#but also feast or famine goes so hard too

[gxlacticlove]

tbh I think that Made In America probably goes the hardest out of all of Starkid's songs and I don't think it gets enough attention

[katnissdoesnotfollowback]

hi! 👋🏻 Ur a really awesome writer! i was just wondering if I could ask for some tips? maybe some advice or insight on how to deal with it when you’re not receiving the response you wish for?

Dear Anon,

I'm afraid I'll be making a few assumptions in order to answer this, so please forgive me if I'm way off. I'm guessing you're speaking about fanfiction writing specifically, and perhaps are fairly new-ish to posting your fanfic? Or maybe you've been posting for awhile and are getting discouraged from a lack of response.

Fair warning, pretty much none of this advice is easy to follow, and I still struggle with it sometimes too, but I do think it has helped me. It may not help you, as everyone is different and most of this is pulled from my own personal experiences. I truly hope it does help you though, because posting something you've worked so hard on and put so much love into, only to get little to no response, really sucks.

Something to remember before I dive in is that all of this advice is based on the idea that everyone fandoms in their own way and at their own pace. This includes you the writer -- we're always talking about don't pressure writers to update or make them feel bad if they can't produce because there's a person on the other side of the screen who isn't getting paid for this and is dealing with their own life... But Fandom is a community and a relationship. So you have to allow them the readers the same courtesy.

So here we go:

1) Timing can have a HUGE impact on the response you get. Sometimes you post right before or right after an established writer posts a long awaited update. Sometimes literally everyone in the fandom is posting on the same day. It can often feel like feast or famine around here when it comes to fan created works. There's no giant publishing companies staggering our releases so everyone's gets some kind of attention. Instead, we're a milieu of posting and yours just... might get shuffled to the bottom. How do you deal with this? Give yourself permission to reblog your own stuff at different times. It's okay to plug yourself a little. You worked hard on it and maybe somebody just missed it.

2) Kind of goes with the first... Exposure. AO3 has a great tagging system, but it also shows things in the order of posting, newest at the top. This means that if you post something to AO3 and it gets buried under things that post after yours, then it is less likely to be seen. Now, there are readers who will scour the tags and read literally everything in them and still be ravenous for more. Bless those sainted readers for their time and enthusiasm. BUT most readers aren't like that. This means that you can't always just put it up on AO3 and be done with it, and the readers will pour in!!!! Maybe... but probably not. This is one of the reasons why I still have a tumblr. It's another source of exposure and I have a little more access to more eyeballs/ears. Post here about your work. People get intrigued if you have inspiration pictures, songs, little snippets up on your blog. Part of the fandom experience is that ability to interact with the creators in a way that the vast majority of us simply cannot do with the creators of the source material.

Participate in challenges or group blogs, if there are any available and you have the time. In terms of the Everlark and THG fandom... it's an older fandom with very little to zero new source content. Which means the activity will be in constant ebb and flow. Famine or feast... and this is going to include reader response. If the rate of creation of fanworks fluctuates, then people will wander away and return. Don't even try to find consistency in the level of response you get because you won't get it. For example, there was a drabble I posted well over a year ago that barely got any notes. Well, someone reblogged it recently and it's suddenly gaining notes, and not just from people who are new to the fandom either. From people who simply missed it the first time around for one reason or another.

Understand that even if you do this, even if you directly ask people to read your stuff, they might not do it. They might read it and not like it. Just like you are under no obligation to produce fanfiction at the rate the fandom wants, they are under no obligation to read and like your stuff at the rate you want. :/ The fandom door swings both ways.

3) And this one's not easy.... accept that sometimes... it is not about you. Everyone fandoms in their own way and at their own pace. This means there will be readers who read everything they can get their hands on. They might miss your works anyways for one reason or another because they're still human too. There will be readers who will not like your writing, either because there is something in the style or the content that just isn't their thing. This is not an insult towards you or your writing style. It is merely a reflection of the widely varying tastes we as readers have. Examples!

Someone once told me that they liked my fanfiction so much because there is something about the way I use the English language that made it easier for them (a non-native English speaker) to understand the story. I can't even tell you what it is about my writing that apparently gives it this quality, only that it worked for someone. I say this only to point out that for the most part, you have ZERO control over how people react to your writing.

Preferences are a BIG THING to fandom readers. I am not a big fan of huge age gaps or huge power differences. Student/teacher? Nope. Not my bag. Really not a fan of dubious consent being treated as romantic. Now I've read some of those pieces, but very sparingly because it's not something I really enjoy so finding one I do like is difficult. There are writers who I've tried and I just can't... either because of the tropes they frequently use or the way they characterize the characters just doesn't jive with me, or because they (SERIOUS PERSONAL PREFERENCE HERE) heavy load the exposition up front in their stories which leads to them telling us what's going on or what the world is like rather than SHOWING us. But that's my preference. I don't read anything that's even close to something I'm writing myself because we're already all playing with the same source material. The last thing I want to do is inadvertently pull inspiration from another fan writer and make them feel like crap for it. So right now... I read zero Olympics, zero witchcraft fics, zero shapeshifters... I can't say other people do that but hey, maybe they do.

These are my personal preferences in what I read. Does that mean that if you write those things, I think you're not worthy of recognition or response? Hell no. Because there are readers out there who want those things. But I am, as a reader, very unlikely to even spend the time reading your work if it falls into those categories. As a writer... this means that when I write anything that I know people might be averse to, I CANNOT TAKE OFFENSE. I have to, as the writer, accept that it isn't necessarily about me, acknowledge that there are A MILLION REASONS why someone might not be reading my writing and accept it as being OKAY. Does this make sense?

My point in speaking about my own preferences is merely to highlight that all of us are different and fandom differently. So chances are pretty good that someone out there will like what you write but you will never ever EVER please everyone. Don't even try. You might only appeal to a few people, but I'm willing to bet if you're writing niche then those people are going to be OVER THE MOON for it. But again... If I am allowed to have preferences in what I read, then I have to allow everyone else in the fandom that same right. I have to allow and accept that there WILL be people who don't like my writing. Who think it's awful or overrated or awkward or incomprehensible. That is their opinion and they are allowed to have it. Now, of course, fandom etiquette says you shouldn't SAY that to someone but that's a whole different post. ;)

Also... there are readers who do not read fics unless they are complete. That's their preference and you have to allow for it. Now, it makes it discouraging for a newbie writer who doesn't have a fic under their belt so... either try to spit out some drabbles or oneshots to garner interest in your writing or.... have some patience.

4) So... write for you. Yes yes I hear everyone groaning and complaining, really kdnfb? That cliche???? Yes. Really. So here's the thing. Let's say you've got a birthday coming up. You're stoked for this birthday. It's going to be EPIC! You've asked for this way cool jacket you saw in a thrift store and tickets to see your favorite band in concert. Your birthday rolls around and... your Mom gives you cash to go buy the jacket, but not the tickets. Is your birthday ruined? Is it the worst birthday ever? Heck no! Look at your bad self in that awesome sauce jacket! You rock!

What I'm saying is, find something in your writing that YOU like. That YOU are proud of. "I really love my world building in this piece." "I wasn't sure I could pull off that character alteration but I really think i did." "I actually posted smut *GASP!*" Whatever it is, bask in it. But don't hinge your happiness on other people on this one. I'm trying to say, want more than one thing out of your writing. Wanting something for yourself makes it easier to handle when you don't get something from anyone else. Is this easy to do? Nope. It sure as shit is not. But this is why we writers are always freaking complaining about how hard writing is. Onward!

5) Respond. Fandom is an interactive community and people can be shy, nervous, feel awkward, a thousand things. This is again a personal preference of mine, but I try very hard to respond to every comment left to me on AO3 and every ask sent to my inbox. The exceptions are the blatant bullshit hate and someone who is clearly trying to start a fight. Hopefully you're not dealing with that and never do. ff.net is a hot mess and I haven't even logged on in years because they never make anything easy, so I haven't answered those reviews in ages. And I always get turned around responding to comments left on tumblr posts and in the tags so I'm bad about that... But I will eventually, religiously answer every comment in my AO3 inbox. Anyways. My point!

You've already bravely put yourself out there by posting your work? Bravo! Somebody takes the brave step to comment on it? THANK THEM FOR IT. No seriously. I'm convinced I've got at least half a dozen regular commenters who stuck around in part because I THANKED THEM FOR IT. Community. Two way street. Show love to the readers who worked up the courage to give you the love and it will multiply. Now, not everyone does this, I know. Some people will say that posting your writing is showing enough love to the fandom, you shouldn't have to do this extra step... and they're not WRONG, I'm simply offering this as a piece of advice that I think has helped me gain an amazing level of response.

