#two different but equally terrible ties

[licorice-lips]

In the past few days, I've seen an increasing amount of comments about how Suzanne Collins pushed a narrative in The Hunger Games about "both sides being equally bad" because of her representation of Coin and Snow being the same, someone going as far as saying Katniss was being manipulated by Coin, therefore, making her words against the Capital less true. And that really bothered me.

I strongly disagree with those people but I can see where they're coming from and that point of view has two reasons to be so widely spread:

The first of them is Snow and Coin being "different sides of the same coin" (pun intended). Both are driven by the same thing, which is the hunger for power and it's true that Coin tries to manipulate Katniss. However, just like Snow, she's unable to, that's the reason why Coin is so set on killing Katniss in the second film (and the book, but it's less obvious there).

But that's the thing: Katniss (just like Lucy Gray) won't be contained because her compassion for the struggling people under the oppression of the Capital and her hatred against this oppression shines through every time someone - even herself - tries to contain those traits.

Katniss is a representation of what the people from the districts really are - people both compassionate and filled with hatred against the oppressive system that shackles them to fear. Her own existence validates that the district's fight is a fair one, one that means the freedom of all Panem, as they claim. The fact that Coin is a part of the revolution does not make it less valid, it just comes to show that we have to be careful about choosing our leaders and that they, alone, don't mean anything:

It's really important to understand that the people responsible for the dismantling of the Capital were not Coin and District 13, but all of the Districts organized together, people who didn't have the exact same values or vision of what a freed Panem would look like but know the Capital cannot continue to oppress them. THEY are the revolution, THEY are the ones who killed Snow, THEY are the ones who did the fighting, THEY are the ones who took the Capital, and to me, it's insulting to resume their fight and their hopes for a better Panem on Coin and her own selfish goals.

Especially not when they are the reason why Coin dies at the end: once she tries to show her hands, she is immediately shot down (pun intended) because Katniss - as do others, like Plutarch - recognizes they're trading six for half a dozen (and I don't know if that's an English expression, but I think its meaning is obvious) if they allow Coin to spread her wings. The revolution didn't happen because of Coin, it happened because people saw in Katniss a symbol of hope, driving them into action, and the fact that District 13 - and Coin - appeared months after the beginning of it doesn't invalidate their fight in any way.

The second point is closely tied to the first and it's the strong anti-violence and anti-war narrative in both the books and the films. And I'll have to be very careful treading this one because I don't want you to think I condone war or violence but it's a really fine thread I'm going to walk by right now:

It's undeniable that the war itself is treated in the books as something terrible, both sides (first point) use violence as a means to an end, this end being the victory of their own side. But that's inevitable in war: there will be violence, and there will be unspeakable things done to "the other side", and there will be war crimes being committed. And we are so culturally infected by the idea of resolving anything by "love" and of a unique hero who will free us all, that talking about violence as a valid response to oppression is quickly rejected.

Again: I do not think violence should be the immediate answer to political problems, of course not. But when we talk about the oppression that's been committed continuously against a group of people through a large period of time, especially when their diplomacy and cries aren't being heard, why shouldn't violence be the answer? What other response there is? Go quietly into the good night? I don't think any of us would want that, not for ourselves and not for the ones we love, and not for the ones who make our communities.

There's a really good book - The Wretched of the Earth, by Frantz Fanon - that explores violence as more than a valid response to oppression, but a necessary one. Although I do think diplomacy should be tried and other resources should be exhausted before violence and war, I also think they are a valid response to oppression, especially because the oppressors are so vicious.

But returning to the books, even when violence and war are valid, like in the revolution, they are still extremely ugly and traumatizing, especially when we need - as the oppressed ones - to keep our humanity so we don't end up becoming the oppressors. So it's natural that the violence narrated in Collin's books, especially the violence committed by the revolution, seems like it passes the message that both sides are just as bad - something like the narrative, you lose your reasoning when your response is violence.

However, what makes Katniss's and the District's fight for freedom from the Capital's oppressive regime valid is not their lack of violence or their integrity (it's war, and it's not likely that, as a soldier, you maintain it), but the very fact that they are the oppressed ones. Victims should not and are not perfect, they never will be - children being as close to it as we can go. But that doesn't make their fight less valid.

Of course, there is a limit, and that's perfectly captured by Gale: hatred without compassion, blind rage, and dehumanizing of your enemy. That's when violence is no longer valid in fighting oppression, not because of its lack of morals but because of the danger it represents to the innocent they're trying to free.

And yes, I thought a lot about Palestine writing this.

#the ballad of songbirds and snakes #coriolanus snow #lucy gray baird #the hunger games #katniss everdeen #lucy gray #tbosas #suzanne collins #books #gale hawthorne #political activist #political discourse #free palestine #palestinian genocide #the hunger games the ballad of songbirds & snakes #the hunger games theories #the hunger games theory #thg #mockingjay #hunger games #catching fire

[theautumnaldemon]

PANDEMONIUM, chapters one and two

CHAPTER ONE:

Another foggy night. 

Days like these were often spent by the Empress Deathcap and her equals from neighboring colonies dancing the night away in a drunken state almost as hazy as the sky. 

The vigorous amounts of cranberry wine would always soon turn into disaster when the next morning Deathcap would lazily stagger out offered, tripping her own talons.

Waddling down the stairs feebly like a dizzied penguin, She would barely notice anyone at all. She could barely hear things straight.

Like the careful footsteps leading to the royal treasury.

Or the sounds of jewels rattling, metal ringing as it fell to the ground.

And the bloody cry of royal guards’ throats being slit.

“MOOOOOOM!” The small cry of a young girl, curiously trying to locate the noises.

The purple dragonet rounded the corner, met with a fluffy gray dragon with large ears collecting the assorted jewels and artifacts from the dimly lit treasury. Blue blood spilt from the neck of the chief guard.

Staggering backwards, she called for more guards as the bat dragon creeped towards her, bloody blades drawn, the light reflecting off them like glass. 

It was a blur. Guards rushing from behind her, pushing her all around as they tried to subdue the bat dragon, until one guard pulled her out of the mess. She could make out the guard was yelling about her safety.

“Princess Inkcap,” they shouted. “Princess Inkcap!”

“Inkcap!”

“INKCAP!” Morel pulled the bedsheets off Inkcap in attempts to wake her from the dream.

“Morel?” Inkcap asked, her voice low and tired.

“Yeah! You need to get up! Breakfast ends in 30 minutes! 5 minutes to walk to the mess hall, 5 minutes to find seats, and 5 minutes to let out food cool down equals 15 MINUTES TO EAT!” Morel screamed.

“Got that math quiz today, Morel?” 

“Yeah! I think I’m getting better — DON’T CHANGE THE SUBJECT! Throw on your cloak and let’s walk to the mess hall together!” Morel ran out of the bedroom, leaving Inkcap to remember the dream. It wasn’t  like her other prophetic dreams she would usually have, this one has already happened. Before Morel was born, when she was only 6. 

She looked around her room, the two beds shaped like bird nests (but infinitely more comfortable) draped in soft blue blankets, the oil lantern hanging above their nightstand, and the closet on the right side of the room near the door. She walked over it, occasionally popping her bones, stiff from laying in a weird position all night.

She tied the black ribbon around her neck as she put the cloak on, fastening it in place. Outside of the room she found Morel pacing up and down the stairs, muttering simple math equations.

“4 x 5 is 20. 20 - 5 is—“ she stopped when she saw Inkcap walk out of the room. “Hey, are you ready?” She asked, walking over to Inkcap’s side.

Inkcap exhaled sharply, before answering “For breakfast, or for the day in general? Because those are two different answers altogether.”

Morel laughed heartily at Inkcap’s joke. “Well, I sure hope its breakfast you’re ready for. Im starved!” Morel fainted dramatically onto Inkcap’s wing, putting her wrist to her forehead like they practiced in theater class.

It was a terrible class, that’s why they practiced the dramatic faint — to mock it.

“Lets go, then. Lead the way.” Inkcap gestured to the stairs, which Morel happily hopped down moments later. Inkcap followed after her, worried about what the day could bring, as per usual.

CHAPTER TWO:

The mess hall was about half a mile off from the castle that housed the princesses and Empress Deathcap.

Once they arrived, they grabbed trays of blueberry pancakes and settled down on the far right table, near the two entrances. 

After finishing their breakfast, the two princesses banter was interrupted by an emergency broadcast, which sounded over the speakers outside the mess hall.

“Attention citizens, unidentified dragons have been spotted on the northeast shore. Please remain inside the camp boundaries until further notice. Have a merry day.”

“Damn, what now,” Inkcap sighed. “Come on, let’s get back to the palace before anything else goes wrong.” 

Morel looked up at Inkcap, which took a great deal of effort, seeing as there was a foot and a half between their heads.

“But i promised Rhys i would be there for the sale today!” She said. Rhys was Morel’s best friend, who happened to own a make-believe company focused on the manufacturing and selling of Wet Sand, down at the volleyball pit. And ‘wet sand’ was only the cold sand you found when you dug underneath the surface sand.

Along with Rhys, in the sandpit was their rival, the Blue sand company, who came to be when they found blue ink spelled in the sand pit. Then there’s Mayor Krill, who owned a city of sandcastles, and the Sand companies constantly tried to market their businesses towards them, in hopes of getting sponsored and expanding their business.

“Well there wouldn’t even be a ‘wet sand company’ or ‘Seashell city’ if foreign dragons started to invade,” Inkcap said, clearly VERY calm about this whole situation. 

Morel saw the iridescent blue and black scales of Rhys in the distance, running towards his cabin. She then looked back at Inkcap and nodded, agreeing to going home. 

On the swift walk put he side of the hill up to the palace, past the mess hall and several cabins, Inkcap saw a white streak out of the corner of her eye. She turned her head to see it flying slowly and steadily through the sky, cutting through distant clouds like talons.

Not that Inkcap was inherently suspicious. Comets and other cosmic phenomena were not uncommon in The Colonies, especially something as harmless as small comets like this one. But as Inkcap looked, there seemed to be more and more.

Morel noticed them too.

“Inkcap, i don’t remember there being a broadcast for a Sunlit Starshower today, do you?” Morel asked, her and Inkcap stopping in their tracks. 

“Probably only a miscalculation. You cant expect the station to be able to predict everything.”

“Yeah,” Morel said rather quietly, beginning to climb the rest of the way up the mountain, with Inkcap in tail behind her. 

The rest of the day was spent attending all the Tribal Meetings for their colony, doing chores, or playing organized games in the field in front of the mess hall.

They had been able to go to the pool for free time, but seeing as it was only March, only the Winter dragons enjoyed it. Winter dragons seemed to have a connection to cold temperatures, so they mostly sleep in cabins down in the caves or in the mountain. 

Along with Winter dragons, there were also Summer dragons with a connection to fire or heat, Autumn dragons connected to the earth or wind, and Spring dragons purely connected to magic or abstract things like music or emotions. Take Rhys for instance. He and his family have been connected to noise for centuries, being able to use whiskers on their jawbone and ears for echolocation. Rhys also comes from a long line of aspiring musicians, each with their own tune. Rhys has a piano noise he can use for the aforementioned echolocation.

Inkcap and Morel, their mother Deathcap, and all of Deathcap’s ancestors were Fall dragons, relating to funguses and other spores. Deathcap’s husband has not been seen in centuries, and is accepted as dead. This barely affected Inkcap and Morel, as their father had died shortly after they were born.

Deathcap never fit in as a Fall dragon, but that made her more unique, more admired. She has unusually vibrant green under-scales, and large mandibles like a spider. But she was the Queen of Pinnacle Colony, and nothing could ever change that.

Reminder that this is all from a roleplay me and my cousin did

@xx-theblack-vixen-xx are you happy??

#Long post #Wings of fire #wof #wof art #wings of fire art #fanart #writing #wings of fire oc #wof oc #Fantribe #?

[shadowtriovibes]

Just an idea but what how would the boys act to Mc doing things in class trying to turn them on???

Like it would be completely scandalous for the time which I think would hilarious just a sexually frustrated Ominis just trying to survive through charms while Mcs just running her hand up his thigh or something. He's praying to Merlin that no one noticed cause he's pretty sure his face is completely flushed.

Sebastian oh I can just see him try to match the energy while still being subtle just waiting for class to end.

