if she dies or not from drinking the shake

FGO, again

Rasputin has a skill with a chance to trigger guts, chaldea plays a game and bet how many times they will have to kill Rasputin before he dies

Chaldea ends up summoning Saber Galahad Alter AKA the Cooler Galahad from Fate/Requiem, and Mash ends up experiencing what it's like to have a big brother, while the original Galahad is low-key seething because everyone likes his far more approachable Alter self, including Mash.

Smut, Morgan x Ronald McDonald smut

Gudako and Castoria left too many bite marks on each other just for Oberon to tease them about it.

warhammer 40k tournament at chaldea : you've got gudako with her salamander army, tomoe of all people is running a chaos undivided set up, osakabehime has her Astra Militarum (aka guardsmen) & a back up adeptus mechanicus army, and sei is in possession of some very impressive Ork kitbashes., and then there's morgan spectating ; she currently does not have a good grasp on how to play the game , but she did enjoy painting a few sisters of battle minis with gudako.

locusta finds out that people on the internet call her nasu.

Due to the constant pause in the flow of time due to the world nearly ending and the constant rayshifting that puts their physical body in suspension Guda's mind has aged much faster than their body, so i propose: Mid 40s Guda that still looks like they're is in his early 20s and acts like they're in their 60s

Jing Ke runs out of her monthly supply of booze, and Moriarty has cut her off from the bar due to making a mess last time- leaving her with only one option, Shuten Douji. She starts drinking Shuten’s Oni-wine, and begins developing Oni traits because of it.

Tiamat comforting a character with mommy issues, Raikou, Mordred or Jack would be ideal, but given the amount of tragic backstorys in this franchise, everyone needs some motherly love

Sei Shōnagon called Scheherazade’s summons pokemon once a week ago, and she’s been in an existential crisis ever since, trying to figure out if she needs to collect gym badges or not

Li Shuwen is not allowed to fist his partners anymore :(

#weekly roundup

[cor-ardens-archive]

Do you have any favorite quotes from Lolita?

This is a difficult question because Lolita is one of my favorite books and the prose is so beautiful, I could easily quote the entire thing. But I chose some particular favorites that are both beautiful and personally meaningful. (I am omitting the funny passages even though I appreciate them a lot, and “picnic, lightning” never fails to make me laugh.)

[CW csa, rape]

The iconic beginning that everyone always quotes, because it truly is perfect. I tried to shorten it to my very first lines, but it’s pointless, the whole of it is superior:

"Lolita, light of my life, fire of my loins. My sin, my soul. Lo-lee-ta: the tip of the tongue taking a trip of three steps down the palate to tap, at three, on the teeth. Lo. Lee. Ta.

She was Lo, plain Lo, in the morning, standing four feet ten in one sock. She was Lola in slacks. She was Dolly at school. She was Dolores on the dotted line. But in my arms she was always Lolita.

Did she have a precursor? She did, indeed she did. In point of fact, there might have been no Lolita at all had I not loved, one summer, a certain initial girl-child. In a princedom by the sea. Oh when? About as many years before Lolita was born as my age was that summer. You can always count on a murderer for a fancy prose style.

Ladies, and gentlemen of the jury, exhibit number one is what the seraphs, the misinformed, simple, noble-winged seraphs, envied. Look at this tangle of thorns."

I'm sure my other choices are nothing out of the ordinary either, they're popular favorites for good reason:

"Nothing could have been more childish than her snubbed nose, freckled face or the purplish spot on her naked neck where a fairytale vampire had feasted..."

Later on, in Part Two, we have more vampire/parasite/blood sucking imagery: “A forest in Arkansas and, on her brown shoulder, a raised purple-pink swelling (the work of some gnat) which I eased between my long thumbnails and then sucked till I was gorged on her spicy blood.”

"More and more uncomfortable did Humbert feel. It was something quite special, that feeling: an oppressive, hideous constraint as if I were sitting with the small ghost of somebody I had just killed."

A very small ghost... it always gets to me. In fact, almost the entirety of the passages following the first time H.H. rapes Dolores, to the end of Part One, particularly when she "jokingly" accuses him of raping her. It's desperately miserable. And then, especially:

"In the gay town of Lepingville I bought her four books of comics, a box of candy, a box of sanitary pads, two cokes, a manicure set, a travel clock with a luminous dial, a ring with a real topaz, a tennis racket, roller skates with white high shoes, field glasses, a portable radio set, chewing gum, a transparent raincoat, sunglasses, some more garments—swooners, shorts, all kinds of summer frocks. At the hotel we had separate rooms, but in the middle of the night she came sobbing into mine, and we made it up very gently. You see, she had absolutely nowhere else to go."

