#AS MOUNTAINS REND ITS YOU AND ME

[sapphicmumrik]

“Some shit’s just etched into the stars / calamities you can’t outrun” rotating in my head like a rotisserie chicken

[trashworldblog]

it's absolutely insane that the song that has the most quotes that i want to get tattooed is sandwiched between a song about skinning ryan bergara alive and a song that alludes to playing a brass instrument is like giving a blowjob

[ciderjacks]

I watch some of Watcher's stuff, tell me whatever you want about Shane Madej!

HOUGHHHH. OHHRHFHTHABK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOY

i think a lot of people who are aware of Shane sort of just think of him as the skeptic guy on bfu/ghost files (not saying that’s u obv just a lot of ppl bc I guess I need this to be a pitch meeting) and I think that is a shame because HOLY SHIT HES SO TALENTED AND COOL AND WEIRD AND THE SHIT HE MAKES IS SO FUCKIKNG INSANELY GOOD

Ok so going back in time for a second to b*zzfeed. Who btw did not deserve this guy. Afaik he had two major like, creative projects on there. Ruining History and The Hot Daga. Both were very good. ruining history was a fun history show he did with Sara and Ryan and there are rotating guests every episode. Shane is very interested in history, very good at teaching history, and i think in an alternate universe hes a beloved high school history teacher. Ruining History is the father of puppet history. B*zzfeed canned it and i miss it every day. and then there’s the other father of Puppet History, Hot Daga. Hot Daga is insane. I love Hot Daga, its not for everyone, but I think its so good. The lore goes crazy, he produced and made original songs for it, he animated the whole final half season by himself which is fuckinf insane. He made a ballad for it and actually i need everyone reading this to Listen to “believe me maizey” and then directly after listen to the Meteor Ballad from Puppet History. OH LOOK A SEGWAY

Puppet history is so fuckinf good. Its So Good. And especially in later seasons since hes doing so much you really start to see his improvement as an artist and its just. Its incredible. Some of the somgs are genuinely fucking masterpieces, like some of my favs are The Flower Boat Song, Asmodeus, The Horse and God song, the Emu song, Big Pile Of Diamonds, Infinitiger, The Window Song, Gay Oars Duet, Hologram Professor Song, and the Meteor’s Ballad. And more. Uhh OH the Olympic Torch is really good too. His lyrics are so smart and fun and his vocals are so impressive and he has such good range, he duetted Himself for the Oar song and managed to make the two voices identifiable as separate characters without being over the top. The lyrics range from poetic anf beautiful to weird and funny often within the Same song! Its just so good and he starts so good and gradually over the years he’s done the show you can see him getting more comfortable and better at music which is crazy causw again HE STARTED OFF GOOD! HE WAS INSANE IN HOT DAGA AND HE IS SOMEHOW EVEN BETTER IN PUPPET HISTORY LIKE! and and and ok here’s where I get crazy and a little parasocial (lol not really i am misusing that word for the bit LOL)

Something about all his work is that you can kind of see how his art depicts the world. In Hot Daga you get the line “what else can you do in the face of such monumental loss, but breath a weary sigh as the world is a little quieter now.” And in Puppet history you get uh actually you get like 20 things from the meteor song but one of my favorite parts is (read blue as the professor, orange as the meteor, pink as both) “some shit’s just etched into the stars, calamities you cant outrun/and when sweet earth we finally meet/the sky will burn and boil the sea/as mountains rend/its you and me.” i think both these lyrics and these somgs demonstrate a maturity about the world that you dont really see in a lot of people, his general kindness towards anything and everything and his ability to change perspectives on things without being forceful. (On a personal note I listened to The Meteor song after someone I knew passed, and as dumb as it maybe sounds the idea that like,, death is not cruel, you can’t always run and sometimes the best thing you can do is be there with the people you love as the world ends.) and also I think that you really can tell that he views the people he’s telling you about as People and not just like, figures. Ykwim. He shows such genuine respect and care for everyone in these stories and I’ve already like briefly in these stories but like, you KNOW if a guy can make me cry for the Meteor that killed the dinosaurs then he’s something special. i also think the way he portrays death in his work is very comforting as a whole. and another thing speakinf of rhat is that he has so much respect for other cultures in a level I think that goes beyond just bare minimum not being a piece of shit. Like especially when he’s teaching history, an example that always sticks out to me is how much effort he put into making sure people remembered and thought about Hatshepsut by having a whole episode on her history then also making an EXTREMELY (probably intentionally so though i cant be sure bc I can’t reas minds) catchy song that Told you to think of Hatshepsut and explained Why uou should think of Hatshepsut and it’s been stuck in my head ever since I first heard it years ago. Also I’m consistently impressed by his good pronunciation of things, I remember in the Tunguska event episode of mystery files there were so many ppl from tbe area he was talking about shocked by how good his pronunciation was. And ive seen that so many times w him like, idk i just think thats very cool. He’s a genuinely really mature and respectful guy I think. Wise too. So much of his work has educated me, changed my worldview for the better, inspired me. Like He’s so talented ik i keep saying that but HE IS!

Like ok so. He can write both songs and stories beautifully. he’s wise as fuck and could probably be a philosopher. He can make puppets (and just tbc later season puppet history the puppets are not him, but in the early seasons afaik they were all him, so he is definitely skilled at that.), he can sing, he can voice act, his graphics and editing are off the charts, he’s educated and smart, hes funny. He’s so fuckinf cool.

also again getting parasocial here but I just really like how much of a zest for life the guy seems to have. And Honestly im impressed that he worked in retail, had actual trash thrown in his face by an angry customer (true story) and still came out it like “man the world sure is wonderful!”. What a guy. And He’s so fucking weird and interesting and I could seriously just listen to him rant about Literally anything Forever. Anything. It doesnt matter I think he could talk about anything in a way that would make me invested in it and i’d come out of it more educated than before with a fresh new perspective on life.