Idk about Gerrith though???

let's be honest, MC is a menace to society in general but especially to these poor boys. curious as to how she ensures the three of them will never pass their N.E.W.T.s? read on:

tease me, please me

Pairings: Garreth Weasley x f!MC, Ominis Gaunt x f!MC, Sebastian Sallow x f!MC

Rating: M

Word Count: 1.7k

Garreth: Sometimes he wonders if you’re doing it on purpose, because you must be aware that much of your chest is visible. You’d feel it on your skin, wouldn’t you? (Merlin, he wishes he could feel that skin.) Ominis: Sharing a bench with you is a special kind of purgatory designed specifically for Ominis, who supposes he must have done something either wonderful or terrible in a past life. Sebastian: These days Herbology lessons are simply occasions for the two of you to attempt to outdo the other with subtle, salacious behavior. Sebastian is more than happy to take advantage of the fact that all the other boys – and more than a few girls – are too distracted by Professor Garlick’s presence to notice.

Garreth

Garreth sometimes thinks that putting the Potions classroom in a literal dungeon was a mistake.

Sure, it’s all well and good when Professor Sharp is simply going to lecture for the majority of the lesson about the different ways of handling Ashwinder eggs, as if Garreth hasn’t already poured over half a dozen books in the library pertaining to that precise topic.

But whenever there’s a practical class, it gets quite hot.

As soon as the flames are lit beneath two dozen cauldrons that will bubble away all afternoon, the room starts to fill with steam and the occasional fiery spark. This only worsens when students begin to fill their cauldrons and becomes nearly unbearable by the time their brews reach a rolling boil.

Everyone eventually shrugs off their robes, and the gentlemen are known to loosen their ties a bit if they feel they can get away with the impropriety of it.

(Garreth cares little for propriety, so he often takes the miserable thing off entirely.)

Ladies frequently choose to suffer the heat fully dressed, lest the churning rumor mill turn its vicious eyes toward them.

You, however, could give a damn, and Garreth adores it.

First, you gather your hair in a messy pile on top of your head and use a simple silk ribbon with your house colors to tie it back — a necessity for simply being able to see your cauldron through all the steam. Then your tie comes off, abandoned at your station and safely tucked away from any open flames.

Lastly, you undo not just the top button of your shirt, but the one beneath it as well.

Needless to say, Garreth always claims the station across from you.

As the hours slowly drag on, you tend to get more and more flustered – equally from the heat of the room and the complexity of your N.E.W.T.-level potions. When the heat becomes too much you’ll fan yourself with a stray textbook, but whenever your potions start to fail, you’ll curse under your breath and lean over the cauldron to peer frustratedly at the sickly-looking liquid.

That’s when Garreth gets treated to a very generous look straight down your shirt.

Sometimes he wonders if you’re doing it on purpose, because you must be aware that much of your chest is visible. You’d feel it on your skin, wouldn’t you?

(Merlin, he wishes he could feel that skin.)

He’s not subtle about looking, either. He’s practically slack-jawed whenever he catches a glimpse, once becoming so distracted by the lacy hem of your corset that he knocked over a full bottle of horklump juice.

Professor Sharp had been livid, especially since Garreth’s recent bought of distraction typically meant there were fewer disasters in his classroom than usual, not more.

While Sharp had berated Garreth and made him use a rag to clean his potions station by hand as punishment, you bit the inside of your cheek and slyly undid a third button, wondering if you could tease him into working up the courage to sneak away with you and undo the rest of your buttons himself.

Ominis

Like most of his classmates, Ominis had never found History of Magic to be particularly compelling. Having grown up in a wizarding family himself, he had at least heard of many of the significant territorial skirmishes between wizardkind and other magical populations over the years – though with much less objectivity, mind you.

As such, much of the class felt like old hat to him, and obviously it didn’t help that it was taught by the most dreadfully boring ghost to ever haunt the halls of Hogwarts.

He typically dreaded having to spend the afternoon fighting to maintain consciousness while Professor Binns droned on and on. Without visual stimuli to help him focus on anything other than Binns’ voice, staying awake the entire time was usually hopeless.

That is unless you’re also in class.

Compared to Ominis, you and Sebastian have a much less rigid interpretation of how much attendance is actually required at Hogwarts, so occasionally you’ll skive off and simply submit your inches of parchment to the Professor in his office. He’s never mentioned that you don’t often appear in his classes, nor does he seem to realize that Sebastian may never have actually attended despite having some of the best marks in your entire year.

Ominis much prefers when you do actually show up, even if you only seem to do so in order to torture him.

Sharing a bench with you is a special kind of purgatory designed specifically for Ominis, who supposes he must have done something either wonderful or terrible in a past life.

Lately, your favorite way to drive him mad is to covertly rest your hand atop his knee. Ostensibly this is to help him retain his cognizance – to give him something else to focus on other than the dull lecture. What a kind gesture, one might think.

But Ominis knows better. Slowly over the course of an hour, you slide your hand up the length of his thigh until your pinky finger brushes against the button of his trousers and your warm palm is cupped against where he’s achingly hard.

Merlin, he wishes you would simply open up his trousers and wrap your hand around him right then and there. He’s been worked up for nearly an hour now, so desperate for it that he couldn’t care less if anyone sees. He’d probably even beg if you asked.

So much for focusing on his studies – this is all he can think about. He’s mercilessly at your whim every time you use your thumb to trace a deliberate line up and down the length of him, or press your hand down and grind against him with the heel of your palm to help relieve a little bit of tension.

He’s hunched over the desk to shield your hand from view, and even when he occasionally lets out a soft whimper, anyone who might hear simply assumes he’s mumbling in his sleep.

In fact, he wishes he was asleep. Then instead of being painfully aware of every tiny movement in your hand, he could dream about what you’d do if you ever decided to take pity on him and give him some release right there in the room.

He’s been aching, leaking for so long now that you could easily slide your hand underneath the waistband of his trousers and stroke him off. He wouldn’t even mind if you simply left him with the mess – it’s pathetic, of course, but nevertheless true.

Maybe you’d even slide off the bench and kneel underneath the table. You could undo the front of his trousers and pull his cock out so you can use that sinful mouth on him while everyone around you is either sleeping or bored to the point of catatonia.

But you don’t. You just smirk to yourself and continue taking notes on some insignificant goblin rebellion from centuries ago, one hand on your quill and the other in Ominis’ lap.

(You’ll take care of him after class, of course. You always do.)

Sebastian

Across the board, Sebastian is a fantastic student – attendance issues aside, of course. He’s decidedly studious, remarkably clever and even more ambitious when it comes to achieving high marks than his house placement would typically demand.

Most of all he’s a hard worker, but thanks to the green thumb he’d inherited from his mother, Herbology is the one class where he can get away with slacking off just a bit.

It’s just as well, because at the start of term he’d quickly staked out the planter next to yours as his own. As a result, he usually expects to spend most of the lesson being distracted by you rather than his rambunctious chomping cabbages.

You’re a horrendous flirt, as it turns out. Sebastian couldn’t believe it when he’d finally met his match, having spent much of his fourth year attempting to charm girls who would inevitably go red at the slightest compliment and run off to giggle privately with their friends.

These days Herbology lessons are simply occasions for the two of you to attempt to outdo the other with subtle, salacious behavior. Sebastian is more than happy to take advantage of the fact that all the other boys – and more than a few girls – are too distracted by Professor Garlick’s presence to notice.

For example, he can usually get away with sliding a hand inside your robes and groping your ass whenever you bend down to get a scoop of fertilizer from the pot on the floor.

In retaliation, you’ll then lean in close and whisper something downright filthy in his ear while he’s gingerly attempting to move a finicky Dittany plant to a new pot.

Maybe something like, “Meet me in the Undercroft after this and I’ll see if I can get you off without using my hands at all.”

Sebastian curses under his breath and nearly tips over the pot – thank Merlin it wasn’t a mandrake.

Later on, while Professor Garlick is offering some tips to a captive audience about how much soil to pack alongside Mallowsweet plants, Sebastian sneaks up behind you and starts to kiss your neck, ego soaring when you sigh softly and tip your head back.

“You’re going to get us both in trouble,” he murmurs against your skin. “You can’t even wait for class to end, can you?”

“Do you think we could sneak away?” you breathe. “No one would even notice, I reckon.”

“We could,” Sebastian drawls. “But where’s the fun in that? I think we should wait.”

“Are you sure?” you demand, grinding your hips back against his. “I can make it worth your while, Sallow.”

“I’m sure you can,” he laughs in a low voice. “Just consider it payback for all the times you’ve gotten me worked up and ran off to go be brilliantly heroic.”

Then he presses his lips to your neck once again and quickly sucks a bruise into your skin before stepping away.

A few moments later, Professor Garlick sympathetically asks you if the mark on your neck is a stray bite from one of Sebastian’s cabbages, and you have no choice but to grit your teeth and nod while Sebastian looks on smugly.

He knows he’ll pay for that stunt imminently, but at that moment, it’s completely worth it.

#hogwarts legacy fic #hogwarts legacy #garreth weasley #sebastian sallow #ominis gaunt #ominis gaunt x mc #sebastian sallow x mc #garreth weasley x mc #my fic #requests #mc is The Worst no apologies

[the-crimson]

I’ve seen a decent amount of people comparing the vibes of the qsmp to the dsmp and I thought id give my two cents because there is a huge difference between these servers that I haven’t seen mentioned. I’m gonna put it under a cut so if u don’t care for the dsmp or this comparison ignore this post XD

So, the main thing, is that the dsmp was never intended to be a roll play server while the qsmp was 100% a role play server from the start- like that is the entire point lol

Because the dsmp was never intended to be an rp server, it didn’t have the infrastructure to support the collaboration required irl. There are so many horror stories of last minute script changes and people being left out of the loop for key events and its like... the server had had so much time to implement things irl to help with that but they didn’t because only a few people were running the show.

This is the other thing, the main lore and story was mainly driven by like 3 people so all the other ccs lore and plans were left in the dust. People were constantly being rainchecked on important lore events until it was too late and the server/audience had moved on or the lore that was there was belittled and mocked by the more popular ccs. And because these ccs didn’t take it seriously, neither did their massive audience. Most people only cared about lore where they were the center so collaborating was very difficult. It was really messed up and I’m still salty about a lot of it lol

My favorite arc on the dsmp was the eggpire arc because there were no main characters. Everyone involved was on equal footing and you could tell there was a lot of communication and planning irl and that everyone involved was passionate about the story they were telling. However, any time Tommy touched the lore, I would get so pissed because he was such an ass. Like, any lore Tommy touched that did not revolve around him, he ruined and I’m glad people stopped trying to involve him in the eggpire after like 1 or 2 streams lol He is one of the main reasons many fans thought the eggpire arc was a joke. He is just one example of a cc on the dsmp that had terrible rp etiquette, there were many more.

I think the end of the eggpire arc, the red banquet, was a victim of the more influential ccs on the server not wanting it to become the server ending threat it should have been. They wanted it to remain a side story. The lead up to the red banquet was so amazing and the stream itself was also so amazing but it just felt like the beginning of the eggpire’s arc! I was so confused when that was the end of the eggpire because - without changing anything about the red banquet - it opened the door for a truly great conclusion to the dsmp storyline that could have tied of everyone’s character arcs without it dragging on for another 1, 2?, years only for a weak ass finally.

I have an entire 40 chapter fic outlined where the red banquet is the beginning of the end for the server and its a banger - if i ever actually write it T_T

I’m going to briefly explain why the red banquet planted a future arc perfectly: the egg killed a demigod (Foolish) which could have given it enough energy to hatch or at least become close to it. Purpled could have been playing Quackity and BBH to get double payment and told BBH that Quackity was going to attack, that’s why Purpled didn’t chase after the eggpire when they were escaping - then, when Quackity destroyed his UFO, Purpled joins the eggpire to get revenge on Quackity. Everyone at the red banquet who ate the soup could have been infected by the egg and slowly brainwashed over the following days/weeks. Nicki (a member of the anarchist commune) was on the inside and could have been working with Techno, leading to the anarchist commune joining the fight against the egg as a whole. The Red Banquet was a false victory that put the rest of the server at ease while the eggpire was only growing stronger.

It could have been so good!!!! Screams.

But - my theory - is that bbh and the others had to wrap it up because the bigger ccs had “more important lore” that they wanted to do. The eggpire and red banquet arc felt the most close to the qsmp out of any lore on the dsmp which makes total sense as to why Quackity invited bbh since the eggpire was mainly his creation XD

I think Quackity learned a lot from the chaos and disorder of the dsmp behind the scenes and went out his way to ensure his server would not run into the same problems. Not only is there a solid infrastructure of admins and discord channels, he chooses to bring in ccs who are respectful and have good rp etiquette and know how to tell stories. Everyone has been wondering why Jaiden was added, including Jaiden XD, but it makes sense! She is a story teller and those are the types of people Quackity needed.