6) Nobody likes to feel guilty or like they're being guilted into reading something/liking something. It's okay to say that you're not getting the kind of response you want, or that you feel like you put a lot of effort into this and got very little traffic on it. Because it's a valid feeling and it sucks to feel that way. BUT if you're constantly posting about it or complaining about it, then that is going to drive people away... it is. I'm sorry. So maybe temper how often you do this. It's a balance between expressing your frustration and alienating people, and it's not simple. I wish I could tell you it was.

6) Try not to be jealous of other writers. I'll admit this is one of the top two hardest bits of advice I'm going to put on this list. There is always a bigger name writer. There is always someone out there for whom a lot of people in the fandom will drop everything to go read their updates. And it's frustrating to witness that and not have that kind of attention yourself. It's especially difficult if you're a fandom reader and you don't see the great things in those uber popular writers what everyone else seems to see. But again... everyone fandoms at their own pace, in their own way. Readers have preferences and that's not necessarily a reflection on you. You cannot expect them all to respond the way you want them to. Easy to do? Nope nope noooooope.

7) Expect exactly zero people to read your material. That's right I said zero.

ZERO. NONE. NADA. ZILCH! THE BIG FAT GOOSE EGG!!!!

Is this easy? ahahahahahahahhahahahahaha. This is probably the hardest piece on the list, and I'm sure a lot of people are going to be infuriated by my even suggesting it. But you asked my advice and this is an attitude that I have worked very hard to cultivate in myself. I'm still not always successful, and I'm also aware that I'm saying this from a position of extreme comfort in terms of reader response. I've been in this fandom a long ass time, through A LOT of ebbs and flows, and I'll be the first one to admit that I likely gained a large portion of faithful readers because when the initial dip of creator activity happened after the movies were done being released, I was still writing... A LOT. That era was perhaps one of my most prolific and since a lot of creators lost interest and moved on, readers flocked to the few writers still producing. So yep. I gained readership by fandom attrition. It's okay, it happens. Can't tell you how I kept so many of them for as long as I have...

EDIT TO ADD: If you expect nobody to read it, imagine how ecstatic you'll be when somebody does. But the point is, since so much of this is out of your control, and because there are a thousand reasons why you might not be getting the response you want, this attitude happened to work for me. Maybe it'll work for you too, maybe not. Worth a shot, though.

8) Give it time. You cannot cannot CANNOT expect immediate attention. And if you've been here awhile and you're still not gaining the response you want? Well... hopefully some the advice here helps you deal with that. Try to shift your attitude and perspective, as difficult as that might be. Because you can't force people to read, to like, to respond. You can't. So again, if you tie your happiness in fandom writing to the level of response you get, it's only going to end badly.

I hope this helps, Anon. I know it's not easy. Trust me. I started writing for Everlark in 2013, the year Catching Fire the movie was released. My god that was a chaotic time of just furious production. And I was one of the little newbie fish in a huge pond of Big Name creators. Hang in there, love. Because if it's something you love to do, then you can weather some discouragement.

Happy Writing!

<3 kdnfb

[hushedhands]

Challenge 80

Thank you for voting @thespianbooks​!! Since so much is happening in the world out there, I promise that absolutely nothing happens in this challenge! It’s just Maxerica and brand new baby Addy hanging out together, about a week before the beginning of the Postscript. 

“Then you twist it under.”

“Twist under…” Maxon’s tongue poked out of his lips as he focused hard. “Like that?”

“Yes.” America smiled over at him. She was feeding Addy, now a full four days old, from a bottle that she’d pumped earlier in the afternoon.

“And so then this part… it goes like that?”

“Tuck it under the middle part.” America corrected him.

“Blast.” Maxon had taken to using pseudo-swears in front of the baby so she wouldn’t ‘learn any bad habits from him’. It always made America giggle. “I can’t understand how you do this so quickly. You hands are a blur!” Maxon complained.

He’d caught America braiding her hair into pigtails to keep it out of her face, and more importantly out of baby Addy’s face, during their frequent feeding times together. It was a skill Maxon had never needed to acquire before, but now that he had a daughter, Maxon wanted to learn to braid so that he could fix her hair when she had enough of it to braid.

“I was slow at first, too!” America promised. “Kenna taught me to braid when I was six. Give your hands time to learn how to do it and eventually you’ll be able to braid anything you want without giving it a second thought.”

Maxon considered the three ribbons laid out before him as though studying a recovered text from a long-dead language. “Hmm…”

Baby Addy finished her bottle and gurgled contentedly.

“Here. Why don’t you take a break and burp the little dairy princess?” America offered.

Maxon’s face burst into an enormous grin as he pulled the baby, dressed in her cutest, softest little onesie, from America’s arms and onto his chest. He let her rest her little head on his shoulder while he looked around for a baby towel. He found one strung on a chair nearby and leaned way over to grab it without having to get up, then he repositioned the baby so that she was on the towel just in case she spat up any milk when she burped.

Then he started firmly patting her back.

Free from her bundle of joy, America stood and stretched, rubbing a hand over her soft belly out of habit. It looked like one of Gerad’s deflated soccer balls now, but it was still big enough that Astra occasionally asked America to please double-check that there weren’t any more babies inside.

America looked around the room at the unbelievable mess that had taken over the family room. Maxon had asked the maids to only come when they were summoned instead of doing their usual daily cleaning rounds. It meant the new little royal family had lots of time to themselves, but the result was that a tornado of baby clothes, towels, bags of unused diapers, bottle cleaners, breast pumps, and soft toys had wrecked their once tidy home. And America knew, without a doubt, that this was what heaven looked like.

Even though the baby wasn’t even a week old, and she definitely couldn’t respond socially to anything America or Maxon did to her, she already seemed to have such a personality. She grunted and cooed and waved her little fists in the air, and made perfect eye contact with whoever was feeding her. America could swim in those grey eyes forever.

“Hungry, Maxon?” America asked, snapping out of her dazed thoughts about her daughter when her stomach growled.

“Sure, I could eat. Would you call down to the kitchens?”

“Way ahead of you.” America was already halfway to the telephone in Maxon’s bedroom. The Palace chef had been feeding the two of them very well since the Addy had been born. They always ate well, so maybe she was reading too much into it, but America felt spoiled by the Palace staff who were all so excited to have a brand new royal baby in residence.

“What do you think we shall feast on tonight, little girl?” Maxon asked the princess on his chest. “Perhaps something warm and cozy, like soup?”

Baby Addy burped and Maxon grinned, “Of course, your order is for milk, milk, and more milk. Don’t worry my little love, we’ve got you covered.”

“We?” America asked, listening to the telephone ring. “Don’t overpromise, Maxon, I can only make so much milk at a time.”

Maxon hid Addy’s little ears so she wouldn’t overhear America’s words and become afraid that there might be a milk famine.

That was one thing America wasn’t struggling with, much to her relief. She’d heard horror stories from women at her clinics that sometimes milk was slow to come, or when it finally did, their babies wouldn’t latch on and drink it. Each clinic’s formula cupboards, which were kept stocked for those women, literally saved the lives of their babies. But Addy and America were off to a great start, milk-wise, and America was endlessly grateful for their luck.

After alerting the kitchens that the King and Queen were ready for dinner, America rejoined her husband on the sofa and ran a hand through his golden hair, dragging her fingernails along his scalp. “Is she ready for a nap?”

“Hmm…” Maxon lowered the baby from his shoulder, now that she was done burping, and examined her little face. Wide, grey eyes blinked up at him. “I think she just wants to be held for a little bit.”

“Oh goodness, if only she had someone who wanted to hold her.” America smirked sarcastically. She and Maxon had a large rotation of baby-holders who would come take care of the baby for five or six hours at a time to allow America plenty of time to rest while she recovered from giving birth, and Maxon plenty of time to rest from taking care of his recovering wife and infant daughter.

Magda was always first, claiming her right as Gramma, and then May would show up next. They also had the help of Kenna as Addy’s official royal nanny, though she wouldn’t become a full-time employee of the Palace until America was back at work. Mary and Paige each spent chunks of their free time in the evenings or hours of their weekends doting on the new baby, refusing to accept payment for their time even though their presence meant America and Maxon got an extra nap. All in all, America felt incredibly loved and supported, and her thoughts often turned to the women in Illéa who did this without the help of husbands or family or chefs or maids. She’d do it for Addy, there was no question, but America couldn’t even properly imagine how hard it would be.