This is getting Essay-like so here are some other Random Shane Things I know to close me out I guess

-he loves community was in the community fandom and has a crush on troy barnes

-he wants to be a mouse

-he’s lived 7000 years

-

-was DB cooper

-makes a fine ass Krampus

-actually the coolest guy alive

sorry this is almost 100% incomprehensible thank you for letting my autism loose tho

[apoemaday]

The Lion for Real

by Allen Ginsberg

“Soyez muette pour moi, Idole contemplative…”

I came home and found a lion in my living room Rushed out on the fire escape screaming Lion! Lion! Two stenographers pulled their brunnette hair and banged the window shut I hurried home to Patterson and stayed two days

Called up old Reichian analyst who’d kicked me out of therapy for smoking marijuana ‘It’s happened’ I panted ‘There’s a Lion in my living room’ 'I’m afraid any discussion would have no value’ he hung up

I went to my old boyfriend we got drunk with his girlfriend I kissed him and announced I had a lion with a mad gleam in my eye We wound up fighting on the floor I bit his eyebrow he kicked me out I ended up masturbating in his jeep parked in the street moaning 'Lion.’

Found Joey my novelist friend and roared at him 'Lion!’ He looked at me interested and read me his spontaneous ignu high poetries I listened for lions all I heard was Elephant Tiglon Hippogriff Unicorn Ants But figured he really understood me when we made it in Ignaz Wisdom’s bathroom.

But next day he sent me a leaf from his Smoky Mountain retreat 'I love you little Bo-Bo with your delicate golden lions But there being no Self and No Bars therefore the Zoo of your dear Father hath no lion You said your mother was mad don’t expect me to produce the Monster for your Bridegroom.’

Confused dazed and exalted bethought me of real lion starved in his stink in Harlem Opened the door the room was filled with the bomb blast of his anger He roaring hungrily at the plaster walls but nobody could hear outside thru the window My eye caught the edge of the red neighbor apartment building standing in deafening stillness We gazed at each other his implacable yellow eye in the red halo of fur Waxed rhuemy on my own but he stopped roaring and bared a fang greeting. I turned my back and cooked broccoli for supper on an iron gas stove boilt water and took a hot bath in the old tup under the sink board.

He didn’t eat me, tho I regretted him starving in my presence. Next week he wasted away a sick rug full of bones wheaten hair falling out enraged and reddening eye as he lay aching huge hairy head on his paws by the egg-crate bookcase filled up with thin volumes of Plato, & Buddha.

Sat by his side every night averting my eyes from his hungry motheaten face stopped eating myself he got weaker and roared at night while I had nightmares Eaten by lion in bookstore on Cosmic Campus, a lion myself starved by Professor Kandisky, dying in a lion’s flophouse circus, I woke up mornings the lion still added dying on the floor–'Terrible Presence!’ I cried 'Eat me or die!’

It got up that afternoon–walked to the door with its paw on the south wall to steady its trembling body Let out a soul-rending creak from the bottomless roof of his mouth thundering from my floor to heaven heavier than a volcano at night in Mexico Pushed the door open and said in a gravelly voice “Not this time Baby--but I will be back again.”

Lion that eats my mind now for a decade knowing only your hunger Not the bliss of your satisfaction O roar of the universe how am I chosen In this life I have heard your promise I am ready to die I have served Your starved and ancient Presence O Lord I wait in my room at your Mercy.

[wiltking]

Do you have any lgbt+ book recs that are rlly heart breaking, squeezing, throbbing and mind exploding ?

come. take my hand. the hexslinger trilogy by gemma files is one of Thee most painful literary experiences of my life. it will make you want to punch drywall and throw up and scream cry and i dont say this lightly. i Do Not recommend it to just anyone. it is crafted to make your blood pour out of every pore until all thats left is a dry raisin husk.

rodrigo of caledon by david feintuch is where heartbreak goes to haunt you forever. its angry and griefstricken and messy and the 'what could have been's will worm so deep into your bones youll rage. and rage. and rage. but what can be done, when the greatest lengths have already been taken? when even everything itself, is not enough?

if you want one thats still mind exploding and heart rending but has an actual happy ending that wont make you stay up all night questioning all your choices while you go on with the rest of your life pretending youre fine when youre the furthest thing from fine and you dont know if you'll ever be fine again, the rifter by ginn hale.

if youre tired of me reccing these same 3 series over and over (even though theyre some of the best), take your chances with:

the edda of burdens by elizabeth bear. might have a happy ending, if you squint, but is it worth it? the thousands of years worth of pain? the tragedy that spans more than one lifetime and into reincarnation? if it isnt worth it, for the sake of love, than what is? (start with by the mountain bound btw, then -> windwracked stars -> sea thy mistress)

captive prince by c.s. pacat. you either love it or you hate it and everyone who considers it 'good' but in all my years of reading lgbt fiction this one still coasts near the top of the list as some of the most compelling and heart ripping romance. the hardest to stomach scenes are thrown at you right at the start of the first book but the journey (and ending) will grip you close and convince you love is real

the faerie hounds of york by arden powell. this ones sad. genuinely.

a royal affair by john wiltshire. angsty enough to bruise and gentle enough to hurt in an entirely new way. theres joy and hope and love in every corner of darkness, if thats more in line with what youre hungering for, or just need a balm after anything else ive just attempted to inflict upon you. the sequel is good too.

[keganexe]

Earth has fallen, and no one knows why. On the morning of June 14, 1968, a group of hippies fled to the mountains of Colorado to wait for doomsday, as the meteor, Icarus, neared Earth. Icarus did what they were worried about, the land rending itself to pieces, but one places stayed safe...

Welcome to Eldorado Springs, Colorado.