At the end of the day, the dsmp was never intended to become an rp server and was doomed by that from the start, just like L’manberg. There are plenty of wonderful stories that were told but so many more that were left in the shadows and forgotten due to poor rp etiquette and that will forever be a tragedy.

#qsmp #dsmp neg #look i love the dsmp #and it irreversably changed me for the better #but it definately has a lot of flaws #i will be the first to admit that #oh i guess i should add #Tommy Innit neg #sorry tommy stans #he has the worst rp etiquette when he isnt the center of attention #but there were so many other ccs that also had terrible rp etiquette on the dsmp #he is just the one that gets on my nerves the most #i might delete this later #shrugs #i dont like pitting two bad bitches against each other #but there are important distinctions between the two servers #we live and we learn #crimson speaks

[justaboutsnapped]

Just another day of losing it over brocedes... Thinking about their dynamic in terms of winning/losing.

Warning: long ass (900-word) post ahead. Lowkey just over-the-top wailing but I!!! *said like a madman* have connected the dots!!! This is definitely subjective–hopefully not unbearably so because I did reference Actual Lore™ and shit.

In another unnecessarily lengthy post I listed some instances of Lewis and Nico being unbelievably competitive over every little thing, including Lewis stating on two occasions that his favourite and least favourite thing about racing were winning and losing. Therein lies the tragedy of it all...

I was digging around trying to soak up more Lore™ and I came across this Lewis quote:

“I think for me, my whole life has been about winning. I have been racing for 29 years, so I think having that mentality of always knowing you can be better... but I think during this time, realising that winning is not everything. Sometimes, when you lose, you actually win and grow.”

This is great!! It demonstrates how Lewis' mentality has matured. What's there to be sad about? Unfortunately for me (it would've been so nice for my sanity if I didn't make the connection), the phrasing in the first bolded part immediately reminded me of this Nico moment @box-box-blorbos had brought up in the tags of my aforementioned brocedes brainrot rant post:

"The fact it was Lewis I took the title from is extra sweet as well because to me it feels that I've been racing him all my life and all my life he's just edged me out for the titles," added Rosberg.

"I've been racing him all my life" "my whole life as been about winning" I'm going to start fucking crying. Not because of the flimsy connection I just made based on the quotes having a couple of words in common, but because of the brothers-cedes’ difference in mentality.

People always talk about how hung up Nico is about Lewis, which is sometimes overblown, but in this case it's absolutely true that Lewis had an indelible presence in Nico's mind. For a large part of his career, his winning/losing was defined not only by his own performance, but by the success of his friend slash rival slash a lot of other things. The opposite is of course true, but I think Lewis generally was better at dealing with that–taking that coveted title in 2008 and "edging" Nico "out for the titles" later on at Mercedes probably helped. Lewis has had significant championship battles with other drivers, whereas for Nico, Lewis was proclaimed by everyone (including himself) as his One True Rival of sorts. Not "I've been racing to win all my life", but "I've been racing him all my life". Winning wasn't just about getting to the top anymore, it was equally about surpassing Lewis.

Here have a Florence And The Machine line appropriate for the topic at hand:

And everything I ever did Was just another way to scream your name

It was such a terrible way for Nico to look at things. He took the pressure intrinsic to the sport and increased that shit tenfold by developing a devastating mindset which zip-tied together winning/losing and his relationship with Lewis. Really, the deterioration of the worsties' relationship was inevitable.

As a freshly minted Nico Rosberg Apologist™ I of course occasionally bemoan that it seems impossible for people to talk about Nico without bringing up Lewis (yes I'm aware of my hypocrisy here). However, Nico just proves it again and again that Lewis occupies a special place in his heart deranged little brain. Here's another quote from Nico after winning the WDC:

“And I took the World Championship away from him which is a phenomenal feeling.”

Truly, this is a mind-blowing insight into his psyche. Insert screeching and sobbing. Of fucking course he didn't see the WDC as something that started anew each season! Of course he saw it as something belonging to Lewis that he had to earn the right to take away!! Nico Rosberg you were a sick, sick man–not that he isn't now, but he's decidedly less maladjusted (being, as the joke goes, the most therapised man on the planet does wonders for one's mental health).

Of course, Nico's decision to retire was motivated by multiple reasons, and it's disrespectful to say he did it solely because of some twisted desire to deprive Lewis of the chance to get back at him, but it's not a reach to say that having beaten Lewis, to some extent, enabled him to say goodbye so early. Nico has said that he gave up a core piece of his "identity" by deciding not to race anymore. Racing meant trying his damndest to win; winning meant having Lewis Hamilton, the subject of his love and hate right there on the podium with him. Borrowing some of @box-box-blorbos 's tags here, as it was the brilliant words she left under my piece that inspired me to write another one:

#But something something it seems like everything came easy to Lewis but it didn't but that doesn't stop Nico from resenting it #I've loved you my whole life #I've been racing you my whole life #I cannot separate the two

To end it on a less depressing note, at least we can rejoice over the fact that while Nico has gotten over f1 racing he clearly hasn't gotten over Lewis... Taking a step back and adopting a more detached grid role has helped him make the distinction between the Lewis that was his rival–who won and won and won against him why couldn’t he just lose for once–and the Lewis who he once promised to, under Greece's night sky, that one day they would conquer the world grid together. In his heart, Lewis is still his best friend–this was of course a joke, but don't jokes always have an element of truth to them?

#nico rosberg #oh the beautiful mess you were... a house on fire that the world couldn't look away from. #brocedes #f1 #em speaks

[rayan12sworld]

💖💙Run Off The World

By:Sapphire_Roses

Summary:

Thirteen years after the disappearance of the Wen Remnants, twelve years after the official defection of Lan Wangji from the Gusu Lan sect, and ten years after the establishment of the Yiling Wei sect, the Cultivation world seeks the help of a man they have forsaken after the Battle of The Nightless City.

What they expect to find is a land of monsters and ghosts, led by man who is torn apart and worn out by his heretic ways, and the once-esteemed Hanguang-Jun in chains and tears.

What they do find is a thriving sect consisting of living, beaming people, a very smug and very happy Wei Wuxian, and a terribly content and – although as perfectly peerless as ususal – very jaded Lan Wangji.

Chapter:42/?

Words:242,828

Status:ongoing

Author:@rosesapphire2323

In here we have yiling laozu , wei ying in this fanfic he really is badass and intelligent, dramatic, cool ....ect.

We have hanguang-Jun, that's even more badass and he is so dramatic 😂😂

:Jiang Wanyin can bet everything they have in Lotus Pier's treasury that Lan Wangji has gone through the extra fucking Li just to be dramatic"😂

He is very shameless too like this quote

"You fell asleep after the third time." Lan Wangji says brazenly.

