#sunstrokers

[ithacantrickster]

homesick Odysseus hours

[bbbbbbbbatman]

Please picture with me an au where clark and bruce go to high school together and clark is the golden retriever jock and bruce is the wet cat goth and they are inexplicably best friends and bruce can occasionally be seen grumpily sitting in the bleachers with as little skin showing as possible, squinting in the bright sunlight to watch clark's football practice

[lostwhump]

@whumptober | Day #5: "Sunstroke" Gladiator (2000)

[semis-arts-n-asks]

dude i am SO ready for demo 4

[oldschoolfrp]

The Little Sisters of Purification, space marine chapter from Roger Hamlin's scenario "Sunstroke" in Challenge #36, "GDW's Magazine of Futuristic Gaming," 1988, illustrated by Tim Bradstreet.

Early White Dwarf had run many articles about Traveller; here GDW returns the favor in their own magazine that was a successor to The Journal of the Traveller's Aid Society. This "refereed Warhammer: 40,000 scenario for a small unit of Space Marines and opponents" is just one example of the highly imaginative directions players were taking 40K in the Rogue Trader days. This one has a lot of backstory and suggested modeling to run it as written -- 15 space marines from a new chapter, 20 Jokaeros (one of whom actually is a vampire in disguise), and an ancient Slann base on an asteroid protected by forcefields inside a sun.

[reddogcollar]

them again. cadmium is a lot more wary of things than carmine. she'd rather read up on animals and plants they haven't seen before while carmine would be happy with hands on experience

[clownery-and-fuckery]

Drabble!!!!! I hate the heat

They trudged back to the ship, weary and sweaty. Wrecker's groans of how tired he was had faded into something more quiet, more subdued.

Tech began to feel similar, the stifled heat worse with his helmet still firmly on his head. The others had long since shed as much of their armour as they could, sweat rolling down their faces.

Even Echo complained about the warmth.

Once the cool recycled air of the Marauder hit them, they breathed a breath of relief, until Hunter remembered why they had to backtrack, and whirled around on their recently saved brother, Crosshair.

Tech winced, feeling the argument rising, and he glanced to Omega, who pressed herself into his damp leg, clinging to the sweaty material.

He cleared his throat. "Come along, Miss Omega," Tech encouraged, voice oddly stilted. "I need to check the hull for damage."

The young girl nodded, following her brother outside. He grabbed his toolbox on the way, and took his time once he returned to the blazing sunlight.

He felt sluggish as he examined the hull, forgetting himself and his company as his head began to bother him, a piercing pain ringing just at the front of his forehead.

His hands fumbled, the tool he thought he had a good grip on slipping from his sweat slicked palm, falling with a dull thump to the grass.

Omega watched it, then looked cautiously up at her brother. "Tech?" She called.

His usual quick response was delayed, and he looked over too quickly. He had to swallow a wave of world spinning nausea, feeling his stomach churn and throat close.

His head began to pound, brain telling him something, but he couldn't understand it.

He must have been staring, because Omega called for him again. "Yes?" He replied, voice oddly stuffed and sounding too loud to his own ear.

His sister hesitated. "You were just.. staring," She looked worried. "For a few minutes– are you okay? Should I go get Hunter?"

Hunter, who was still yelling at Crosshair even though the beatings of the sun was more severe than their enemies? No- no, their older brother was far too busy to deal with Tech's simple staring problem—

"Tech?" Omega's voice was louder. "You're not listening to me- I'm going to get someone."

He opened his mouth to tell her no, stay put, I am fine—

He blinked heavily once, twice, and found his knees buckling under the harsh heat of the day.

"Tech?!" Omega's voice was faraway, concerning but the blissful numbness he felt was a lovely contrast from the horrid churn of his gut or the swirl of vomit lodged at the base of his throat.

He heard another full thump as his helmeted head collided roughly with the forest floor, but nothing more as his eyes drifted shut.

[sasomienspegel]

there is nothing more dangerous than what is repressed and hidden, what remains inside.

— Emilia Pardo Bazán, Insolación

[ask-tay-relic]

Out and about for Appointments for my partner! Mostly putting this due to this hellish heatwave so if I'm quiet for awhile that means I got sunsick and am bedridden for a few days!

