#There's that ...

[pardonmydelays]

i played ride :) and i'm writing a fic which possibly gives my anon away but idc

lovely! i'd love to read the fic once it's done!

still not sure who you are but at least i know you are not the same person who was calling me a "hot dog" lmao.

[natasha-in-space]

Alright that's all! Slinking back into the shadows for now to drink tea

[seijorhi]

can we get a part three to settle/sea change

ur gonna have to wait for the delightful nonnie who commissioned the first two to commission me again <33

[edwardshundredyearoldspunk]

just watched sweet home alabama for the first time since I was a kid and I hate it now? I used to be so taken with the southern charm but that was before what I knew what a fucking plantation was y'know. kind of leaves a bad taste in your mouth that they're doing confederate reenactments and the first person to open the door to the plantation home is a fucking black woman and she's a servant! and the villain is a democratic NYC mayor that wants to fill potholes? and patrick dempsey proposes by renting out an ENTIRE tiffany's but he's the one left at the altar? kind of ruins the whole southern charm of it all when you think about it

[shivunin]

For the OC ship asks!💜

Their pet has caused destruction. Who puts the pet in jail? Who defends the pet? and

Who gives off "they said no pickles" energy?

Thank you for asking, Mer! 💗

Ooooh!

Puts pet in jail: Emma, Elowen, Zevran, Fenris

Defends pet: Arianwen, Maria, Cullen

Whose pet is this? I've never seen it before, but it doesn't seem like it's really bothering anybody. Anyways, let's get out of here and do something more fun :) : Salshira

They Said No Pickles energy:

Arianwen: Once a person is Hers, she would (abrasively, likely without much actual talking) defend them from any inconvenience, pickles included.

Emmaera: Emma is of the "you paid for a thing, there is no reason to accept a thing you didn't paid for. Politely tell them this isn't the right thing" camp. And since Cullen would absolutely insist on not inconveniencing someone else over something as silly as personal preference, she is perfectly happy to give that speech (politely!) to whoever accidentally put pickles on his sandwich.

Maria would swap sandwiches while Fenris was distracted (so he could have the one without pickles) and Salshira would gaslight someone into thinking she was the one who asked for no pickles (easy mistake to make! No pickles is almost exactly the same word as pickles c:) (she leaves the cashier thinking they are best friends and also gets free milkshakes).

[rosetta-j-stone]

Me: Ooh, Melusina is on almost the same number of views as Reckoning on YouTube!

Me: Hang on.

Me: Melusina has been out for less than 6 days...

Me: ...and Reckoning has been out for over 6 weeks

Me: WELP

[waterdeep-weavemoss]

my friend made a joke about astarion being a cunning linguist and i had to bite back the 'no that's gale he said it himself' but ALSO it is now stuck in my mind for astarion as well. so.

[stupidhornycunt]

so, like, i don't like watching porn, right? (i can rant about that later LOL) and i dunno, i just decided to go on phub today and found out that i'm kind of into cockwarming, i guess? and like, gentle facefucking, cause i can't take things rough HAHA

[gerbiloftriumph]

Lost and Found (ao3):

Grandpa's story of the goblin caves started out familiarly enough, but as he spoke, the story started to twist and change. New friends, new conversations, and new ways to use old items transformed the tale, and the young king discovered new ways to be brave in the dark tunnels beneath Daventry.

~*~

An attempt to reinsert the cut lines from the subtitle file. Ch2 has a ton of cut content, and a lot of the lost dialogue is grand, but currently the only way to read it is in a contextless, barely legible slurry in the game files. I'm reconstituting it and fluffing it up and out to make it more accessible.

(1/?)

Daventry guidebooks usually didn’t mention the rain. Which was fine, really, according to the Committee for Tourism Improvement, which mostly consisted of Royal Guard Number Two and a pile of badly illustrated pamphlets he trotted out whenever someone remembered they had a Committee for Tourism Improvement and wanted a meeting about it.

