#meat sack runners

[creampied-69-hotwife]

I first saw him across the street from my house, the four-year-old Bull Mastiff that lived in the apartment across the road. I stared at his huge ball sack as he walked by. I started fussing over him and petting him when he was brought out. I followed the schedule of his owner, making sure we’d meet at least 2-3 times a week. I saw that he worked pretty long hours and finally asked if he’d like me to at least let him out for him, and he jumped at the chance.

I walked him a few times with the owner because he was so big, but, like most big dogs, he just strolled along, and I tried not to stare at his shifting ball sack, bigger than any man I’d seen. We joked about his size and walked by a vet’s office, where we took him in and had him weigh 154 pounds. I’m 98 pounds. My pussy twitched at the thought of him mounting me.

I also acted rather ‘grossed out’ about his huge sack, and his owner just laughed and said he was a stud dog. Otherwise, he’d have had him fixed. I joked right back that he should buy him some underwear when he was out getting walked, not wanting him to suspect my true motives.

He gave me a key to his place, and on the first day, I went over to get him wearing a long sundress, nothing on underneath. I was panting when I led him up to my house. I’d ensured all the blinds were pulled, checked his height many times, and purchased a leather bench Ottoman. I’d also attached a leash to one of the door handles so he’d be unable to back up if I was lucky enough to have him fuck me.

I looked at his huge ball sack as I followed behind him and thought I might have that cum shooting into my pussy that day. I felt a drop of my cum roll down my inner thigh at the idea.

We entered the house, and his head turned when I went to remove his lead. I saw his nose flare and his ears pricked up. Panting, I stepped out of the sundress and stood in front of him, naked, with the drop of cum rolling down the inside of my thigh. His nose flared again, and suddenly, he just shoved his nose between my legs! I moaned and leaned against the door, spreading my legs for him. He licked me with his huge tongue, and I shuddered.

I’ve done some research and found out that most dogs love the taste of pussy but don’t seem to figure out where it comes from and will repeatedly lick AT your hole, looking for more, but that’s about it. So when his tongue penetrated me, I gasped and came hard on his tongue, now pumping in and out of my pussy.

Moaning and panting, I fell forward onto the stairs and bucked my hips wildly as he groaned and shoved his tongue inside me as far as it would go. It was like being fucked by a snake, it rolled around inside me, and I came over and over. His breathing became very ragged, and I felt his head moving differently and glanced behind him and saw that he was pumping the air with his hips.

That was the first time I saw his cock; just looking at it made me blow all over his thrusting tongue again. It was bright red and had a lot of veins, and there were long runners of his sticky pre-cum dripping down from the tip of it. It was bobbing in midair, and, as I watched, I saw it shoot a small amount of dog slime out.

He was more than ready for me but still frantically eating me out. He must have liked the taste. Panting as I’d just run a marathon, I stood up off the stairs, where I’d been bent over, doggie style, while he tongue fucked me. I watched him standing there, panting loudly, his dog meat hanging out, about 9 inches long and wide. Moaning, I went into the darkened living room, and he followed me, also gasping with excitement.

I laid down on the far end of the leather Ottoman, making him come towards the wall, and he drove his tongue right back inside my pussy. Moaning, I attached the leash hanging from the doorknob to his collar and quickly shot under him on the narrow bench. It was perfect, narrow enough that he could straddle it and low enough that I was at the ideal height for him to enter me.

Unlike what I’d read about some other dogs, his cock found my cunt very quickly. After a few pokes around, his cock penetrated me, and he did something VERY hot. After the head of his cock entered me, he paused, just like a man would, and I groaned, listening to his heavy breathing. I was just about to push myself down on his shaft, moaning at the ‘tease’ of his cock inside my pussy, when he suddenly collapsed his upper body onto me very hard, pinning me in place. He ‘walked’ up the bench and shot his hips forward, ramming me.

He let out an incredibly loud moan of pleasure, and I did something I’d only done a few times in life and came so hard that I ejaculated, spraying all over his legs and balls. I buckled under him, entirely at his mercy now. I tried to move around and realized that I couldn’t. Mere seconds before, he groaned again and, to my surprise, started forcing his knot into me. Considering the amount of drool and the massive spray of cum I’d soaked him with, he was able to shove it into my dripping hole after a few thrusts.

God, it vibrated inside me as his cock grew, spurting loads of pre-cum into me practically every time he shot inside me. I shuddered and came. I knew that dogs would cum the entire time they’re fucking you. However, had seen that it was usually only a small amount, once every minute or so. Spark shot huge wads of hot dog cum at least every 30 seconds, and I heard my pussy sloshing with all his sperm. His knot was still expanding inside me, now absolutely massive, plugging me completely. He didn’t use it strictly as a method of cumming, he used it to fuck me, and I came over and over, feeling his hot dog cum spurt into me every few moments. I was surprised, thinking that when the knot was in, they stood still and just filled the bitch with cum.

But, he began taking long, hard thrusts into me, stopping at times. I think he was doing what a man would, holding off, so he didn’t come too soon, but, eventually, he began grunting louder and louder, each thrust making my legs flail. Then, he did it, he braced himself and groaned, and I felt the contents of those balls that I’d been staring at so long emptying themselves inside me.

I squealed and flopped under him as he continued to thrust, his dog cock vibrating and jerking inside me, going off like a fucking fire hose, the tops of my feet bouncing on the floor. He came for 8 minutes inside me, his knot still fully inflated. The temperature of his cum was boiling. I could feel each squirt.

I felt his cock start to shorten inside me, and he stood up. That’s when I realized he’d actually ‘collapsed’ his upper body on mine, making sure I couldn’t get away from his pounding cock, and stood there, not trying to pull out yet. Realizing that he couldn’t pull away, dragging me off the Ottoman on his knot because of the leash, and still incredibly turned on, I kept bucking beneath him, cumming on his meat while I could.

As his knot deflated, even with his cock still inside, his cum could finally explode from me, and I moaned and bucked, hearing it pattering down on the hardwood floor, so much that it sounded like one of us was taking a piss. I felt it flowing down the front of the Ottoman, rolling off the leather to create a puddle. I came a final time and went to push-off, finally satisfied, but Spark had other plans. That’s when I noticed his breathing had become ragged again. He shoved me down again, his cock stiffening inside me!

I felt him growling and froze, unable to believe he could have any sperm left in that sack of his after the huge load he’d shot. But, he was taking it slow this time, and I lay beneath him, trying to get up a few times. I loved how his body would tense up and shove me back down. I realized that even though I was still enjoying it, my pleasure didn’t mean a thing to him. This animal was going to take me until HE was satisfied.

He began hard thrusting again, grunting VERY loudly. If someone had walked by and the windows had been opened, they would have been able to hear him all the way out to the street. As he rode me, his cock seemed to get even bigger, and I couldn’t help but squeal as his knot re-entered me. When I cried out, I heard him grunt even louder, and his cock twitched hard, forcing me into yet another orgasm. Moaning, I felt him shoving up on the bench further and further, then grunted myself when he climbed on top of me from behind, his back legs now off the floor. His cock penetrated me even deeper, and now wholly pinned, I squealed under him again, this time even louder.

He went into a fucking frenzy, his breath gasping, his cock slamming into me, his entire 13 inches forced into me. His back legs were sticking out behind us, his weight balanced from his paws. My body slid up and down on the bench, my entire front eventually being covered in dog cum. As he continued to pump on top of me for another 30 minutes, his cum sloshed inside me again. My cunt was sealed shut by his massive knot.

The second time he began cumming wasn’t as long as the first, but every bit as incredible. I felt his hot spunk exploding from his jerking cock, his moans and gasps of pleasure heard through his chest, my cum covered face turned to the side, and my body crushed beneath him. My legs flailed on either side of his massive body as he filled me up again. I shuddered under him, too, covered in each other’s cum. When he finally softened enough to pull out, his cum came out with such force it splashed on the floor. I lay on the bench with my legs over the side as his cum poured out of my gaping pussy.

He got off me, his cum still streaming out. I stood up shakily, looking down at my typically flat belly, now actually distended by his cum. Panting, he went and had a long drink, and I stared at his ball sack, dripping with cum. As soon as I’d cleaned myself up and re-dressed, he was back to his previous amicable lump, so I took him into the walk-in shower and washed him off. Then, I did what I’d promised and took him for a long walk.

*****

The more I thought about having him inside me again, the kinkier my mind became. I went into a pet store to see if there was anything we could use, such as a collar for me that I could tie to his, loving the idea of being choked while he fucked me. Then, felt my cunt twitch when I looked at the shock collars. I told them that I had a large dog who was quite aggressive towards other people. I was told that the shock wouldn’t hurt him, but if it was dialed up to the top setting, it could drop the dog, so I wasn’t supposed to set it that high.

I took it home that night, and after making sure I had a tea towel between my neck and the collar itself, I hit the remote. My body shook for 30 seconds as I watched myself standing there, naked in the mirror. I took it up slowly and determined that at 3/4 power, it was enough to drop ME to the ground and jitter frantically for those 30 seconds. I also turned on the anti-barking switch in case I was to drop the remote while dancing on his dog meat and determined that it didn’t take too much noise to have it shock me when that setting was high too.

The second time I went to pick him up, I was pretty nervous, thinking that maybe he’d knock me down in either his apartment or out on the street. Still, he acted completely normal until we entered my house again, realizing that this wasn’t something to be done anywhere else. As soon I unlocked the door, I glanced behind me and saw that the head of his cock was already out of its sheath and gasped, looking at it. My pussy was already dripping wet. I heard his hard breathing as I entered the living room.

I stripped out of my clothes and heard his panting increase as I lay down on the ottoman, legs wide. Staring at me, he dove into my lap, frantically licking my throbbing pussy. I reached down, attached the collar around my neck, and hit the remote just as his tongue shoved its way into my hole. My body shook hard. My arms and legs are thrown wide open, muscles stiff as my hips jerked wildly. He grunted as his tongue fucked me, stiffening it as it swirled inside me.

Relieved that the shock wouldn’t go through to him, I came hard on his tongue. I looked down at him, his jaw gaping wide, his tongue-twisting deep inside me as he stared right back at me, feeling his drool running down my ass crack. I didn’t have to go up the bench to get him to enter me. After around 5 minutes of eating me out, he moaned and came up on his own, straddling me.

On my back this time, it was so fucking hot to look up at him, his chest rubbing against my tits, and he positioned himself over me, hips bucking before he’d even entered me. I reached down and started stroking his dog cock, amazed at how well I could feel it pulsing with each beat of his heart and how hot it was to the touch.

I had to stop jerking him off before that knot started to grow, or he’d never be able to get it into me so he could cum. Panting hard and fast, he thrust his tool inside me, and, just like the last time, he groaned very loudly. So loud that it set the collar I was wearing off, and I was electrocuted as he forced his dog meat into me. Again, my arms and legs were thrown out, and I heard him gasping with pleasure as my pussy milked his huge cock with each pulse of the collar.

This continued repeatedly, and I couldn’t control my screech when he shoved his knot into me. The collar punished me for my shriek by making me dance under him, hearing him moan so loud as I repeatedly came, the shocks making my pussy spray every time. The collar made it some of the best sex I’d ever had. I’d be shocked whenever either of us made too much noise. My pussy clamped shut on his cock, and he filled me with his hot cum three times. His knot never gets small enough to get out of me. I felt him stiffen, again and again, his hips thrusting wildly.

At one point, during a shock, he took his weight off me to watch me dance, and I slid off the soaked Ottoman onto the floor. Groaning, he fucked me as my twitching body hung from his cock, and my head was thrown back, hips jerking in a circle.

After that shock, I reached up to take the collar off. Realizing this would get me hurt if he kept standing while we were locked together, he collapsed on top of me. His back legs are straight on the floor, and his elbows are right above my shoulders. I looked up at his face as he fucked me on the floor. My body slipped around in his cum, and his eyes were wild as he started fucking me very hard. I grunted helplessly, the collar making me buck under him as he blew his load inside me again.

I heard it splattering on the floor, my heels drumming behind him, his balls contracting, and those vast balls jetting load after a load of his hot doggy cum deep inside me.