He is even more intelligent

(So Lan Wangji wrapped the very sign of a Lan's devotion around Wei Wuxian's arm under his clothes, gambling on– no, manipulating his sentimentality to make him return and take him back, when he's clearly been planning to clear Lan Wangji of all accusations and leave him behind, by giving an awfully long speech and putting up an act.) See?

~~~~

It almost makes Jiang Wanyin jealous. "Why are you so obsessed with Second Young Master Lan anyway?" Jiang Wanyin asked, bored out of his mind, on a sunny afternoon in Cloud Recesses. Wei Wuxian was obviously not working on his lessons. Granted, he didn't need to. But he could at least pretend, for Jiang Wanyin's sake. Instead, he was drawing something, white sleeves tied up so that he wouldn't dirty the pristine robe with black ink after he got in trouble for it last time. "Lan Zhan?" Wei Wuxian asked, like he needed to clarify who they were talking about. As if his 'Lan Zhan' and 'Second Young Master Lan' were two different people. "Who the fuck else?" Jiang Wanyin growled. "I don't get it. The guy obviously hates you." Wei Wuxian hummed. "I don't care if Lan Zhan hates me." What? Wei Wuxian, not caring if people hated him? The boy lived and breathed being well-liked! What made Lan Wangji's obvious distaste so different? Jiang Wanyin raised a brow. "Then why? He's obviously not your friend, so...?" "It's all relatively simple, really." Wei Wuxian stopped drawing, and held the paper up to examine it. Bright sunlight shot through the paper, enough to reveal the markings of the ink.  He has drawn a magnolia tree. He put the paper down, smiling softly. "He's like... my equal." Jiang Wanyin paused. Equal. He grit his teeth. All his life, he tried to be Wei Wuxian's equal, running after him with all he had, and then all of a sudden, Lan Wangji barged in with his stoney face and cold words, and became Wei Wuxian's equal.

"That's nonsense." He tried to keep his voice even. "You two are nothing alike."

Wei Wuxian shrugged, picking up his brush again. Adding details to the drawing. "He's just..." He stopped, and tried again. "Sure, he's a stick in the mud and a stickler for rules, but he's good. He matches pace with me. He annoys me and I annoy him back. He frowns at me and it's so fun to see his cold expression break with anger. I love laughing when it pisses him off. He enjoys annoying me, too, I guess. He's extra stiff with me. Makes shattering that mask of his just so much sweeter."

Then, he chuckled. Jiang Wanyin watched with dawning horror as his brother's face grew fond, brush flying across the paper. "You should see him when he gets angry enough to draw his sword, though."

Wei Wuxian looked up, eyes gleaming with a mixture of mischief and joy.  "That's when he truly comes alive. It makes me want to fight with him forever."

What delicate choice of words, Jiang Wanyin thinks. 'Fight with him'. 

Be it against him or beside him, you want him all the same ~~~~~

We have other characters like Jiang yanli and

Originally characters ,they have amazing personalities

~~

You guys will see Yiling laozu in chapter 37,he is very dangerous,

("Lan Xichen," Wei Wuxian addresses, and the unfamiliarity of it is much more startling than the disrespect it ought to deliver. 

"I know you are fully aware of what I am capable of." Wei Wuxian says, tone stern, staring unflinchingly into Lan Xichen's eyes. "Yet I'm not sure if you know how far I am willing to go. Which is why I will tell you." Lan Xichen holds his breath. He is certain he doesn't imagine the slight flash of red in Wei Wuxian's sunlit irises.

"When I speak of my death, I don't speak of it lightly." Wei Wuxian says. "My deathbed is my birthplace, Lan Xichen. Death doesn't scare me. It won't consume me, not anymore, not after those months. My death is my mercy. Do you know why?"

Lan Xichen says nothing. Wei Wuxian doesn't seem to require him to speak. "I would level this entire sect to the ground." Wei Wuxian speaks, low and careful, as if ensuring Lan Xichen hears every word clearly. 

"I could start, right now, and no living nor dead creature will be able to stop me. It would barely take me until nightfall. I would uproot every tree, overturn every body of water, bring down this mountain upon itself." Then, he tilts his head, and Lan Xichen uses every single last piece of his strength to hold himself back from drawing his sword.  His mind screams at him, Run run run! But he can't. He's frozen in place, rooted on the spot.

"If I wanted to, I could make every single last one of your dead claw their way out of grave. I already know where your very well-hidden ancestral graveyard is." His eyelids flutter in a mockery of a blink over crimson eyes. 

Only then does Lan Xichen realize that he hadn't blinked since they made eye-contact. 

"I could turn your Wall of Discipline into ash with a snap of my fingers. I know the Wen tried, and failed. But I assure you, I am not the Wen." Lan Xichen barely holds back the words, the ones he only now realizes their truth. 

No, you're more dangerous than the Wen.

"If I willed it, Gusu Lan would be no more come sunset." Wei Wuxian says casually, as though he speaks of the weather over tea, and not of the destruction of Lan Xichen's home. "None of your elders, disciples, Grandmaster Lan, or even you would be able to stop me. If you garnered all the knowledge inside your library, weaponized every spiritual artifact, or called upon the Heavens themselves, you would not be able to stop me." Lan Xichen finds that he does not doubt they could not. Four sects, maybe. Maybe. But one? One sect does not stand a chance against the full power of the Yiling Patriarch. "And I would do it," Wei Wuxian says, sounding less and less human, the more he speaks. It is as though his voice is echoed in the space between every bamboo tree. Lan Xichen barely feels the light of the sun, anymore. It is as though the black of the shadows have spread, like ink upon paper, clouding the sky.  "I would, because twelve years ago, I woke in the middle of the night, half paralyzed and half out of my mind, with Lan Zhan bleeding out to death by the wards of Burial Mounds. If it weren't for his survival that demanded my attention, I would've levelled the mountains of Gusu that very night." Lan Xichen thinks back, to the storm, the rain.  To Wangji's soaked body, to his trembling hands.  He had thought the storm and downpour that flooded Gusu and lasted days to be ominous sign of Wangji's departure.  Now he knows they escaped a much worse curse by a hair's breadth. "If you imagine that the weight of my regret and rage wouldn't be enough to turn this land over," Wei Wuxian goes on, voice level, pale face cold. "I suggest you thoroughly reconsider. I watched my Zhiji prone upon a bed for years. Every night, he takes the last of his robes off, and I see thirty-three scars on his back. He doesn't hide them, because he isn't ashamed, and I look at them, because I am." Lan Xichen lets himself exhale shakily. 

He doesn't know how he musters up the bravery to speak. "Wangji's decisions–" The whispering air around him tightens so abruptly that he snaps his mouth shut. He's frozen. His limbs are cold, and stiff. He doesn't dare breathe in the condemning silence that follows. He waits, staring into Wei Wuxian's bloody eyes.  He hadn't blinked, not even once, he thinks hysterically. "Lan Zhan's decisions are his," Wei Wuxian eventually says, calmly. "Is that what you were going to say?"

Lan Xichen swallows. 

He doesn't nod.

  His muscles won't move. 

His bones are stuck. 

He prefers shouting to this deathly calm. "Lan Xichen. I do not care if I was persecuted, or whipped to death, or left out to bleed as a spectacle until I died." Wei Wuxian shrugs, and Lan Xichen notices with mounting horror that it's the first time he has seen his shoulders move since this conversation began. 

His shoulders were not moving.

  His shoulders were not moving in the motion of breathing.

Lan Xichen's mind slowly reels out of his control.)

See it isn't even all of them, I think I like chapter 37 the most😭

A few characters :

Our mastermind have a tigress

"A-Xue." Nie Huaisang waves his fan in goodbye as he heads for his chamber's doors. "If someone comes for my fans, brushes, or wine, eat them. If they come for the sect documents, let them take it all."

He could always do with less paperwork. Saying that the documents were stolen will most likely not result in Nie Fenghuo cutting him in clean halves with her sabre.

Baofengxue growls softly in reprimand, as Nie Huaisang closes the doors behind him.

Even his own tiger is judgemental of him. Truly, the world is a cruel place.

#wangxian #wangxian recommendations #mdzs #mxtx mdzs #wangxian fanfic #ao3 recs #the untamed #mdzs fanfic rec #mdzs fanart #mo dao zu shi #run off the world #wangxian fic rec

[reviewinghiccup]

RIDERS OF BERK | HTTYD SERIES | A CLOSING

Hey guys! Sorry for the week long hiatus, I had so many unexpected events to deal w that no time could be had for updating this blog.

^ me the whole week tbh ANYWAYS! I do think that we can announce the winners of Part I and Part II of the Polls! [Unless something changes in 4 hours and a day! HAHA! Which, might be safe to say it wont.]

AND THE WINNERS ARE...

RIDERS OF BERK POLL (1) - Portrait of Hiccup as a Buff Man

RIDERS OF BERK POLL (2) - When Lightning Strikes

Portrait of Hiccup as a Buff Man was a landslide win. I mean, I get why. It showcased that tender relationship between Stoick and Hiccup, it played w Hiccup's confidence and identity and realising the gifts that make him different is what makes him great. And Stoick also learning to put aside his traditional prejudices to appreciate Hiccup's uniqueness.

When Lightning Strikes was another strong win. It dealt w the village's strong impudent views, Hiccup's resolve to save Toothless, Stoick finally standing up for Toothless and Hiccup. Though, Thawfest and Breakneck Bog tally slightly behind with an almost equal number of votes.

The thing these 4 episodes have in common is that it deals w intricacies of family ties and relationships. Hiccup and Stoick, Hiccup and his mother, Hiccup and Toothless, Spitelout and Snotlout. They play around w the theme of togetherness and acceptance. To live and let live. And I get why that hits.

Admittedly, I thought that Animal House and How to Pick Your Dragon would garner more votes for the 1st round of Polls. Those were my honourable mentions for 1st round but I get why Heather Report came in second. It was the fire test of Hiccup and Astrid's relationship and much more.

And for the 2nd round of Polls I was banking on Thawfest to win. Haha! Regardless, I am just so glad that many of you took part in these polls and have continued reading and sharing my work.

If you guys are new to the blog and want to read up on all my reviews, you can find them all here:

Episode 1: How to Start a Dragon Academy

Episode 2: Viking for Hire

Episode 3: Animal House Episode 4: Terrible Twos Episodes 5 & 6 : In Dragons we Trusts | Alvin and the Outcasts Episode 7: How to Pick Your Dragon

Episode 8: Portrait of Hiccup as a Buff Man

Episode 9: Dragon Flower

Episodes 10 & 11: Heather Report

Episode 12: Thawfest

Episode 13: When Lightning Strikes

Episode 14: What Flies Beneath

Episodes 15 & 16: Twinsanity & Defiant One

Episode 17: Breakneck Bog

Episode 18: Gem of a Different Colour

Episodes 19 & 20: We are Family

HAPPY READING!

#defenders of berk! #Riders of Berk #rob #dob #httyd #how to train your dragon series review #how to train your dragon polls #polls #portrait of hiccup as a buff man #hiccup #when lightning strikes #thawfest #breakneck bog #season 1 #dreamworks dragons #tally end

[sacredpyre]

❥         Netflix Wednesday’s 

“ I find social media to be a soul sucking void of meaningless affirmation.”

“ You’re a brilliant girl, but sometimes you get in your own way.“

“”Never meet your heroes.”“

“Except I won’t cry and whine like a child.”

“I’ve learned so much from you. Part of it is admittedly criminal behavior.“

“ Are you mansplaining my power? “

“Too odd for the normies, not odd enough for the outcasts.“

“The most interesting plants grow in the shade.“

“ Look at you my little deathtrap. “

“I like to win. Is that so wrong?“

““The only person who gets to torture my brother is me.” 

“ Emotion isn’t exactly your strong suit “

“Emotion equals weakness.“

“These are all traits of great writers. And serial killers.”

“Being your friend should come with a warning label.”

“I don’t believe in heaven or hell, but I do believe in revenge.“

“Those who forget history are doomed to repeat it.“

“Because trust and cooperation have always been the hallmarks of our relationship.“

“There’s nothing quite like the feeling of being proven right. “

“I can’t believe I’m actually going to miss your creepy, lifeless eyes waking me up every morning.”

“Anytime I grow nauseous at the sight of a rainbow or hear a pop song that makes my ears bleed, I’ll think of you. “

“ Not hugging is kind of our thing “

“if you hear me screaming bloody murder theres a good chance i'm just enjoying myself.”

“Smells like childhood.“

“Typically I have great admiration for well-executed revenge plots, but yours was a bit extreme, even for my high standards. “

“Please. Flattery will get you nowhere.“

“ Terrible. Everyone would know I failed to get the job done. ”

“This is far too unique to wear to something like class. I suggest we wait for a more special occasion, like a funeral.”

“I’m not interested in participating in tribal adolescent clichés.”

“…I see the world as a place that must be endured, and my personal philosophy is kill or be killed.”

“I act as if I don’t care if people dislike me. Deep down… I secretly enjoy it.”

“For the record I don’t believe that I’m better than everyone else. Just that I’m better than you.” 

“Use the words ‘little’ and ‘girl’ to address me again and I can’t guarantee your safety.”

“If he breaks your heart, I’ll nail gun his.”

“What kind of dystopian hellscape is this?”

“Every day is all about me. This one just comes with cake and a bad song.“

“It’s not my fault I can’t interpret your emotional Morse code.” 

“Genuine and sweet? How could you do this to me?!”

““My appetite eludes me. The same way the truth eludes you.”

“I don’t bury hatchets. I sharpen them.“

“I haven’t always been against birthdays. Each one reminds me I’m a year closer to death’s cold embrace.”

“I enjoy funerals. I’ve been crashing them since I was old enough to read the obituary section. “

““If you are discovered, I will disown you and collect the reward tied to your capture.”

“Because for some reason I cannot fathom or indulge, you seem to like me.” 

“I will ignore you, stomp on your heart, and always put my needs and interests first.”

“Of course the first person I kiss would turn out to be a psychotic, serial-killing monster. I guess I have a type.”

“Just some light torture. Don’t worry, I won’t leave a mark.”

“You can’t wake the dead. Believe me, I’ve tried.”

““Will today’s stalker become tomorrow’s nemesis?”

“ I’m not friend material, let alone more-than-friend material. “

“People like me and you, we’re different.”

“The truth is, there are monsters everywhere. And sometimes the monsters we least suspect are the most dangerous.”

“one coincidence is just a coincidence, two are a clue, and three are proof.”

“It’s either they write our story or we do. You can’t have it both ways.”

“Ask again, and you’ll be down to eight lives.“

“Sartre said, “Hell is other people.” He was my first crush.”

“Emotions are a gateway trait. They lead to feelings, which trigger tears. I don’t do tears.“

“Tears don’t fix anything. So I vowed to never do it again.“

“ Do you make a habit of scaring the hell out of people? “

“You guys are making me nauseous. Not in a good way.“

“I’ve always hated the expression, “write what you know.” It’s a hall pass for the imagination-impaired.“