It's maybe the most heartbreaking passage in the whole book for me. Dolores has been raped, she’s scared, bleeding and in pain. She asks to call her mother, and H.H. tells her her mother is dead (and Dolores is a “small ghost” — he links her and her mother, as he will do again later — “A kind of thoughtful Hegelian synthesis linking up two dead women”). He enumerates the items she bought her — items typical of an American childhood and tourist attractions. In the same paragraph, he tells us that she goes to him in the middle of the night, crying and seeking some form of comfort from the only person she has in the world; and that he rapes her again. “You see, she had absolutely nowhere else to go.” is such a great line to end the first part of the book. From there, it’s the American open road and “no point staying anywhere”.

“How sweet it was to bring that coffee to her, and then deny it until she had done her morning duty. And I was such a thoughtful friend, such a passionate father, such a good pediatrician, attending to all the wants of my little auburn brunette’s body! My only grudge against nature was that I could not turn my Lolita inside out and apply voracious lips to her young matrix, her unknown heart, her nacreous liver, the sea-grapes of her lungs, her comely twin kidneys.”

I really love the descriptions of her anatomy (unknown heart, nacreous liver, comely twin kidneys). The passage is followed by a scene where Dolores is reading a magazine article about sex crimes against children, and she reads out loud: “”If,” she repeated, “you don’t have a pencil, but are old enough to read and write—this is what the guy means, isn’t it, you dope—scratch the number somehow on the roadside.” / “With your little claws, Lolita.”

“We had been everywhere. We had really seen nothing. And I catch myself thinking today that our long journey had only defiled with a sinuous trail of slime the lovely, trustful, dreamy, enormous country that by then, in retrospect, was no more to us than a collection of dog-eared maps, ruined tour books, old tires, and her sobs in the night—every night, every night—the moment I feigned sleep.”

It’s just beautiful. The “defilement” of the country, her sobs (she wept every night), the very synthesis of their road life.

“One of the latticed squares in a small cobwebby casement window at the turn of the staircase was glazed with ruby, and that raw wound among the unstained rectangles and its asymmetrical position—a knight’s move from the top—always strangely disturbed me.”

This one I can’t quite explain. I marked it the very first time I read the book, and I’m not sure why it captured my attention so strongly. There’s just something about the way he describes the stain as a “raw wound”, its asymmetrical position, the reference to chess. Maybe it’s the blood-like red stain inside the home, “that parody of incest”. Or maybe it captures something about the book as a whole, the violence and raw wound underlying the story, America, the English language. Or maybe I’m just misreading it and making a whole thing.

I’m also always very disturbed by the scene when H.H. rapes Dolores while she is sick with a fever: “... and I could not resist the exquisite caloricity of unexpected delights—Venus febriculosa -- though it was a very languid Lolita that moaned and coughed and shivered in my embrace.”

When H.H. talks of his pedophilia and obsession with young girls:

“There was in the fiery phantasm a perfection which made my wild delight also perfect, just because the vision was out of reach, with no possibility of attainment to spoil it by the awareness of an appended taboo; indeed, it may well be that the very attraction immaturity has for me lies not so much in the limpidity of pure young forbidden fairy child beauty as in the security of a situation where infinite perfections fill the gap between the little given and the great promised—the great rosegray never-to-be-had. Mes fenětres! Hanging above blotched sunset and welling night, grinding my teeth, I would crowd all the demons of my desire against the railing of a throbbing balcony: it would be ready to take off in the apricot and black humid evening; did take off—whereupon the lighted image would move and Eve would revert to a rib, and there would be nothing in the window but an obese partly clad man reading the paper.”