#submission

[smoreboi]

tw: self harm, mentions of kms, dissociation (i think?), anything else i miss im sorry for

trying to figure out what exactly it is i said/did that got my therapist today at the end of our (third) session to ask me for the first time if id ever been diagnosed with anything or was on any mind medications, heres the top runners:

I really just wanna go skydiving before finals because I know that after jumping out of a plane, I'd be able to focus

i know what generalized upset feels like because everything feels strained and i just am incapable of speech and involuntarily hit myself when im upset, but i dont know what the difference between like, sad, angry, and unsettled is

no, when i have weeks of lows i dont ever act on any thoughts to kms, but like,, if a car was going to run into me i wouldnt do anything to stop it

when im having the higher emotions, i do more high energy motions, got suddenly excited a few weeks ago and ran a few laps around campus, and i'll typically make more involuntary motions and noises too

repeatedly referring to my consciousness, meat sack, and brain as all separate entities

i just kinda feel things, i have a really hard time understanding actual emotions

i think im typically pleased with my life, but on the regular day to day, i wouldnt so much say im happy so much as im blank, and then i'll either stay blank or take a ride through high and low emotions

when im in the serious lows, im typically not thinking anything. its too much effort so i just dont do it. mind is entirely empty when im seriously low

recently ive been using the rain as resets when i am in lows, because my self care will go down when im at a low, but at the same time, i know that if i go and lay on the ground for like 10 minutes while its raining then all functions will force me to do laundry and take a shower, same with like, drinking orange juice when i couldnt make myself talk a few days ago, i knew that drinking orange juice would give me high emotions so i did so that I could become talk capable again.

this is the stuff i can remember, it was an hour session so i know i said more

#mental health #therapy stuff

[sebwaldeland]

A Waltz of Mountains

CHAPTER 2

1441, Riverhome, The Homely Mountains

                                        Aldo Slate (Young)

The young child ran down the road, laughing hysterically with two other boys. One of the boys, Pias Nadria, a skinny, tall boy with hair so short he almost did not have any, except for a few patches around his head with longer hair, there was obviously a job was botched on his head. He was carrying a basket with apples, carrots and all sorts of vegetables. The other boy, Podrick Wilsa, a chubby boy with long and brown, greasy hair and quite a few pimples surrounding his bloated face. He had nothing in his hands or on his back, yet he was the furthest behind, still laughing as hard as the other boys, though perhaps his breathing was heavier. The third one, with long brown hair ran in front of the others, laughing harder than both of them. Above his head he carried a basket as well, filled with fish and meat packed in a sheet of brown, rough paper. His backpack, hanging halfway down his back and in dire need of a repair, was making a ruckus and moving around on his back.

Not too far behind them, an old farmer and his shaggy dog ran after. The road was tricky for the old man and he could not keep up. But the dog was a master of the terrain, and was steadily decreasing his distance between the lads. The road was beautiful, trees laid symmetrically on each side, making a sort of archway leading into the lush forest the villagers of Riverhome called Jadewood. The two children in front suddenly turned and ran into the woods. Aldo ran to the right and Pias to the left. Podrick simply stopped right in his tracks and turned around, watching the dog running into the woods, after Pias. Podrick watched as the farmer approached, breathing even heavier than himself. He was limping and his pants were covered in dirt. He must have falled, Podrick thought to himself. Podrick may not be the most athletically gifted, but he was damn good at one thing. He was good at making friends and being liked, and he knew it well. He learned early on a boy like him had to use his few strengths to the fullest. ‘Where the bloody hell did your idiot friends go, boy?’ The old farmer yelled in his face. ‘S-sir, I’m not quite sure. They ditched me and left me to my own devices. I-I’m not the most gifted runner, as I’m sure you can tell, but perhaps I can help you find them? I have a little bit of a quarrel with them myself at this point. And as it goes with your food storage, I did not have much of a choice or a say in the matter.’ The farmer looked him up and down with a nasty snarl on his face. ‘Well, guilty or not, I’m going to take you up on your offer. Help me find your friends and I’ll let you go with a warning.’ The old man looked into the dense forest, the trees so large and tightly packed the sun barely shone through the leaves. Yet a light seemed to linger in the very forest, as if the branches and grass were torches, illuminating the darkness.

‘Where are you Shags?’ the tanned farmer yelled after his dog and the dog responded with a loud ‘Bark!’. ‘Follow me, boy’ he snarled at Podrick, making the child jump in fright. The two made their way toward the noise of the dog, pushing through dense branches and bushes. A lemontick tried to make it’s way up Pod’s arm, but he brushed the yellow, glowing bug off with a little effort. The farmer suddenly spoke ‘Argh, my leg is killing me. Stop, boy. I need to rest for a minute. Here, pack my pipe for me while I find a place to rest.’ The farmer handed his pipe and a small sack containing tobacco to Podrick and sat down in front of him, back towards the boy. Podrick stood and filled the old mans pipe with tobacco until it was about half full, then he had an idea. It would not be his proudest moment, but it would have to be done. He put the pipe in his pocket and picked up a large rock that rested by his left foot. Picking it up with his right and, he walked up behind the old, sweaty farmer and wacked his head with it. The farmer fell towards the ground and snored like an old pig. Podrick was already quite a ways away by the time the farmer hit the ground. He ran through the woods for a few minutes, barely keeping his feet on the ground and almost tripping. He was looking down on the terrain, not ahead of him. Big mistake. A large roseberry bush stood in the way. Pod looked up right before he hit the bush and dodged in a clumsy manner. Yet, he felt a sharp pain on his forehead and stopped. He lifted his arm and put his palm on the top of his head. Blood. And lots of it. A rouge branch sticking out of the bush had grazed his forehead with it’s spiky thorns on the outskirts of town. He had to ignore it now, get away. He felt paranoid the farmer would be approaching him from behind and grab him, envisioned it in his mind’s eye. He had to keep running, and so he did.

 He ran until his breath grew weaker and weaker, and just as he was about to hit his stopping point, he burst through the trees into a beautiful clearing. A house stood in the middle. Perfectly in the middle. The rays for the sun looked as if they were made specifically for this house. The roof was of a red stone Podrick could not name, and there was a porch with a hamock made of sheepskin, neatly stitched and constructed. Beautiful, lush plants surrounded the home, but there was not so much that it had the appearance of being out of control. The two boys had already rendezvoused at the porch. They were grinning and chomping down on apples. ‘Pod! Where did you run off to?’ Aldo smiled towards him and gestured for him to join the pair. Pias laid in the hamock and Aldo sat in his usual chair. A blue rocking chair, made for him when he was a baby by his grandmother. Aldo’s hair was long, it always had been. It was how he preferred it, and he stood out while out and about in town. Some of the older geezers looked at him funny, but he did not mind. He didn’t really understand their way of life any more than they understood his, and that would have to do. ‘Podrick, you with us?’ The lanky boy in the hamock pointed at Pod and had a sarcastic way about him ‘I said, where did you run off to? I thought you were behind me, but when I looked, you were nowhere to be seen. Did old farmer Wilford get you?’ Pod told the two other boy’s about what had transpired in the woods, their jaw’s almost hit the dark wooden flooring by the time Pod was done explaining. ‘You really did that? For us?’ Aldo asked in awe. ‘Well, I guess I should thank you’ Pias said in disbelief and sat up in the hamock. ‘To be honest, I would’ve understood if you truly wanted to get back at us for leaving you behind.’ Aldo looked over at Pias and spoke ‘But you didn’t, and that’s all that matters. I didn’t really think you had it in you, but now we know we can trust you. And from that moment on the three were as inseparable as pen and paper.

‘By the way, look what I got from the farm!’ Aldo went into the house to collect his loot. Cackling was heard from inside the house and they boys looked curiously towards the entrance, waiting for Aldo to come back out. And come back out he did, but this time he was not alone. He was accompanied by what seemed to be a dog, slightly resembling the farmers own. ‘You stole a pup from it’s mother? The two other children yelled and pointed at him, Podrick staying put and Pias inching his way closer to Aldo’s face. ‘What the hell is wrong with you? No wonder the old geezer’s dog was hellbent on finding us. It took me a good ten minutes to get the bitch of my trail, and god knows where it is now! It could still be following us.’ Pias was completely face to face with Aldo now, only a few centimeters remained between the tip of their noses. Aldo was not prepared for a reaction like this from them. ‘What’s your grandma going to say when she comes home from the village? You gotta give it back, Aldo.’ The shortest and thickest of the three said and shuffled his feet slightly, clearly nervous. ‘Yeah, I agree with Pod. You’ve got to give the pup back. Today.’ Aldo, clearly embarrassed put up a front of false confidence. As children do. Insecurity ran rampant in the young rascals body, but he was saving face. ‘Give him back? Do you know how much better his life could be here? Why did we even rob the old koon anyways? Because he’s a freakin’ twatface and everybody knows he hits his dogs. Haven’t you heard it at night?’ he was getting into his speech now, true confidence was replacing the false. ‘You’ve definitely heard it Pod, you live right by him!’ Pod flinched at his name being mentioned at nodded his head quickly. Pias was looking down at the ground, his botched hairdo revealed itself for everyone to see, but the boy had a different demeanor than before. Not angry, perhaps a mixture of humility and defeat. He knew once Aldo got into one of his speeches, no one could argue back. He would definitely not argue anyways, that’s for sure. ‘That’s why we robbed him in the first place. He deserves it more than anyone I know. We don’t steal from anyone who doesn’t deserve it. I’m not going back, and if any of you tell me to, I’ll punch you in the dick.’ The aggressive aura of the beautiful porch had evaporated, and had been replaced by a lighter frequency.

 Pod laughed and the others were confused. Pias then stopped for a second, and burst into laughter as well. Only Aldo was left confused, until he too caught it. All three were roaring with genuine, beautiful laughter only children could truly attain. Out of the forest edge, an old lady appeared. She was beautiful for her age, but age had taken it’s toll on her. She held a marvelous cane, covered with runes and ingravings from lands far away from Riverhome. She had a hat made of straws with a small, red flower hanging from it. Her eyes were smiling almost as wide as her mouth, her wrinkled but beautiful face lit up the porch. ‘Hello dearies, what are we so happy about today, then?’ Her voice was silky and soft, filled with love. ‘Grandma Ewa!’ Aldo and Pod leapt towards her and were met with open arms and a tight hug, with her signature three pats and two strokes on the back for each of them.

#adventure #fantasy #writing #explore #travel #traveling #wanderlust #mountains #storytelling #fiction #magic

[leakyrocktarot]

What are epidermis pedestrians? First time I'm coming across that word... And your blog so I'm kinda trying to navigate here

An epidermis pedestrian is a "Ski*n W*lker" We don't say the name because it can bring them to you. In the spirit world names are super important and when an entity has your name it can have power over you, and vice versa. Epidermis walkers are beings that can slip into the skin of literally anything to stalk and hunt its prey. An epidermis walker can even take the form of a "Not Deer" Though they are two different things, they can be of the same entity. They originate from Navajo culture, and are called The Yee Naldlooshii and are often times mistaken for wendigos. In Navajo culture, epidermis walkers are derived from ’ánt’įįhnii, which in our terms would be a witch. It is said that after initiation an ’ánt’įįhnii has the ability to become a Yee Naldlooshii. Not all witches are epidermis pedestrians, but all epidermis pedestrians are witches. It is important to note that not all witches are evil, not all of them practice baneful magic, they are a part of two different worlds. "In some stories, people who have attained the highest rank are called clizyati, which means pure evil. This can be achieved by killing a close blood relative, incest, necr0phili4, or other culturally taboo and evil acts. Upon completing one or more of these acts is said to destroy their humanity and allow them to become fully initiated in the way of witchery."

An epidermis pedestrian can take the form of a coyote, wolf, fox, eagle, owl, or crow, but they have the ability to change into whatever animal they need for whatever purpose they need it for. Again I will say Do Not Say The Name Out Loud, Ever. It calls them to you as if you have a target on your back, like being marked by a hunter. I made the mistake of doing it, and there was this bird that followed me for days and it was unlike any other bird. I shit you not, it flew in circles, upside down, and even backwards. I swear to you sometimes it looked like it was hovering in one place. Take note of how animals walk and act around you. If it is a predatory animal and it clearly doesn't think of you as prey, it is most likely a epidermis pedestrian. They often take the high ground, so if you see an animal following you especially from a high place, it most likely will be an epidermis walker. Pay attention to how the body moves, unless they are at the highest level it will always reveal itself by being clumsy. The most obvious example is the countless stories about the deer who turned around, but their legs stayed behind. Sometimes it may walk in a shamble, or jutt around, or even have distorted and crooked limbs. If you see one and you look it in the eye, their eyes will glow yellow whether it is day or night. They can only be found in the desert as that is the only place where they can strive. In the rare case of names, epidermis walkers are the only being that will fear your name. If you call out your given name, it will have to wait until the resonance dissipates. They don't have names, they all consider themselves to be a part of the "Shift".

Below the cut is a clip of a person talking about the things their grandfather has told them about epidermis walkers, how to spot them, and more about them.

Skinwalkers typically live in caves where man cannot reach, or on the tops of mesas. Skinwalkers, while being able to shift, must assume their human form during rest. They are still vulnerable to human patterns of existence. So they seek out places of rest that are seemingly unattainable to humans. The Utes would use this to their advantage, and climb nearby cliffs to catch or kill skin walkers when they least expected it. NOTE: Skinwalkers when sleeping are at their MOST powerful. In the state of rest, the strength to shift circulates through their body over and over again. If they are disturbed during rest, they are at their strongest and can kill at an instant. My grandfather told a story of a particularly Nasty group of two skin walkers who killed several children in a Ute village. A group of brave warriors tracked them to a set of cliffs, where there was a giant half dome cave about 200 feet up. The bravest warriors of the Ute tribe in the region snuck up the cliff, and when they reached the half dome cave, they opened fire on the two skin walkers. The skin walkers were not to be deterred, and instantly killed 3 warriors with their bare hands. The remaining Ute warriors kept firing, and finally the skin walkers lunged toward the edge of the cliff, telling the warriors that they would come back for them another day. The skin walkers ran to the end of the cliff and jumped...but The Utes were already two steps ahead. For weeks they had been bringing in dry brush to the valley below the cave, and by the time the skinwalkers jumped, nearly 3 acres of deadfall was piled strategically throughout the valley trees to look natural. The minute the skin walkers left the cliff, the Utes below lit the pitch-covered dead fall, and when the skin walkers landed, they were quickly trapped in a giant raging bonfire. The skin walkers howled so loudly, that it was said the wind whistled like wolves in that valley for another 50 years.