"Believe Nothing You Hear and Half of What You See."

“Whoever Invented High Heels Clearly Had a Side Hustle as a Torturer."

"You Are the Reason I Understand How Imperative It Is That I Never Lose Sight of Myself."

“Honestly, I wish I cared a little more.”

“Somewhere no one can hear your screams.”

#sentence starters #meme #quote meme #indie rp #wednesday #wednesday addams #open rp #indpendent rp

[dungeonmastertyrant]

Hobgoblin

Mordenkainin Presents: Monsters of the Multiverse

Hobgoblins trace their origins to the ancient courts of the Feywild, where they first appeared with their goblin and bugbear kin. Many of them were driven from the Feywild by the conquering god Maglubiyet, who marshaled them as soldiers, but the fey realm left its mark; wherever they are in the multiverse, they continue to channel an aspect of the Feywild’s rule of reciprocity, which creates a mystical bond between the giver and the receiver of a gift.

On some worlds, such bonds lead hobgoblins to form communities with deep ties to one another. In Eberron and the Forgotten Realms, vast hobgoblin legions have emerged, with ranks of devoted soldiers famed for their unity.

Hobgoblins are generally taller than their goblin cousins but not quite as big as bugbears. They have curved, pointed ears and noses that turn bright red or blue during displays of emotion.

Ability Score Increase. When determining your character’s ability scores, increase one score by 2 and increase a different score by 1, or increase three different scores by 1. You can't raise any of your scores above 20.

Creature Type. You are a Humanoid. You are also considered a goblinoid for any prerequisite or effect that requires you to be a goblinoid.

Size. You are Medium.

Speed. Your walking speed is 30 feet.

Darkvision. You can see in dim light within 60 feet of you as if it were bright light and in darkness as if it were dim light. You discern colors in that darkness only as shades of gray.

Fey Ancestry. You have advantage on saving throws you make to avoid or end the charmed condition on yourself.

Fey Gift. You can use this trait to take the Help action as a bonus action, and you can do so a number of times equal to your proficiency bonus. You regain all expended uses when you finish a long rest.

Starting at level 3, choose one of the options below each time you take the Help action with this trait:

Hospitality. You and the creature you help each gain a number of temporary hit points equal to 1d6 plus your proficiency bonus.

Passage. You and the creature you help each increase your walking speeds by 10 feet until the start of your next turn.

Spite. Until the start of your next turn, the first time the creature you help hits a target with an attack roll, that target has disadvantage on the next attack roll it makes within the next minute.

Fortune from the Many. If you miss with an attack roll or fail an ability check or a saving throw, you can draw on your bonds of reciprocity to gain a bonus to the roll equal to the number of allies you can see within 30 feet of you (maximum bonus of +3). You can use this trait a number of times equal to your proficiency bonus, and you regain all expended uses when you finish a long rest.

Languages. Your character can speak, read, and write Common and one other language that you and your DM agree is appropriate for the character.

Volo's Guide to Monsters

War is the lifeblood of hobgoblins. Its glories are the dreams that inspire them. Its horrors don't feature in their nightmares. Cowardice is more terrible to hobgoblins than dying, for they carry their living acts into the afterlife. A hero in death becomes a hero eternal.

Ability Score Increase. Your Constitution score increases by 2, and your Intelligence score increases by 1.

Age. Hobgoblins mature at the same rate as humans and have lifespans similar in length to theirs.

Alignment. Hobgoblin society is built on fidelity to a rigid, unforgiving code of conduct. As such, they tend toward lawful evil.

Size. Hobgoblins are between 5 and 6 feet tall and weigh between 150 and 200 pounds. Your size is Medium.

Speed. Your base walking speed is 30 feet.

Darkvision. You can see in dim light within 60 feet of you as if it were bright light, and in darkness as if it were dim light. You can't discern color in darkness, only shades of gray.

Martial Training. You are proficient with two martial weapons of your choice and with light armor.

Saving Face. Hobgoblins are careful not to show weakness in front of their allies, for fear of losing status. If you miss with an attack roll or fail an ability check or a saving throw, you can gain a bonus to the roll equal to the number of allies you can see within 30 feet of you (maximum bonus of +5). Once you use this trait, you can't use it again until you finish a short or long rest.

Languages. You can speak, read, and write Common and Goblin.

Unearthed Arcana 77 Folk of the Feywild

Ability Score Increase. Increase one ability score by 2, and increase a different one by 1.

Creature Type. You are a Humanoid.

Size. You are Medium.

Speed. Your walking speed is 30 feet.

Darkvision. You can see in dim light within 60 feet of you as if it were bright light and in darkness as if it were dim light. You discern colors in that darkness only as shades of gray.

Fey Ancestry. You have advantage on saving throws you make to avoid or end the charmed condition on yourself.

Fey Gift. You can use this trait to take the Help action as a bonus action, and you can do so a number of times equal to your proficiency bonus. You regain all expended uses when you finish a long rest. Starting at 3rd level, choose one of the options below each time you take the Help action, whether as a bonus action or an action:

Hospitality. You and the target of your Help action each gain a number of temporary hit points equal to 1d6 plus your proficiency bonus.

Passage. You and the target of your Help action each increase your walking speeds by 10 feet until the start of your next turn.

Spite. Until the start of your next turn, the first time you or the target of your Help action hits a creature with an attack roll, that creature has disadvantage on the next attack roll that it makes within the next minute.

Fortune from the Many. If you miss with an attack roll or fail an ability check or a saving throw, you can draw on your bonds of reciprocity to gain a bonus to the roll equal to the number of allies you can see within 30 feet of you (maximum bonus of +5). You can use this trait a number of times equal to your proficiency bonus, and you regain all expended uses you finish a long rest.

Languages. Your character can speak, read, and write Common and one other language that you and your DM agree is appropriate for the character.

#dnd races #hobgoblin

[tamagosandesu]

SSMonth 2022

Title: just this once Prompt: let me take care of you Summary: Sakura almost cries at the tenderness of it all. Sasuke isn’t a man of words, and prefers his action to speak above all else. But when he looks at her like this, and says those words she never expected to hear from him, there’s nothing more that she wants than to hug this man and engulf him in all of her love.  Author’s Notes: So…I was gone for a day, I know. And because of that, I skipped two prompts INTENTIONALLY because I’m a lazy ass and had no motivation yesterday. I skipped the day 12 (honeymoon: you are my spring) and day 13 (Akatsuki partners) because I have no idea how to do them.

______________________

Sasuke didn’t really understand the prospect of marriage right away.

All he knew was that he was ready to spend his life with the only woman he’s learned to fall in love with—Sakura. It was a union, he knows that. It is matrimony, and it is of two people being united as one. Symbolically, those are the prospects of marriage.

But within the marriage itself, he didn’t know what to expect exactly. The art of loving your wife was easy, and enough of a force to marry her. And yet, when you finally tied the union, it’s not something you could grasp entirely overnight.

Their first few weeks, to months of marriage was all about learning each other. They both realized that marriage wasn’t just about loving one another under the same roof as husband and wife, or sharing the same last name as proof of matrimony, or was it just establishing a new life with each other and starting over again in a different perspective. 

It was also about sacrifices, about compromising, and about learning to give and take. Sasuke and Sakura’s relationship didn’t really start as normal. Their past wasn’t like other’s. They’ve been through tears, hurt, mistakes, and even being enemies once. When they were adults, finally finding themselves and starting to develop a relationship with each other, it wasn’t easy, of course.

Past happenings aren’t easily forgotten, nor are the wounds of loss. The war changed everyone. They weren’t an exception too. It was quite the main reason that they weren’t too open with each other at first. As much as Sasuke sought atonement and he thought he’s changed, there was still uncertainty on how to act with each other after everything that transpired between them.

Though now that they are married, those things seem to come back. Living under the same roof was a new thing for them, so were the new quirks of each other.

The give and take role has been the most evident to be done in their marriage. It’s compromising for each other, and it’s sacrificing for one another. 

But somehow, Sasuke noticed that Sakura was giving way too much than him. It’s not that he’s taking her for granted, it’s just he can’t be there with her all the time. Every time he was home, she would go all out to tend to him, while he’s never done anything special for her for ages.

He’s resolved to make it equal someday. Someday.

______________________

Sakura was sick once.

Sasuke came home expecting his dear wife to greet him at the front door, but she wasn’t there. It wasn’t completely alarming, but he found it odd still. 

He later found her lying on one of the couches, her cheeks looking terribly flushed and her forehead sweating profusely. She woke up not long after then explained the situation—she was severely ill from fatigue and overexertion. The reason she couldn’t heal herself was because she was on overtime, and her chakra was depleted when she arrived home. Sarada was on a mission and she was weak enough to call for help.

“Ah, welcome home darling,” she greeted groggily, a weak smile on her lips as the effects of her illness were evident. Sakura tried to stand, groaning as she pushed herself up the sofa.

“What are you doing?” he quickly stopped her, eyebrows furrowed in disagreement and instead, Sasuke made her lay on the couch once again.

“I’m just going to make you something to eat,” she said with a smile and a sigh, as if her dear husband is ridiculous. 

“Sakura, you’re sick.”

“Yeah,” she shrugs. “But I’m just sick. Sore throat, clogged nose, slight headache, that’s all,” she says with a roll of her eyes, “I can still cook. I’m not disabled.”

“No. Stay there, I’ll cook.”

“Sasuke-kun, you just got home after months,” she tries to get up again. “I’ll do it, it's fine.”

“No. It’s not fine,” he pushes her back to the couch.

“Sasuke-kun,” she whines, “let me.”

Sasuke knows that whenever Sakura has something set on her mind, she rarely backs down from it. Now that she’s whining, becoming incredibly and stubbornly persistent, he knows he’s up for a rough persuasion.

“No,” he says in low tone.

“Why?”

“Because you’re sick.”

“But I can still cook.”

“Then have your fever worsen?”

“No! It’ll take only a few minutes!”

“Nope. And that’s final,” his tone is firm as he says this, leaving no room for argument.

“And since when could you command me now?”

“Since I found you weak and ill on this couch.”

“Yeah?” her tone changed into a challenging one. “Well I’m a doctor and I know more than you do.”

“You’re a doctor and you can’t even obey simple common sense.”

“Sasuke,” she warns without that affectionate ‘kun’ in the end. Sasuke had been with Sakura long enough to know that whenever his wife calls him only by first name without the familiar suffix, it means he’s in trouble.

But right now, here in their house where she is lying down and obviously ill, he won’t back down.

“No. You’ll stay here, and I'll make you something.”

“No! I’ll do it,” she tries to get up again, this time faster. The sudden movement caused her to hiss in pain and clutch her hand into her head. It seems her head suddenly spun when she sat up abruptly, causing the throbbing to increase.

Sasuke immediately went to her side and held her head. Waves of concern washed over him as his wife hisses from the discomfort. 

“It’s nothing,” Sakura assures, but Sasuke isn’t buying it. 

“Sakura, just this once, listen to me,” he looked at her with eyes full of concern, eyes that sought to persuade, eyes full of tender care, and eyes full of love. 

Sakura complies as she feels genuine concern coming from her husband.

“Just this once, listen to me.”

He tells her once again with a voice so weak as if he’s afraid he’ll lose her.

“Just this once, let me take care of you,” he whispers, voice almost lost as he looks at her in the eye to convey everything he can’t say with words.

Sakura almost cries at the tenderness of it all. Sasuke isn’t a man of words, and prefers his action to speak above all else. But when he looks at her like this, and says those words she never expected to hear from him, there’s nothing more that she wants than to hug this man and engulf him in all of her love. 

“Okay,” she whispers in response, giving up from her stubbornness and smiling instead at him. Her eyes are glassy, watery with unshed tears, and from the words that she wants to convey but doesn’t say out loud.

She does not tell him audibly, but Sasuke understands her silent message behind that beaming smile all the same.

Thank you, Sasuke-kun.

#fanfiction #anime #anime fanfic #naruto #naruto fanfiction #Sasuke Uchiha #Sakura Haruno #sasusaku #sasusaku fanfiction #sasusaku month #ssmonth2022 #day14

[dwippingbun]

Someone, idk who, sent a call out YouTube video and like, idk it honestly seems like a lot of interpersonal stuff by all of the pseudonyms but like there is two things that stuck out:

They claimed that you have sent people death threats, which while it doesn't scare me in relation to me (I have no other socials to be doxxed on and I'm fairly sure I'm double your weight class), it does have very disturbing implications as to the ways you have, if not do, handle issues as they arise, as I have been somewhat repeatedly directly targeted by someone I actually am somewhat afraid of, this is not something I can take particularly lightly. I realize there's quite a bit of difference wishing someone who has genuinely harmed you ill (even in disturbing ways) and taking direct actions, but without specifics I do find it concerning.

Secondly, and imo more disturbingly: Did you go harass a BLM movement and call them the N word??? Like mirroring and trauma or not that is some fucked up shit. The unfortunate OC stuff I can semi understand in that it can be difficult to absorb the full depths of atrocities even while technically knowing facts, but like not saying the N word is some incredibly baseline "you should fucking know better" stuff. If you have done that, that is quite frankly disgusting.

I don't say this second point because think you're evil, I've seen you be kind to people sheerly on the off chance you could prevent suffering, but I've also seen some of the most wonderful people I've known irl turn into just the most hateful husks of themselves just trying to soak up droplets of proclaimed love and approval from some truly horrible people, and it would bring me immeasurable sadness to watch it happen again.