“It’s not like it rains all the time,” he said. “Not worth mentioning to anyone.”

“It rains for a solid week.”

“Yeah, but that’s just one week during the summer.”

“Peak tourism season!”

“So, we sell them more umbrellas. Win for everyone. They stay dry, we can afford armor polish.”

For a solid week, give or take a handful of days on either side of it, midsummer rains crash over the mountains. The heavy clouds are buffeted by winds from the neighboring country of Serenia, and they get caught in the low valleys and tangled forests, lingering like a bad cough (which the rains often give the citizens with weaker lungs, a cough which might outlive the rains, outlive the people). Lightning illuminates the lanes, thunder rattles ill-fitting window frames, and the rain sweeps everything away. Sweeps it into the tunnels and caves below the kingdom, cleaning away the detritus of the previous season and leaving the streets sparkling with water and reflected lightning.

Once a year, the rain takes everything away.

Everything.

Even, sometimes, people. Even, once, the king himself.

~*~

The King of Daventry was very much being swept away with the rain. Not by any fault of his own, except perhaps his own inattentiveness and the ability to be in exactly the wrong place at exactly the wrong time.

His curly hair was soaked through, rainwater dripping in his eyes beneath his crown. Ropes binding his shoulders and wrists and ankles were swollen with water. He strained uselessly against them, bumping into the goblins that stood at attention beside him. Goblins as unbothered by the rain as they’d been unbothered by his helpless protests. Water rolled from their sharp spear points, like the raindrops had been cut in half.

They were racing down the river on a raft—a mattress, really. Bouncing from boulder to boulder, ricocheting high into the air before coming back down with a wet thump. Water splashed up over the lip of the mattress, but the occupants were already soaked. Wet on wet felt like a slap, though, and it just made the king more irritated.

Not that there was anything he could do. As nice as it would be to lash out, to knock these goblins from their posts, he wouldn’t get far past those spears, and then he’d still be on this raft, bouncing past blurry, waterlogged riverbanks with no real way to stop it. He also thought about diving off the raft and swimming to safety, but the water was fast, their hands were tight on his shoulders, and his own hands were knotted up behind him.

No, he was well and truly being washed away with the rest of the rubbish of the country, falling deep into the caves.

He couldn’t help but wonder what else was getting washed away tonight. Seeds, flowers, maybe even trees.

More than that. People, too. Villagers, maybe. Guards, possibly. Knights, perhaps.

Kings, absolutely.

Pushed into the darkness beneath the country. Gone.

For now, at least.

~*~

“Grandpa, you told me this story already.”

“Did I? Are you sure?” He was leaning forward, with a mischievous twinkle in his eye that Gwendolyn didn’t notice—she was staring intently at the mirror and the images it was showing off, of a bedraggled king being wrestled down a long, dark cave passage by a cluster of bouncing goblins. A grim image, but it was lightened by the candles and the tapestries and the warmth of the bedtime story setting surrounding it.

“Very.” She watched one of the mirror goblins trip the mirror king, and then thump him over the head with a glowing mushroom before laughing. The little mirror king scowled, while the real-life Graham smiled. The images weren’t exactly what the mirror had shown a couple days ago, but the basic idea looked the same.

“Okay, you’re right, I did.” The real Graham waved a hand. “I told you all about the goblins, and the caves, and Whisper and Acorn—”

“Wait, you didn’t mention them before.” Gwendolyn turned, and then she noticed the grin on her grandpa’s face.

“No—to tell the truth, Gwendolyn, I left out a lot of details the other night.”

“Why?”

“Oh, you know. I wanted to tell a story, and it was a good story. The right story for that night. But that doesn’t mean it was the whole story.”

“Some people would say that makes you an unreliable narrator.” She was already getting comfortable in the chair, settling down for a long story.

“Unreliable? Me? Never! I’m very reliable! Okay, I wasn’t that reliable a couple nights ago, and I wasn’t that reliable back on that rainy night.”