Skinwalkers sloppily shed fur and you can use it to summon them. When skin walkers turn back, it's just as ugly as when they turn. Instead of cleanly shifting back into human form, skin walkers often leave behind chunks of fur, sometimes up to 6 inches long and 2 inches wide, called "bent skin". If you find "bent skin", you can lure a skinwalker by blowing on the chunk of fur into a fire. The skinwalker will instantly follow the scent to your fire, without question, instinctively. The Ute's would use this method whenever they could, but it was very rare to find "bent skin" without actively knowing the footsteps of a skinwalker.

"The White Wind". That is the expression the Utes used to describe the effects of speaking into quartz rocks to a skinwalker. Skinwalkers are greatly weakened by the voice vibrations of a quartz rock. Medicine Men would carry with them giant quartz rocks, and set them upon a cliff to send out warnings to all nearby skin walkers never to come near their camp. This could only be done when the evidence of skin walkers in the immediate area of the camp could be found. It could not be used as a blanket method to ward off would be attacker skin walkers. The Utes thought that quartz resonated with souls, and that if spoken to with the proper countenance from a Medicine Man or Warrior, that the quartz rock could speak directly to the soul of a person or animal. There was one story about a particularly aggressive skinwalker who chose to stand outside the camp in Elk Form to intimidate the tribe. An elder Medicine Man walked to a nearby rock face, put a giant quartz stone on top, and sang the name of the most recent victims to skin walkers over and over again. Within a matter of hours, the elk began violently kicking, turning from human, to elk, and back again, until it finally started taking the shape of the victims who it killed. The Medicine Man then commanded the skinwalker to turn back to its evil elk form, and jump off a cliff to its final death. The next morning the tribe woke up and found the skinwalker in human form split in half over a pointed stump.

If you can find a skinwalker trail, usually characterized by animal footprints with unusual spacings and variations (example: Deer hoof prints that all of a sudden emerge into 10 feet gaps), you can weaken a skinwalker greatly by putting fish remains in its prints. Animals from the water are highly poisonous to skin walkers in the spiritual sense because they represent water, the killer of the desert. The scent of the fish or other water animal will approach the heel of the skinwalker, and cause him to weaken the more he walks. Warriors who found skin walker trails would alert the tribe, and they would spend days fishing our a local river and then preparing the remains to be used against the skin walkers. The Utes would then follow the footprints for miles, leaving fish rot in each skinwalker indentation, and pouring a mixture of water and fish oil near any pissing sites. Sometimes if they followed the skinwalker closely enough, they would find it wandering half dead in the desert and then kill it or capture it. It is important to note that the use of fish in weakening a skinwalker can ONLY be used when following it. It has to do with the skin walkers sense of smell. They smell for miles both forward and backward, and the fish stench, in order to exact harm, must come subtly from behind, otherwise it will be detected and avoided ASAP. So in summary, one cannot catch a fish, post it at their campsite, and expect to ward off a skinwalker for good. One has to use the fish scent carefully to eventually send the skinwalker into ruin.

Skinwalker Ritual Sites. Skinwalkers have religious sites all across the southwestern desert where they congregate from time to time, (no one knows how often), but they know it happens. These religious gatherings usually take place on the tops of mesas or in secret caves only accessible by skin walkers. At these gatherings the most diabolical happenings occur, innocent captives are eaten alive for sport, children are sacrificed, humans are forced to fight to the death, and abducted women are forced to bear every depraved sex act ever conceived - all for the skinwalkers' entertainment. The Utes told a story of the operator of a Spanish Mine who stumbled upon a viewing of such a ritual. The Spaniard had come to them to trade for supplies and had told them he knew of a skinwalker religious festival coming up that he wanted to sneak in to view it from afar. The Utes pleaded with him not to go, and to head back to his homeland for his own safety and the safety of his men. The Spaniard was far too stubborn to listen to a mere "Native" and snuck into a viewing of the ritual. Weeks later, they ran into the same Spaniard. He had aged at least 30 years. His hair was lightning white, and his skin had been charred by fire. The Utes gave him some water. He tried to speak, but each time he did his whole body trembled. Upon trying to speak for a third time, sweat poured out all over his body. But it was not the kind of sweat that would soak on a warrior's back after battle. It was blood coming out of his pores, because sweat had given up. The Spaniard died seconds later, unable to communicate what ungodly things he had seen at the skinwalker ritual. He didn't have to communicate -- the Utes knew.

Skinwalker Ritual Sites - The Ute Response. 3 Generations before the Spaniard died from sheer panic and fear over the Skinwalker ritual, the Utes had their own tragic experience with it. Four women, including two of the wives of the chief had disappeared within a month. Through dreams the two wives of the chief had reached out to the medicine man to let them know that they were being held captive in a giant room underneath a mesa. The Medicine man and the chief assembled all the warriors in the tribe approached the mesa, which was over 100 miles away. When they approached the mesa they saw a sea of bones, which became more pronounced with each step. What used to be dried and withered animal ribs soon became human hips, skulls, and spines. The plants were dead for nearly half a mile in every direction. The Medicine man and the warriors came up with a plan. The warriors would distract the skin walkers, while the medicine man and his team would build a giant lightning rod on top of the mesa. The warriors and the medicine men went their separate ways and carried out the plan. When the warriors found the cave beneath the Mesa, they formed a perimeter around it and waited in the bushes until its rightful king returned. When the skin walkers came out of the brush and into the cave, they opened fire, from all sides, everywhere, nearly painting the mesa with arrows. Before their arrow fire could finish, the Medicine man at the top of the mesa, grabbed a quartz stone and directed lightning to hit his 4 story tall quartz tower. The lightning hit the tower with such a force that the Mesa cracked in half, and covered half of the tribe in rubble. It is said that the skinwalkers came out roasting alive, with smoke pouring out of their eyes, ears and mouth, covered in charred black skin. The captured native women came out soon after, unscathed, with only a few cuts and bruises on them. The warriors yelled for the Medicine man to come down, that they had been victorious. The Medicine Man then yelled back: "No victory until dust...." The Medicine man proceeded to conduct 50 more strikes of lightning on the Mesa. With each strike it crumbled, until finally it was reduced to a small sand hill. The medicine man was barely able to walk, so succumbed with forcing the lightning strikes when a warrior approached him and said "Look." The Medicine Man looked and saw a beautiful white bird landing on the small sand hill that used to be the Mesa. The Medicine Man, then grabbed the bird and snapped its neck. The bird turned into a muscular human. The Medicine man said: "Let's find his sand hill." This medicine man who was named Fist of Lightning and Death, went on to destroy 4 mesas, and 3 giant caves, but in his words only "chased the wind" of the skin walkers.

#skin walkers #epidermis pedestrians #meat sack runners #skinwalker #The Yee Naldlooshii #’ánt’įįhnii #lore #mythology #crypitid #spiritual entities #entities #spiritual practices #spiritual journey #lower vibrational spirits

[killerweasel]

I don't understand about getting upset over two almost god-tier level creatures shoved in human meat sacks presenting as males being in love, but not kissing or making out. Stop attacking show-runners because you aren't happy. It always makes you look like an ass.

#good omens

[leam1983]

On Grief

This is a long one. You're under no obligation to push further if you don't want to. It's a personal post, so I'll more than understand if this isn't to your tastes. The normally-scheduled pedantry, commentary and memes will resume shortly.

One of my relatives was diagnosed with ALS. What started as an odd case of palsy in her left set of vocal cords that could've been far more benign was just confirmed by her referred physician. It's Lou Gherig's, and with her age and current condition, her prognosis is of three to five years, tops. Sure, Stephen Hawking blew his own prognosis out of the water, but a combination of notoriety and luck enabled him to eke out as much existence as medical tech could've possibly allowed.

We knew things were suspect when my aunt, a marathoner with a monthly sub to Runner's World, stopped running. Her food intake dropped like a stone, and she soon took to increasingly simple painting and drawing styles. At first we thought it was just her wanting to explore simpler rendering techniques, but then...

Then we noticed the twitching. How awkwardly her pens and brushes were set in her hands. She was in great shape and didn't mind living in the ass-end of Sutton, basically in the open country and with a path leading up to her front door that was all in rough cobblestones. She broke a hip against them, last year.

Her speech started to slur, lately. Her last bike trip also landed her in the ER. She doesn't bike anymore. She doesn't run, and being a gourmand by nature, feels obligated to restrain herself, for fear of gaining weight. She's aggressively vegan. Not towards others, but towards herself. No meat, no eggs, nothing. Most of us ovo-lactos and omnivores in the family know her constant snacking meant her seventy-plus body is desperate for energy.

From the look of things, it feels like the diagnosis broke through her bullshit reasoning for being vegan. She wasn't vegan for the sake of limiting her carbon footprint or making more responsible choices at the grocery store, but because she, as a lifelong anorexic, thought she was ugly and needed to lose weight. That's been a constant with her. Age catches up and skin sags? She mistakes it for a love handle, cuts out virtually all sources of protein and carbs safe for tofu, seitan and bean-based preps. Of course, like a lot of anorexics, she'd have bulemic episodes. I used to sleep over at her last bachelor pad, as a teen, and I remember her pantry was loaded up for bear with Danish cookie tins, Nutella jars and whipped cream. I remember she invited me over specifically when she intended to cheat. Then it was back to yoga, pot-smoking, meditation and shopping runs - and she probably kept her purging for when I was gone.

So yeah. I'm betting Belgian Asshole (see one of my previous posts) convinced her to break her vows and went looking for a "slice of authentic Tikka Masala", to quote his email. The entire family is made up of ethnic food diehards, so we spam-flooded his inbox with recommendations. Looks like she'll be eating meat again, soon. Her own email mentioned concerns of strength and stamina, so I get it.

Otherwise? We're gobsmacked. Imagine spending an entire weekday both at work and off work, aggressively goofing off because you're trying as hard as you can not to think of your favourite aunt's mention of assisted suicide as an option.

Three to five years. Maybe one, or two good Christmases. After that, her condition should probably have started to deteriorate quickly.

I'm not close with a ton of my own family. I love them all, but it's more a sense of polite respect than anything involving solid bonds. The only two folks I know I'll be devastated for when they'll die are her, and my youngest cousin on the other side of the family.

I'm mostly okay now. No doubts, no crisis of unbelief, no anger, no rage... But then I'll see her in a more diminished state, one of those days. How am I going to take to it?

Part of me keeps a tally of the deaths in the family. First, it was my uncle on my mother's side. Ruptured abdominal artery, with a leak small enough to pool into the gut's cavity for months. Decay settled in, guy got anesthetized for an intervention...

They didn't even bother sewing him back up.

Second one was my other paternal aunt's new husband. First one was great, but left the country in the seventies to go live in Stockholm with his medical assistant. Second one was a geologist and physicist at the same campus she taught as. French guy, the son of innkeepers four generations down. It showed, too. Our Christmas tables haven't been the same since he left us his recipie books, all his corny jokes on provincial eating habits, and his obstinate focus on turning every 25th of December into a Roman orgy probably befitting of the old Saturnalia traditions. I mean, when's the last time you've had an eight-course meal, outside of Thanksgiving?

Tumors in his mesenteric artery lined the blood vessel's inner walls, deposited virtually everywhere in his body. He was diagnosed in June and dead by August. He'd always been the lanky type, bone-thin even if he hoovered food like he'd never have enough. He looked even thinner in his hospital bed.

Then, my maternal grandpa bit it. Decades of casual alcoholism, cirrhosis more or less jumping on him around his seventy-sixth year. He looked a bit like John Keston, the actor who played Gehn in CyanWorlds' Riven. Same hairline, same hawkish nose, same eyes - just more Cajun and less New England-esque. I don't know if it was youth or stupidity or - anything, really, but I dropped by to see him, just two days before he died. I didn't realize he was tallying my life, asking me if I had everything in order, if things were planned.

Now, I understand.

Next one on the chopping block is Aunt Doris, still on Mom's side. She of the serial mooching, she of the concept of not needing much to get by if you were the cute one of the family. She was pretty enough in her prime, sure - if by pretty you meant "cigarette-butt blonde with a discount Farah Fawcett blow-up and an unfinished High School degree". First husband was an abusive ass who gave her an uncommonly sensitive son, second one figured she'd stick to the minimum-wage circuit while he tore out rotator cuffs or busted his C7 while on his outboard like clockwork. By the end, she roped my grandmother into living with her, spent her days sloppy-drunk and died on her ratty couch while falling asleep and choking on her own vomit.

Before them all, the youngest of my uncles died at age two. Cancer. Never knew which one, was told it didn't matter. You didn't survive much of anything cancerous, back in the late fifties.