“Here, I need to keep practicing.” Maxon returned their soft, chubby little angel to America so that he could return to braiding the ribbons. America peppered Addy’s belly with kisses and was rewarded with a squirm: their new baby girl was ticklish.  

America leant her head on Maxon’s shoulder, peering lazily down at his work, holding Addy securely across her lap.

It was not possible for life to get any better than this.

After dinner that night, America was feeling energetic enough to wrap everyone up in warm clothes and take a stroll through the gardens. Maxon held baby Addy, swaddled in a tremendously fluffy blanket, all the way down stairs with one of his hands firmly gripping the railing just in case. America was glad to know that he had somewhere else to put his worry now, and she tiptoed behind them with both hands stuffed into her coat pocket, living life dangerously and thrilled at not getting caught by her husband.

They kept a stroller by the door for their many garden walks. It was the only place they’d gone since entering their suite after introducing Addy to the Kingdom a few days before. Now, on a dark, wintery December night, everything in the gardens was beautiful. Only the winter flowers were in bloom, but somehow the earth still smelled rich and alive.

“Addy’s going to be so surprised when spring comes.” America smiled.

Maxon paused pushing Addy in her stroller to kiss America on the lips and then said, “She won’t know what’s hit her. The flowers blooming. The bees buzzing.”

“And this summer, when we start taking her to the swimming pool…” America grinned.

“Oh my goodness, I can’t wait to see her first swimming suit. Astra’s have these cute little skirts attached. Will hers have a little skirt?” Maxon asked eagerly.

“Yes, absolutely.”

Maxon chuckled, “I always thought my life was going to be spent in war rooms, making tough decisions about troop movements and scarce resources. Now all I’m doing is imagining baby clothes and learning to braid.”

“Mmm.” America smiled happily down at their little bird, now snoozing peacefully on her ride. “Let’s never, ever go back to work.”

“Oh? You think we can just barricade ourselves in the Palace forever?”

“Yes.”

“And what happens when the people choose a new royal family?”

“They can take the second floor.”

“And when the chefs refuse to feed us any longer because we’re no longer King and Queen?”

America made an overly dramatic shocked face at Maxon, “They would never do such a thing. They love Addy and me too much.”

“Perhaps you’re right.” Maxon allowed with a grin. “In that case, we must start our lives as ordinary citizens at once.”

“Ordinary citizens claiming squatter’s rights in a palace.” America corrected him.

“Yes, of course.” he agreed. “What’s the first item on your agenda, non-queen America?”

“As Squatter Mer, I declare that we must choose a normal name for Adrienne, something distinct and ordinary.”

“Well, as Squatter Max, I must voice my concerns.”

“Oh?”

“I believe she will have to choose her normal name for herself, just as we chose our names when we started playing castaways.” Maxon reminded America.

“But it will be years before she can name herself. What can we call our Squatter Daughter in the mean time?”

“Squatter Daughter. That’s her name.” he declared.

“Oh no. Adrienne, I am so sorry for your terrible play name my love.” America giggled down at her sleeping baby.

Addy was a good sport, though. She played along and let them call her “Squatter Daughter” until the air grew too chilly on her nose and she cried out in complaint. The game ended and the royal family returned to their suite for the night.

Maxon and America made a nest of blankets in Maxon’s bed and relaxed there while Addy rested cozily in a bassinet within reach. When America fell asleep that night, she was curled up on her husband’s chest listening to it vibrate as he hummed a lullaby for their baby. When Maxon woke up a few hours later to Addy’s hungry crying, he drifted back off listening to America hum songs while she fed the baby. Just like that, Maxon and America took turns singing each other to sleep all night.

[skullvins]

What's your favorite song from Black Friday?

that’s....... genuinely such a hard question??? what if tomorrow fucks me up every time and I Love It, feast or famine goes SO HARD musically...... do you want to play is a track I think about all the time too

looking at the soundtrack HOW DID I FORGET MADE IN AMERICA???

also black friday (the song) is also so so so good

[reingkings]

Black Friday (*Spoilers*)

Alright first I want to say this is not hate! I absolutely LOVED Black Friday. However, I did have some things that I felt could have been changed to make the script a little stronger

Things I loved:

The old TGWDLM gang! — we got an update into their lives without it being overly shoved into our faces. It was just there for people who loved the first musical, but knowing about them wasn’t necessary to the understanding of this one

The music! — Feast or Famine, Do You Want to Play?, Adore Me (especially the chorus), Black Friday, If I Fail You, Our Doors Are Open well I can’t name them all.

Oh, and how America is Great Again played in the background when General McNamara appears on screen. I’m a sucker for characters having their own themes songs. Wouldn’t it be amazing if Paul got a mix of Let it Out/Inevitable

The fact that starkid made a MUSICAL extended universe

The new characters/actors, Kim, Angela, Kendall, James, Curt, were all amazing and their addition really helped flesh out the new universe (plus, it doesn’t hurt that they have amazing voices)

The old cast playing new dynamics and pushing themselves (Lauren, Dylan, and Joey especially, but Jaime killed in her role as Sherman too, as did Robert with Ethan and Jon as Gary)

THE SCRIPT OH MY GOD THE SCRIPT

The choreography! Feast or Famine was my favorite but they keep getting better and better with this!

Their comedy, still fucking gold. Especially those fucking oneliners and small exchanges. “Well, we haven’t put a label on it yet” “But we are intimate” *moment if silence*, “Hannah what the fuck is this, that better be fucking floss!”, “That’s a bribe sir, and that’s illegal”, *raised eyebrow*, “... Well it should be”, “Ooh right in the subpeona”, everything about James Tolbert as Agent Morris

The social CRITIQUE, the fact that the kids don’t even want wiggly, it’s the adults who want to buy wigglys to fill the holes in them (still buying a wiggly though)

How vitalized they all seem to be about the new direction of starkid/that they’re experimenting and coming out of their comfort zone. I love starkid but you could tell that they were getting worn out by just sticking to the same formula of just making parodies. Before TGWDLM we had 2 year gaps between uploads of musicals (which, a year to write a musical is incredible, Sondheim has currently been working on the latest for a decade, and Miranda took like three for Hamilton). I love seeing creators grow

The overall aesthetic of the stage, costumes, and music was so vicerally haunting and scary. I literally slept with my hallway light on and the door open the first time I saw it

Sigh, and now for the things I might get pitchforked for

First some technical stuff. One, I think the sound equipment was on too low for the stage production. If you compare the songs in the stage production to the album version, you can tell that the more subtle parts of the intrumentals were just too quiet. Also, the actors’ voices were much louder than the music so sometimes it was like they were singing acapella. Two, although I appreciate the new camera work and how it’s more similar to traditional recordings of musicals, it did take away from my ability to appreciate the choreography and the subtle reactions of the cast

While a lot of the songs were good, some of them just needed to be cut or trimmed. Especially for songs where one line of explanation would have sufficed. An example of a trimmed song I think is CaliforM.I.A where Lex sings that her mom is an alcoholic, etc. I feel like it could have just been spoken and it would have been more subtle, quiet and painful. A song I think needed to be cut was Deck the Halls. I love Robert, but that song was mostly just an omage to what they did with Workin’ Boys. However, the part that made Workin’ Boys, pardon the pun, work was that it was Professor Hidggen’s backstory/dream. It revealed something about him and his isolation

Some of the lines in the lyrics were just clunky. It’s something I noticed in TGWDLM, but I thought it really worked there since the characters couldn’t sing naturally. However, it seemed to be worse in this? Like I said, some songs were still golden. But some just. Monsters and Men, I noticed had a lot of it. Which yeah, they had less than a year to write it and they had more songs than TGWDLM, so it makes sense that some are a bit rushed? But still, i would have preferred a shorter soundtrack with tighter songs.

I think the Becky and Tom romance was so unnecessary. I feel like yeah, you can make them exes, and you can build up their chemistry so it’s implied they’ll get together eventually, but the fact that they fall in “love” in like 5 hours makes them so shoehorned. For Becky, it’s kind of a disservice because most of her songs are then focused on romance. For Tom, it’s just. It kind of cheapens him, especially since he was previously married for at least 8 years. Like you don’t hear him mention Jane or Tim at all, or worry about Tim’s gift when he’s at the theater. So when it comes to him singing “If I Fail You” it doesn’t feel authentic because you don’t get that sense of Tom feeling like failure over Tim in his dialogue. And also, you could cut out a lot of songs (and give them something new ones)

Although I loved the multiple storylines, I felt like it was really hard to connect to the characters. I feel like that might be because of the songs? Characters were so busy with info dump songs that there were just less interactions in general. I would have loved if the character subtleties could be explored in the same way as TGWDLM

They shouldn’t have killed Ethan. Not just because it’s Robert, but as part of the overall storyline, they shouldn’t have killed Ethan.