“Tell me?”

“Of course.”

~*~

Graham blinked at the salamander. It blinked back. It lazily flicked its tail.

“Yeah, granted, but I dunno, I still think she should have ended up with the duke,” Graham said. “It just would have been better for her character arc, y’know?”

The salamander yawned, long pink tongue flicking out.

“He wasn’t boring, didn’t you read the bit where he helped save her from the sea serpent?” Graham argued.

The salamander curled up, delicately put its tail over its nose, and closed its eyes.

“You’re not a very good book club partner,” Graham said, and leaned back against the little stone block he’d been using as a table.

The salamander said nothing, as the salamander had done all day, every day, for the last three days. It glowed faintly in the dark, casting a strange blue wash over Graham’s surroundings. Rocks, mostly, and a couple pipes. A handful of most definitely poisonous mushrooms.

“To be fair,” Graham said, “it’s been a couple years since I read it, too. Maybe we should recite addendums again? Start up where we left off? Number, ah, three thousand seven hundred and two? And a half?”

The salamander started to snore.

“Or maybe I could break down the door, steal a spear, thump the guards over the head, get out of here, and be home before tea time. That could be fun.”

The door in question was very soundly locked with a very secure padlock. He would know. He’d spent hours staring at it, wishing it would break by sheer force of will, with no luck. Which left him locked in a small and unpleasant cell. It was damp, and cold, and full of glowy salamanders, and had no way out. Not for lack of trying, kicking, knocking, pleading with empty shadows.

What had happened was this: he’d had a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day. An audience had gone loudly and poorly, with royal guards declaring the day opposite day (approved by Graham accidentally), the throne room filling with squirrels and snutes and rather too much chaos for one person to sensibly manage. So, flustered and feeling like this was just the frosting-on-the-custard-pie of his miserable and uncertain week (…make it months, really, ever since that equally frantic and sudden coronation), he’d snuck out for a walk to try and calm down. He’d been pinned in the castle for ages, trying to learn what it meant to be a king, and he wanted to get outside, unbothered and unfollowed. For once.

The fact that it was monsoon season and thus pouring rain didn’t really help, but he was determined. He’d gone for town, trying to see if Wente or Amaya or Muriel (not Chester) could offer advice, warmth, comfort, anything.

Anything, before he gave up everything.

But he hadn’t found villagers. He’d barely knocked on Wente’s door with broken hope fluttering in his chest before something shrill shattered the night. A flute. He’d spun, soppy cloak swirling out behind him, looked up, saw goblins, saw goblins pounce, and then...well, not much more to tell after that.

To be fair, a lot had happened, but it had mostly just been a frightening blur of ropes and rain and hard hands yanking him along. And being kidnapped by goblins could have been a fun adventure, back when he was a knight. But now, he was a king, shiny hat and all. And it was a bit more terrifying.

Taking a knight has certain expectations. Taking a king has. Well, larger expectations. Generally not good ones. A knight could get several hundred gold coins as ransom. A king had…more.

He’d been dragged into underground caves, presented to some large goblin in a silly hat in a silly chair, compared to a tiny illustrated king in an illustrated book the large goblin had been holding, and flung face first into this dark room. No explanations, no understanding, and no one to try and talk to.

He felt like he was going to lose his mind.

Thus, the book club. Which would probably be going better with a more conversational partner. But Newton was illuminating only in terms of bioluminescence, not scintillating dialogue.

A clatter and rattle and stomping outside caught his attention. He stumbled up and to the door, squinting into the shadows beyond. He hadn’t seen anyone besides salamanders for a while, so seeing a couple goblins bickering about cobwebs made for an entertaining view. Better than an unresponsive book club partner, anyway. 

From there, the story proceeded in the same way. Goblins, bored of their own chores, yanked a hapless young man from a locked room and ordered him to clean. To brush cobwebs away with a rag. And from there, the young man was a little freer to wander, to discover old friends locked in slimy darkness while a pack of goblins watched silently.