Phanta is a 2-6 player alt-history RPG about what happens 50 years after the world has ended, inspired by the song Phanta by Le Tigre (and the real world events referenced there in). It’s a rules-lite (and secretly to me even) PBTA inspired romp through weird Colorado, and the things surrounding it.

Phanta was the first RPG I ever wrote, and I was at a strange place in my life when I did, and I think it’s reflected in the game. Super early on in the pandemic my family all got Covid, and I stayed home terrified that any moment I could get the call that they had died; and in a weird loopy no-sleep twilight state I wrote and laid out the entire game in one 12 hour sitting.

It’s gotten editing and playtesting since then, but it’ll always be the game I wrote while worried that the actual world was ending.

Anyway its a fun little game, and if you’ve never looked at my work before I think it’s a really good example of the type of stuff I like to put out!

Phanta by Kegan (@Keganexe)

Also someone wrote an extremely good campaign for Phanta that expands on lots of the base concepts in cool ways I never saw coming, and you can check that out here

Lonely Souls - a TTRPG Campaign by rpg_megs

Also I haven’t announced this anywhere yet, but there’s a... pretty good chance it’s coming to a crowdfundr near you in the new year?

[nixalegos]

A Deal in Drustvar

Continued from Here "Those are excuses, not reasons. Daggers and swords can be made smaller and lightweight, and given you're going to be trained by the Alliance in spells fit for war, what with joining the...Tenth Fleet you said? You may even end up with little more then an enchanted hilt and channel magic through it as a flaming sword. Or conjure weapons. Who knows." He added as he turned around slowly. "The letter opener is cute. I've a ritual dagger in my boot. It's never been useful to have there." He confessed. "How often are you left in a position where your hands at your ankles or in a crouch mid battle? If you're a spellcaster, they'll simply kill you, not toy with you." He stated before coming to look past her, towards the darkened woods and then her again. "Miss Ashton, I am not entirely convinced you aren't in fact a Drust witch. So do not mistake the idea you could stab me as praise. You could quite literally disembowel me with your letter opener, rend pieces of my soul to Thros, and you would slow me down, for maybe, ten to fifteen minutes once you were done. Let's not pretend its a matter of capability, it's a matter of I can afford to show mercy even if you're my target and trying to kill me, that's the gulf of difference we bear." He said flatly, without pride or mockery in his tone. "And, no, bones aren't really valuable. There isn't a shortage of parts out there. Still beating Wicker Horror hearts? A Witchs soul forcibly captured in a gem. The last desperate plea of help from a Hexxen victim as their sanity gives out, those have value to those like me who use such. You, on the other hand." He considered his words carefully, taking a moment to pause. "I would hate to see you peering into matters as foul as those if you're in fact not already taken by the Drust. Or any dark magic if I'm being honest. Azeroth has enough bastards and power hungry psychos to actively encourage someone else down the Path of Sacrifice." He said, trying to be reassuring, but his smile just had a few too many teeth in it to look 'nice'. "So I cannot trade you for a 'basic' spell of pyromancy, because my fire simply isn't for the innocent. I'll escort you to whatever local township you need to get to so you can get back to your new life in the Alliance. They'll train you in the Arcane, and hopefully they don't just churn you into yet another worthless warmage with no talent beyond making evocations." He said with a scoff. "Now, are you wrapped up here, if I get you back quickly enough I can likely still check out the other two most likely sites this side of the mountain before sunrise."

@tillyashton

[greentrickster]

So, Barry and Dawn are off exploring and quantifying data (and also just having fun, because how often do you get told, ‘Yeah, just go as far as you want, you can’t get lost here’ in a different dimension?), and Lucas and Cyrus are left sitting on the edge of the island they arrived on, Lucas with his legs crossed, Cyrus with eevee in his lap and his feet just dangling into the void.

“I assume you have questions for me?”

Lucas startles a bit at this. “What makes you say that?”

Cyrus looks at his, one corner of his mouth twitching up a bit. “Everyone who knew me before has so far. I can even cover the basics for you. I landed on Red’s mountain with my pokemon, some blurry memories of Distortion World, and no idea that it wasn’t my home dimension. I haven’t recovered any other memories of ‘before’ since then, and even psychic pokemon haven’t been able to find traces of them left in my mind. I’ve spent my time relearning how the world functions, how to care for myself and my pokemon, and sign language. I currently work as a trainer in Professor Blue’s gym and as an occasional assistant in his lab; I also do deliveries around town and nearby areas if people ask me to. Giratina is not my pokemon and I’m not their trainer, we’re friends. I like space, figuring out technology works, spending time with my pokemon, and watching Red and Blue be idiots together.

“I don’t want my old memories back. I don’t know what happened between me leaving Distortion World and falling through an Ultra Wormhole. And... I don’t know why I did... everything I did before. I’ve been diagnosed with chronic depression, and I’m getting help with it now, but I don’t know...” he shrugs and shakes his head, “I just don’t know. And I don’t know Galactic Boss Cyrus well enough to guess.” he turns back to Lucas and gives another mouth-twitch smile. “Anyway, that’s the general run-down. If there’s anything else you want to know, go ahead and ask.”

“Why the hat?”

Actual laughter, “That’s your first question?”

“It was a surprise! You’re- you’re Cyrus, and you walk around in public now wearing a yellow cap!”

“One, it’s goldenrod, and two it’s cheerful.” Cyrus huffs, then turns away, a bit embarrassed, “And I thought Red’s looked cool. Just... don’t tell anyone that last bit, Red and Blue tease me enough about it already.” (moderately unhappy expression of soul-rending mortification)

Lucas is amused as heck, but promises his silence. And, even moreso, feels more confident to ask his bigger questions and trust he’ll get honest answers. “Why don’t you want your memories back?”