Imagine if it had played out like this: No Becky-Tom Romance. They’re just fleeing the mayhem together because they’re the few that managed to keep sane. Becky has a doll but Tom doesn’t. Ethan and Hannah get accosted by the mob. Ethan tells Hannah to run and you see him start to fight, but not what happens after. Hannah is running and you see dead bodies strewn around the mall (to show that people have died). Becky and Tom appear. They hear a few of the wiggly worshippers members yell that they have to find the girl with the wiggly. Tom joins in on the hunt because “he needs to find one for Tim”, the same scene plays out with Do You Want to Play With Me? bc that song is a BOP but Ethan shows up to save Hannah. Becky manages to snap out of her trance and helps Ethan subdue Tom. The three of them flee. Now the two of them are bigger targets bc they had two wigglys. Meanwhile Lex teams up with her managers/discovers her supernatural powers during their escape or something and goes looking for Hannah and Ethan. All this within the first act. Now you’ve got about ~4 plotlines (the cultists/Linda, the trio, Lex (all at the mall) and General McNamara) that are a bit interconnected instead of ~6.

None of the characters got time to breathe, pause and reassess, or grieve. Hannah and Lex never even found out about Ethan. Gerald didn’t find out his wife died, and his call bit was used for comedy, The President didn’t even seem too affected by General McNamara’s sacrifice (which might be a byproduct of the switching story arcs, but contrasts to his TGWDLM moments where he at least got his last words and Paul remembered him)

There was no indication of Lex being supernatural, so her connection with General McNamara was pretty out of the blue and unearned.

That’s it. As I said, I loved it, I just think it could be rearranged somewhat

[rajasw0rld]

I BINGE EAT LIKE A MF

So I just completed a yoga video on yoga for overeating, and i feel like it got the physical part of overeating, but not the mental/emotional part. I looked at the comments and I saw a lot of people saying they struggle with overeating so: consider this an extended comment on the video.

I wake up: groggy and dehydrated and with a knot I'm my stomach. I look at my bed: crumbs of pizza, tobacco, and whatever the hell else sprinkle my sheets and make me itchy.

I feel terrible, but mostly about myself.

It kinda goes like this: I overeat, and them reminisce about all the healthy eating i was doing before, and lament on my current situation. Then fatphobia creeps in, and I feel deathly afraid of gaining weight, that the little outline of a shadow of an ab that i worked so hard for will disappear (as well as my friends and family and happiness), never to be seen again.

Sure, I catastrophize. But that’s kinda the point, right?

What is it that makes binge eating so high stakes? Would it still be called binge eating if the despair and depression don't come after? Would it just be called “a really good dinner” instead, if the eater felt good about themselves afterward? Or is it 100% a binge every time you eat way too much, no matter how you feel about it in the moment or after?

To be clear, I have never been diagnosed with binge eating disorder, but I do recognize that I have disordered eating habits at times, although its become much better with time (thank you God).

Anyway, the National Eating Disorders Association (NEDA) defines binge eating as follows:

“Binge eating disorder (BED) is a severe, life-threatening, and treatable eating disorder characterized by recurrent episodes of eating large quantities of food (often very quickly and to the point of discomfort); a feeling of a loss of control during the binge; experiencing shame, distress or guilt afterwards; and not regularly using unhealthy compensatory measures (e.g., purging) to counter the binge eating. It is the most common eating disorder in the United States.” (emphasis added)

So clearly I added that emphasis at the last sentence because I am presently shook that its the most common eating disorder in the nation! So there’s other folks secretly ordering uber eats at night and tip toeing down the stairs so that your roommates won’t hear you shamefully picking up your third dinner? There’s other people throwing away their own personal gargantuan trash bag of disposable and poisonous for the environment eating utensils and containers (after a few second dinners over the course of the week)? Egad, man. I’m relieved as fuck in this moment.

Coming from an incredibly violent and incredibly violently rich white college during my formative years, I grew used to feeling like an outlier, although I was outgoing and garnered positive attention from peers, it always felt like a tokenized spotlight, controlled by liberal arms and which shone a “progressive” light on whichever Black it shined on.

And then there were the times I felt alone. Which, I appreciated, because at least it didn’t feel like a fucking lie encrusted betwixt the previously braced teeth of the rich whites who owned them. At least when those same folks who shone their token spotlight on me ignored me after class or on the quad, I knew that then they were being genuine. My pain made more sense on the sobering, brutal plane of casual racism. It also gave me the cold, hard justification I felt I needed to eat until I physically hurt inside.

There’s also precedence for my disordered eating. Growing up incredibly poor, we ate like hunter gatherers—living between feast and famine. As one of seven, we were hiding snacks from each other and trying to save and stockpile food when we could, just to enjoy the human right of eating a bit more each day.

In Breath, Eyes, Memory by Edwidge Danticat, the protagonist Sophie lived with her aunt in Haiti until 12, where she moved to Brooklyn to live with her mother Martine. it is a story about intergenerational trauma and the bond between mother and daughter. Later in the book we find that Sophie is bulimic; she deals with the stress of being abused by Martine by trying to control her eating. Upon finding out that her daughter is bulimic, Martine is taken aback at the waste and admits to Sophie that she gained sixty pounds during her first year in America because she could not believe there was so much food.

Was college my America? The promised land of food and resources and milk and honey? I think so, because my binge eating developed there. Every repressed memory which reared its ugly, puss filled head on the surface of my mind could be easily snuffed out by a call to dominoes and an email explaining how my fabricated cousin died so I couldn’t come to class.

I had the time, space, and emptiness of gut to develop my binge eating into something that looked like extreme health. Haunted by memories of lasting hunger and not enough, I was propelled to eat everything in sight, especially in times of distress. Like Martine, I could not believe how much I could leave behind by eating so much in front of me.

So, if you’re like me and/or Martine and you have a few dinners in front of you, I wonder if you can look behind you and kindly gaze upon the darkness you have chosen to ignore. What if that darkness is actually light, waiting to be unveiled by your beautiful, capable hands? What if a friend or therapist can help you uncover that light if the darkness is too heavy?

What if our bodies, exactly as they are now, are able to facilitate the healing we try to find through eating too much and hating ourselves after? What if its easier to love ourselves?

I don’t know.

I don’t know what I’m writing about, or if my 5 person audience has made it to the end of this post. I do hope you’ll keep looking for the light, whether you finish this post or not. I’ll keep looking too.

-R

[eldritchsurveys]

1056.

5k Survey LXXVIII

4001. How would you rate your sex drive? >> I wouldn’t “rate” it? I don’t keep tabs on it or anything, it comes and goes at will. 4002. You are sitting alone with a stack of videos and a vcr. Of the following which are you most likely to puut on (1 is most, 10 is least) The good the bad and the ugly, - 5 dracula, - 2 slc punk, - 6 twin peaks fire walk with me, - 1 jerry springer too hot for tv, - definitely not in the running singing in the rain, - 7 flash gordon, - not in the running the matrix, - 4 blade runner, - 3 the muppet movie - not in the running 4003. Are you more likely to get or send random instant messages? >> Neither? 4004. If you were writing an ad telling people to come to your town what would you say about it? >> You lost me at “if you were writing an ad”. 4005. What part of your body can you not stand to get an itch on? >> Any part I can’t easily scratch, of course.

4006. How many people do you suppose have stolen that System of a Down album called 'steal this album'? >> I don’t know. 4007. Name a band you like: What are/were this band's roots and influences? >> I don’t know the roots and influences of bands. 4008. would you rather have a poster of john lennon or a cute fuzzy black cat? >> I’m not interested in either of these posters. I’d rather have a bare wall. 4009. make a public service announcement: >> No. 4010. What makes you feel the need to escape? >> My own brain. 4011. You and your signifigant other, crush, interest etc...who is the ernie and who is the bert? >> --- 4012. When was the last time you did something and later asked yourself 'did I do the right thing?'? >> I don’t remember. 4013. What do you find it hard to say goodbye to? >> Er... 4014. What is your fantasy valentine's day like? >> I don’t have a fantasy for Valentine’s Day. 4015. If you had to have a color for a name, what color would it be? >> --- 4016. Should preference be given to minority students during the college admission process? >> You know, I’ve read a lot of arguments for and against affirmative action over the years, and while I see where multiple sides are coming from, I think that the most important thing to me would be people of all backgrounds being given opportunity. And since this country has proven time and time again that when left to its own devices, it will let systems of privilege and oppression stand without contest, there needs to be a check-and-balance system in place. Which, in this case, would be affirmative action. It’s awkward and has its own ramifications, but it provides opportunity where there was none (or hardly any) before, and I think it opens the door for further discussions and adaptations.