Finding and sharing food, slowly clearing goblin guards out of the way so he could free the villagers, one by one by one. Solving fairy tales for goblins, for frogs and peas and roses and coins to fill his pockets.

But also, the story started to twist.

Grandpa’s eyes glittered in the candlelight as he spoke about changes. New friends in new places. Different tools, different conversations. A new way to learn an old lesson.

Things changed in the goblin tunnels under King Graham’s narration. “Maybe not all for the better,” he warned. “I chose to tell a different story originally. This one might not be up to the same standards. It’s not been practiced or vetted. It’s about cut things. Lost things. Things I chose to remove.” But he told it anyway, and Gwendolyn curled under a blanket nearby, clutching a steaming mug filled with hot milk and honey and cinnamon, listening to the story unwind.

[kandayuu]

im

Hmm

I think I'm having a bad brain day

[three-headed-monster]

i wish more people understood the bo/dylan narrative, like fr, they underratedly are a top tier ship

[gorillawithautism]

you are such a pervasive spreader of dangerous misinformation you make me want to fucking throw up. no, not about palestine, just about everything else you claim to stand for. you are a stain on any social circle you burden by entering

i basically only talk about palestine and primates and personal experiences. if it's not about palestine, i don't see how any of the stuff i talk about could be "dangerous" if it were misinformation. have fun throwing up <3

as for the last point, i love my friends dearly and they are very kind to me. and if i'm a stain on any social circle i don't think my friends would willingly join and be active in a discord server where i'm king lol

[thetruekyle]

For the record, back in my WoW daze~

I rolled a Druid.

All through the levels, Balanced, supportive and squishy...

~but in the Endgame, had gone full Feral.

Slashing, swiping, rending, gashing, tanking, hulking, roaring, shouting, shifting, soaring, sprinting, surfing, disillusioning, and removing curses, sneaking, and burning with faeries fire...

I was a raider in the end, pillaging all those olde holds for all my new keep. . .

Gear gleaming the devotion, dedication, and time invested in trade for seemingly just lost sleep..

But through the lens and sheer power of invulnerability, the adaptive shapeshifter's versatility, and underneath it all lay that same stone cold well of cleansing, healing energies.

Polarized to the forces of an emeraldine earth, and yet free to transcend, explore and defend all the digital coloures of that hectarine space for all its worth..

Truth be told- I am still that squishy supporter.

But I have become so much more since those childhood days too!

I am wholly capable of being anything I need to be, these days.

..That's my real-life gain; my BIG takeaway.

My cherished 'paper slice' of knowing like a notarized receipt, given in trade for my years' investment into leasing an action-packed, and imaginative- but otherwise 'studious' seat.

Thus, I am still that same imperfect, meek, and yet softly Restorative healer,

But I am also become a war-torn beast of many formes and at times such a bloodthirsty brute, no better than a Barbary pain-dealer.

~And that's some real experience that no one can ever take away.

. . Nor behold even in their mind's eye -the sheer depth, volume and breadth of my personal SEA:Drive on this protracted subject.

..That is, beyond this singular sharing I have chosen to post about it.

.

.

.

so.. Yuh!

🌬🌊

[rosetta-j-stone]

The details:

Slovenia held Portugal to a nil-nil draw for 120 minutes, amazing

Jan Oblak once again the man of the match, Portugal wore him down for the penalties but he's still an absolute legend (both goalies excellent to be fair)

I may have screamed twice during this match, WHO EVEN AM I

[mutherless]

i wanna write something rly nasty for sunday

[darththrog]

Ima just say it i think the refere was unfair in the first half 🫢

Frrrr they just don't give heed to karim at all bro was being thrown like a rag doll and wasn't given a single foul they just assume he's faking cos he's always flying over the field (when it's him being pushed or worse)

Fun fact: karim has never won a penalty in the bundesliga