“...fear, mostly,” Cyrus admits after a short hesitation, “If I got them back, I don’t know how much I’d still be me anymore - me as I am now, I mean. What if having them made me want to go back to what I was doing before I can remember? Even if it would mean I’d have all the technical knowledge people say I had back, I don’t want to risk that. I don’t want to risk anyone getting hurt because of me again. And... this one’s more selfish, but he sounds like he was a really miserable bastard, and I don’t want to go back to that. I like my life as it is and I want to keep it. I don’t want to go back to being so miserably unhappy that I’d rather not feel anything at all than keep enduring it.”

Lucas processes this for awhile, during which Cyrus fusses with eevee’s fur and weavile pops out of its pokeball of its own accord to make sure Cyrus is doing okay then sit next to him. After he’s thought about it enough, Lucas decides to bring out his other big question. “Do you still think the human spirit is flawed?”

Now it’s Cyrus’s turn to think before responding, “...probably.”

Which is not the answer Lucas was either expecting or hoping for, but before he can start worry, Cyrus continues.

“But it would have to be, wouldn’t it? To get a perfect world full of perfect things, you’d need to have a perfect being made it. And, from what I understand even Arceus is capable of making mistakes. So I guess it wouldn’t be that surprising, to think that we’re inherently imperfect, as we were made by an imperfect being. Maybe that’s why pokemon and other people are so important - they give us the opportunity to see our flaws and refine ourselves.”

Ah, right. While he has amnesia, Cyrus is still Very Smart. But... “Why do you think Arceus makes mistakes?”

“If they didn’t, they wouldn’t have needed to reconcile with Giratina a few months back.”

“I’m sorry, what?!”

“You can blame Akari for that one,” Cyrus says, even more seriously than usual, and with a little dash of trauma lurking in the back of his eyes, “Giratina’s my friend, but do you have any idea what it’s like to watch a pair of gods sort out millennia-old family issues a few dozen feet away from you?! It was terrifying! And I think the only reason I didn’t get smote by Arceus at the end of it is because Giratina likes me!”

“That scary?” Lucas asks, part joking, part serious.

Cyrus nods vigorously, “The scariest moment in my life!” (pauses, considers) “Which I technically only have a couple years of memories for, but I doubt that anything’s likely to top it.”

“That’s fair.” Silence descends again, but Lucas is feeling more comfortable with it this time.

[deathfavor]

@deiscension said: This should have been an easy mission. An overachieving cultivator had gotten his hands on a stray spiritual device in the shape of a locket. As soon as he had clasped it around his neck, it had nearly choked all his qi and very life from him. Show up, scold him a little under the guise of being an official from a neighboring sect, confiscate. Down and back with enough time to spare for a nice dinner and a few rounds of wine (their treat of course, which was obviously why they'd dragged their best friend into it)! Except-- it hadn't been a spiritual device. It had been a possessed charm. As soon as the hapless cultivator touched it, he ceased to exist. They'd never seen anything quite like this before; a puppeteered corpse gnashing its teeth at anything close enough to bite, practically ripping itself apart just to get to something with a stronger, healthier source of spiritual energy. Too many mortals had tried their luck already. The moment anyone made physical contact with the body, their meridians bled like opened veins.

Shi Qingxuan had been so sure the blast from Ming Yi had knocked the thing senseless. While cooing about how dependable their best friend was, they'd reached down to undo the locket. He'd warned them to wait a moment. Of course they hadn't listened. They should have just broken the chain. They should have kept their eyes on the body. They should have taken caution for once. Instead, they'd cried, "Ming-xiong, you really are too rough!" as soon as his hand had closed around their arm and yanked. But they hadn't. And now he was sprawled against the shack wall, pulsing rends in his neck where that horrible thing's fingernails had raked into his flesh.

Only now do they take proper precaution and summon a whirling gale to keep the possessed corpse suctioned to the floor. Locket in hand, they rush to his side. Their stomach twists. Ashen discoloration spreads from his wounds. They've only ever seen this color on ghosts.

The memory of a voice dripping in perverse hunger leers in their ear. Your closest friends will die because of you.

Their form switches back in an instant, fan clattering to the ground at the Earth Master's as Shi Qingxuan drops to their knees in front of him. They're the Wind Master now! There's not a single person or force in the world that would dare touch them or theirs. That wretched thing went silent centuries ago. Besides, Reverends couldn't bring harm to gods. Unless every event in their life leading to this moment had been carefully woven into their fate as soon as they'd taken heed of that damned curse. What a silly idea. So silly they can't help but laugh- a strangled noise that's more of a whine than anything else.

Heartbeat pounding against their skull, Shi Qingxuan gingerly presses the back of their hand to his forehead. Residual qi deviation rips through their veins like a knife through delicate silk. They swallow down the urge to vomit and focus on buffeting his deviated energy against theirs. The wounds are already closing. But he's still so pale. So still. So... dead.

"Ming Yi?" Their voice hasn't been this small in a long, long time. They try not to think about how similar this abode is to that forgotten little house at the foot of a mountain somewhere far away. "Look at me. Please. I'm sorry. I'm sorry, it's my fault- scold me all you want, a-alright?"

my muse take a hit to protect your muse from a fatal strike ; send your muse's reaction

Black Water Submerging Ships could crush this pest with no problem. He could devour it, obliterate it, there were a million and one things he could do. But Ming Yi is not a fighter and Ming Yi is ALIVE rather than DEAD. So He Xuan needs to play the part, he shields Shi Qingxuan the moment he sees that they are not listening to his advice. Too playful and careless. It is a good thing that He Xuan did so too, because pain flares in his throat as fingernails dig into flesh and rip.