[circuslollipop]

umm anyways. lothstons and whents having sensitivity to the sun. not like theyll literally turn into dust in direct sunlight, but sometimes they may feel faint if theyve been standing in direct sun for too long. a couple have even swooned or collapsed. often lothston or whent courtiers are seen with parasols, veils, wide-brimmed hats, or helms for knights. danelle is rarely, if ever seen outside harrenhal during the day

[eurovision-song-bracket]

Songs from the 2010s

2014 - “Rise Like a Phoenix” by Conchita Wurst (Austria)

2010 - “Run Away” by Sunstroke Project & Olia Tira (Moldova)

[radioactivepeasant]

Snippets: Free Day Thursday

Adopted Dadmas: Dadmas versus Haven

The red light was blinking on Jak’s talk-box again. Damas was no fool, he knew that meant someone was spying through the floating comm -- or attempting to. Doubtless, the eavesdropper thought they were being very subtle, keeping silent whenever adults were present. As if they believed Jak would keep their presence a secret. As if they believed he would never tell.

Damas tore a circle of flatbread into pieces and used them to scoop a mixture of cooked peppers onto his plate. He pretended not to notice the talk-box hovering next to Jak’s elbow in a terrible attempt at stealth, instead choosing to engage Daxter in a conversation. He was determined to get the kid apprenticed to the head of the merchant guild one way or another. Daxter had a head for business and trade that Jak, simply put, did not. He nodded along when his friend talked, but privately Damas thought it would do Daxter good to be around adults who could encourage his interests.

Periodically, Jak cast swift glances at his talk-box during the meal. He seemed like he was expecting someone to speak at any moment -- or more like he was expecting orders of some kind. His shoulders were tense, and he was shoveling down food much too quickly, like he thought he wasn't going to have time to finish it.

"Slow down, young one. The shrimp isn't going anywhere, and neither are you," Damas admonished.

Jak didn't slow down much, but he did start chewing a little more thoroughly. Small victories. Still, he looked tired, and on-edge. Had Ashelin or the sage been badgering him again when no one was around?

The initial idea had been to lay a trap. To feign ignorance and bait the spy into speaking aloud, thus forcing Unpleasant Diplomatic Discussions with Haven's motley assortment of would-be leaders. But just now, Damas decided, the health and wellbeing of his son took precedence over strategy. And he still had the element of surprise, anyway.

"Talk-boxes off at the table, Jak," he announced, gesturing directly to the lens watching them, "This is a meal, not a media interview."

The boy flinched and looked guilty. He had no reason to; he'd been open with Damas about the demands for labor since he first returned from Haven. But then, he'd been groomed from such a young age to believe that bad things happened because he didn't work hard enough for his "friends". Perhaps he still feared retaliation for establishing healthy boundaries? Better to confront the issue head-on then, Damas decided.

"If your uninvited watcher has an emergency, they are free to petition me directly," he said, leveling a stern glare at the talk-box. "On their own time, not yours. Come on, switch it off."

Someone made a muffled sound, barely picked up by the talk-box's speaker. It seemed they were not expecting to be so casually acknowledged.

"Jak-!" the watcher tried to protest, but Jak reached for the power button.

"Right. Sorry, Pa."

Once the light had faded from the little camera, Damas nodded, satisfied. He picked up a shallow bowl with tomango in it and held it out to Jak.

"Here. You need the vitamins."

Begrudgingly, Jak took two slices, then a third when Daxter gave him The Look across the table.

The ottsel cleared his throat meaningfully.

"Pal, you gotta get better at telling those people no. They can't hurtcha!"

Jak hunched over his plate, frowning.

"I know," he muttered sullenly. "I- I do know that, okay? They just don't listen!"

Daxter sighed and his ears drooped. "Yeah...I know. Old Greenstuff only hears what he wants to hear. Always has."

With a frustrated groan, Jak rubbed his eyes. "After everything he's done, I shouldn't be having trouble cutting Samos off. Why do I keep going back?!"

"He's familiar," Daxter admitted, and not without a touch of loathing. "He was all we knew for like, our whole lives. I hate him -- I'll always hate him -- but I get being afraid to lose that last connection to Sandover."

"....yeah." Jak winced. "I um...I think you're right. It's just. It's hard."

"I know, pal."

"And he knows I have two artifacts that go with those weird pillars in the forest!" Jak continued, "What do I do when he starts asking why I haven't brought them?"

