@samuraiko absolutely go ahead, that would be so cool!
I just like to think about Caleb, in the future, living in a little townhouse in Rexentrum. Full of arcane trinkets, and spell components and the jacket Beau forgot when she came round for dinner. Walls plastered with Jester and Luc’s drawings, cat beds everywhere, traditional heavy Zemnian blankets from Astrid and spiralling crochet throws clearly from Xhorhas and cushions Kingsley found amusing in various markets on a squidgy leather sofa and mismatched armchairs. An extension into the garden with a little classroom in it, papers never quite contained to a study full of books and a coat rack in the hallway that’s constantly in use. A hundred different teas in the cupboard and recipes scribbled in different hands on the backs of all different stained pages. The little garden with planters of veg and pots of herbs and a sun-bleached wooden bench and forget-me-nots growing along the fence. A spare room that’s never vacant long enough to gather dust. Marks in the floor from Fjord repeatedly forgetting he wasn’t on a ship and the vase Yasha is always refilling. Thank you cards and gifts from students - carved cat figurines and mugs and silly little jokes. A feather of Kiri’s on a beaded chain she made. Books and books and books, bought by himself and others on every topic under the sun.
A house where he can finally be surrounded by and reminded of all the lives Caleb touched.
he’s the lord of a city state. he's sold his soul multiple times. the goddess of knowledge called him a crazy fucker. he’s a huge hypocrite. he’s the closest you can get to an atheist having met gods. he speaks the language of angels. he created a new form of weaponry. he was possessed for several years before anyone noticed. he’s (arguably) among the best depictions of untreated mental illness. he’s unable to say no to his children. he tried to fight the goddess of death. he is the most character to ever.
hey sorry we put your players in a time loop. yeah they can only win by learning, and they can only learn by playing. yeah grant o’brien is carboloading next to their podiums. yeah they know that x equals 8 so y must equal 6. no they can’t use the ladder. yeah now they’re doing the wenis. sorry.
I just like to think about Caleb, in the future, living in a little townhouse in Rexentrum. Full of arcane trinkets, and spell components and the jacket Beau forgot when she came round for dinner. Walls plastered with Jester and Luc’s drawings, cat beds everywhere, traditional heavy Zemnian blankets from Astrid and spiralling crochet throws clearly from Xhorhas and cushions Kingsley found amusing in various markets on a squidgy leather sofa and mismatched armchairs. An extension into the garden with a little classroom in it, papers never quite contained to a study full of books and a coat rack in the hallway that’s constantly in use. A hundred different teas in the cupboard and recipes scribbled in different hands on the backs of all different stained pages. The little garden with planters of veg and pots of herbs and a sun-bleached wooden bench and forget-me-nots growing along the fence. A spare room that’s never vacant long enough to gather dust. Marks in the floor from Fjord repeatedly forgetting he wasn’t on a ship and the vase Yasha is always refilling. Thank you cards and gifts from students - carved cat figurines and mugs and silly little jokes. A feather of Kiri’s on a beaded chain she made. Books and books and books, bought by himself and others on every topic under the sun.
A house where he can finally be surrounded by and reminded of all the lives Caleb touched.
watching humanity lost and if I had a nickel for every time the dm of a horror oneshot where players played fictional versions of themselves had their character suspended from cables I'd have two nickels
“What happened?”
“Let go.”
“Edgar,” he says, looking down at bleeding hands. Pinpricks of blood in between his knuckles, cracking skin. Irritated looking skin. It can’t be comfortable, and he doesn’t remember it on Edgar’s hands when they’d left the Fourth Pharos. “What happened?”
or a study of hands, tea and compulsion.
- zac, bdg, josh and kevin aren't credited in the episode description, but ash, nico, and kaylin are.
- the clown's name is roscoe, until it's no problem.
- trapp's prize is samuel dalton's watch.
- solzhenitzyn's nobel prize speech is about the endurance of art, the ache of the soul, the ineffability of the bigger picture - and reminds me of Sam's obsession with recursion, callbacks, and nesting doll structures.
the latest fhjy ep having “murder of a minor” in the content warnings: okay, it’s a big, terrifying fight and it’s entirely possible one of the bad kids goes down. we’ve been through this before, it’ll be fine