He slumps against the shack, and he can feel the disguise he dons start to fracture in the way of the unexpected pain. Anger gnashes in his chest, like the ocean trying to be captured by a dam. It slams against his ribcage and adds to the spasms in his throat alongside the pulsing wounds. He's forgotten to breath. But in the grand scheme, such a small thing is likely to go unnoticed. He a least recalls to keep some of the body heat going, so he does not appear as cold as he really is.

He feels their touch against him as he sits, black veil of hair heavy around them. Checking he's alive. Which is hilarious, He Xuan can't help but to bitterly think while is eyes stay closed. ( For the best, or he fears the ocean's rage would reflect in his gaze. ) He hasn't been alive for a very long time now, and he hasn't been without pain for even longer. All his power as a Ghost King and he suffers still, and he had suffered long before he choked out his final breath on a rainy, muddy street, bleeding out from his wounds.

But then they try to help and it burns. Even as flesh knits back together and starts to turn back to a normal flesh color rather than the corpse-like color, the aid only makes him sick to his stomach. It's not the same as simply transferring spiritual energy. It's so much more than that and it takes everything to keep himself under control when everything makes feel like he's straining against chains.

Shi Qingxuan calls his name and his eyelashes finally flutter, opening so a slit of golden eyes could be observed. He doesn't want to look at them. He wants to destroy that insolent, mindless spirit, and then slink away into the ocean. He wants to go back to his mansion or into the welcoming depths of his ocean. Maybe he'd play with his dragons but he'd prefer to sleep a few days in the heavy waters that offer silence and peace. He won't get that though. Shi Qingxuan is going to fret, which means Ming Yi can't go off like he usually does.

He Xuan forces his eyes to lift to look towards Shi Qingxuan.

" I told you to be careful. " He scolds, but it's weak and quiet, lacking his stern strength. A hand lifts, gently pushing away their hand from his head. ( Gently? Or weakly? Only he knew. ) " Go deal with the corpse and locket first. I'll be fine. Those two things should be your priority. " It's a quick reminder, his gaze shifting to the trapped corpse and then towards the locket with a pointed expression. His hand nudges them again, urging them back to get to work. " Once you're done with that, then you can come help. I won't accept any more till you do. " He adds. Maybe the idea that the sooner they did that meant the sooner they could help Ming Yi would be motive enough. "

The rage still snarls like a provoked animal and it clouds his thoughts. He is tired. He waits until Shi Qingxuan is focused on the other tasks before he lets himself sink into it. He's maintained the disguise long enough that it can be maintained in his sleep. At least a quick nap should held settle the rage beating in his chest like a war drum.

When Shi Qingxuan looks over, they'll find he's slid to his side, slumped on the ground with closed eyes. But he's breathing, and the wounds are little other than fading marks. He is, however, unusually cool to the touch and his complexion remains pale overall. Healthier than before, but certainly not great.

[calamitys-child]

It just makes me so worked up that like. They put Skye Boat Song in EPISODE TWO. PLEASE okay its under the cut cause its long as fuck but PLEASE listen to me im gonna start biting things because

Skye Boat Song wasn't written until a century and a half after Black Sails is set. The event that Skye Boat Song is about didn't happen for forty years after Black Sails is set. The original song is about Bonnie Prince Charlie fleeing the English after the massacre at Culloden and is intended as both mourning the dead and rallying rebelling Scottish troops to war. It was then rewritten by Robert Louis Fucking Stevenson to be about the loss of innocence and mourning a past self and just.

Listen. I need everyone to hold the image of Flint screaming You tell your governor in your mind for a second and look at the oldest version of the lyrics:

Speed, bonnie boat, like a bird on the wing,

Onward! the sailors cry;

Carry the lad that's born to be king

Over the sea to Skye.

Loud the winds howl, loud the waves roar,

Thunderclaps rend the air;

Baffled, our foes stand by the shore,

Follow they will not dare.

Many's the lad, fought on that day

Well the claymore did wield;

When the night came, silently lay

Dead on Culloden's field.

Though the waves leap, soft shall ye sleep,

Ocean's a royal bed.

Rocked in the deep, Flora will keep

Watch by your weary head.

Burned are their homes, exile and death

Scatter the loyal men;

Yet ere the sword cool in the sheath

Charlie will come again.

And if you'd indulge me one moment more in this little exercise, picture Silver alone on those cliffs with only Stevenson's version for company:

Sing me a song of a lad that is gone,

Say, could that lad be I?

Merry of soul he sailed on a day

Over the sea to Skye.

Mull was astern, Rum on the port,

Eigg on the starboard bow;

Glory of youth glowed in his soul;

Where is that glory now?

Give me again all that was there,

Give me the sun that shone!

Give me the eyes, give me the soul,

Give me the lad that's gone!

Billow and breeze, islands and seas,

Mountains of rain and sun,

All that was good, all that was fair,

All that was me is gone.

Of course that song travelled 150+ years back in time to play in 1715 Nassau. After all, Silver did.

[lunamagicablu]

Sono un uccello che vola alto e libero, un elegante delfino grigio in un mare luccicante, un leone fulvo con lunghi artigli affilati e un coccodrillo furtivo con mascelle potenti.

Sono la pioggia che cade dal cielo, un fulmine, mai timido, un terremoto rombante nel profondo, e un crescendo di vento che ti impedisce di dormire.

Sono un cavallo, gli zoccoli che battono il terreno, una striscia rossa, le zampe che non emettono alcun suono, una tigre curva, che insegue la sua preda, e una vacca gentile, addormentata nel fieno.

Io sono il fuoco che cercano così duramente di domare, una minuscola scintilla in una fiamma ruggente, una dozzina di onde che si infrangono sulla riva, e una bestia sconosciuta sul fondo dell'oceano.

Io sono il grido del lupo alla luna, un'increspatura di calore nel mese di giugno, un vortice di fiori che cadono dall'albero, e il ghiaione funebre di un'aquila in volo.