4017. Sweet wine, fresh crisp appples, bagles with creme cheese and lox...what is the most incredibly luxurious food? >> I’m not sure. 4018. Is there really anything to fear in communism? >> ???? 4019. Best sesame street character: most annoying sesame street character: >> --- 4020. feast or famine? >> Wh... I mean, which one do you think I’d choose??? 4021. Write a poem right here in five minutes or less: >> No. 4022. Do you stay and help clean up after a party? >> At someone else’s place? No. 4023. Why was the teddy bear named after teddy roosevelt? >> As far as I’m aware, it’s because some guy saw the bears at a World’s Fair or something and bought a bunch of them to use as promotions for Roosevelt’s campaign. If I’m wrong, there’s always your friendly neighbourhood search engine to clear it up for you. 4024. What are you the prince or princess of? >> I am the Red Prince, inheritor of the Tower and doom of the White! Thank you for asking. 4025. Some people think that Christmas should be taken off of public school calanders because it is politically incorrect. What aould you say to this? >> I don’t know what that means, so I would have to ask for clarification about Christmas’ political incorrectness. Personally, I think more holidays should be added, for students of different cultures and religions, and some of the “American civic religion” type holidays like Presidents’ Day and shit should probably be removed. That’d balance it out. 4026. Would you rather go to an exorcism or a step aerobics class? >> First of all, those are completely different events, so it’d depend on what kind of experience I was looking to have. And whether I felt like exercising. Which I usually do not. 4027. Do you believe in spells and curses? >> Do I think that spells and curses work? Sure, somehow. I mean, people do them for a reason... 4028. What tv show does your family watch together? >> --- 4029. What's on your calander this year? >> Dates? 4030. Is anything ruining your life? What? >> No. 4031. How was life meant to be lived? >> --- 4032. What is your usual breakfast? >> A Morningstar veggie burger and chips. 4033. If you had kids, would you worry about what they did online? >> Of course I’d worry. 4034. Will you be maxin and relaxin this weekend? If not, what are your weekend plans? >> It’s Monday, man, I have no idea what’s going to happen next weekend aside from the usual. 4035. Who has the most interesting story to tell: someone who used to fly to asia as a drug trader the ceo of Nike a nyc homeless person a preacher's wife >> I was a homeless person in NYC and I think my stories are plenty interesting. Regardless, I think most (if not all) people have interesting stories to tell, if one is willing to listen. 4036. What do you have a bad feeling about? >> I am not having a bad feeling at this very moment so I would like to keep it that way. 4037. Do you have a lot to say? >> I don’t know. Do I? 4038. If a smallpox vaccine was offered to you, would you take it? >> ??? Don’t we get those as children? I’m confused. 4039. Would you ever work at a kissing booth? how about a dunking booth? >> No. 4040. There is a woman who paints by stripping naked, rolling around in paint and then pressing her body against the canvas. What do you think of her art? >> That’s pretty neat. 4041. Have you ever bought something you saw on tv? >> Like, on an infomercial? No. 4042. Name a relative: that relative dies unexpectedly. On the same day 9/11 happens. You can either bring back your relative or bring back 1/2 the people who dies on 9/11. What do you do? >> --- 4043. Have you gone mental? >> Frequently. 4044. What do you think of jews for jesus? >> I’m not sure what to think, since according to some reports they’re not even Jews, but Christians masquerading as such in order to convert Jews (or undermine the “official” Jewish stance on Christ being a cool dude but not the Messiah). Which is pretty messed up, in my opinion. But if a Jewish person interprets their holy texts in such a way that they wish to adopt Christ as the Messiah, then I’d imagine that’s their business. 4045. Has anyone ever tried to 'save' you? >> Evangelical Christian style? Yeah, plenty of times. Fortunately, I seem to be immune to that particular sort of manipulation. 4046. Quick! picture santa clause in your head... Was he black or white when you pictured him? >> White. All Santa is good Santa and of course as a Black person I’m definitely interested in Black Santa, but almost all of my visual references up until now have been white. 4047. Would you ever buy a black santa clause? >> I mean, duh??? Also, we have a Black angel for our Christmas tree; they’d go together perfectly. 4048. or take your kids to vist a black santa clause? why or why not? >> --- 4049. What do you smell like? >> Right now, I smell like jojoba and lavender and opium oil (and tea tree oil, on my head) because I just showered and moisturised. It’s very nice. 4050. What kind of soup do you eat? >> I don’t usually go for soup. But last night I had chicken and wild rice soup because Sparrow made it for her meal prep this week, and it was pretty damn good.

[fashionkingcarney]

ravenous, ravenous

pairing: orpheus/eurydice

When he looks up and spots her, standing paces away, his whole face lights up. “Eurydice,” he says, breathy and hopeful, and damn him for how her name sounds in his voice.

Home, he'd promised her.

i’m having the best time writing this, so it’s my dearest hope that anyone reading this will also enjoy! this bit is more of a come home with me rewrite, with a bit of a twist to it, which i suppose is fitting given that this whole canon divergent au is hadestown with a bit of a twist. 

more to come soon ;)

posted on ao3 as well

She’s got three quarters in her coat pocket. Pinched between her thumb and forefinger, Eurydice rubs them as she walks, the metal grinding against each other. A distant while ago, the coins had been a reassuring weight at her side, cold as the bitter wind stinging her nose and chapping her lips. Then; there had been more than the three, and the metal jangling around like a rattle in her pocket had been a comfort. A lullaby and a child’s blanket, soothing her to sleep when all she had for cover was her coat. Now; the remaining coins are warm to the touch, as if they’d stolen what little heat her body had held.

There’s something gritty in her pocket. Not sand, nor gravel, but something in between. It crawls under her fingernails, the bitten tips and cracked cuticles coloured a grey so dark it may as well be black. It creeps through the seams of her coat. On off days, when she takes a stick to it, ashy clouds billow from it, like puffs of cigarette smoke. Her meager attempts to preserve some level of hygiene always ends in coughing fits.

The man who’d travelled with her in a freight car between Colorado and Kansas had called it dust.

“It gets everywhere,” he’d said into the dark, his voice raspy. There’d been a whistle in his words, or perhaps it’d been the wheeze settled in his chest. She’d heard it in the silence of the night, each breath, a heave.

(She’d never ended up seeing his face, but when she flips through her memories, she draws him as grizzled, face prickled with shocks of white hair, too close cut to be called a beard, too long to be called stubble. Cheeks sunken in and clothes that had been soaked through enough times that they never dried quite right anymore. She’d smelled it for the first half of the journey, until she couldn’t quite smell anything anymore. Eurydice had heard of food turning rotten, but she’d never thought clothing could spoil.)

Eurydice pulls the lapels of her coat tighter against her body. As the winter drags on, the travellers crossing her path get sicker. The ice settles in their joints, the wind blows the dust everywhere, every breath turns their lungs blacker. Her tattered handkerchief soaked in water can only protect her so far. Fatigue is settling in, her stomach whines. It too is tired, and fully fledged growls take energy that she can’t spare.

The train had taken her to the end of the line, here in this town called New Asphodel, and the last of her funds had been traded a pit stop ago, for a bowl of warm broth to soothe her cracked throat. What remained; three quarters could buy her neither a meal, nor a place to rest. Eurydice rolls her shoulders and cracks her neck. Her backpack full of nothing gets heavier with every step she takes down this barely-lit alley, the rusted lamp posts casting shadows on the wall.

There’s little she wouldn’t trade for a safe place to set it down, but what is safe in this strange place?

A ways down, there’s a stream of light from a door left open, hanging wide on creaking hinges. She’s five sidewalk squares from it, when the smell bows her over. Fatty pork, charred on a grill, slow roasted potatoes. Eurydice swallows, takes a shuffled step closer. There’s something simmering, mixed with sweet carrots, a rich broth made from the bones of a gamey bird. Creamy corn stirred in melted butter.

The edge of a wooden crate slams into her chest, she stumbles back, arms pressed to her midsection. The corner had got her in the hollow of her stomach. She takes a breath, but the pain claws. It’ll leave a bruise, as everything else does.