If these things or others happened, disgusting or not, forgivable or not (it's not my call to make), if you truly want to never be that person again in the way you say (and I do genuinely want to believe that you do) I suggest you keep aware of what's at stake to lose if you slip back in, through direct behavior or "mere" permissiveness. Maybe you could keep the person or people you're performing for, it did work for the people I knew, but know that it will, at some point, cost so very much. It might cost the people directly if they can't remain tied to such behavior, or in a more insidious way, wherein they can't let go of either side and it chips away, or they root down in love and lose the other, safer side and seep into that unsafe place, but by god it will cost, and I would ask you not to bring that kind of pattern back onto yourself

🌈

🍡 I've already owned up to my past mistakes

No I did not attack the BLM movement. That's fucking dumb. I havemixed family and was raise against that (who I also told and have forgiven me and understand)

I was young and dumb and 19

19

We all do dumb shit when we're younger. And abuse victims mirror their abusers and become them too. I don't deny what I did. I don't stand by those beliefs equally.

I said the N word when I was influenced by a terrible abusive ex and his friends. I don't hold those believes and I never allow that kind of behavior or language around me

I don't send death threats. Never have never will. Flat out. I get angry and I think MAYBE once back a long time ago (2-3 years ago????) I said transphobes deserve death. I think.

Like that's the worst extent?

I was a terrible person. I don't deny that.

*was*

5-6 years ago.

People find remorse

Change

And understand they can be better and want to be and understand their actions caused harm

I don't deny or defend what I did

I've apologized to numerous victims of my hateful attitude back then

But I know it's not who I am as a person

I hope this clears this up.

#accusations #drama #clearin stuff up

[octopiys]

I wanted to publish the story here as it's become something I've loved writing so far :)

Find the desc. here

The Terrible Fire of Old Regret (It's Honey on My Tongue)

Pairings: SoapGhost, GazRoach

Word count: good question

Cw: blood/violence, minor death, lots of world building, allusions to Ghost's backstory

The day was cooling as the sun set, casting orange across the kingdom. He could see it from his frosted over window, in the tallest tower that he had insisted on staying in. It was his favorite place, his favorite perch, the cold cobblestone placed by builders belonging to kings from centuries past. Horse drawn carriages dotted the town, tiny lights that moved in and out of the castle's stone walls.

The wind blew through the tops of the trees, twisting the smoke from stacked chimneys down in the village, people doting about in long skirts, or tied up pants, retreating into the calm warmths of their cottages.

The baker to his bakery that smelled like sugar and bread.

The weaponsmith to his home of metalworking, to a wife who was as equally enthusiastic.

The knights to their quarters, letting their swords down, leaving the polishing for the morning.

The tapestries here were that woven by his mother, a Lady past, lost to illness in the young years of plague. It was a nasty thing, that clouded and bubbled like a swarm of enraged wasps. It was not only his mother who shared these tapestries, some belonged to another woman, torn gone to battle. She was a soldier, or at least, under a guise, leaving behind a son only a few years older than he.

His name was Kyle, but John called him Gaz. It was a childish nickname, with a story too long to tell, but it was simpler this way. They had grown up together, under the Ladies and Lordships of the King, but in the span of two years, their lives changed.

Kyle had just turned four, starting to drive his mother up the wall. Like his father, she had charged off into the war, one started long ago from the eastern european waves of the Umbra Comitatu. She was lost in a fight they knew they wouldn't have won from the start. She was a Lady very close to the King, and he had sworn to her dying breath to take care of her son, who was waiting in his cottage for parents who would never return.

It was not a known fact that King Johnathan Price could not have children. It often skipped a few generations, but he knew the issues. It was not because he didn't have a queen by his side, he was above that. But there were some ins and outs that he had taken. With His Ladyship's passing, the King stayed true to his word, taking in her young son, Kyle. This solved half of his issue of having an heir, and being able to pass on his knowledge and legacy to another.

Underneath King Johnathan's wing, lay a different, equally strange boy.

John was very young, maybe one, almost two, when the plagues had come and stolen his mother from him. Another trusted Lady in the King's cabinet, but she was no soldier. Instead, she was far from it, specializing in the arts. She had an eye for detail, coming in handy with cartography, but she spent her days specializing in weaving. Magnificent works of hers dotted the walls of the castle where they had stayed. Her very soul had been woven into the cloths of drapes, cloaks, carpets, or other royal items. She was known across the kingdom for it. And she had left behind a son with no father to his name.

While Kyle had taken after his mother in swordsmanship, the younger son, John, with an equally stupid nickname of Soap, had taken up artistry. Now, he had no hand for weaving, couldn't get himself to focus enough to stay still, but he had a very delicate eye for detail. He involved himself more in sketches, drawings and paintings, that kind of artwork, but that did not mean he wasn't skilled in other fields.

When you are the King's sons, he trains you to be the best. And you are the best.

Just above his private guard that he had dubbed the One-Four-One.

Soap never really knew why it was called that. Maybe it had something to do with ranks and numbers, or the certain kinds of people inducted into the knightly force. He didn't understand it. But he loved to watch the soldiers train beneath his window, how they sparred against each other, bloodthirsty and ruthless, yet not drawing a single scratch beneath the armor of their opposition. It was mesmerizing.

The clang of swords against another, the dull thunk of fists against leather, the sounds of battle enthralled him. While Gaz, his brother, was more interested in the actual battle, Soap took up a different skill.

A new development on the horizon, something that King Price had gotten his hands on early. Gunpowder.

Soap had discovered that when you set fire to it....

God, it was wonderful.

That's what actually set him into his father's good graces.

"You're zonin' out again, Soap, chin up." Gaz threw a pillow at him, snapping the man out of his thoughts.

"Ayeeee fock off fer once, Gaz, ah swear, ye can never mind yer own-" Soap threw the pillow back at him without noticing the door had opened, and the pillow smacked the King across the face. It fell limply as the boys scrambled to their feet.

"Sh- Sorry, Father, we didn't see you come in." Gaz tried to cover for him and Soap did his best to agree. Price frowned, and discarded it, kicking the pillow away.

"Boys... I'm not sure what I expected." The King's low voice grumbled as he looked around their room.

Two beds sat at opposite ends of the room, large wooden posts stretching from the floor at each corner of the bed, barely missing the high ceilings. The beds themselves were curtained in red velvet, a royal color, emblazoned with the royal family crest, something they had come to accept as their own. Their room was actually pretty messy, clothes strewn about from a trunk that Gaz was desperately trying to pack. In the morning, he and Price would travel to their soldiers to give a bit of an energy boost.

The war had turned wayside a fortnight ago, when the rain had slicked the mud too far down, locking the enemy in the high ground. They had lost many men to the waves of arrows fired from places they couldn't see or reach. The King had only returned yesterday to retrieve Kyle, and head out again.

The mood slipped from in between their fingers quicker than watery dirt, more oily than blood, as Price scratched his beard, scraggly and unshaven.

"We're leaving at dawn, son. I thought you'd be more prepared than...." His eyes scanned the room once more. "This."

Gaz's face went hot with embarrassment. "Yes sir, I was almost done, but- er- Johnny was helpin' me reorganize, sir, you know, to get more room-"

"I was! Gotta- gotta fit in those.... maps...." Soap internally punched himself for speaking up, but still stood at attention as the sunset blinded him.

Price sighed, weary with loss and exhaustion, but he didn't question it. Soap noticed then that the King was still wearing his uniform, splattered with mud around the boots, and many dark stains that he didn't want to imagine the grief that sank into the fabric. Johnny tugged at the end of his sleeve anxiously. A loose thread. Unravel.

Unravel.

Unraveling.

"Johnny!" Gaz snapped on front of his face and wideyed, Soap looked back up.

"Sorry- what-?"

"Did you not-" Price groaned into his fist before cooling it off. "Tomorrow you meet with Lady Laswell to discuss your duties in our absence. I fear we may be gone longer than we wish, and I want you to be prepared for anything. Can you handle that?"

Johnny nodded, puffing out his chest, like he was bigger than he actually was. More to be proud of. "Of course, sir."

Price tipped his head, a smile crossed his face, the first gentle thing in weeks. "I expect you to see us depart in the morning." He looked between the two of them. There was a deep emotion in his eyes, shrouded in shadow and blood.

It was pride and fondness, he'd realize later, that filled the thick silence, seeping from the King himself. There was a final nod of his head, and Price adjusted his hat. "Good night, boys."

"Good night, Father."

"Fare thee well, Dad!"

Price paused in the door, giving him an odd look. Soap just happily waved in response.

The door shut with a slight slam, as doors did back then.

Johnny was suddenly hit in the face with a pillow. Again.

"You dumbass, this is why I do the talking!! Now I'm gonna be scolded the entire ride there, Soap, why-" Gaz collapsed face first onto his bed, still grumbling to himself.

"Buzz off ye prick! At least ye get to go somewhere!" He tossed a couple things into the case.

"But maps? Maps!? That's the best you got!?" Gaz turned around, pushing himself out of his warm covers to finish packing his things.

"Maps are important, Kyle!" He threw a wad of paper at the man for good measure.

The morning came too quick.

Soap was unprepared. Gaz was not.

The older prince was already up and dressed by the time Johnny came to, pulling himself out of his restless slumber.

He wore a sage green top beneath his armor, the family crest riding on his breastplate. His pants were checkered, two different shades of brown, thick enough fabric that the illnesses of the battlefield wouldn't attach themselves to him as he set foot down. Was his hair neat enough? Did his hair have to be neat for battle? He didn't think so. It was too late, anyways.

The sun was rising.

"Johnny!" Gaz hissed. "Wake up!"

"'M awake, I am-!" Soap insisted, sitting up and almost falling out of bed in the process. "What....?"

Gaz tossed a shirt at him. "Get dressed, I think we're supposed to be in the courtyard already, we gotta go! Help me with my trunk-"

"Shite, hold on-" Soap stumbled out of bed, tugging on a shirt, and a hopefully decent pair of shorts. Trying to step into both of his shoes, he grabbed one end of the trunk. "C'mon, help me out!"

Gaz lifted the other end, and the brothers staggered out of the room.

Twenty minutes later, they had gotten it loaded up into the carriage, and now they waited on Price in silence. They dare not look at one another, their fear of sudden loss paralyzing.

Not once in twenty two years had the brothers been separated. Okay, maybe that wasn't entirely true, he means separated to this extent. No contact. Looming threat of danger and death, with a risk too great to comprehend.

Now of course, it could go completely fine. But they've seen enough to know that they wouldn't scrape by unscathed. Fate had too much on their shoulders, like the sky of Atlas, bearing down to force them to hold it.

The castle doors opened, and out walked the King. Guards stood at attention, and even the Sons stiffened in alert. He had worn his deep blue overcoat, hidden beneath the sheen and shine of his silver plated armor. His sword hung on a high belt at his side, the Price crest branded into the center of his chestplate. He wore no crown, a man, a soldier, with only titled above that. Titles were no savior in the face of an enemy, only more words that delayed your inevitable downfall by seconds.

You could tell by his stature that he was royal. Knightly, at least, his aura was powerful, confident. Unwavering, just like his loyalty. The king was a man of his word. He'd never leave one behind.

He stopped in front of his two sons, like he was taking in the sight. It was a somber experience, and Soap's heart was heavy with fears and sorrows he did not dare let escape the cavity of his chest.

His heels crunched on the rocks and gravel beneath them as he approached Soap first.

In a sharp move, the King had wrapped both arms around him in a proud embrace. Johnny fought to hide the tremor in his hands as he reached to return the gesture.

"Father-" His voice wavered and he swallowed nervously. The heated feeling in his stomach that twisted his intestines into knots was worse today than usual. Anxiety. Doubt. He hated it.

"Don't worry, son. We'll be back before the stress of the throne turns ya grey." Price whispered, giving him a rightful thump on the back.

"Ah'm not gonnae turn grey, old man. Ye take yer chances with it first." Johnny returned with a grin that didn't reach his eyes. The sun had barely crossed the horizon now.

Price took a few steps back. "Kyle, this is Sergeant Gary Sanderson. He's one o' the few soldiers we're taking with us. He'll be with you when I won't be. I trust you'll get to know 'im well." At his introduction, a soldier around their age stepped forward with a bow of his head.

He had brown hair that darkned at the root, with a crooked smile, and pale green eyes. The most noticeable thing about him was the jagged, forked scar that ran across his face, starting at the center of his cheek, drifting across his nose, dipping into his eyebrow, and settling beneath his eye. It was like some beast had raked a claw across his face, and Sanderson had don't no better to mind.

His eyes were soft, but hardened in a way that Soap only ever found in knights. War, he had decided, was the cause of that ravaged, rugged look. Not completely lost, not yet, but having seen just enough to prove themselves wrong.

Kyle introduced himself with a warm hand and a nervous smile. Price clapped him on the back, before giving Johnny a knowing look.

"Lady Laswell awaits you in the great hall. Try not to be upset with her." The King warned in a steely voice, plunging his heart even further.

What trouble had he gotten himself into now?

"Alright, soldiers, load up." Price commanded, and a few choice kmights began mounting horses, or loading themselves into carriages.

Except for Gaz.

"Don't do anything too reckless without me, brother." The eldest said with a lost laugh in his voice, avoiding eye contact.

Soap challenged this by giving him a bear hug. "How cannae? Yer takin' all the fun with ye!"

Gaz actually laughed this time, pulling away before giving him a serious look. "No, really, don't burn the castle down, okay? We only get one."

"Yesh, yeah." He waved him off. "Go kill some Shadows fer me, aye?"