Sono un fiume in una terra lontana, una pletora di ciottoli in un letto di sabbia, una montagna frastagliata che si erge alta, e una distesa di neve pronta a cadere.

Il richiamo della foresta è nella mia anima, Una canzone, un sussurro, che mi rende intero, Quindi devo andare come mi è stato detto, Per inseguire le stelle prima di essere vecchio.

© Ebony Black art by cherrypie669

******************************

I am a bird flying high and free, an elegant gray dolphin in a shimmering sea, a tawny lion with long sharp claws and a stealthy crocodile with powerful jaws.

I am the rain that falls from the sky, lightning, never shy, a rumbling earthquake deep inside, and a crescendo of wind that prevents you from sleeping.

I'm a horse, hooves stamping the ground, a red stripe, paws that make no sound, a stooped tiger, stalking its prey, and a gentle cow, asleep in the hay.

I am the fire they try so hard to tame, a tiny spark in a roaring flame, a dozen waves breaking on the shore, and an unknown beast at the bottom of the ocean.

I am the cry of the wolf to the moon, a ripple of heat in June, a whirlwind of flowers falling from the tree, and the funeral scree of an eagle in flight.

I am a river in a distant land, a plethora of pebbles in a bed of sand, a jagged mountain that stands tall, and an expanse of snow ready to fall.

The call of the wild is in my soul, A song, a whisper, that makes me whole, So I must go as I was told, To chase the stars before I'm old.

© Ebony Black art by cherrypie669 

[trashworldblog]

what happened to them?

they relistened to the asteroid song

[ghostinthelibrarywrites]

WIP Treeskel? 👀

Treeskel is a Jaskel (with background Yenralt) season 2 fix-it fic where Eskel realizes what's happening right before he turns into a leshen and flees into the woods, where he spends the rest of his winter tearing apart all the various beasties that Voleth Meir sends after Ciri and Geralt.

After Yennefer and Jaskier come to Kaer Morhen, Jaskier feels out of place and unmoored without his lute. He tries to sneak away one morning, immediately runs afoul of a wyvern, and gets saved by a leshen. He strikes up a friendship with the leshen, who he quickly realizes is Geralt's presumed-dead brother. Eskel doesn't want the witchers to know he's alive, so Jaskier visits him in secret while striking up a friendship with Yennefer, repairing his friendship with Geralt, and trying to get the two of them to fix things with each other.

Snippet below the cut!

With a sigh, Eskel turns to face the bard and finds a pair of enormous blue eyes peering at him from the shield of roots he threw up around the human to keep him safe during the battle. The bard crouches there, gripping the roots—which is a strange sensation, almost like he’s touching Eskel himself—and watching Eskel’s approach with terror.

“Oh, gods,” the bard says, a waver in his voice. “Oh, fuck.” 

Eskel is used to humans being afraid of him, was long before he was turned into this. He tries to speak, but it’s been months since he said a word and his throat is filled with bark. What comes out is a gravely noise that sounds more like a growl than a greeting. The terror scent in the air sharpens.

“Listen.” The bard’s lips twist into something that’s probably supposed to be a smile, but his mouth is trembling. “If you’re going to kill me, may I ask that you do me the courtesy of just snapping my spine? I would very much prefer not to be alive when the rending of flesh starts, if it’s all the same to you.”

Eskel tries to speak again. The raspy noise he makes at least sounds somewhat human. He lets the roots caging in the bard fall away, expecting that to reassure him that Eskel has no intention of keeping him trapped. Instead, the panic scent only thickens in the air. The bard attempts to scramble to his feet, crying out as soon as he puts pressure on his left foot. He drops back down to the ground, shoulders heaving.

One look at his swollen ankle tells Eskel that it’s broken. Fuck, the bard won’t be getting up or down the mountain without help and they’re too far from Kaer Morhen for someone to hear him shout for help. Eskel won’t be able to leave him here.

Eskel takes a step towards him and the bard’s eyes go even wider, nearly popping out of his head. He tries to stand again, and one of Eskel’s roots shoots out of its own volition, pushing him back to the ground before he can hurt himself. His touch causes the bard to recoil, hands coming up to protect his face.

“Oh, Lebioda’s saintly nipples,” the bard whispers. “Oh, gods, no. Please, no.”

Geralt rarely mentioned his bard by name. He spent years trying to act like he didn’t give a shit about the kid, even after they’d traveled together for years. Either way, he was always “the bard” or when he was occasionally feeling sentimental, “my bard.”

A memory comes to Eskel, sudden and overpowering.

Geralt, turning the worst fucking sword Eskel had ever seen in his life over in his hands, looking sheepish. “My swords got stolen in Kerack. Fucking bard spent every crown he had getting them replaced.”

Eskel shook his head. “This sword couldn’t kill a fucking kitten, Wolf.”

“Well aware, but I couldn’t tell him that. He was so proud of them.”

“So you carried around a useless pair of swords rather than hurt your bard’s feelings?”

Geralt sighed. “He had them inscribed, Esk. What the fuck was I supposed to do?”

Eskel took the sword from Geralt, looking down at the inscription on the silver blade. Outloud, he read, “My dear witcher, now I’ll always be with you in battle, even when you make me stay at the inn. Your very best friend in the whole wide world, Jaskier.”

“Jaskier.” It’s the first word he’s uttered since the night he turned into a leshen. It scrapes out of his throat like a razor blade.

Ask me about my WIPs!

[novankenn]

Light of the Serpent (1/2)

RWBY/Conan Exiles Crossover (1159 Words)

The grimm and white fang were swarming all over Beacon's grounds, as Pyrrha shoved Jaune in the rocket locker to send him to safety, while also rushing off to meet her doom. She knew this, as did Jaune. Anger welled up in his breast as the locker took off, and after a couple of minutes crashed landed in Vale. Stumbling free, he pulled out his scroll, and then stopped.