Ping-pong this back to three years ago, and my oldest paternal uncle dies. Paul, who smoked like a chimney for most of his life and successfully stopped after discovering Champix. He got to live five great years as the high-IQ oddball he'd always been, smoke-free. Paul was the weird bird in the family, the type to remember a really engrossing story at two in the morning and making a note to call you up first thing in the morning to share it. He always had a project of some sort to work on, like a simulated investors' tank for young entrepreneurs looking to learn the ropes, or a Byzantine arrangement of coaxials allowing four of his lakeside neighbours to pirate his cable sub. He'd invite us over for dinner, gather all the ingredients we'd need for whatever it was he wanted to treat us to - and then he'd let us cook it - just sitting by the sidelines, chatting away.

He was also a bit of a narcoleptic, and looked a bit like William Howard Taft if you'd worked him out of these old sack suits and into modern shirts and suspenders. He fell asleep practically everywhere, with his more wakeful environments being his workshop and his property's dock. He took me out fishing, once, and knew what the entire family expected.

"Oars're here, Gremlin, fish're that way. Wake me up when you've got a bite."

At this point, it wasn't even a point of concern; it was just an Uncle Paul Thing, the exact thing you'd have expected out of this kind, eccentric blob of a man whose idea of fishing involved pushing his hat over his eyes and basically all but ensuring that his roaring snores would scare prey away. He'd been a supposedly high-IQ type, terminally bored with almost everything, only really getting agitated and interested back when I asked him for help for my Junior High Computer class's Javascript calculator. Once the syntax hit something familiar and he realized that JS has some similarities with FORTRAN, he was on a roll, acting like someone had snuck a Red Bull in his coffee.

Well, fibrosis caught up with him. His last hours were spent directing us on how to cook what would've been his last meal. I think he really just wanted to know we were alright, that we still could exchange laughs around the kitchen counter. He clocked out the way he always did, except he had an oxygen tube running under his nose. His head bobbed down, he snored loudly for a few minutes, then turned increasingly quiet...

And that was it.

And now there's Isabelle. The marathoner, my partner-in-crime when it comes to professing to have a healthy diet while occasionally cheating in glorious, weekend-defining means, my gateway to cannabis and also the first person who took my cringy self-insert fanfic fodder and went No, that's worth it! Push it, develop that universe of yours!

I wouldn't be almost two-thirds of the way through my first decent manuscript, if not for her, and I wouldn't be shopping for publishers with the same energy you'd reserve for weekend-grade Facebook putzing-about. I owe her part of my self-acceptance, and part of my discovery of what defines my routine to this day. Isabelle was my first meditation coach.

And in three to five years, she might be gone.

I just thought grief might be... noisier, is all. Louder. Right now, it's just germane to confusion, and it's sitting there. There's a pinch of fear in it, too. My parents are in their mid-sixties. How long do I have left with them?!

And the family and I just covered that up with jokes and, well, cooking. I've been told I'd make a half-decent therapist but - navigating your own emotions is hard work...

I don't know. I guess I needed to put this down somewhere.

#personal life #tw: cancer mention #tw: alcoholism mention #tw: death mentions #grief #coping

[h2bakugou]

the league | eijiro kirishima

Maze Runner AU

a/n: ahhh!! it’s here, the final installment (as of now ooo) of the maze runner au series. i had planned to do a few more, but as of now i should probably finish my requests lol. 

summary: the league’s got kirishima. and you’re going to do everything in your power to get him back.

key: (y/n) - your name / (f/n) - first name / (l/n) - last name / (e/c) - eye color / (h/c) - hair color / (y/q) - your quirk

warnings: fluff, swearing, angst

wordcount: 1k

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»»————-　★　————-««

It wasn’t fair. You’d made a promise to Kiri, one you sure as hell weren’t going to forget. You wouldn’t let him be used. Used by those heartless bastards that dared to say they were the true heroes. You were going to get Kirishima back, and you were going to do whatever it takes to do so.

- - -

“This is the craziest thing I’ve done!” Kaminari yelled, charging full speed throughout the corridor, electrocuting the guy who was coming toward him.

“Are we positive he’s even gonna be here?” Sero called out, stringing a few bad guys up with his tape. You stared at the large door and slid the key card you snagged off one of the unconscious guards.

“All the evidence we have leads to right here. He’s got to be.”

Sure enough, the door opened and more guards spewed out. The League wasn’t messing around with their security, that was true. You took down as many as you could, Sero, Kaminari, and Deku taking care of a few others, making sure that you had a path clear to get to Kirishima.

It didn’t take long for you to find him, he was by himself, needles and tubes feeding off of him like he was some sort of meat sack. You quickly disconnected everything and looked at him.

“Kirishima!” You shouted, shaking his shoulders lightly. His eyes darted open, his goofy sharp-toothed grin appearing on his lips.

“(Y/n)! What are-”

“We don’t have time for that we need to go, now!” You quickly yanked Kirishima off of the table, looking around for the exit. Sero, Kaminari, and Deku bolted through the doors and quickly shut it behind them.

“Glad to see you’re alive!” Kaminari was smiling, you could tell he was about a volt and a-half from short circuiting.

Banging at the door startled the group that stood in the room. You had to think of a plan. There was no way you’d be able to take on the army that stood behind the door.

"Any ideas?”

"Maybe...”

You glanced at the large windows that stood before you. You were way too high up for comfort, but you’d have to risk it. You weren’t going to surrender, not at the hands of the League at least.

They’d put you and your friends through way too much pain.

“Help me lift this!” You shouted, the group of boys coming to your aid. And with one large heave ho, you launched the metal canister through the glass window, sending it flying down into the pool below.

The canister landed in the water with a large splash. It was doable. You’d be fine, maybe a sprain at least, but you didn’t have time to think of the cons of jumping from god knows how many stories high into a pool of water right now.

“Just need a running start.”

“Are you sure about this?” Kaminari looked at you, worried. The sawing of metal screeched in your ears as the guards behind the door tried to get to you. They were getting closer with each passing second. You didn’t have much time left.

“Not really.” You said casually, almost to casually.

“Great pep talk. We’re all inspired.” Sero added, playing off of what Kaminari had said.

You gripped onto Kirishima’s hand, not wanting to lose him again.

The sawing stopped and the door swung open. Your heads turned to glare at the men in the doorway, Shigaraki leading them.

The four of you turned tail and jumped from the window. It was exhilarating.

“(Y/n)!!”

“Kirishima!”

“Sero!”

“Kaminari!” 

Sero and Kaminari called to one another while you called to Kirishima. You held his hand, not letting go until the cold feeling of water washed over your bodies. You quickly swam to the surface, pulling Kirishima along with you.

When you reached the concrete of the sidewalk, you were bombarded with men again, but explosion and fighting seemed to steer them away.

“’Bout time you loser showed up! You took your damn sweet time! Good to see you again shitty hair.” Bakugou greeted the four of you, defending you until you get on your feet again.

“Great to see you too Bakugou!” Kaminari and Kirishima yelled in unison.

You rushed back to the others with Bakugou, your hand still in Kirishima’s grasp. He didn’t let go unless he absolutely needed to. He didn’t want to lose you. Much like you didn’t want to lose him.

- - -

You rested on the airship, watching as flames and chaos burned down below. Death and destruction littered the world below as you curled up next to Kirishima, your head resting on his chest.

The battle was over, for now at least. No more fighting. You had won.

“I’m so glad you’re okay.” You whispered, cold and clinging onto Kirishima for what little warmth he was radiating at the moment.

Both of you were still cold and wet from jumping into the pool of water not much less than an hour ago.

You were both tired and bruised, bleeding from small open cuts, reminders of the battle you had just waged. A break was much needed.

“Thank you for keeping your promise.” Kirishima whispered, his large hand stroking your wet hair as you laid atop him.

Two towels landed over top of you as Bakugou trudged by, grumbling something under his breath.

You quickly gave Kirishima a towel before bundling yourself up, drying off as best as you could.

It was going to be a long time before you could ever get truly comfortable with how the new world was going to work, but at least he was with you.

You leaned up and pressed your lips to Kirishima’s, a long awaited fire igniting inside the two of you. Kaminari and Sero cheered for the two of you as they had seen the romance blossoming between you for the longest time, casually making jokes about when the two of you were finally going to acknowledge that you were head over heels for each other.

Kirishima pulled away and looked in your eyes, a blush spreading across his cheeks.

“Please don’t leave my side again.” You whispered, your forehead resting against Kirishima’s. His nodded and cupped your cheek with his hand.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

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taglist; @redriotbby​​ @auszimbo @cookednoodlez​​ @c-kinnie​​ @engel-hageshii​​

masterlist | maze runner au masterlist

[dclphinedupont]

*CRIES IN WITCHCRAFT*

Hello everyone! My name is Ange and this is my chaotic-good lil bean, Delphine! Phi for short. She’s the receptionist at Thane Auto and is a whole entire mess! But she means well. She likes puppies, vegetables and warding off the demonic spirits of the underworld! All in colorful corduroy. 

Below you will find her hastily put together and recycled bio! Please love her! 

* in character information

full character name:

delphine “phi” dupont

face claim:

lucy boynton

pronouns & sexuality:

she/her and bisexual

biography bullet points

her fondest memories were composed of moments heavy with cigarette smoke, bright purple nail-polish, the scent of burning sage and the beatles. her parents were big on that whole aesthetic, and phi loved everything about it. she remembers sitting on her father’s lap as her mother danced in the middle of their living room to “yellow submarine”, skirts swooshing against her legs, smile bright and wide against the candlelight. her father would wrap his fully tattooed arms around her and laugh full and loud and she would feel safe. she would feel loved. she would feel happy. that was home.

her parents were good people with bad habits, that was how she liked to describe them.

“keep the car door locked, phi. open it only when you see us.” her mother would tell her, hands on both sides of her face as her father jimmied the lock off the door of a particularly large house. phi would nod and smile in obedience before watching her parents tip-toe up the cobblestone pathway of other people’s homes, coming back with sacks upon sacks of shiny objects that phi wasn’t allowed to touch. then they would drive away and head home, “hey jude” playing softly on the radio.  

her parents get caught when she’s around thirteen years old. she’ll never forget the look on her father’s face as he’s forced to the ground by men with guns, her mother screaming for them not to take her daughter. “she didn’t do anything! she didn’t know anything!” it echoed in her head like a broken record, throat raw as she tried to claw her way to get to them, only to have to watch them leave her behind on the back of a squad car. that was the day her world went off kilter.

she doesn’t do well in foster care. they call her ‘the runner’ because she always manages to wiggle her way past her foster guardians to visit her parents in jail. time after time, she would find them, talk to them, beg them to take her home because she didn’t like her ‘new parents’. there was always something wrong with them. they didn’t like beatles. they took away all her healing crystals. they wouldn’t let her dye her hair. “they aren’t you…” she just wanted to go home.

she gets adopted at fourteen, and she’s almost positive the walters see her as more of a pet than a daughter. they’re blonde, just like her, and she thinks they’ve adopted her mostly because she looks good with the rest of their perfectly pristine furniture. she hates them almost immediately, but they’re definitely her ticket out of foster care, so she rides it out for a while. they take her ‘home’ and they’re probably the blandest people she’s ever met. the antithesis of her true parents. her hatred for them grows, and she doesn’t even feel bad for pocketing whatever valuable item she might find.  

by the time she’s eighteen, she saves up (steals) enough money to pay for a terrific lawyer for her parents. she hasn’t seen them as much as before, but god she’s so close to getting them out, getting them home. she’s sure they wouldn’t mind that it’s been only a few months since her last visit. they’ll forgive her. they always do. she makes her way to where they’re being held with high hopes and a warm heart. she leaves with mascara running down her cheeks and trembling legs, escorted by more than a few police officers, reminiscent of the day they took her parents away from her.

death penalty is legal in about thirty states. south carolina is one of them.

she runs away not too long after. she has more than enough money to get her by for a few more months, but by the time she gets to louisiana, she only has enough money to pay rent for another two. she pokes her nose into a couple of job openings, attempts to waitress for a bit (she ends up being fired on account of burning some customers with spilled coffee) and tries her hand at retail (she gets caught stealing a few earrings), before finally making her way to the front desk of an auto-shop that may grows to be her saving grace.

for the first time in a long time… she doesn’t want to run away.

her fondest memories were still heavy with cigarette smoke, and painted nails (her own, long and noisy against counter tops). they let her play the beatles and they don’t take away her sage, and things… things are good. now though, there’s the sound of loud motorcycles revving and the nose-wrinkling scent of wax. there’s nights spent guarding the door and the clinking of glasses swimming with whiskey… and it was home… it was now her home.

character traits:

( + ) eccentric - if there was one thing her parents have ingrained in her system, it was that individuality should be a pillar trait in one’s psyche. be colorful, be loud, be you. go against the grain and make sure people knew who you were while you did it. phi was more than happy to comply, of course. from her fashion, to her mannerisms, to her beliefs, there was not an inch of conformity to be found if she could help it. she enjoyed bright colors and long nails, ostentatious outfits and odd knick-knacks. also, prepare to be blessed with sage when you enter the auto-shop, she has a few rolls hidden under her plants.