"Expect nothing less, Soap!" He called as he climbed into the carriage, where the King awaited him.

He heard the horses begin to trot, and Johnny turned away.

He didn't watch them leave.

The mirror was broken. Not that it had been much of use, anyways. It was always thick with grime and dust. No one ever had enough time to clean it. The floorboards still creaked in the same way as when he was a squire, however long ago that seemed.

The bed groaned as Sanderson woke up. The crack in the window eased a breeze, blowing cold into their room. He rubbed a hand over his face in the dim lighting of the knights' quarters. Something shifted off to his left, startling him.

"Good mornin' to ya, Riley, scared the shite outta me-" The young man feigned a hand over his heart after practically jumping out of his skin as the Knight Lieutenant moved around in the shadows, getting ready for the day.

"Morning, Roach." He mumbled, a voice deeper than you'd expect for someone of his stature.

The Lieutenant was tall and built out, covered in scars from war and past fights. He often wondered how he got the majority of them, but had never chosen to ask. He was not a social person, but he still spared enough conversation to speak with Gary. So he counted that as a win.

Riley had light brown hair that reached past his shoulders, but most of the time he had it tied up behind his head, moving as he moved. He had only ever seen it cut short once, right after Sanderson himself had joined the ranks. He had been captured by the enemy during the very start of the war, before he had earned the legendary title of the Ghost. And they had cut his hair, a symbol of power, torn away forcibly by the enemy. He was one of Price's closest men, and something had broken inside of him by the time that he had gotten close enough for rescue.

But for now, it was at it's regular length, tied back behind his head, back behind the mask that concealed the lower half of his face.

If his sharp eyes could glow, Sanderson was very sure they would be doing so in the dark of the morning. It was one of the only noticeable features on his face, set aside the jagged scars that crisscrossed his crooked nose, broken one too many times in a fist fight.

The real terror was the black, painted fabric of a mask that the Knights Lieutenant wore. Covering the bottom of his nose, down to his chin, this was his casual day's wear. It was hand painted, a thick, nontoxic material, the same shade white as a bleached skull left out in the sun for too long.

You can understand his sudden fear, being the first sight he saw as he woke.

"Remember your orders, Sergeant. Wouldn't want you to miss that opportunity." Ghost muttered, standing to move out of his way.

Roach's eyes widened as he launched himself out of bed, grabbing a day shirt, and the chain he wore as armor. Sitting at the end of his bed, he struggled to pull on his shoes in his sleep muddled state. He could tell that the Lieutenant was conflicted between feeling jealousy, or pride. He had made Roach the knight that he was, but was worried at the outcome of this mission. They didn't know how long he would be gone, accompanying the King and the Crown Prince to the battlefield, the front lines. It was Roach's chance to prove himself. They both knew Ghost would've been better in this position, but still, it was his chance.

Ghost knew, of course, that the Sergeant would be great at it. It was a big deal. He was a great fit.

"Sword." The older man grunted, holding out the sheath that Roach had almost walked out without.

"Shite, thanks-" He fastened the sword to his side, pausing in the doorway. "Oh, and Riley-?"

The man stopped what he was doing and looked up. Roach gave him a smile. Soft, forgiving. Warning.

"Thank you, sir."

The sun crossed the horizon, and Riley was alone in the quarters again.

"So... Why's your name Roach?" Gaz asked, leaning closer to the silent knight in the carriage with him.

"Gaz..." Price mumbled, lifting a hand to try and ease his spout of questions.

"It's okay, sir, I don't mind! A lot of us in the Knights' Quarter have nicknames like that. Codenames, you know? In case somethin' goes wrong, we can still write letters without givin' away someone! It was the Lieutenant's idea." The Sergeant said with a shrug. He looked, and sounded, younger than Soap.

"My brother and I have something similar." Gaz said happily, not failing to notice how he had danced around the question, both answering it and not. He looked out the window, drumming his fingers on his leg excitedly. War was not something to be excited about, but he was eager to get out and do something, something good. "So I assume you've trained with Lieutenant Ghost?"

Meeting with Lady Laswell was.... expectedly unexpected. He had pushed away the thick feeling that gathered in his throat at the leave of his father and brother, the silence almost deafening the castle, making it seem colder than it usually was.

The great hall was quiet for once. It was a sight he didn't welcome. His steps echoed on the cold flooring, and he pulled his coat tighter around himself. The fires weren't lit, he noticed with a pang. At one end of the table sat the Lady, pouring herself over papers, scrolls, and maps. Her short hair was pulled back.

She was a progressive woman, motherly in an unmotherly way that he liked. He knew she had favored Gaz, as most did, but they still got along well. He enjoyed her. She wore pants, instead of skirts and dresses.

"Oh, Prince John, nice to have you finally join us." She was an older woman, older than Price, but not by a decade at most. Her face was lined, but not at a faraway look, with graying hair and piercing eyes. She was unmarried, but he saw the way she looked at the castle nurse, and the way their touches lingered.

He didn't judge in any way, was happy for her, silently. He didn't understand the attraction to women when the men were right there, but that sent him under a spiral of thoughts he was unprepared for.

He tipped his head in acknowledgement. "Lady Laswell, g'morn to ye."

She gave him a smile, and stepped away from the table. "This is Lieutenant Riley, but you can call him Ghost. Ghost, I believe you've met Price John....?"

She appeared to be speaking to no one, until he turned around, immediately facing a very tall man's chest, and he jumped back, surprised.

"Creepin' jesus, ye just sneak up like that? That's fockin'-"

"John."

"Sorry, ma'am." He smoothed himself over and took a step back. Soap stuck out a hand with a bit of a hesitant smile, before he faltered at the sight.

The knight was tall, bigger than him in almost every way. He had wideset shoulders, the crest of the castle worn on his over shirt. He wore executioner's gloves, it didn't match with his outfit, but Soap did not dare tell him that. He was... intimidating to say the least. But the most eye catching part about him was not his cold, fixed glare, but the mask he wore. The black fabric really tore everything else away. A distractor. It was painted so very realistically, the lower half of one's jaw, dried and whitened, he couldn't help but admire it.

His eyes were hidden, almost veiled beneath a black paint substance that glossed over his skin. The famed Lieutenant Ghost looked nothing like what he believed him to be.

Ghost eyed him coldly. "Close your mouth, your majesty." He looked up and away from him, clasping his gloved hands behind his back. "You'll catch flies."

#call of duty #cod mw2 #modern warfare 2 #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #incorrect quotes #ghostsoap #captain john price #alejandro vargas #alerudy #phillip graves #call of duty roach #kyle 'gaz' garrick #gary roach sanderson #kyle gaz garrick #joseph is alive but yall wont see him for a bit #könig is an executioner #Knight!Ghost #Prince!Soap #Prince!Gaz #kate laswell #King!Price #Knight!Roach #gazroach #ao3fic #world building #im so excited

[issybettyx]

Technoblade Zombie apocalypse au - inspired by scu (slimecicles cinematic universe)

—— // death mention, blood mention, neglect

Technoblade had forgotten most things from before the takeover.

He wasn’t sure if he’d had a family or friends, and if he did what had happened to them. He wasn’t sure if he’d had a stable job or somewhere warm to sleep in after a stressful day.

The man’s memory had never been the best.

But what he could remember was looking at a newspaper at 9:47am on a Monday morning, reading the words ‘Humans gone feral!’ In bold lettering, the words beneath it explaining how ‘Scientists are unsure the cause of this outbreak, and government officials are currently pondering over how to go about this. Is it truly the start of a real life zombie apocalypse?’

At the time, it had sounded absurd.

Zombie apocalypses were a made up story idea to scare kids under their blankets.

But in that moment, Techno couldn’t find it in himself to really… well, care.

If zombies took over, so be it, he’d strike them down where they stood if it took everything in him.

Most people found groups when everything got worse, when they were driven out of their home cities by hoards of groaning beings. It was nerve-wracking for most at first, to look into the glowing eyes of the undead as their feet dragged across the blood-soaked concrete. However, Technoblade made a point to travel alone, raiding a hunter’s shack and finding a sword hung on the wall, sharping it until it easily pricked blood from his fingertip.

Now he stood outside a bright white shack in the middle of the forest, eyebrows furrowed as he read the sign beside the door. The takeover was almost a year ago, and the man had survived with little struggle despite it all, pink haired tied back into a swinging ponytail as his blood red cloak flowed behind him, only a scar across his nose to prove he was a surviver.

The sign read ‘Government facility - Employees only’. Except, he had a feeling it didn’t really matter; with the world in the state it was, he’d be surprised if anyone had been inside it in the past 6 months.

The first hint something was wrong was the lack of familiar groaning.

The second hint was the building showed no signs of lack of upkeep, no vines weaving across the perfectly white walls, no rust on the door hinges, no cracked windows - in fact there were no windows at all.

Despite it all, and the terrible feeling in Techno’s gut he’d never ignored til now, he pushed the door open, being welcomed by a set of bright white stairs lit up perfectly by artificial lights. His muddied boots fell onto the clean tiles, leaving behind a red imprint as he walked down, faintly hearing the door shut behind him as he bit his lip to hid the uneasiness in his chest. Something was horribly wrong.

Or maybe he was overthinking the silence.

He ignored it.

When he reached the bottom of the stairs, he was met with an equally white circular room, a carpeted path leading in three different directions. He headed straight forward. The second door didn’t so much as squeak as it was pushed open, and he was met with a strangely decorated office. The walls were wooden, small trinkets on shelves that held no remnants of abandonment. On the desk, there was a picture frame with a severe lack of dust, and when Techno looked at it his eyebrows only furrowed further than they already were.

There were two boys, one hardly 17, the other possibly in his twenties. The younger had blonde fluffy hair, eyes squeezed shut as he grinned, attempting to swat away the hand in his hair. The older man was grinning too, but his brown eyes could be seen through thin slits between his eyelids, messy brown hair sitting akin to a mop on his head as he ruffled the kid’s hair, holding him close nonetheless.

Brothers, Techno’s mind supplied, and he hummed, gaze moving away from the frame and onto the book placed beside it, a pen resting next to it.

Only an ounce of hesitation was in his movements as he flicked the book open, eyes scanning the first page as he bit the inside of his cheek.

‘Day 1 of Project Ruby,

Tommy’s reluctance made me question it all, but years of work to go to waste? I think he understood my predicament, and he entered the portal no problem.

He returned not two hours later, out of breath with a bleeding bite mark on his arm. He’d said how he’d been surrounded by zombies? I don’t know why I entrusted a child to do something like this, because it’s so absurd he’d still be having such childish beliefs of zombies existing.’

Whoever wrote this seemed like a massive dickhead.

He turned a few pages ahead

‘Day 8 of Project Ruby,

I don’t know what to do with him. He’s been sobbing for days, insisting that zombies will have broken through the other portal he saw. At first, I was so resolute on him lying, he used to do this all the time when he was 12, but now I’m not so sure. Recent government reports state they’ve seen ‘feral’ humans wandering the streets trying to bite people, and now the idea doesn’t seem to farfetched.

Tommy’s bite has been healing, but he’s growing tired and the scratching on the door has died down.

I hope he forgives me.’

Something made Techno look back to the frame, and he decided whoever was writing these entries must’ve been the older one, making Tommy the probably 16 year old in the frame.

They seemed happy.

But the man had sent his brother to another world, bringing the infection to Earth and locked his brother in a room, ignoring his cries from his own selfishness.

Knowing most scientists, he didn’t want to be wrong.

Most importantly, he probably didn’t want to be the cause for such a catastrophic event.

In that moment, Techno decided he didn’t like the man one bit.

‘Day 11 of Project Ruby,

The first city has been taken over by a hoard.

Tommy was right.

Dad was right too, in a way. I remember years ago he told me ‘Wil, your confidence and hunger to change the world will be the death of you’, and he said it in such a joking tone I never truly took his advice. Instead of listening to him, I listened to myself, and I’ve fucked us, I’ve fucked the world and all I can do is sit and watch it go up in flames.

I hope my brothers are proud of me.’

Brothers?

But there was only one.

Techno’s thoughts were interrupted by the office door slamming open, and in the doorway stood the brown haired man, eyes wide as he stared at Technoblade, mouth open as he tried to get a word out, but he stayed silent as he stared.

“You’re fucked up you know that?” Techno asked dully, raising an eyebrow at the man who… who was starting to tear up. The scientist who’d sent his brother to another world, only to bring an infection back with him. The scientist who refused to be wrong, to satiate his own want to be a good person.

He was tearing up, and Techno could only stare, eyebrows knitted as he tried to figure it out.

“Techno?” Was what the man said, and that is what made Techno’s thoughts pause.

“How do you know my name?”

“Tech I-“ the scientist started, not taking his eyes from him as he shut the door behind him, only making Techno’s anxiety rise because he had no way out. He was stuck in an admittedly small room with a maniac. And he could only stare. “I’m so sorry. I- we tried to find you, but you’d gone, and it was so scary to be without you and I- I-“

“Listen man,” Techno cut in, ignoring the stream of tears on the other’s face as he sighed, “Whatever sob story you have to justify this,” he said, pointing at the book on the desk with a scowl, “Might’ve worked on that brother of yours, but it won’t work on me, so let me go before this becomes a problem.” His hand itched for the sword on his hip, and the man simply stared, tears still falling as he struggled for words.

“I did it for you, Techno,” he tried, and he laughed because it was the stupidest excuse he’d ever heard for killing most of the population. Say you’ve done it for the person stood there, despite having zero clue who they are? There was a chance the man had heard of Techno through stories, stories of The Blood God, Technoblade, the man who’d slaughtered thousands of zombies without so much as a thought beforehand. Maybe he was trying to get on Techno’s good side, to not be another one of the man’s victims. “You said I would change the world one day, and I tried, so hard. I just- I didn’t expect this.”