"No." he hissed to himself. "You all think I'm weak, I'm not... I'll show you all true power."

In the mountains north of the city of Vale, a great wyvern erupted from the stone and earth. It roared as it emerged and subsequently took to the skies. Jaune snarled as he stalked the streets, he needed a very particular, and rather gruesome ingredient to enact his plan. A cruel grin crossed his once friendly features.

The deer faunus wearing a White Fang mask didn't have a chance as Jaune slammed into her from the blindside, using his shield to bowl her over and stun her. Straddling her waist, he used his larger bulk to pin her to the ground, as he reached behind his back and pulled a wicked double pronged dagger, fashioned in the shape of twin coiling serpents, their tails sharped to deadly points.

The pain of the weapon being driven through her breastbone and flesh caused the young woman to scream in utter agony. It didn't deter Jaune as he set about his twisted task. Twisting the dagger, he cut into her flesh, opening a gaping wound in her breast. Without a word, he withdrew his weapon and reached with his right hand into the wound as the woman gasped her last breath. With a yank, he pulled her heart free.

Standing, he took a deep breath and slowly raised the dripping, bloody organ high above his head. With his eyes firmly focused on the grimm monstrosity approaching Vale, he began.

"I am surrounded in heathen darkness. Hear my prayer, glorious and merciful one. Grant me your boon, and show these unbelievers the light in the darkness. Grant me the strength to smite my foes, to rend my enemies and crush all those who stand in resistance to your glory." Jaune took a shallow breath before finishing his invocation. "I, the least of your servants, ask for your aide. Grant me vengeance, and bath me in the blood of those who deny your glory!"

The grimm dragon closed on the city of Vale. Black ichor dripping from its form. Each droplet becoming another grimm as it impacted the ground. The people were panicked, the chaos surrounding them calling to the grimm, drawing them towards the slowly being overwhelmed lines of defenders.

It was then a shaft of light thrust upward, smashing through the darkened clouds, blotting out the sun. Terror spiked with in all those who witnessed the occurrence, as a massive black shape began to coil up about the shaft of light. They watched as the massive shimmering beast moved, striking out as the dragon closed. A great maw opened wide, only to close a second latter, driving massive fangs into the corrupted flesh of the massive grimm.

The dragon roared in pain, and tried to pull away, beating its great wings against the air, in an attempt to pull itself free. The serpent was stronger, more massive and bulky. It pulled, dragging the ancient grimm from the skies, Great muscled, and sinewy coils wrapped about the grimm, as the serpent twisted, dragging the vainly struggling beast to his doom. The fear inspiring fell beast crashed to the ground, its roars growing weaker and weaker as the serpent tightened its coils.

Jaune watched the one-sided struggle with a vicious gleam in his eyes. Lord Set has once again proved his might. Striking down the greatest champion of the defilers as one would a gnat. But Jaune knew his tasks were yet to be complete. Pulling a short wand sized staff of bone with an intricately carved head, He closed his eyes and began to chant. Any, who could hear him, grew instantly anxious.

"Flingah lep-heed fok om-gah-na-ca" at the completion of the incantation, a mysterious and deep fog rolled across the ground, flooding Vale and Beacon. Rising well above the heads of the attackers and defenders alike. "Slay those whom have risen against me."

Drawing Crocea Mors, Jaune strode forward through the mists, without hesitation or fear. He knew what he had called into existence. Dark shapes stumbled through the mists, converging on the attacks of Beacon. As the defenders searched the think billowing fog for signs of grimm and White Fang, screams of pain, agony and terror grew around them.

They gripped their weapons, with shaking white knuckled hands, as humanoid shaped figures shuffled past and around them. May Zedong grew calm as the fog flowed around her. She knew of this power, her mother had told her tales of such feats. She knew whom the great serpent represented.

There was a sorcerer and even a high priest of her family's deity somewhere in the city Vale, and they had decided to strike back against the aggressors. To show them the light of the serpent in the heathen darkness they cloaked themselves in. Ignoring her teammates, she walked away, into the fog, confident in her faith to protect her.

She would give herself willingly to whomever had brought the blessed light of Set to this waste of a world. She would faithfully serve in whatever manner was decreed. Even to go so far as to willing offer herself for sacrifice.

As Jaune walked through the mists, his sword lashing out at grimm and White Fang whom he encountered, May did the same. Using her axe conversion of her sniper rifle, she cleaved without remorse or fear. The dark shapes converged about her, escorting her, guiding her to the source.

For the first time in her life. Her anxiety was muted. She felt sure of herself. Confident in her abilities. She would no longer be afraid. No longer hide her faith, or devotion. She walked for what she felt was forever through the mists, surrounded by a protective circle of dark shuffling forms, until she found him.

"Jaune?" May spoke up. She knew his name, everyone did. The weakest member of JNPR, the partner to the great Pyrrha Nikos.

"Yes?"

"Blessed be the serpent. Let Set's light shine, and guide us through the darkness, until he welcomes us into his warm embrace." she spoke as she knelt before Jaune, pressing her forehead to the uneven ground.

"For in his glory we shall be beacons. In this life and the next." Jaune spoke, as he offered his gore coated hand to her. "Rise, sister, and walk with me."

May didn't even balk, but stood a smile upon her face, as she took the offered hand. She bowed her head in reverence, before falling in step beside him.

[ebaeschnbliah]

Frodo felt something seize him by the ankle, and he fell with a cry. Bill the pony gave a wild neigh of fear, and turned tail and dashed away along the lakeside into the darkness. Sam leaped after him, and then hearing Frodo's cry he ran back again, weeping and cursing. The others swung round and saw the waters of the lake seething, as if a host of snakes were swimming up from the southern end.

Out from the water a long sinuous tentacle had crawled .....