“Oh my gosh,” the guy begins, breathy and rushed. “I’m—”

The crate falls to the ground in a clatter, the cans knocking against each other.

He’s tall and gangly, all bones and little else. His boots are scuffed, the soles cracked. The hems on his pants are frayed. He’s got an apron on, dirt patterning the once-white fabric in dark smudges. The left corner is folded over, the wind pressing the fabric against his legs.

“I…oh…” he mumbles, rubbing his hand through his hair, forcing up the longer strands on top.

In the light of the doorway, she sees his ears turn red, a flush streaking across his cheeks. It matches the bandana at his throat, a spot of colour against the dirty white of his tee. He must be crazy, she thinks. That he’d stepped out with nothing but an apron for cover. When there’s a storm in the air, the wind growing colder, the clouds above turning dark as the season’s mood shifts. Commonplace for this time of year, but this person doesn’t seem to understand, wandering in his half-sleeved shirt.

The snapped watch it, on the tip of her tongue dies in her throat.

“Boy!” thunders a man from inside, his gravelly voice climbing an octave in his fury. “How many times have I told you not to leave the damned door open? I don’t care what Hermes says, this month’s coal’s coming out of your paycheque!”

He shuffles back, his shoes dragging on the unpaved road, and races inside what must be a kitchen, leaving his crate of groceries at her feet. It’s filled to the brim, cans of preserved vegetables, jars of jam. A single block of butter and a wheel of cheese wrapped in brown paper. Eurydice swallows; that wheel would feed her for weeks. A month, if she rationed it carefully. Right then and there, she might finish the whole thing in one sitting, but she’d taught her body to forget its want, when she could barely satisfy its need. Had learned the hard way that a day’s feast would end in a month’s famine. But the food, hungry though she is, hadn’t been left for her.

What goes around, comes around and Eurydice curses the Fates but she won’t provoke them.

When she turns the corner and walks around to the entrance on the main road, she spies a sign, letters outlined in red-hued lights. It reads Tip tina’s, Tipitina’s, she realizes when she gets closer. The i in the middle has gone dark, the lit up sign a discordant splash of modern colour on an otherwise ancient building. It might’ve stood there for centuries, cobbled together with stones and cement, untouched by drought and floods and winter storms where dust coloured the snow and it fell to the ground like volcanic ash.

There’s a wraparound porch wide enough for tables in the winter, and empty planters hanging off railings, covered in hemp cloth. She takes a step closer to the wooden stairs leading up, and there’s sign hanging on the door over a hook, reading open in flowery cursive. It stands at odds with the architecture of the place, the décor of the lit-up sign proudly announcing most of its name. Like a patchwork quilt, she thinks absently.  

“Girl,” calls an old man, “What’re you doin’ out there in the cold?”

There’s a lilt in his voice, like the twang of a banjo she’d heard a lifetime ago, when a walk and a bus and a ride hitched on the back of a pickup truck had brought her east. Almost to the ocean, a man with broad shoulders and slicked back hair that smelled of sandalwood, had told her, the banjo playing over his hand on her thigh. And perhaps it’d been the girl at the microphone’s whispered love song, or the fingers of leathery bourbon warming her belly and all over, but almost had seemed so romantic then.

“Just passing through,” she mumbles, turning her face away. With her hands stuffed in her pockets, her fingers find the coins easily, the three quarters taunting her. This is all you can afford; a whiff of a meal and roofless shelter on the street.

The lines on the man’s craggy face deepen when he presses his lips together.

“You’ll catch your death out there,” he waves her over. “Come inside.”

She shakes her head, the feather pinned to her hair tickling the top of her ear. “It’s all right. I’m not staying long.”

He crosses his arms, silver creases folding along the sleeves of his jacket.

“I won’t ask again,” he says, the tone of his voice inviting no argument. “I’ve got the heater going inside, and warming your hands won’t cost you a dime.”

A dime is about all she might afford. But a warm place to sit and rest her aching legs, warm her frozen toes—it’s offered and nothing is free, she knows this. She knows, but the three quarters would buy her no more than this.

Eurydice climbs the steps up to the porch, the wood creaking under her boots.

“Name’s Hermes,” he says pushing open the door, and scowling up at the chorus of wind chimes that welcomes them when he opens the door. “You can call me Mr. Hermes.”

The boundary of his title, enforced by his directive, uninviting even as he invites her inside—the tension in her shoulders eases just the slightest bit. Familiarity bites. Formality; she trusts.

She’d gathered as much, but inside, Tipitina’s is very much a bar. Long glass shelves full of bottles, all varying degrees of empty. A long bar lining one side of the space, made of polished stone, set on thick, gleaming wood. As in most bars, the lights are dim, incandescent bulbs set in wrought iron fixtures welded to the wall. In the windowless corner, there’s a microphone on a tall stand, and a polished wooden lyre propped up against the wall.

“Where should I sit?” she asks, scanning the array of empty wooden tables, save for the couple in a corner booth by the window, sitting facing each other, their fingers tangled together.

Mr. Hermes grunts. “Do I look like a host to you? Find yourself a seat like the rest of them do.”

In the same flowery cursive labelling the front door, there’s a sign naming the swinging door off the side of the bar, kitchen. It remains shut, but through the gaps around the frame, the smells waft out. Roasted meat and melted butter and freshly baked bread. Fried potatoes dusted in salt. Nothing that her three quarters might buy.

The table farthest from the bar it is, then.

And it’s a far cry from standing out in the cold. Here, she stretches her legs, gives her shoulders a reprieve from carrying her bag. The metal legs of the chair creak, and the wood on the table is scarred with initials and crudely drawn hearts. But it’s a place to sit. She tucks her bag under the table, holds it secure with her legs, careful to not touch the dried chewing gum stuck to the underside. It’s a roof and insulated four walls, and a coal burning stove circulating warmth.

For that alone, it’s better.

People begin to file in, men and women alike, wiping the dust from their shoes on the welcome mat. The bells ring incessantly, as they enter and exit, only to enter again. Mr. Hermes rarely greets the customers, but when he does it’s accompanied by a scowl and a curse at those damned chimes.

There’s a folded menu on each table, but they go largely untouched. Orders are shouted from memory, she supposes, addressed to Mr. Hermes, who can’t possibly be getting any of it. He has no pen or paper or anything that he might write it down with. But they call out and he grunts. It might be organized chaos if there was a rhyme or reason to it, but as it stands, it’s disorder, plain and simple.

“’Aight,” he yells, when the din turns into an alphabet soup of drink and dinner orders.

It’s a spell over the lot; orders come in single file, and soon after, the kitchen door swings open to a man balancing a plate in each hand. Boy, the voice inside the kitchen had called him. He who had smashed a bruise into her stomach, dropped his groceries at her feet and ran.

By the cut of his jaw and the line of his shoulders—he’s no child.

He’s no server, either. He takes as many plates as his hands will carry, sets them down in front of customers one at a time. Gets it wrong half the time, though she can’t blame him; it’s guesswork, with neither table assignments, nor notes. It’s a small blessing that the bar is only half full of patrons. A full house and the food would be cold by the time he found its owner.

But the patrons’ moods aren’t soured by the abysmal service. There’s laughter and alcohol flowing freely, the conversation growing raucous when the drinks arrive before the food. Eurydice has neither food, nor drink. No complimentary basket of rolls she might fill her belly with. And it’s fine, she’s fine, she’s been far hungrier.

Desperation had brought her to the end of the line, opportunities dwindling as the winter stores dried out. There’s only so much a man might hire a girl for. She’d make do. She’d have to make do. With the match she takes and the candle she lights, a she breathes a futile prayer. Please let it be alright.

It’s ridiculous even as she covers the flame with her hands. When had the gods ever helped her?

They’d given her a sharp tongue and thick hair and dark eyes. A body that she could barter, for labour or otherwise. The otherwise for when there was no demand in the market for the regular sort of labour, and she’d—thought about it. Has thought about, thinks about it still. What might she barter her body for? Would it be her self that she’d be trading, or would it be just her flesh?

Desperation comes and goes as the year switches from blazing hot to freezing cold and back again. She’s not there yet. She isn’t.

“Come home with me,” the man who is and isn’t a boy says in a rush and Eurydice nearly falls over, the back legs of the chair she’d been leaning back on teetering out of balance.

He speaks in one breath but each word careful and enunciated, full of conviction. No preamble, no suave lines, no forward touches. Just a tall ask and no case for himself, save a twisted and torn paper something shoved at her face.