( + ) charming - she flourishes at the front desk for a reason. she’s a tad bit of a talker, but surprisingly not the obnoxious kind. when you’re in foster care, you tend to meet a lot of people, take notice of their ticks and understand how to read them. because of this, she adapts herself to each person, tickling every nerve for easy charming. when asked how she does it so effortlessly, she jokes that she’s cast a spell on the free mints she gives them.

( + ) cunning - you don’t get away with stealing from your adoptive family for two years without having a little meat up in that old noggin. phi lacked many things. she wasn’t the strongest, wasn’t the best at school, wasn’t the prettiest, but if there was one thing she knew how to do, it was slither her way through situations in a very machiavellian fashion. be wary of her smile, for it holds more than mirth on many occasions.

( - ) reckless - despite her skill in evading trouble, she does little to avoid it altogether. she’s more than reckless with her decisions. she enjoys to steal when upset with someone, and she does so without thinking of the consequences. her decisions are made almost purely out of emotion and she sees no reason to change that part of herself. it gets her into more trouble than you would think, and sometimes her smile won’t get her out of it.

( - ) tactless - what gets her in trouble most of the time is her tongue. why? she can never seem to hold it. what comes into mind is exactly what she says, and it doesn’t matter who she’s talking to. whatever authority you might have, she doesn’t feel the need to put a filter, and that more than anything may lead to her demise if not careful.

( - ) manipulative - she knows how to play people, knows how to be the puppet-master when no one expects it from her. she hides behind sweet smiles and carefully picked words, and most of the time, her dirty work is done by someone else because of a quick kiss and a flutter of her eye-lashes.

#lomk:intro

[the100trigedasleng]

S

sad in verb: decide, choose

from: said in

sad klin verb: decide emphatically, choose definitively, make a firm choice

from: said clean

sad op verb: (transitive) pick out, choose [something]; (intransitive) like to have, like to decide

from: said up

Sadgeda proper noun: Conclave

from: said-gather

Sadon noun: vote

from: said-one

Sadrona noun: significant other

from: side-runner OR decide-runner

sak au verb: outsmart, outwit

from: psyche out

sak daun verb: take (as a strategic point)

from: sack down

Sampada noun: footstep

from: sand-padder

Sanch noun: lunch

from: sandwich

Sangedakru proper noun: Desert People

from: sand-gather-crew

Sankrola noun: lizard

from: sand-crawler

Seda noun: teacher, instructor

from: said-er

Sef conjunction: but, except

from: except-for

Sefi noun: picture

from: selfie

Sei verb: mean, signify

from: say

Seifas noun: trap

seigeda klin verb: vote

from: say-gather clean

Seim adjective: same

from: same

Seimbeda verb: prefer

from: same-better

Seimon noun: same, same one

from: same-one

Seingeda noun: family

from: same-gather

Seintaim adjective: same, same as; too, also

from: same-time

Seiso noun: counsel, advice

from: say-so

Sen noun: smell

from: scent

sen daun verb: put down, set down

from: send down

sen in verb: hear, listen

sen klir verb: release, set free, let go

from: send clear

sen op verb: send

from: send up

ses op verb: sleep with, have sex with

from: sex up

set daun verb: get down, stay down; give up

from: set down

set klin verb: belong

from: set clean

set of verb: be born

from: set off

set raun verb: wait, stand in place; make to wait or stand in place; (reflexive) study, apply oneself to

from: sit around

Setnes noun: watch (as a sentry or guard)

from: sit-ness

Sha phrase: yes

from: yeah

shak op verb: live, reside

from: shack up

Shanen adjective: happy

from: shining

sheid klin verb: shelter, protect

from: shade clean

Sheidgeda noun: night

from: shade-gathering

Sheidjus noun: Nightblood

from: shade-juice

shil op verb: protect, defend

from: shell up

Shilkru noun: guard (force)

from: shell-crew

shof op verb: be quiet

from: shut up

Shopta phrase: how are you

from: whatcha-up-to

shoun of verb: present

from: showing off

shoun raun verb: guide

from: showing around

Shouna noun: advisor

from: showing-er

Shuda noun: weapon

from: shooter

Sich noun: trouble

from: situation

sin daun verb: sit

from: sitting down

sin in verb: witness, watch

from: seen in

Sintaim noun: day

from: seeing time

Sis noun: sister

from: sister

sis au verb: help, assist

from: assist out

sis op verb: grab, take

from: ? up

Sisfou adjective: helpful

from: assist-for

Sishou noun: shore, seashore

from: seashore

Siva noun: ear

from: receiver

Skafa noun: hell

Skai noun: sky

from: sky

Skaifaya noun: star

from: sky-fire

Skaiflaya noun: medium-sized birds such as pigeons and jays

from: sky-flyer

Skaiglaida noun: large bird

from: sky-glider

Skaigona noun: predatory bird, bird used for hunting

from: sky-gunner

Skaikrasha noun: storm

from: sky-crasher

Skaikru proper noun: Sky People, Arkers

from: sky-crew

Skaipeka noun: small bird, as a sparrow or hummingbird

from: sky-pecker

Skaren noun: scar; also ‘skaron’

from: scarring; scar-one

Skat noun: boy

Skayon proper noun: Sky Person, Arker

from: sky-one

skech au verb: draw

from: sketch out

skiv op verb: creep on

from: skeeve up

skrab daun verb: write

from: scribe down

Skrish noun: shit

from: squish

skwed op noun: repay

from: squared up

Slak adjective: open

from: slack

slash klin verb: cut, slash (to kill)

from: slash clean

Sleng noun: language

from: slang

slip daun verb: (intransitive) fall, come (down); (transitive) slay

from: slip down

slip thru verb: fail

from: slip through

Slipen noun: fall

from: slipping

Slogen adjective: lazy

from: slogging

smak daun verb: knock down

from: smack down

smuch op verb: kiss

from: smooch up

Snacha noun: raccoon

from: snatcher

Snap adjective: fast, quick

from: snap

Snogon noun: loved one

from: snog-one

Sobwe noun: tunnel

from: subway

Sof adverb: softly, gently

from: soft

Som noun: something

from: something

Somines noun: pride

Somon noun: ?

son op verb: (transitive) dry (something)

from: sun up

Soncha noun: light

from: sunshine

Sonchageda (also Sonchgeda, Soncha Kapa) proper noun: the City of Light

from: sunshine-gather

Songplei noun: music

from: song-play

Sonraun noun: (one’s) life

from: sun-around

Sontaim noun: story

from: song-time

Sontam noun: summer (season)

from: sun-time

Sora noun: bird

from: dinosaur

Sou adverb: (emphatic) provides emphasis, typically on a copula or verb

from: so

Souda verb: (modal) must

Souda noun: drink (alcoholic)

from: soda

Soujon noun: journey, travels

from: sojourn

Soulou adjective: alone

from: solo

Spechou phrase: congratulations

from: special

spek daun verb: bow

from: respect down

Spichen adjective: lying

from: speeching

Spichen phrase: goddamn

from: speeching

Spika noun: mouth

from: speaker

spin raun verb: (transitive) dance; (reflexive) think, esp. meditatively

from: spin around

Splita noun: outsider, outcast

from: splitter

sponj au verb: drain

from: sponge out

Sprintam noun: spring (season)

from: spring-time

spun in verb: act in the capacity of a back spoon, be (someone’s) back spoon

from: spoon in

spun op verb: act in the capacity of a front spoon, be (someone’s) front spoon

from: spoon up

Spuna noun: one who participates in “spooning”

from: spooner

Stanop adjective: good

from: stand-up

Ste verb: (stative copula) be; used with adjectives; also used with verbs as a progressive marker

from: stay

ste daun verb: be dead

from: stay down

Stedaun adjective: dead

from: stay-down

Stedaunon noun: the dead, one who is dead, dead person

from: stay-down-one

Stegeda noun: village

from: stay-gather

Steiks noun: meat

from: steaks

stein klin verb: prove

from: stain clean

Stelt adjective: hidden

from: stealth

Steltrona proper noun: a mythical horse that no one can catch

from: stealth-runner

step au verb: make one’s move

from: step out

step klin verb: march

from: step clean

step op verb: step in, interfere

from: step up

Stepa noun: shoe

from: stepper

Stergeda noun: stairs, staircase, stairwell

from: stair-gather

sting in verb: (intransitive) burn, sting, smart

from: sting in

Stoda noun: start, beginning

from: starter

stomba raun verb: be awake

from: stomping around

stot au verb: start, begin

from: start out

Strada noun: plotter, schemer

from: strategy-er

Strat noun: plan

from: strategy

strech au verb: walk

from: stretch out

Strecha noun: walker, one who walks

from: stretcher

Strechplei noun: walk, walking

from: stretch-play

Strik adjective: small, little

from: streak

strik daun verb: reduce

from: streak down

Strikon noun: little one, small one

from: streak-one

Stringboba noun: puppet

from: string-bobber

Strisis noun: little sister

from: streak-sister

Stumucha noun: an utterly deplorable person

from: just-a-moocher

swap op verb: flank, surround

from: swap up

swega klin verb: swear, promise

from: swear-to-god clean

Swela noun: throat

Swima noun: fish

from: swimmer

Swis (also swison) noun: knife, blade

from: Swiss

Swison noun: blade

from: swish-one

Swolnes noun: swelling

from: swollen-ness

#s #the100 #the 100 #trigedasleng #trikru #skikru #azgeda #azgedakru #azplana #david j peterson #heda lexa #commander lexa #king roan #clarke griffin #bellamy blake #octavia blake #john murphy #season 1 #Season 4 #season 3 #season 2 #season 5 #season 6

[romcomathon2016]

Set It Up (USA, 2018)

This week on Romcomathon, we were going to post this special bonus edition on Wednesday, but our readership is so impatient… and our significant others keep threatening to watch this movie in front of us and spoil us… and our dating apps are like promoting this movie nonstop… AND OUR FRIENDS ARE JUST TEXTING US LEFT AND RIGHT, I MEAN, MY GOD.

Predictions: We have no predictions, as Netflix’s trailer basically told us exactly what this movie was about. We have high hopes that it will live up to all the messages that people have sent us in their wild excitement. Boy, are our friends/the internet psyched about this movie. WHAT IF IT’S BAD???? YOU’LL ALL HAVE BETRAYED US AND YOU’LL ALL BE SORRY.

Plot: Zoey Deutch, who dreams of being a sports journalist, is Lucy Liu's put-upon assistant, while Glen Powell, who dreams of being rich, is Taye Diggs's equally put-upon assistant. They meet one day -- correction, very late one night -- in the lobby of their office building, both desperately trying to get their bosses dinner, lest they be fired, because their bosses are both crazy workaholics (and not nice bosses, clearly). Over a series of subsequent run-ins, they decide to set their bosses up without their knowledge, thinking that if their bosses are getting laid, they will finally get some time off. This plan works, shockingly.

For a while, everything is going swimmingly! Zoey Deutch even has some time to date! Glen Powell has so much time for his model girlfriend, suddenly. Too bad she's hideously boring. Additionally, Zoey Deutch and Glen Powell are becoming best office pals, constantly scheming up a storm, texting/hanging out both in and out of the office, and talking about their, like, ~dreams and stuff (e.g., Zoey Deutch's dream of being a writer, not that she's written anything in a million years, because she's so busy being Lucy Liu's assistant). NORMAL STUFF. This is just a normal relationship between two people who work in the same office building. But then one weekend, Taye Diggs and Lucy Liu are away, and Zoey Deutch and Glen Powell wind up spending a whole day together, first at his girlfriend's party (weird), then at her best friend's engagement party (weirder), then climbing up the fire escape to his bedroom to eat pizza together (weirdest). That said, they have a fantastic time, and Glen Powell kind of realizes he may have caught some feelings. BUT THEN. DISASTER STRIKES.

Lucy Liu and Taye Diggs announce to their assistants that they are getting whirlwind married! And said assistants are both getting promoted (basically)! You would think this would be great news, right?? WRONG. Turns out Taye Diggs is a cheater cheater pumpkin eater, and he's...still? once again? sleeping with his ex-wife. YIKES. Glen Powell discovers this first but chooses not to say anything to Zoey Deutch. TSK, TSK, GLEN POWELL. Of course, Zoey Deutch then discovers it as well and is super pissed, as we all would be, if we had accidentally colluded in getting somebody we deeply admired into a potentially terrible almost-marriage. Their friendship, unsurprisingly, suffers from this revelation. Also, Zoey Deutch immediately rushes to confess everything to Lucy Liu. Inexplicably, rather than lead with the cheating, she chooses to tell her first about the initial set-up. Which, we have to say, we feel is not the crux of the issue at this point. But, you know, she looooves to come clean, this girl. Lucy Liu, also unsurprisingly, is pissed in turn and fires Zoey Deutch.