... it was pale-green and luminous and wet. Its fingered end had hold of Frodo's foot and was dragging him into the water. Sam on his knees was now slashing at it with a knife.

The arm let go of Frodo, and Sam pulled him away, crying out for help. Twenty others arms came rippling out. The dark water boiled, and there was a hideous stench.

`Into the gateway! Up the stairs! Quick! ' shouted Gandalf leaping back. Rousing them from the horror that seemed to have rooted all but Sam to the ground where they stood, he drove them forward.

They were just in time. Sam and Frodo were only a few steps up, and Gandalf had just begun to climb, when the groping tentacles writhed across the narrow shore and fingered the cliff-wall and the doors. One came wriggling over the threshold, glistening in the starlight. Gandalf turned and paused. If he was considering what word would close the gate again from within, there was no need. Many coiling arms seized the doors on either side, and with horrible strength, swung them round. With a shattering echo they slammed, and all light was lost. A noise of rending and crashing came dully through the ponderous stone.

Sam, clinging to Frodo's arm, collapsed on a step in the black darkness. `Poor old Bill! ' he said in a choking voice. `Poor old Bill! Wolves and snakes! But the snakes were too much for him. I had to choose, Mr. Frodo. I had to come with you.'

They heard Gandalf go back down the steps and thrust his staff against the doors. There was a quiver in the stone and the stairs trembled, .but the doors did not open. `Well, well! ' said the wizard. `The passage is blocked behind us now and there is only one way out--on the other side of the mountains. I fear from the sounds that boulders have been piled up, and the trees uprooted and thrown across the gate. I am sorry; for the trees were beautiful, and had stood so long.'

`I felt that something horrible was near from the moment that my foot first touched the water,' said Frodo. 'What was the thing, or were there many of them? '

'I do not know,' answered Gandalf, 'but the arms were all guided by one purpose. Something has crept, or has been driven out of dark waters under the mountains. There are older and fouler things than Orcs in the deep places of the world.' He did not speak aloud his thought that whatever it was that dwelt in the lake, it had seized on Frodo first among all the Company.

Boromir muttered under his breath, but the echoing stone magnified the sound to a hoarse whisper that all could hear: `In the deep places of the world! And thither we are going against my wish. Who will lead us now in this deadly dark? '

'I will,' said Gandalf, 'and Gimli shall walk with me. Follow my staff! '

As the wizard passed on ahead up the great steps, he held his staff aloft, and from its tip there came a faint radiance. The wide stairway was sound and undamaged. Two hundred steps they counted, broad and shallow; and at the top they found an arched passage with a level floor leading on into the dark.

JRR Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings, The Fellowship of the Ring, A Journey in the Dark

[okamirayne]

*a wild friend calmly walks over and dumps a mountain of cried through tissues on the ground*

I blame you and I know you're not sorry! How dare you ruin my taste in romance, I can only truly enjoy the genre now if its as painful and raw and tender as these two

The end of Requiem? I just can't even, you beautiful beautiful monster you! The ache, the blood and sinew in the way they crave each other, the gentle flow of time when they're at peace together...*adds another tissue to the mountain*

I mean, everything about this series is good, like Kakashi and Genma and that world weary heaviness, or just Ino and Choji being good beans, the lead in to Kusagakure...but honey, I am as addicted to you ShikaNeji as they are to each other

And when I put it into perspective it gets even more heart-rending because they're just kids! Like, the depth of their feelings is already incredible on its own but when I think that these are teenagers...in a better world they'd be so fucking lucky to find each other that young...but in this one...

Puuh!

I'd also like to point out that one of my favourite recurring elements of this whole series is Shikamaru and Neji instinctively and simultaneously leaping to each other's protection. I live for stuff like this!

Also the fact that you found a way to get Neji hammered twice is absolutely incredible, I take my hat off and pull out snack and tea from it for you because that's some heavy magic

Anyway, onto the next!!!

*the wild friend dives into the mountain of tissues like Scrooge McDuck and doesn't emerge again*

*a wild friend calmly walks over and dumps a mountain of cried through tissues on the ground*

I blame you and I know you're not sorry!

Only because you shared that super sad dream with me and now we're both weighing the impact of the pain trains that we clearly enjoy driving...*sniffles subtly into teacup*

The end of Requiem?

DUDE! Like, how the hell are you reading this fast? I mean seriously, are you absorbing words through osmosis...I am...honestly astounded...but also, deeply touched that you're so engrossed in the BtB madness...wow....

I just can't even, you beautiful beautiful monster you!

I do try...

Now, if I step out of my amusement into the overgrown territory of warm fuzzy feels...I gotta say I'm a tangled hot mess -- as in, nuclear meltdown coloured by Hinata's complexion.

Thank you so much for what you shared here...I get hit all at once with the overwhelming gratitude and it's humbling and heartening in ways that result in me repeatedly failing to translate my feelings into words. Just know, it hits. And I feel it. For a long time.

It was a treat to be able to write that bond as you described it, and I'm so happy that you've connected with it and are impacted by it as a much as I was whilst writing it.

I'd also like to point out that one of my favourite recurring elements of this whole series is Shikamaru and Neji instinctively and simultaneously leaping to each other's protection. I live for stuff like this!

YES!

Also the fact that you found a way to get Neji hammered twice is absolutely incredible, I take my hat off and pull out snack and tea from it for you because that's some heavy magic

Ha! Well...just can't resist a drunken, drugged, or heavily dosed and dopey Hyuga! Shikamaru needs some of that himself, I think. *evil plot bunnies hatch*

Whoa. Godspeed, my dear Wild Friend. Though I don't think you need it at the rate you are powering through those chapters...bloody hell, what are you running on? DO TELL ALL.

*leaves out tea, treats, tissues and a bucket of grateful tears* 💜💜💜💜💜💜