His name is Orpheus and he thinks her name is like a melody. Honeyed words, buoyed by the dreamy haze he exists in. It’s got artiste written all over it, his grasp on reality like a balloon filled with hot air, untethered. She’d crossed many a musician on this road to hell, all of them full of dreams and promises. And the thing with those promises—they’d tended to make those dreams contagious. Dangerous in this landscape; elbow grease can barely fill a belly, music is a luxury that coins are rarely spared for, if ever.

Eurydice shakes her head. “I’ve met too many men like you.”

“Oh no,” he shakes his head, “I’m not like that.”

She’ll believe it when she sees it.

“Make your case, lover,” she says sarcastically, “Why should I go home with you?”

Orpheus opens his mouth and closes it three times, starting and stopping and cutting himself off. He bites his lips and rubs at his head, in what must be a nervous tick. Finally settles on, “It’s not much, but it’s warm.”

She’d had a retort ready. Something to snap back and put him in his place, as she’d done for every musician, artist-adjacent since the last time she’d been stupid enough to believe in something she couldn’t touch. But she can’t remember what it was. A warm place to sleep.

Could she?

“And…” she starts, but she can’t finish.

A rowdy group of four leaves, yelling their goodbyes, adding teasing reminders for Orpheus to not break the dishes.

He hums to himself as he busses the table, sweet little tunes that sound out of order, bits of a work in progress, she assumes and then—she doesn't care. But he looks at her every now and again, just stands and stares, mouth open, as if lost in some daydream. Eyes alight with some gentle emotion she thinks might be hope, and—she knows nothing of that, wants nothing of it. Such fantasy only ever ends badly.

A liar and a player, she’d called him. As musicians always were, she’d met too many, to not spot the warning signs. He hadn’t even brought her something to eat, just a makeshift flower made of a twisted and torn newsprint. Worth nothing. Not even the offer of a drink. Just the paper flower and his home, offered to her in exchange for—she doesn’t know. Sex, she supposes, as all men want.

Desperation lurks, but at a distance. She’s got three quarters left.

“He’s not like any man you’ve met,” Mr. Hermes tells her, appearing out of nowhere, when she gets up to leave. “Think it through, girl.”

Eurydice knows better. She can’t afford to think this through.

She shoulders her bag and walks out of Tipitina’s, the chimes announcing her departure with its vibrant chorus.

The night is dark when she starts down the road. The streetlights feebly illuminate the road. In a town as small as this, this one street is all there is too see. The shops, the restaurants, the short-term lodging all lined up like schoolchildren. There’re fairy lights strung up outside, but they’ve gone dark, strings broken in places, swaying like the boughs of a fir tree.

The lights are still on in the window of the grocery store, though the only person she can see inside is the woman manning the counter. There’s a display behind the window to the right of the door, a pyramid of colourful jams and jellies in mason jars. Ambrosia, is stenciled over the glass pane in the colours of the rainbow. Eurydice’s mouth waters. A drop of that jam and even the driest cracker would become a delicacy.

She’d settle for an aged bag of jerky at this point, but this side of winter, everything costs an arm and a leg. Her quarters cashed in will buy her a sleeve of saltines, and nothing else.

Hand curled around the coins, she trudges down the steps, and back down the street. The hotel advertises rooms starting at an even seventy-five dollars a night, and around-the-clock kitchen service. The motel is cheaper but not by much. Still far enough out of her budget, that she can’t even bring herself to stop.  

For a place to sleep and a bite to eat, she needs a job. But while the storefronts advertise overpriced merchandise she could never afford, not one offers employment. Eurydice is no beggar. She’d sooner sell her soul than hold out for handouts.

The mercury drops as the minutes tick by on the round-faced clock mounted to the town hall’s bell tower. If she doesn’t find a place to take shelter soon, she’ll freeze by the time the sun comes back around. But she has nothing to sell and only her body to barter.

A home, Orpheus had offered her. Four walls to shelter her and a roof over her head. All for the small price of—whatever it is men want from her. Mr. Hermes might’ve promised he wouldn’t be like the others, but what did an old man understand of the others she had known?

Yet, as her options dwindle, she clings to the thought of him. The sweet smile on his face, the light in his eyes. The dimple pressed into the side of his cheek, deepening when he’d hum a particularly beautiful bar of whatever he was working on. Whatever else, musicians had never played out well for her, but this Orpheus with no artifice and no tact and arms and legs that more resemble a baby giraffe’s when he moves—there is something about him that makes her wish him to be the exception.

It’s her mind playing tricks, to make the only solution to her situation palatable. Eurydice knows this.

She doesn’t care.

The back door to Tipitina’s kitchen is wide open when she wanders back. Orpheus stands in the doorway, fiddling with his apron strings. He still doesn’t have a coat, and even with the heat at his back, he shivers. A crazy, impractical musician is what he is. She’s crazy for even considering it.

And yet.

When he looks up and spots her, standing paces away, his whole face lights up. “Eurydice,” he says, breathy and hopeful, and damn him for how her name sounds in his voice.

"You wanted to take me home?"

“Yes,” he nods.

She holds out her hand. "Well come on, then. Lead the way."

His hand is warm to the touch, rough in patches all over his fingers. Her own hand is tiny in his grasp, swallowed whole. This Orpheus; tall and skinny, pushed around by the demon in the kitchen. Perpetually wearing a blush, half of his mind in the clouds. Would he be her sanctuary?

Home, he’d promised her. She’d sell any amount of flesh for a safe place to rest.

[gxlacticlove]

tbh I think that Made In America probably goes the hardest out of all of Starkid's songs and I don't think it gets enough attention

[seawolvesanddragons]

Merlin Swan Princess AU

Ok, Merlin Swan Princess AU. So, in this AU Uther died instead of Ygraine when Arthur was very young (YAY) and Balinor, as a powerful Dragonlord, is one of Ygraine's closest supporters, and she becomes close with Hunith. About a two years after Arthur is born, Hunith dies in childbirth) and Merlin is born. Balinor is very upset, obviously, but does love his son. However, he and Ygraine are both concerned about the current political climate - Camelot is seen as weak because of its Queen Regent and two year old heir, and Ygraine fears that enemies will fall upon them or go after Arthur, or that Arthur will inherit a dying kingdom. Meanwhile, dragons and dragonlords are getting a bad rep in other kingdoms b/c kings mistrust their power and dragons are scary, and Balinor fears his kind will be hunted. So Ygraine and Balinor come up with a beneficial deal - they will help each other out. They dismiss the idea of them getting married b/c Ygraine still loves Uther and Balinor Hunith but Balinor pledges his support, his clan's support, and Kilgharrah's support to Camelot. In return, Ygraine declares Camelot a safe haven for dragonlords, druids, etc. To keep this arrangement fresh in the minds of the people/other kingdoms, Balinor decides that every summer, he and Merlin will stay in Camelot. If he had to travel on business, than Merlin would still stay with Gaius. 