"You end the call," Damas interrupted firmly, "or you give the line to an older Wastelander. Collecting those relics serves the interests of our people, and our people will be working in teams to locate them."

Perhaps this was Jak’s fight as much as anyone else's -- this Daystar and its coming threat -- but Damas was reluctant to involve him. Wasn't losing one son bad enough? He'd never survive losing a second one!

Besides, even someone as talented at sneaking into hidden places as Jak couldn't infiltrate places locked by the Seal of Mar. Whatever the Grand Council of Haven wanted with the catacombs, it was a matter for Damas to deal with, not the boys.

Jak picked at his tomango slices almost glumly. Whether it was his own struggles with setting boundaries that bothered him, or Damas’s advice for dealing with future calls, no one knew. But Daxter and Damas both knew that Jak wouldn't keep it bottled up for long. Sure enough, after a couple minutes of mangling his food without eating it, Jak finally looked up.

"You didn't tell me you were sending other people to look for the relics I told you about."

It was almost a question and almost a complaint.

"No, I didn't," Damas acknowledged, and sipped his tea. "The topic hadn't come up between us yet. Is there something about it that concerns you?"

Jak had difficulty putting his thoughts into words. He started and stopped three times before muttering, "It's dangerous. What if someone gets hurt and I'm not there?"

"What if someone doesn't get hurt and you're not there?" Damas countered. He leaned an elbow on the table and gestured to himself almost self-deprecatingly. "Age does not grace the Spargan who is careless, nor are many years added to the foolish. Do not worry so much about people who were hunting metalheads for sport before you were even born, son."

"Admittedly," said Daxter, "We're still getting used to the concepts of adults who can actually fight their own battles. Am I complaining? Only when they decide it's "Take Your Ottsel To Work Day". But even I still go into jobs expecting to have to save everyone's butts at some point."

"Justified with the monks." Jak pointed a piece of tomango at his best friend.

"Yeah, justified with Mime Club."

Damas threaded his fingers together under his chin and watched the boys a moment.

"How about this," he offered, "If an artifact is located but not yet retrieved, I will give you the option of participating in the mission. Or, you can wait until everything has been gathered, and we will go to the pillars together."

For a moment, Jak brightened. Then he looked pensive again. "What if there's trouble? I mean. I was never really- I never claimed Haven, but they act like I belonged to them. What if me bringing another nation into their forest makes trouble for Spargus?"

"Hmph. Perhaps it is better to settle this now, rather than engage in hypotheticals."

Damas held out one hand.

"Give me your talk-box."

Jak narrowed his eyes. "What are you going to do?"

"Not your concern."

"Papá...." somehow Jak managed to sound both suspicious and scolding.

Damas remained unmoved. "Hand it over, boy."

Reluctantly, Jak did so. He cringed when the device powered on, and Keira's voice poured out.

"Jak? Are you okay? Daddy came in fussing about someone interfering with- you're not Jak! Where's my friend?!"

By the mortified expression on his son's face, Damas guessed this was the sage's daughter. The childhood friend Jak still sort of had a crush on.

"Tell your father to stop harassing my son," Damas said shortly. "Especially during hours set aside for family meals. Was he raised in a barn? In fact, ask him that for me."

"Pa, no!" Jak hissed, making a futile grab for the talk-box.

"Your son?! Who are you? Who- hey, Daddy, c'mere. You know this guy? He says he's Jak’s dad!" Keira became muffled for a moment, stepping away from her own device to drag her father over. "Why's this guy think you're harassing Jak? We've only called him twice since he left. Right?"

"Insisting he keeps his comm on at all times so that you can all monitor every moment of his day is not an acceptable use of Federation communication lines," Damas cut in. "I shouldn't have to tell you that spying on the nation of Spargus in such a way could be taken as an act of war."

"This-! This is bigger than Haven or the Wastelands!" Samos sounded flustered- even a bit nervous. "Surely you understand the claim destiny has upon Ja-"

Damas made a dismissive sound in his throat, cutting the sage off. "Pah. Destiny. I should think the recent Praxis regime and my own continued existence would be enough to call concepts such as destiny into question. As it stands, my claim on Jak supersedes "destiny" -- or more accurately, you."