Zoey Deutch goes home to be a sad sack, and also to finally get writing (with the wonderfully spot-on encouragement of her best friend), now that she has all this spare time. Glen Powell, meanwhile, wrestles with his conscience, blah blah blah, FINALLY REALIZES HOW TO BE A FREAKING PERSON, GLEN POWELL, and rushes to the airport, where he stops Lucy Liu, thank god, from marrying Taye Diggs. Lucy Liu takes Zoey Deutch back, Zoey Deutch says she doesn't want to be an assistant anymore, Lucy Liu actually takes a look at her article like a proper mentor, very touching, etc. Bonus: Lucy Liu sets up Zoey Deutch and Glen Powell to run into each other...and get together, OBVIOUSLY.

Best Scene: The whole movie is pretty good! Our friends and readers did not oversell (THIS TIME) (DON’T GET COMPLACENT, FRIENDS AND READERS). How exciting! One scene, or sequence of scenes, we particularly enjoyed was Lucy Liu revealing that Taye Diggs didn’t know how to eat KBBQ and proceeded to chow down on raw beef, interspersed with Taye Diggs smashing everything in his office in his anger that MEAT PRESENTED TO HIM SHOULD OBVIOUSLY BE COOKED (we disagree, but this was hilarious). We also enjoyed many other scenes. Most of the scenes, really.

Worst Scene: Ummmm. Glen Powell and Zoey Deutch’s first attempt to set their bosses up is trapping them in the elevator together, and it backfires horribly. HORRIBLY. Lucy Liu and Taye Diggs get stuck in the elevator with a random delivery guy, whose reaction to being stuck is to (1) take off all his clothes and (2) urinate. Gross. Very gross.

Best Line: "A lot of men proposed to me in my twenties. I could be thrice divorced by now!” — Lucy Liu, after her fight with Taye Diggs. Get it, girl.

(In general, this movie had lots of great lines. We enjoyed many lines out of Zoey Deutch and Glen Powell’s mouths, and we enjoyed MANY MANY lines out of Lucy Liu and Taye Diggs’s mouths. The aforementioned Best Scene, for instance, had SO many good angry, uptight lines. We love when people are angry and uptight. ... Perhaps we should discuss this in therapy.)

Worst Line: "You're not hard to get, at all. You're hard to earn." — Glen Powell, in their final love confession, obviously. Props to this movie, honestly: this wasn't THAT disgusting. As love confessions go, this line and everything surrounding it was pretty okay, but you know...the literal or metaphorical music swells, and you just get that love-confession ~vibe. And you just go, eugh. (At least, that's what happens to us. ...In a way, it's odd we have this blog.)

Runner-up: perhaps Glen Powell at the club with his boring girlfriend, having his ~feelings epiphany. Turns out Glen Powell was at his best (for us) while being deeply cranky and un-fun, and he was...less up our alley when he was emoting/realizing his feelings/being a good person. Let's not...examine this.

Highlights of the Watching Experience: GUYS. GUYS. WE ENJOYED THIS MOVIE!!!!!!!! THE STARS ARE SO BRIGHT IN THE SKY TONIGHT. (Yes, it’s daytime. Yes, we’re indoors. Why are you trying to crush our happiness?)

How Many POC in the Film: A lot. Though we sometimes tire of this situation where everyone can be POC except the actual stars of the film, we got lots of POC rep here and were generally pleased. Lucy Liu and Taye Diggs, obviously, were both major and glorious presences. Titus Burgess, a creepy maintenance guy who loves dark spaces and succulents. Glen Powell’s model girlfriend. Lady at the ring store. Various other people. It was almost like actual New York.

Alternate Scenes: So, at the end of the movie, we get a hint that cheater cheater pumpkin eater Taye Diggs is trying to be a better person -- he shows up at Glen Powell's apartment post-firing, looking for information on his ex-wife, whom he apparently ALSO knows nothing about, because she is supposedly the one he truly loves. This is...maybe good?!?! Meanwhile, Lucy Liu ends up with no one. So obviously our alternate scene would be, like, a final scene or credit sequence or something in which Lucy Liu meets Seth Meyers. Or George Clooney. (LUCY LIU DESERVES BOTH THESE MEN, OKAY???? SHE COULD MEET BOTH OF THEM, AND THEN THEY COULD FIGHT OVER HER. Oh, no. Poor Seth Meyers would not come out well in this fight. Scratch that.)

Ahem. Not that Lucy Liu needs a man to be happy, but it just seems like she wants one, and by god, if Lucy Liu wants a man, SHE SHALL HAVE ONE.

Was the Poster Better or Worse than the Film: Worse. The poster suggests that Zoey Deutch and Glen Powell are each in love with their respective older, very successful, unattainable bosses. Maybe the movie is about...them becoming heartwarming gay best friends, who support each other as they work through their forbidden passions???? ...Huh. You know, we’re all for LGBTQ rep, but this seems...less fun than the film we just watched. Wayyyy less fun.

Score: 9 out of 10 Lucy Liu smooches. A MODERN CLASSIC.

Ranking: 7, out of the 142 movies we've watched so far. Get it, Netflix.

#set it up #glen powell #zoey deutch #taye diggs #lucy liu #2018 #special bonus edition

[cracksfilledwithjade]

It was a windy day in Stormwind’s harbor. The hot summer sky was starting to fill with clouds, bringing with them relief from the heat of the city. A welcomed relief from the thousands of souls that were currently displaced within. Storms were not uncommon in a City named for it’s rain, but today that wind carried more then just cool air. 

Speeding towards the docks was a ship. Small. Not one of the massive galleons of the military. Nor did it appear this ship was even of Alliance make. To the discerning eye, the Blockade runner was of Horde design. The spikes had been stripped, the brutality removed, and their was no denying the symbols it flew. The aft of the ship bore a golden Lion beneath the name ‘The Turned Spear’. The sails were black along with the flag to rose from the crows nest, adorned with large, bright Golden Wings. 

The Dawn had come.

Aboard, a red headed woman stood next to the wheel. She wore Black and gold leather armor, though no shoes. “Alright! Listen up! We’ll be docking within the minute. Once we arrive, I want all the supplies we brought unloaded on the double! There are thousands waiting for relief! Let’s not make them wait any longer!” 

The crew turned their heads to the young woman, responding with a responding ‘Aye Mother!’ The ship docked. The Docking ramp was lowered and like a well oiled machine, sacks of grain, casks of fresh water and wine, pouches of dried meats and fruits, and cases of medical supplies and medicines were unloaded in rapid order by men who also wore Golden Wings on their person. 

The Dawn had come.

Anna Nightwind made her way down the ramp, sack of grain over her shoulder as well. She reached out and patted the shoulder of one of her man as she dropped the sack into the pile. “I need you to run this to the mage district. Get this letter Ludlow Vineyards. They have been taking in refugees. Put it in the hands of Vexxis Skybloom if you can. She was the one I was in contact with.” With the order given, the deckhand rushed off. 

“Dear Vexxis and Ludlow,

Thank you for taking in so many and doing so much in these times of crisis. The Legion of the Dawn has come baring a gift to further aid you and the people you have taking in after the unholy tragedy that has befallen us all. Please accept these supplies and food stocks and use them to aid those who have lost so much so quickly. Show them that hope is not yet lost. 

Mother Anna Brooke-Nightwind”

( @vexxis-skybloom @ludlowvineyards )

#wyrmrest accord #moments of a monk #world of warcraft #world of warcraft rp #ic rp #wyrmrest rp

[kingpigeon]

Fandom: Dragon Age Inquisition

Pairing: Josephine Montilyet/Female Adaar

Summary:  Haven is destroyed, Corypheus is Maker knows where, and the furthest thing from Inquisitor Ellarin Adaar’s mind is a vacation. But when an intriguing offer of political alliance forces her on a diplomatic mission weeks away from Skyhold, it only makes sense that the Inquisition’s best and brightest ambassador goes with her. Hijinks ensue.

Rating: G

Here in this new city, Ellarin wasn’t the Inquisitor. She was just some Qunari brute with a sword on her back. She was the living embodiment of an unsheathed weapon or overcharged spell; she was a free radical, a fight waiting to happen, a threat just by the nature of existing. It didn’t matter that she was really none of those things—not here, not this time around. People just took one look at her horns and gray skin and decided they knew everything they would need to know about her. She was dumb, violent, a slave to promised coin or the Qun. They were assumptions that she’d lived with all her life.

(Full chapter under read more)

Jader was loud. That was the first thought Ellarin was struck with as she made her way through the bustling market in the direction of port. She shouldn’t have felt intimidated by the noise, and she’d deny it if she were asked about it, but she was at the very least uncomfortable. She could barely hear herself think over the call of merchants from their shops, the braying of pack animals as they lumbered down the road alongside pedestrians, and the general grating clamor that was bound to happen whenever hundreds of people were packed into one small square.

It didn’t help that she could feel the weight of curious eyes on her as she advanced through the crowd. Staring wasn’t anything she wasn’t used to, but this wasn’t the kind of staring she got in the Inquisition. People weren’t watching her in awe, waiting for her to do or say something—anything—that would befit her lofty title and inspire those around her. Although of course she hated that staring, too. No, this time they were watching her with expressions that Ellarin recognized all too well. They were watching her with fear—poorly disguised fear, at that. She saw it in the way they gave her a wide berth, stepping into each other and hugging the wall to avoid brushing against her. The quickness with which they clutched at their things and tucked their valuables to the side as if they were in some sort of danger. The way that guards’ hands hovered at the blades at their belts when they saw her approach, not as a threat, but as a just in case.

Here in this new city, Ellarin wasn’t the Inquisitor. She was just some Qunari brute with a sword on her back. She was the living embodiment of an unsheathed weapon or overcharged spell; she was a free radical, a fight waiting to happen, a threat just by the nature of existing. It didn’t matter that she was really none of those things—not here, not this time around. People just took one look at her horns and gray skin and decided they knew everything they would need to know about her. She was dumb, violent, a slave to promised coin or the Qun. They were assumptions that she’d lived with all her life.

They were wrong, of course, but here and now they were also very helpful. Her race made her intimidating but also anonymous. No one was looking at her face; they were watching her muscles and weapons. Some people were familiar with the Inquisitor’s likeness, but Ellarin still hadn’t seen a public sketching or bit of propaganda that did her justice. Her face was always off, horns pointed the wrong way, skin too light or too dark. No one had taken the time to draw her scars, so no one knew to look for them in person. Despite essentially manning the front of the Inquisition since its start, she was yet to be recognized as who she really was once she was out of her Inquisition armor and away from her known associates and companions.  She was banking on that anonymity now.

The city was packed with all sorts—humans, dwarves, elves, all bustling into each other and looking exceptionally busy and irritated. There were even a few Tal-Vashoth ambling about who regarded Ellarin with open interest, as if they were sizing her up. Likely gauging to see if she was new competition for contracts or trying to place which company, if any, she was in. It wasn’t usual to see a Tal-Vashoth (or a Vashoth in her case, although they wouldn’t know that on sight) operating alone, so the sight of a new face with weapons on her back no doubt piqued their curiosity. She nodded at each of them but didn’t stop to talk. What would there be to say, really?

Ellarin’s stomach grumbled. It was an unwelcome reminder that she hadn’t eaten properly since leaving Skyhold. It had been four days since then, and beyond the dried foods Josephine had packed in her carriage—and the occasional caught rabbit—it had been a hard trip. She’d expected that there would have been plenty of food stored in the number of Inquisition halfway houses peppered throughout the Frostback, but they had all turned up nothing. A recent influx of pilgrims making their way to Skyhold had worn down the stores, it seemed. They would be replenished as soon as some of Harding’s scouts sent runners down with provisions, but that wouldn’t retroactively fill Ellarin and Josephine’s stomachs.

She had plenty of coin and hours to pass before their boat shipped out, and Josephine had already gone ahead to secure their things on board. She might as well find some food and catch her breath.

Finding food, as it turned out, was no challenge. The main road that led from the city’s main gates to the harbor took Ellarin straight through the center market. It was a large area; the layout was that of an open air collection of stalls, carts, and walking salesmen in the middle of the square with rows and rows of brick and mortar shops lining the side streets. The variety of items being sold were standard for a big city like this one, but still impressive—clothing, books, jewelry, art. Musicians plied their trade as well, winding seamlessly through the crowd as they sang and played their instruments, followed closely behind by companions collecting tips. Strange, exotic spices hung in the air, clashing at times with the smell of food and flowers and sweat.

Jader was the closest major Orlesian city to Ferelden, and it showed. It lacked the purposeful refinement of Val Royeaux, whose residents were primarily concerned with putting on airs and making it clear just how seriously they took themselves and their games. In contrast, Jader felt more lifelike. There were still some Orlesians walking around with idiotic masks and elaborate outfits on, but they weren’t the norm. If Val Royeaux were more like this, perhaps Ellarin wouldn’t hate it so much.

Still, Ellarin didn’t have much of an interest in sightseeing, and she couldn’t quite shake the feeling of claustrophobia that clung to her the deeper she pushed in the square. All the restaurants nearby were packed with patrons, and she had no desire in trying to squeeze her way into the middle of them just to find a meal. Better to find something quick and keep walking, then. Find somewhere further away from the market to sit and rest a bit.

A corner stall eventually caught her eye. It was modest, manned by a single woman behind a wooden stand. Fruit and dried meats were laid out in front of her. It was nothing fancy, but Ellarin wasn’t looking for fancy. All she needed was something to tide her over until her next actual meal and some rest, and the woman’s prices were cheaper than its neighboring shops.