I said I wouldn’t include funny passages, but I admit that last sentence is pretty funny. I also just like how well it captures one of the most important aspects of Lolita — we can see that Humbert cannot see; but we only have Humbert’s words, and so we cannot really see either. Dolores remains unattainable both to him and to us, and perhaps that’s part of our collective fascination with the book and the character. This is somewhat related to the absolutely gorgeous passages in chapter 20/Pt. 2 of H.H. watching Dolores play tennis. More than once he regrets not filming her (Quilty tries to film her, but she evades him), but paints the scene to the reader with the most beautiful strokes (he cannot have Lolita, we cannot have Dolores; but we can have his words). It’s too long to quote in full, but some snippets of note:

“The exquisite clarity of all her movements had its auditory counterpart in the pure ringing sound of her every stroke. The ball when it entered her aura of control became somehow whiter, its resilience somehow richer, and the instrument of precision she used upon it seemed inordinately prehensile and deliberate at the moment of clinging contact. Her form was, indeed, an absolutely perfect imitation of absolutely top-notch tennis—without any utilitarian results.“

"... on that particular day, in the pure air of Champion, Colorado, on that admirable court at the foot of steep stone stairs leading up to Champion Hotel where we had spent the night, I felt I could rest from the nightmare of unknown betrayals within the innocence of her style, of her soul, of her essential grace."

"... Did I ever mention that her bare arm bore the 8 of vaccination? That I loved her hopelessly? That she was only fourteen?

An inquisitive butterfly passed, dipping, between us."

And still, through the haze, there are moments when H.H. seems to see something real in Dolores. Even then, it’s never truly clear if those glimpses are real, but they’re nevertheless very touching. As false as Humbert is, as much as he lies and self-aggrandizes and plays at redemption for an imaginary jury, there may be kernels of truth to some of what he says.

“... [M]y Lolita remarked:

“You know, what’s so dreadful about dying is that you are completely on your own”; and it struck me, as my automaton knees went up and down, that I simply did not know a thing about my darling’s mind and that quite possibly, behind the awful juvenile clichés, there was in her a garden and a twilight, and a palace gate—dim and adorable regions which happened to be lucidly and absolutely forbidden to me, in my polluted rags and miserable convulsions.”

This one is heartbreaking:

“Once when Avis’s father had honked outside to signal papa had come to take his pet home, I felt obliged to invite him into the parlor, and he sat down for a minute, and while we conversed, Avis, a heavy, unattractive, affectionate child, drew up to him and eventually perched plumply on his knee. Now, I do not remember if I have mentioned that Lolita always had an absolutely enchanting smile for strangers, a tender furry slitting of the eyes, a dreamy sweet radiance of all her features which did not mean a thing of course, but was so beautiful, so endearing that one found it hard to reduce such sweetness to but a magic gene automatically lighting up her face in atavistic token of some ancient rite of welcome—hospitable prostitution, the coarse reader may say. Well, there she stood while Mr. Byrd twirled his hat and talked, and—yes, look how stupid of me, I have left out the main characteristic of the famous Lolita smile, namely: while the tender, nectared, dimpled brightness played, it was never directed at the stranger in the room but hung in its own remote flowered void, so to speak, or wandered with myopic softness over chance objects—and this is what was happening now: while fat Avis sidled up to her papa, Lolita gently beamed at a fruit knife that she fingered on the edge of the table, whereon she leaned, many miles away from me. Suddenly, as Avis clung to her father’s neck and ear while, with a casual arm, the man enveloped his lumpy and large offspring, I saw Lolita’s smile lose all its light and become a frozen little shadow of itself, and the fruit knife slipped off the table and struck her with its silver handle a freak blow on the ankle which made her gasp, and crouch head forward, and then, jumping on one leg, her face awful with the preparatory grimace which children hold till the tears gush, she was gone—to be followed at once and consoled in the kitchen by Avis who had such a wonderful fat pink dad and a small chubby brother, and a brand-new baby sister, and a home, and two grinning dogs, and Lolita had nothing.”

And this passage, too, never fails to bring tears to my eyes:

“What I heard was but the melody of children at play, nothing but that, and so limpid was the air that within this vapor of blended voices, majestic and minute, remote and magically near, frank and divinely enigmatic—one could hear now and then, as if released, an almost articulate spurt of vivid laughter, or the crack of a bat, or the clatter of a toy wagon, but it was all really too far for the eye to distinguish any movement in the lightly etched streets. I stood listening to that musical vibration from my lofty slope, to those flashes of separate cries with a kind of demure murmur for background, and then I knew that the hopelessly poignant thing was not Lolita’s absence from my side, but the absence of her voice from that concord.”

I’ll probably think of a dozen more favorites, but the post is long enough as it is, and it’s late. Hope this is something. Followers, if you want to add your own favorites in the replies, please do!

#i also really love when H.H. likens himself to a spider spreading his web around the house-- ''is Lo in her room?'' #anyway #Lolita