"The fate of the planet hangs in the balance!" Samos cried, though somewhat subdued compared to his usual confidence. "Can't you see that?! Don't be so bullheaded, Jak is needed-"

Jak recognized the glint in the king’s eyes as mischief. Daxter looked a little too eager to see where this was going. Jak resisted the urge to cover his face in embarrassment. Why and oh why did Keira have to be the one to answer the line?!

"Oh? Are you planning to challenge me for custody of my son?" Damas bared his teeth in an unfriendly smile. "Please, by all means! The Arena is ready whenever you are."

"Pa!" Jak gripped the sides of his head and stared at the man. "Not in front of Keira!"

"Look, old man-" Damas ignored Daxter's delighted cackle. "This planet will survive through united efforts, not by sitting back and hoping one boy alone will get the job done. Now, if Haven wishes to negotiate a temporary alliance to get this done sooner, there is no one stopping them from requesting a meeting with the Wasteland Federation. In the meantime, the Federation intends to continue preventing the apocalypse with or without your participation."

"You are?" Keira cut in over her father again, sounding genuinely curious. "You mean there's more people who can get into ruins?"

Jak got up and moved to the head of the table. Damas moved the talk-box out of his reach preemptively, but Jak made no move to grab it.

"That's their whole thing, turns out. You know Krew? Yeah, everything he sold you, he bought from Wastelanders. Even the defunct power cells."

The slightly warped image of Keira on the screen flickered as she leaned closer.

"Seriously?! I could've cut out the middleman and just worked with them all this time?! Ughhhhh. Hindsight is 20/20 I guess. You want to show them my research from the palace library?"

Behind her, Samos jumped. "The what?! Keira, the library was destroyed with the rest of the palace!"

"The building collapsed, sure," Keira retorted, "But the data cores are still mostly intact in there. If you don’t mind crawling through some tight places and bringing lots of Scout Flies, it's a cinch to get the files for Vin."

Samos looked apoplectic. "Keira! That's far too dangerous for you!"

His daughter rolled her eyes. "What? Jak and Daxter can do it but I can't? Don't you trust me?"

Damas stifled a chuckle and elbowed Jak. "I like this one," he whispered. "Invite her to Spargus sometime."

Jak wished the floor would swallow him.

[alexturntable]

Do you remember the first time you met each other?

[inkoherentwriting]

For that '3 sentence au' thingy: The Germains & your HoK for a coffee shop AU XD (coffee shop AUs are one of my faves XD)

(Prompt from this post.)

"We're the only coffee shop in the Chorrol area who serves grande, venti, and large-sized cups." Reynald scoffed quietly from Guilbert's right side.

"Oh hush." Guilbert leaned against the counter, hoping to pop his stiff back before another customer came in. "She's one of our regulars, Reynald, the least you could do is not mock her for ordering--"

Reynald stood up, holding a small box of extra creamers and sugar packets. "A café lives on its reputation, Guil. If some high price snob comes in here and sees that we serve Miss Old MacDonald her 'large' coffee, they're going to write a sour review of the Two Brothers. And then we're done for!" Guilbert's back popped; but that was not why he groaned as he stood back up. Reynald meant well-- ever since he had begun staying sober he took the café as seriously as Guilbert did. It was simply that he focused too much on the nitty little details.

Besides, Guilbert felt he had to defend their customer. Every day it was open Miraina Rusonius was in the Two Brothers' coffee shop ordering a 'large' hazelnut latte and two of whatever pastry they had baked that morning. She'd sit in a corner, quietly, reading or watching people pass by. (Though rarely Guilbert had the feeling she was watching him instead.)

"Just because she doesn't know a difference between venti or grande doesn't mean we should mock her. She brings her friends in here too-- which is better business than any snob." Guilbert said, smiling at Miraina when their eyes happened to meet from the opposite ends of the room. She smiled back warmly but ducked her head down quickly at what she was reading.

"Or maybe--" Reynald startled Guilbert by jabbing him in the arm. "You're defending her because you've grown soft for someone who clearly loves you."

"Me?" Guilbert stammered. "And not my wonderful coffee-making skills? Surely you jest, Reynald." But he felt his face warm and knew he'd be teased for it later. "I... she. She just knows a good coffee shop when she sees it."

"Sure." Reynald only smirked after that and Guilbert wanted to hit his brother at least a little.

[hashtag-dads]

Guess what came early!!!!!!!! :3

[pixelfangs]

beach date YAYY 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