There was a small group of people standing nearby, but they more or less cleared out as Ellarin approached. The woman, old and wizened with white hair framing her face like an unkempt mane, looked Ellarin up and down and scowled.

“Fifteen copper for a bundle,” she announced in lieu of a good afternoon.

“Your sign says ten copper,” Ellarin said, looking up at the hand-painted prices above the stall.

“It’s fifteen.” The woman’s expression and tone signalled that she wasn’t interested in haggling prices any further. Luckily for her, neither was Ellarin.

Without further argument, Ellarin put her coin down before grabbing a small burlap sack and beginning to stuff some fruit inside. She took her time inspecting each one; she was hardly a picky eater, but she was bringing some back for Josephine too. After their trip—with the the cold wind, scarce food, and admittedly lacking company on Ellarin’s part—Ellarin felt like spoiling her a little bit. She might as well start by making sure that none of her breakfast had bumps and bruises.

“Passing through?” the shopkeep asked, her voice cutting off Ellarin’s train of thought. She eyed the hilt of Ellarin’s sword over her shoulder and the axe dangling from her belt, and spat at the ground when Ellarin grunted and gave a terse nod. “Folks like you should pass through a bit faster.”

“Meaning?” Ellarin asked, although she knew perfectly well what the merchant meant.

She glared at Ellarin, trying to size up if she was really too dumb to understand or if she was just being difficult. “Bad for business, you are.”

“Can’t be too bad for business. You’ve got my coin, don’t you?”

The woman shook her head, pretending that she hadn’t heard the question although she dropped Ellarin’s money into her apron’s pocket all the same. “Scaring off my customers, armed to the teeth, and then you wonder why the guards run you off.”

“No one’s run me off yet.”

Another scowl, another glance at Ellarin’s weapons. “This was a respectable town before you lot started coming through.”

Ellarin looked at the woman passively before grabbing another apple and flinging a bit of bronze onto the top of her stall. She said nothing else, simply turned and let herself get swept up in the tide of people walking past. She ambled on in search of somewhere to sit and drink.

The woman’s words hadn’t gotten under Ellarin’s skin. She’d heard far worse in her time as a mercenary, and worse still from supposedly reverent Chantry mothers who balked at the idea of someone like her being seen as a vessel of Andraste. If anything, the shopkeep had been refreshing in comparison. Small-scale, uncomplicated racism. How quaint. Memories, unbidden but not unwelcome, came rushing back of the life she’d had before. A life full of women (and men) like the one in the market. It was fearful, angry folk like that who forced Ellarin to pick up a sword at the age of ten, determined to protect her family home in case anyone from the village down the way ever tried to make good on their threats. Swordplay turned into formal training which turned into a steady stream of work before Ellarin had the chance to choose any other path in life. By the time her commander picked up the infamous Conclave contract, Ellarin had been with the Valo-Kas for nearly seven years. All because people like that woman had hated her and her family on principle.

Some of her kind didn’t accept that sort of discrimination. If Shokrakar were here, Ellarin would have needed to drag him out of the market to stop him from overturning the woman’s stall and causing a scene. He’d ruined a good number of their company’s contracts that way in the past—going off on a potential patron all because they’d given him a bad look or made some snide comment about Qunari brutes. Ellarin’s mother had been much the same; she’d risked her, her father’s, and Ellarin’s lives in order to escape Par Vollen, and she wouldn’t allow anyone in their new homeland to imply that she was a brainwashed monster still loyal to the Qun. She didn’t get violent like Shokrakar—didn’t shout curses and lunge at her offender—but the fire in her eyes alone was often enough to send the average Free Marcher running for cover.

Ellarin had never been like that. She accepted early on that people would always hate her because of who she was, and she had no desire to rage against it. It was boring and futile, and all that really mattered at the end of the day was safety. People could talk as they pleased, as long as they knew that it ended with talk. Plenty of townsfolk had gone home with broken bones after trying to lay hands on Ellarin or her parents, and she never apologized for it.

Lost in thought as she was, Ellarin was slow to realize that she’d walked further off the main road than planned. Looking around, she tried to get a sense of where she was. It was less shiny here and certainly less crowded, both of which suited her just fine. The smooth, polished walkways of her original path had given way to uneven cobblestone, and now there were more homes than shops hugging the street. There were still quite a few inns and taverns, though, and Ellarin slipped into the one which looked coziest. It was for the most part empty, and the man behind the bar pointed her towards a back alley behind the building when she asked for somewhere even more private. She ordered a small meal of bread and venison and a pint of ale before stepping out into the alley and sitting down at a rickety table and barstool.

The food was simple, but after days of next to nothing it tasted like a dream. The ale was even better—were he here, Bull would have laughed in her face for drinking something so much weaker than their usual fare, but that hardly mattered. Her drink was gone before she even started to touch her food.

Just as she began to well and truly relax, Ellarin felt a body in close proximity to hers. She tensed, fingers flicking for her axe, before her new company crossed into her line of vision and came to sit at the stool opposite hers. Warily, still ready to draw her weapon if needed, she looked him over. He was a man. A young man. Short and thin, couldn’t have been older than twenty, and had a crop of messy blond curls that fell just shy of his brows. He glanced over his shoulder before speaking next, and even then he kept his voice too quiet for someone inside or nearby to overhear.

“Inquisitor,” he said. “Nice to see you’ve made it to town.”

“Puck?” Ellarin asked. Her point of contact in Jader.

He nodded and flashed her with a toothy grin. “Good to finally meet you.” He stuck his hand out for Ellarin to shake. “Officially, anyway. I’ve been an agent since Haven, so I’ve seen you around plenty.”

Ellarin tried to remember him, to place him in one of her memories from Haven or Skyhold. If he’d been with the Inquisition for that long, there was no way they hadn’t crossed paths at least once. And if he knew where to find her in this random back alley ale house, then he’d almost certainly been trailing her since she arrived in Jader. But despite knowing that, she still felt like she was seeing him for the first time. Was he that good, or was she just getting rusty? How had she let herself walk all through town without once noticing that she was being followed? Good spies didn’t tend to get recognized, she supposed. His ability to escape her notice was probably a testament to his skills, if not still a little unnerving.

Puck gestured at the food that Ellarin had laid out. “Got some for me?”

She pushed her plate forward, watching him closely. “If you want.”

She leaned back in her chair as he broke off a piece of the bread and tucked some meat inside. She was struck by how young he seemed—perhaps a bit too young to be in this particular line of work. Ellarin wasn’t one to micromanage Leliana and her hires, but she wondered how Puck had come across spy work at all. Maybe if Ellarin got to know him better one day, she would ask. Not now, though. If he were taking the risk of revealing himself and speaking to her semi-publicly, then that meant he had important information for her.

“So, what’s the situation?” Ellarin asked finally.

Puck looked up from his food, eyes bright and clear. “Your ship’s here, but it’s not going anywhere.”

“What do you mean? Has departure been delayed?”

“Everything has,” he said simply. He looked back down at his hands, picking at his bread some more before continuing on. “Storms off the Waking Sea have delayed most all of the ships coming in. Everything that’s already in port is being held for the time being.”

Ellarin frowned. She already felt bone-weary after the journey from Skyhold, and the news of yet another complication to deal with was the last thing she needed to hear. “How long has this been going on?”

“Couple days. Traders in town are kicking up a right fuss about it, but a spice shipment from Val Chevin already overturned off the coast and no captain wants to risk their crew.”

Storms. Of course. How appropriate that Ellarin would bungle one of her first real diplomatic missions not because of any misstep or oversight of her own, but because of the damn weather. Depending on how long this lasted, she and Josephine could easily arrive in Cumberland to find their magister friends already gone. If news of the storms was making the rounds in Jader, they’d probably heard of it in Cumberland, too. None of the Tevinters could blame her for being late over something that clearly wasn’t her fault, could they? Maybe, maybe not. This was all a delicate business, and any delay in schedule might spook them, regardless of the reason for it.

Ellarin sighed and rubbed absentmindedly at one of her horns. Part of her wanted to call the whole operation off here. This already felt like far more trouble than it was worth, and she could think of at least ten things offhand that she’d rather be doing. But that was just idle irritation. She knew that if she changed course and brought them back to Skyhold now, Josephine might never forgive her for it.

“Do you have any idea when we’ll be shipping out, then?” she asked. “We can’t wait here forever.”

“Hard to say. It’s up to your captain.”

“And who’s our captain?”

“Garran Lehoux. Orlesian.” Puck reached into his pocket and handed Ellarin a copy of the ship’s manifest. Some basic information about Captain Lehoux was included on the back. “He’s been based out of Jader for a few years as the main transporter for a local winery. His normal operation’s usually hauling wine to and from Cumberland, but he recently got a bigger ship and started taking passengers along for the extra coin.”

“Who are the extra passengers this time around?”

“None.” Puck smirked, looking very much like Sera after she’d finished setting up a particularly irritating prank and was waiting for the other shoe to drop. “Or I should say, none now. He had five extras booked, but I’ve heard that they all ended up having to cancel their trips. Personal reasons. Who’s to say?”

“Personal reasons,” Ellarin repeated, not sure if she even wanted to know the details.

“Bad for them, lucky for us,” Puck said brightly. “You, me, and Montilyet are the only non-crew passengers. Apparently Lehoux’s been known to pick up last minute stragglers on the docks, but there’s nothing I can do about that. Maker willing, it’ll be an empty ship.”

“And if it’s not?”

“Shouldn’t matter too much. Just keep your head down and don’t flash your Anchor hand around anyone,” he winked. “I’ll be keeping an eye in case there’s trouble or you need something, but my cover is as a deckhand. Mostly I’ll be scrubbing floors and being inconspicuous. So try not to need me.” Almost as an afterthought, he added, “And your cover’s all set. Montilyet’s a merchant from Montfort and you’re her hired muscle. No one should pay you any mind.”

Ellarin simply sat forward and pushed the rest of her plate towards Puck. Optimism aside, she knew there was a world of difference between should and would. In her experience, people paid her plenty of mind whether she wanted them to or not.

“I want to talk to Lehoux about this. See when he’s planning on shipping out.”

“I don’t know how likely you are to catch him. He was on deck this morning, but he hasn’t been at port for hours. Eyes have him visiting family on the edge of town. Looked like he was carrying clothes for the night, so you probably won’t catch him back at the ship until tomorrow at the earliest.”

Almost as an afterthought, Ellarin realized that Josephine was probably wandering about the docks quite confused as to why their ship was shuttered and abandoned. “Regardless, I need to go see the ship,” she said as she pushed out her chair and stood.

“What for?”

“Josephine’s at the harbor, so I figure I should tell her the bad news. Are you coming?”

Puck shook his head and Ellarin immediately felt foolish for asking. He gestured for her to wait a moment as he fished something else out of his pocket. Once he’d grabbed it he dangled it in front of him, letting Ellarin appraise it before he tossed it over. It was a long gold key with a small roll of parchment tied to the end. Unfurling the paper just a bit, Ellarin saw that an address was scrawled onto it in graceful looping letters. She didn’t ask Puck what it was, electing to simply tuck it away and cock an eyebrow at him.

“Your lodgings for the night,” he explained. “Courtesy of Marquise Emmiard. Make sure you’re not being followed when you go and try not to make too much of a mess when you’re there. But it’s yours and the Ambassador’s until your ship leaves. I hope it’s to your liking.”

“If it has a proper bed it’s to my liking already,” Ellarin said, chancing a small smile. “See you soon, Puck. I suppose you know where to find me if you need me.”

“That I do, Inquisitor,” he said smoothly. “‘Til then.”

Ellarin turned and left the alley, off to find Josephine and—hopefully—get her first good night’s rest in days. Given the journey ahead, she imagined that she would need it.

#dai #dragon age inquisition #fic shit #f/f #josephine x adaar #inquisitor adaar

[italicwatches]

Animal Sentai Zyuohger - Episode 26

Oh my god this child has no concept of consideration for other people. …Anyways, it’s Animal Sentai Zyuohger, episode 26. Here we GO!

-We begin with the whole gang at a cafe, having treats and sweets, and Misao is being a bit melodramatic…And that’s when a man passing by spots Yamato. And it turns out this is an old friend of his from his college days, Daichi!

-Meanwhile Bunglay is trying to get useful information out of people and it’s not going well. As up in the Big Bow, Genis watches, and he has no idea what Bunglay is looking for…But the resulting chaos does make the game interesting. Even Kubar’s fear and erratic behavior is an interesting element to the game…

-Opening!

-Episode 26! To Protect a Special Day

-To the cabin, where Yamato has brought Daichi, and they start catching up as he gets to meet all of Yamato’s comrades…Misao please quit being a sad sack. Inevitably, they end up talking about their college days…Yamato was driven back then. Super serious and studious in class, and he’d inevitably have a crowd of folks who he’d go over the material with again, and he was always organizing get-togethers at the zoo or out in the forest…It was like any time he wasn’t helping people, he was trying to help animals and inspire people to see what he saw…

-Yeah, that sounds like Yamato alright. And Yamato ribs Daichi for how emotional he’d get whenever they got to see an animal birth, but Yamato got pretty emotional too, and these two fall into an easy rhythm…And that’s when it comes out that Daichi’s getting married. He’s been trying to get ahold of Yamato to invite him, and YES HE WILL ABSOLUTELY BE THERE!