Okay but that wasn’t right.

Techno had never spoken to this man, never seen his messy brown hair or his pleading burgundy eyes. He’d never seen the freckles that danced across his face, despite the horribly familiarity that came with them as if he’d spent days and nights memorising the patterns as if they were constellations in the sky.

“I don’t even know you, I’ve never spoken to you, it’s a terrible excuse and you know it.” Techno insisted, drawing his sword and pointing it at the other. “You can’t justify killing the population, along with your brother, by saying a stranger believed in you. I don’t think you’re mentally okay mate.”

That seemed to shut him up, thankfully. The scientists mouth was clamped shut, but the tears only fell faster no matter how hard he tried to stop them, squeezing his eyes shut as he pulled his hands into shaky fists at his sides.

“Techno,” he stuttered out, holding down a sob after he spoke. Techno scoffed, rolling his eyes. “It’s me, Wilbur.”

“That doesn’t help you very much now does it.”

“You’re my twin brother, Tech.”

The room fell silent.

Techno had many thoughts in that moment.

But the main one was loud, screaming and yelling and kicking at the forefront of his mind.

He was angry.

“You killed my brother?” His words were harsh, red eyes piercing as Wilbur flinched, cried escaping him as he fell to the ground, head shaking side to side. “You killed my brother and you want to sit here and blame me?!”

“Tommy isn’t dead!” Wilbur got out between sobs, burying his head in his knees as he rocked himself back and forth. “He isn’t dead! He was bit, but he never died, he’s in a room down the hall-“ Techno didn’t wait to hear anything else, pushing past the sobbing man and picking a random hallway, looking at every door before finding a red one.

He immediately knocked, loud enough that it echoed through the building and he was worried the sound alone would break the door down. The only reply that came was a sniffle.

The door was kicked down before any logical thoughts could change his mind.

There, huddled in a ball in the corner of a bed, blue eyes peeking over his knees as he looked at the door, was Tommy.

Only then did Techno remember them, the sight of those blue eyes all too familiar as he looked back at them.

Memories of school plays, watching the kid jump across stage with a wide smile across his face that Techno couldn’t help hut return.

Memories of violin performances, Tommy’s hand carefully guiding the bow across the strings as he smiled, looking at Techno and Techno alone.

Memories of being tugged into family photos at the dinner table, Tommy tugging his arm towards him so they were side by side, their Dad - Phil, his mind offered - taking the photo as Wilbur covered his grin with his hand.

Techno was running across the room immediately, tugging the boy into a hug, pulling him closer with every sob the boy gave out, hushing him with quiet reassurances as he cried.

“I’m here,” he insisted, rocking the boy in his arms as he rested his chin on the boy’s head, “I’m here now, you’re safe, Techno’s got you.”

“I- I thought-“ Tommy got out between cries, and just hearing his voice brought tears to Techno’s eyes, tears he pushed down immediately so he could focus on the shaking boy in his arms, “I thought you’d died. Wil said you’d died.”

Of course he fucking did.

“What’s the one thing I always promised?” Techno asked quietly, muttering into the boy’s hair as he cried, clinging onto Techno’s shirt like a life-line.

“You promised you’d teach me fencing.”

At that, Techno laughed, pulling back just enough to see the boy’s face, holding his cheek in one hand and wiping away the tears, Tommy’s blue eyes blinking back at him.

“The one other thing I promised.”

“Technoblade never dies.”

He hummed back, holding the boy tighter. “That’s right, and I’m here now, and I’m going to get you out of here, alright?”

“But I’m infected- I’m-“

“And apparently have been for a year, you’ll be okay, we’ll be okay.” Techno tried, feeling the grip on his shirt only tighten. “Okay?”

“Okay.”

#dream smp #mcytblr #technoblade #wilbur soot #tommyinnit #bedrock bros #neolapitan trio #zombie apocolypse au #scu #slimecicle cinematic universe

[strawberryfemmesapphic]

A Coven Shrouded In Violets

Summary: “I was sent to kill you…now you’re my only hope”

Wren is the only female of her hunting party, and after her sisters death her mother is much more overbearing and critical. When a hunt goes terribly wrong and Wren is betrayed by those she calls her kin, she is saved by Astrid, the prickly witch who Wren now owes a life debt to. The two must journey to the Council of Witches to destroy the poison the witches will send out into the world.

Their feelings are bound to get in the way when magic and dark forests are involved, but can they really betray everything they both stand for just for love?

Chapter One

The loud gong of bells fills my ears as I stand in the cathedral with the other witch hunters, heads held high and arms at our sides. I beam with pride in my heart, my face stern on the outside, as the priest places a stringed necklace around my neck, the same one around the other hunters' necks. Leith nudges at me with his elbow.

“If you smile, I bet your mom would go insane,” he whispers so low his voice tickles my ear. My gold eyes flick up to the pulpit where my mother stands still as a pillar, her stringed necklace covered in both large and small horns: witches' horns.

Mother was the first female witch hunter of her generation, and she’s trained my sister and I to be the best hunters in the village. Hazel passed during a hunting trip, mother didnt even mourn her or go to the funeral. I touch the dark green crystal tied to its cord under my shirt, the crystal I wear for my sister, so she is always with me.

…

"Congratulations Wren. " my mother's voice fills my ears as she stands next to me in the training field.

“Thank you,” my voice equally emotionless. I no longer like to celebrate with her after Hazel’s death. She hands me a knife, “On your first hunt, use this” she says simply and walks back home with her horned necklace clinking in the harsh wind.

…

Two sunrises later, Leith and I stand with our hunting party of a hundred men. Tall, burly men with beards and tattoos. I stand next to them, also muscular but without tattoos. My mother and our lead trainer, Gajiel, stand at the large gate protecting our village from the dangerous forests, and my mother speaks.

“You will be sent out into the forests and will be tasked with going up the mountain east of here and killing the Witches Council before they can have their revenge meeting,” everyone looks around and whispers to each other, confused. We all knew we’d have to kill a witch coven, but not an entire council of different types of witches!

Gajiel holds his hand up and we all stop our chatter, “If one of you betrays your party, the stringed necklaces we gave you will choke you and die”

“What the hell!?” Leith shouts, “Are you wanting to get us killed!?”

“You go out as a family, you die as a family” is all our trainer says before he opens the gates and lets us out into the wilderness.

#creative writing #wlw #fantasy #enemies to lovers #friends to lovers #witches #romance #slow burn #wattpad author

[gillianthecat]

Why Vegas' violations of Pete's boundaries makes me go oooh, tell me more... instead of yikes!

A continution of my rambling thoughts on boundaries and consent in BL:

There are plenty of boundary violations that would be horribly disturbing in real life but I really enjoy in fiction. Like all of Vegas and Pete's relationship in KinnPorsche. Electrocuting someone's genitals! Chaining them up in your basement! These are objectively terrible things to do to someone, so bad that the term "boundary violation" is a comical understatement. I'm sure for many people this was disturbing and unappealing and meant they were unable to enjoy this story arc. Which is fine! As I said these things are so personal.

But for me, Vegas torturing Pete gets me to lean in and ask what happens next, while the objectively less disturbing Sky insisting on giving Jao a ride makes me want to immediately nope out of the story.

Let me think about why the torture doesn't bother me. It's an extreme example, but maybe will help me figure out in general which boundary violations I like and dislike in general.

I think in this case a lot of it has to do with the tone and framing of story. Kinnporsche is a hyperviolent mafia thriller. If I'm buying into the story I'm already buying into extreme violence and expecting that all the main characters will be doing horrible things. I'm not connecting it to my reality in a way I do a more realistic university setting, so my tolerance for disturbing behavior is higher.

Another thing is that the torture is not done in the pursuit of romance. I think I'm more willing to buy a romance after one of the characters violates the other if the violation is not done for the sake of sex or romantic pursuit. I was going to say that Vegas is just doing his job, which would make it not about Pete, and mean that I am more willing to see them move past this violation.

Which I think is true about how I feel in general for violations that come out of some external purpose, but in this specific case, Vegas is not actually doing his job, he's basically throwing a temper tantrum and taking it out on Pete. Which also somehow doesn't bother me? I think that's partly due to the alternative reality of the mafia thriller genre (emphasized through mood lighting, music and camera angles). This I think does two things for me, it builds suspension of disbelief, and it also tells me that what's going on is fucked up and doesn't pretend otherwise. I think I get most annoyed at fucked up relationship dynamics when it seems the story is trying to tell me they're sweet and gentle. If the story says, "this is fucked up and unhealthy, let's see where it goes," my response is "great! I'm all in."

Another factor is that despite being tied up, Pete doesn't actually feel like a less powerful character than Vegas. Why doesn't Pete feel less powerful? A lot of that again is how the scene is staged and shot. Pete is laughing at Vegas and doesn't look cowed. I'd have to rewatch to get into specifics, but the way the actors are shot and edited makes them feel equal to one another.

Additionally, Pete as a character seems to me enough like Vegas' equal in their world that I can see them as equals even in the torture scene. Pete voluntarily joined the mafia world. He has also killed and tortured people. Although Vegas is heir to the second family, in some ways Pete has more power because he works for the first family. Pete could and would kill Vegas if told to. He went into the minor family manor willingly and aware that he could be tortured and killed. So all of the these things make me feel less like Vegas is fundementally more powerful than Pete, and more like the power imbalance is temporary and can easily be changed.

This is a very individual interpretation! Obviously it's what the show wants us to see, but each viewer is going to weigh and add up all the different factors of their relationship and have their own response of where it falls on the hot! - fascinating! - tolerable - yikes! spectrum.

With complicated characters like Vegas, I think a lot of each viewer's response comes down to their own particular arithmetic of weighing up everything we're shown about them. If we decide we like them as a character we then tend to de-emphasize or semi-ignore what disturbs us. I'm thinking in particular about Vegas' attack and sexual assault on Porsche, which on its own I find very yikes! and disturbing. But because I like or at minimum tolerate most of the rest of what I see of him, my brain kind of ignores or de-emphasizes that.

#thoughts on consent and boundary violations in bl #vegaspete #my ramblings #kinnporsche #kinnporche the series #vegas theerapanyakul #pete saengtham

[thrilling-oneway]

idk why but sekai fans who exclusvley like the male characters is a red flag, statistically speaking at least one of your top 4 characters would be not them

i'm not entirely sure what prompted this ask but yeah i agree with you anon. having them as your top 4 is certainly a decision that reads a certain way. like i get there's some people who probably totally innocently are boys oshis but on the other hand it can be outright misogyny, especially if you only like the boys.

it's weird how despite this being a mixed gender game, specifically for the purpose of inclusivity, that people still very much try to box the characters? how to put this... i think some people, mainly on twitter, have a hard time viewing the characters as equals. like there was a whole thing on twitter about a month ago where people were going "if your fave character is one of the boys then you're not a real prsk fan" or something along those lines, and it's like. i get that male characters are generally more popular because of misogyny (not calling the individual who likes a male character a misogynist but women in fiction have been treated terribly compared to men for millenia and the misogyny here lies within patriarchal standards still embedded in the media industry) and i get that it's frustrating for women in particular and especially since there are only 4 boys in project sekai. but the thing is the characters' genders aren't important. i said a while ago that outside of mizuki whose arc is tied to their gender identity, it's rarely brought up. the whole reason there are both girls and boys in the game is for a wider appeal because vocaloid is for everyone. none of the characters are treated differently because of their gender in the story. the men aren't considered any more important than the girls, they are treated on an equal level.

boom

in addition to that, out of universe, the writers very clearly treat the characters as equals. all of them have the same levels of effort and quality put into their stories and character arcs, how people view those arcs is up to them. no character is objectively better than another.

here's the thing. if people don't like the presence of female characters then y'know, maybe they should take a step back, think about why that is, and also not play project sekai. if people don't like the presence of male characters, there's not any issue there, but also don't play project sekai, there's plenty of similar all-female games out there that they'll probably enjoy more than one with men in it.

funny how the game can treat the characters equally regardless of gender and doesn't even view gender as something that defines the characters yet the fandom constantly brings it up as a way to divide the characters be it because they're trying to make a point about being progressive or because they're a misogynist

anyway that's my two cents. vocaloid is for everyone, opinions are subjective, and the patriarchy should burn and take all misogynists with it. gender shouldn't define how people are treated and project sekai seems to agree.

#it's really interesting actually how not even base miku who's like. basically god. is treated equally to the others. #she doesn't view herself as being more important than anyone else. nor do the other default vocaloids. #this didn't need to be longer than one sentence i think. oh well #asks #i think they should do more with the topic of gender tbh. it's not something i really expect to see brought up outside of like d4.dj but id #would be nice to see it maybe brought up outside of mizuki #bring up the topic of gender roles or something. could be interesting #project sekai