-Eventually Yamato’s walking Daichi back into town, and they’re talking about his beloved. A coworker at his company, certainly not the type he’d have ever thought he’d be marrying…But something about her, just…She makes him happy, you know?

-And Yamato couldn’t possibly be happier for his friend. That kind of connection, it’s, it’s really important. He’ll be there on this precious day of yours, man. And as the two part for the day, Bunglay watches…

-Cut to the big day. Yamato’s getting into his best suit, spruced up a little to be more formal and less mournful. And oh, you look so handsome, and…Sela why are you in a fancy dress? …WHY ARE YOU ALL IN FORMALWEAR? Well, their versions of formalwear. Sela, Tusk and Amu look good. Leo just…Not so much. But they’ll be joining, if that’s alright. Oh and Misao shows up in a nice grey suit and Yamato realizes what a mess of a situation this will be.

-To the actual chapel, where Yamato’s able to get permission for them to join. They’ll be up in the balcony, but everyone’s still quite happy for the opportunity. While Bunglay prepares to start up his own troubles…

-The actual ceremony begins, and it’s just your classic Western-inspired wedding…When the zyumen get vibes. Oh god. Shit. …They’re not telling Yamato. They’ve got to slip out of here. Of course, he spots them leaving…

-And they find Bunglay! Who’s outright intending to wreck the wedding and stir up some shit for that Yamato kid. If he can endure the past being broken, how will he handle a fresh death in the present? There’s only one way to find out!

-Oh fuck you. Instincts Awakened! Champion of the surging waves…ZYUOH SHARK! Champion of the savannah…ZYUOH LION! Champion of the forest…ZYUOH ELEPHANT! Champion of the snowy drifts…ZYUOH TIGER! Champion of the world…ZYUOH THE WORLD! Animal Sentai, ZYUOHGER!

-And as the fight begins, Yamato back at the wedding is realizing something’s not right…

-While the rest of the crew fights, and does everything they can to overpower Bunglay…Managing to push him back inch by inch with all of their strength together…! They don’t even need to beat him, they need to hold him off, keep him away from that precious place…When he manages to throw them off, it’s Beasts Unleashed!

-But Leo and Tusk get ripped out of their armors, as the girls have to hold the line…Only to eat equally powerful blows! The World’s on his own now, to buy time until they can recover, or pull a safe retreat…

-As Yamato’s realizing what’s up. And he’s got to make his exit, because they wouldn’t all be gone, this long, if not for one reason. He slips out, of course noticed by Daichi, and begins to peer across the city…There! And they’re fighting BUNGLAY?! Fuck…!

-At the battlefield, The World is just trying to hold the line, as it’s All Beasts Unleashed! But even with all three, he doesn’t manage to do much. Bungled can respect that power, kid, but you’ve got no training, no skill to keep your rhythm up!

-Yamato arrives right after Misao goes down, and no, you weren’t supposed to be here…They were trying to make sure you could have that precious day with your friend, and that this bastard didn’t ruin it…He wants to kill Daichi…!

-…Well then.

-GORILLA! Instincts Awakened! Gorilla meets Bunglay’s anchors with his fists, holding Bunglay back with sheer force…But he manages to get loose, and calls up an old MotW before making his escape!

-Back at the chapel, Daichi’s all concerned about the missing Yamato as he and his bride make their exit…When Bunglay arrives, ready to kill! Gorilla manages to trash the MotW, but Bunglay’s already gone…He needs to get out of here, and fast. Instincts Awakened! The Eagle spreads his wings, and takes flight!

-And as Bunglay raises a blade to bring it down…Eagle slams in with the Riser, and cuts him through! This precious connection, this bond that was just forged…You, will not, HARM IT! THEY ARE UNDER HIS PROTECTION! The fight is on, as he almost immediately snares Bunglay, ripping him up into the sky…

-And Daichi realizes, that phrase, that voice…It all starts to make sense.

-While Eagle throws Bunglay through a fucking windmill before dropping him, and taking the fight to a field miles away from the chapel. He fights with a ferocity that Bunglay just can’t keep up with, striking again and again before the man can even recover…Until finally, he’s forced to just draw a big MotW out of Eagle’s skull and pull a runner!

-The others arrive at that, too late to stop Bunglay…But they can help stop this. Animal Kingdom Combination! THREE! FOUR! NINE! FIVE! TWO! SEVEN! EIGHT! SIX! ONE! WILD TOUSAI KING!

-Mecha fight. It’s just a mecha fight, guys. This isn’t even a new MotW to use a new gimmick, he’s just a guy. ZYUOH DIRECT STRAIGHT!

-In the aftermath, Yamato and his friends are able to be there in the end for the couple…and Daichi can only thank Yamato for what he did. For everything he did.

-While, deep in the woods, the eagle digs, guided by the Symbol…When he finds a Cube Animal in the soil. And he’s confronted by Larri, who recognizes Bard from a long history…

-Credits!

That was a pretty solid episode. Lots of good character meat, and oh man, what’s going to happen with Bard and Larri? I guess the only way to find out is to come back next time, for episode TWENTY SEVEN of Animal Sentai Zyuohger! Wait for it!

#where I watch #recap #tokusatsu #super sentai #animal sentai zyuohger

[recklesslyhuman]

“Forgiveness is a gift to yourself" they say

Do it for your own health, whether the other party knows or not

No one explained how to forgive myself

How to accept the things I look back upon with such disgust

To acknowledge my own terrible handling of this meat mech I was assigned

To own those nights when my fear of not being seen caused me to do anything that got attention

To remember in those darks moments of despair how I ran away from self examination to a distraction with someone who couldn’t love all of me

How I can even be alive after years of ding dong ditch at Death’s door

To acknowledge that I hadn’t given a damn if one day I wasn’t here anymore

I have done the steps

Said the words

Started to become friends with these bones and muscles

How do I forgive the show runner when they are ruining the show

Coming to terms with the paradox that I love this flesh sack and I also didn’t and sometimes still don’t know how to love this flesh sack

How do I accept the fact that the one person meant to supervise this meat mech is still around and whether I forgive myself or not, the person in charge won’t get fired

Forgiveness, they say, is a gift for yourself

How can I open a gift that I hastily wrapped

How can I forgive myself for hating myself

#poetry #forgiveyourself

[brownstonearmy]

2020-10-10: Cleansed In The Water (Part 1)

August 13 (Thursday Afternoon)

Our adventure begins on a typical Thursday afternoon, but of course, these days never stay typical for long. Lucky makes a jaunt over to the Juicy Lyre to acquire some branded booty shorts that read "Juicy Lyre" on the bottom. She spends some time with Hilaria, as well as looking for easy-to-follow recipes for the lizardfolk to learn how to cook raw meat. Meanwhile, Q (who goes as Sparkle today) meets with Kadana again to trade stories and further their budding relationship. And Spleenifer has been practicing her new hobby of duck husbandry, with the stated goal of "the more husbands the better!" for T'Pam and Prongle.

Brother Clifton, a portly priest of Eldath, rushes into the SHART HQ after a brisk horseback ride from the orphanage. Something tentacled is in the latrine and he pleads with the party for help to dispatch the problem and prevent losing any orphans to whatever is lurking within the pits. The party agrees to assist, and Brother Clifton heaves himself back on his horse and sets out for the orphanage.

The latrine is a separate outbuilding between the orphanage and the building where the religious and guests reside. No one else seems to be in the latrine, so Brother Clifton excuses himself to let the professionals tend to the toilet emergencies. Although the latrine looks like any other school latrine, there's one key difference: a rope that is leading into (or out of, depending on your perspective) the hole in the bench.

Lucky takes the obvious course of action and polymorphs Spleenifer into a ratperson. Spleenifer hops down into the pit of filth, where she discovers the pit is only slightly larger than it would appear from above the bench. Not like an extradimensional space or anything, just an honest re-evaluation of the pit's size. So naturally, Spleenifer goes for a swim in the filth to search for evidence of what the toilet trouble might be.

Spleenifer finds an old sack of gold coins and a very large gemstone hidden in the refuse. Nothing weird at all here; just a ratperson and her toilet treasures. Once Spleenifer's inspection is complete, her intuition tells her that perhaps the rope into the filth was to help something escape the latrine.

It is at this point that two orphans walk in: a girl named Hannah and a mute boy named Westley. Hannah the party about her friend named Stinky Calypso who speaks to her in her mind. Stinky Calypso doesn't say much, mostly just stuff like "get me food" or "I'm hungry." But Stinky Calypso always gives money to Hannah to buy food to bring back, so everything's cool. Lucky gives Hannah a brief lecture about talking to strangers who talk to kids in their heads.  Hannah believes the party might not have Stinky Calypso's best interests at heart and pleads with the party to not tell Brother Clifton.

Lucky checks the mirrors to see if any arcane or eldritch power is causing the orphanage's problems. She attempts to commune with a spirit in the mirror, but only gets to converse with a snarky spirit who talks in words written on the fog of the mirror. Sparkle says some snark right back to the mirror spirit, but only succeeds in making Runny Harry the Diarrhea Spirit angry. Sparkle sneaks out of the latrine to join the rest of the party as they search for clues as to the toilet monster's current whereabouts.

The party gives Brother Clifton a status update on the situation, and Lucky fusses at him for not having the “stranger danger mind reading” talk with the kids. Brother Clifton promises to do better in the future about that, but urges the party to keep looking for the creature while all the children are still accounted for. Spleenifer checks some of the dorms, but doesn't find a trace of the creature. What she does find, however, is a pencil-scrawled message written on the wall that could have been easily overlooked. It reads "Curtis Hanover isn't real."

In the classroom part of the orphanage, a few dozen youths are hard at work getting an education. But before the party's fact-finding interviews with the students can commence, there's a sound of glass breaking and a stinking cloud fills the room. Lucky's abundance of luck gives her an opportunity to pocket a pack of matches stashed in a random desk. Since the air inside is a still, she lights a match in hopes of removing the stinking cloud.

The cloud is flammable, and a fireball zips through the room. Several of the orphans are lightly singed, but no one incurs significant injuries. At the center of the former stinking cloud is a broken jar with a message written on the lid that says "Eat my farts, Curtis Hanover!"

A scream erupts from the kitchen adjoining the classroom. Something is in the ceiling! Spleenifer uses her prodigious height and athletic ability to haul herself into the rafters. Meanwhile, Sparkle and Lucky are left stacking desks to get enough height to peer into the attic. A small, tentacled form is lurking in the shadows. A demanding voice erupts inside the heads of our intrepid adventurers. "GIVE FOOD!" it orders.

How rude! The source of the voice gets a short lecture about using manners. "PLEASE GIVE FOOD" the voice says, clearly having gotten the manners memo this time. Lucky takes out her immovable meat rod and activates it to produce raw fish.

The hungry creature lunges toward the meat, and the party can finally get a look at it. Stinky Calypso's a baby otyugh! Lucky taps into her arcane abilities to attempt to speak with the creature again. She speaks in tongues, and learns that the baby otyugh came here with its mother some time ago, but got stuck and got hungry.

But the party can get Stinky Calypso out of the ceiling, several gang members in City Runners colors burst into the orphanage and take hostages. They're looking for a kid named Curtis Hanover, and they don't seem like the polite kind of people that respect the value of the word "no."

Tense negotiations begin for the safety of the orphans. But the negotiations seem like they are hitting a stalemate. Two more people enter the orphanage, and they're both people the party already knows: Holden Harcourt and Zaribeth Quickfingers. The two just "happened to be in the neighborhood" when they saw a band of rapscallions burst into the orphanage. With the combined threats of the party and the new arrivals, the gang members stand down and leave empty-handed. Holden and Zaribeth are especially magnanimous, asking for no reward, as they know that there's plenty of good publicity to be had for the election when news breaks that one of the candidates helped save a bunch of orphans.

Once everything calms down, Brother Clifton takes the party aside and mentions that Curtis Hanover is a polymorphed child brought here under an assumed identity. In Curtis's previous life, they were the child of Hjalmar Magnusson, a wealthy individual with ties to organized crime. Curtis's sister, the wizard called Rooney, used the party in the past to deliver her plans to Brother Clifton about keeping Curtis safe and out of the crossfire of gang warfare.

But there's still the matter of Stinky Calypso being stuck in the ceiling. Lucky lures Ms. Calypso down with more meat, and Hannah cries that her friend might be exterminated. Sparkle explains to Hannah that Stinky Calypso is just going to be going to a different place, and that Hannah can visit her friend on occasion. That's because Lucky has made plans to rent Stinky Calypso to The Hole to use as a garbage disposal, as long as the orphanage gets 5GP a week in tithes for Stinky Calypso's services.

And thus, the adventure concludes for the evening. Stay tuned next time for more!

#fishdavidson #Dungeons and Dragons #shits and giggles #adventure log #orphanage #hostage situation #otyugh