The deal is great - it gives Ygraine some extra security, and Balinor is pleased that Merlin will have some semblance of a permanent home and a maternal figure at least 4 months of the year. Plus, they both privately hope that if the boys become friends, then the truce will continue. Well, private to each other. They stress to Arthur and Merlin that they really SHOULD get along, for the good of the kingdom/the dragonlord clan, etc. Except, well...Arthur and Merlin? Do NOT get along. Seriously. While Merlin adores Gaius and likes Ygraine and ok Camelot can be pretty cool, he still dreads the summers when he is forced to try and get along with Arthur, who only cares about knights and sword training and riding horses. Merlin doesn't get the big deal about riding horses, he can ride dragons and that is MUCH more exciting. Arthur, meanwhile, is frustrated that this kid (yes, Mother, KID, he is only 5 and I am SEVEN. I am old enough to be a page!) is his responsibility to entertain, especially when Ygraine lets on that it is so Arthur can have the support of the dragonlords in the future and yeah, Balinor is cool and all but Arthur is going to be the King of Camelot, what kind of King can't defend his own people. (Plus there's a jealousy thing b/c Arthur doesn't have a dad and Merlin doesn't have a mom but they are both too emotionally young to really understand that.) So they spend their summers trying to avoid each other, Arthur with the knights and Merlin by learning with Gaius and practicing magic. Morgana, when she arrives, splits her time between the two of them, but she always gives a little extra time to Merlin (she sees Arthur ALL YEAR) and Merlin makes Gwen less uncomfortable, so that also tips the scales. Arthur dislikes this because Morgana is HIS friend. When they both turn out to be magic, well, that's even more annoying. As they get older, more issues are cropping up among dragonlords and Balinor leaves Merlin in Camelot alone during the summer more and more, which Merlin does NOT like. And okay, they probably share and adventure or two, but they do NOT like each other at all, not friends, ok, so shut up Leon. And Gwen. And Morgana. Then one summer when Arthur is 17 and Merlin is 15 and Merlin wishes Arthur luck before a tourney and Arthur sees Merlin practicing magic for a few peasant children who came to Camelot during the famine and distracting them from their hunger, and okay, maybe they other isn't so bad. And they are both old enough to sit in on the Council meetings now and do so regularly, and find themselves working together to solve a crisis or something. So they are not friends - they snipe and everything at each other, but things are at least slightly more cordial to each other. So the end of the summer comes, and Balinor returns on Kilgharrah (who always is giving Arthur strange looks, no one understands it) in time to literally spend one day and then pick up Merlin. He and Ygraine watch the boys barely interact at the farewell feast and Arthur doesn't say goodbye to the next morning, he is already at training so the two sigh and give up on those two ever actually being friends, and Balinor mentions that they will be back next summer, but Merlin is also going to start accompanying him when he leaves to smooth things over. Unbeknownst to them Arthur is lurking behind the palace wall, trying to decide whether it would be awkward or not to say goodbye again, and doesn't know how he feels about that and boom then they are gone. And everything returns to normal in Camelot for about a day. Then Morgana wakes up SCREAMING from a nightmare and Arthur, as the only one who can calm her down besides Gwen, is trying to help when she gets out enough to say that Merlin and Balinor are in danger and woah who knew Arthur could run that fast? And within a half hour, Arthur, Leon, Elyan, Lancelot and Percival are out searching for the Dragonlord, the Dragon, and his son. Its past daybreak when they finally see Kilgharrah flying away in the distance, no riders, crying mournfully. They go to where they saw him take off of and find a dying Balinor. Merlin is nowhere to be seen. Balinor lives just long enough to tell Arthur "the beast..it has Merlin. It’s not what you expect." and then in true unhelpfully vague dying plot device fashion, dies. For a month, Camelot and the dragonclan search, Arthur and his knights leading the fray. But as time passes, and Kilgharrah fails to return, and Morgana sees nothing, they all assume Merlin is also dead. Except Arthur. Arthur is convinced that Merlin is still alive, that he is counting on their rescue. He goes to Gaius, who admits that it would be hard to kill a warlock of Merlin's abilities, but also hard to hold him captive. He goes to Morgana, who says yeah maybe something is blocking her Sight, something is off, but Arthur have you eaten anything today you need to slow down. And Leon and the Knights find themselves suddenly training WAY more than usual, and patrols increased and still going on search parties, which ok they are fine with, they liked Merlin, Lancelot was especially close, but let’s be realistic here. But Arthur refuses, because Merlin is a kind and decent kid and he swore to Balinor he would find him. Merlin, meanwhile, is being held captive by the Sidhe, who want Merlin to use his dragonlord/magic powers to help them conquer all of Albion, including Camelot and the dragonclans and the druids. Merlin said "hell no" , refused to summon any dragons and great,the sidhe have crazy powerful magic and now Merlin is cursed to be an actual merlin, like, the bird, during the day (Alvar thinks he's SOOO funny) and only be human at night, and they used some ancient Sidhe dark magic chain to keep his magic bound. At least he has Gwaine, the captured knight errant whose blood the Sidhe keep using for their "noble blood needed rituals"  and Mordred, a druid changeling who is SO not up for this Sidhe nonsense but is also 10 and scared to leave on his own, to keep him company. A whole year passes. Arthur is supposed to become king soon but is ignoring the coronation preparations because he has to find Merlin. Finally, FINALLY Kilgharrah answers Arthur's persistent call to COME HELP YOU GIANT LIZARD and gives him MORE vague instructions on Merlin and how to help. When Arthur is king he is outlawing vague statements. So Arthur and Leon go on a "hunting" trip where Arthur sees a merlin. Like, a really magnificent merlin. Leon is about to strike it down when Arthur is like wait MAYBE THIS IS THE SIGN KILGARRAH MEANT and follows the bird, Leon wandering behind him wondering wtf is going on. They follow the bird for fucking miles. Until they reach a really pretty looking lake with a convenient rowboat to get to the island in the middle and Arthur uses it and good lords above, the BIRD JUST TURNED INTO MERLIN. Arthur, who has spent a year trying to find Merlin, suddenly isn't sure what to do (do they hug? They never hugged before but Arthur really really REALLY wants to hug him right now) and Merlin doesn't know why Arthur has crossed his mind so much in the past year (its because its too painful to think about his father, and Kilgharrah, and Camelot was some of the best times of his life, and Arthur was undeniably part of Camelot. That’s all right? No other reasons...) but now they are both kinda awkward around each other. Leon is still recovering from the whole bird thing. So, Leon thinks, ok, found him, didn't even need to fight beast, weird that he was a bird but we can go now right? But Arthur feels this was too easy, and yep, now Merlin is talking about a curse, and this fellow Gwaine (...why does Arthur suddenly feel jealous) is backing it up, and now there's a ten year old staring at them while hiding behind a tree, and essentially Merlin is cursed and can't leave the island unless in bird form and according to Mordred the only way to break a Sidhe curse is with something so powerful and true even magic can't withstand it. "A Great Sacrifice" he calls it. Helpful kid, really. Arthur is determined to not leave without Merlin but now it is daylight and the Sidhe are coming and Arthur go NOW and Leon is dragging him off when a wild burst of magic transports them both to the other side of the lake right as the Sidhe arrive and Merlin is let wondering "wait was that my magic? Since when can I do that again? " The Sidhe aren't stupid, and figure out what is going on, and are going to go after Arthur when Merlin tells them to wait. Tells them he's changed his mind, he'll call Kilgharrah and give them use of his dragon and his warlock blood willingly but they can't go after Arthur. The Sidhe agree, and it is decided the ritual will take place at midnight. Gwaine and Mordred are NOT okay with this plan and Gwaine decides he has to escape to get Arthur to help. He is caught in doing so though and Mordred has to summon up his courage to escape and find Arthur. He gets to Camelot and after finding Arthur and being overwhelmed by all the people (Arthur's coronation is the next day) he tells Arthur what Merlin has done. Arthur leaves, essentially blowing off his coronation, with the help of Morgana and Gwen, who he leaves Mordred with. He also tells Morgana that if anything happens, he knows she will take care of Camelot. Arthur is halfway through the forest on horse when Kilgharrah shows up, asking Arthur why suddenly the future was going dark, and hey, apparently Arthur has a freaking DESTINY to unite Albion. Arthur would really like to be kept in the damn loop on these things. So Kilgharrah takes Arthur to the island, Gwaine helps him fight their way to the ritual, and they get there right before Merlin is about to call Kilgharrah already and be ritualistically sacrificed. So Arthur offers himself in Merlin's place. Blood of the once and future king, tempting right? Conceived of magic and the blood of kings and destiny running through his brain, that's way better than anything else. (somewhere above them, Kilgharrah is muttering "this is NOT why I told you about your destiny you idiotic prince"). Merlin is shouting that he can't DO that he has a kingdom to run, he had Camelot and his mother and Morgana and Arthur just responds that Morgana and Ygraine can take care of Camelot, but he made a promise to Merlin that he would save him and that was what he as going to do, because his life is not worth anything if he can't save Merlin.   The Sidhe are like, fine, whatever, blood of kings lets go, and prepare to ritual sacrifice. Arthur lies on the table, prepares to die, and ALL HELL BREAKS LOOSE. Turns out, that whole "true sacrifice thing" needed to break the curse? Apparently, Arthur giving up his kingdom and his life to save the one he loved fits the bill. Merlin's magic is back. And Merlin? yeah, he's PISSED. There are not many Sidhe who escape his wrath alive, and those that do return straight to Avalon. Merlin, Gwaine, and Arthur return to Camelot on Kilgarrah, missing Arthur's coronation by hours, but hey, they can just reschedule it tonight right? (Ygraine is not amused but is also so happy at seeing Merlin she can't really be angry. Morgana is delighted as well, and when she sees how Arthur keeps looking over at him, whispers to him smugly "I saw this in my dreams, you know.") So Arthur is crowned King, and Merlin is right there to witness it, and the first thing Arthur does is knight Gwaine. Later, Merlin and Arthur escape the festivities to a balcony for some quiet, where Merlin pledges Arthur the loyalty of his dragonclan, but Arthur says he doesn't need any armies or dragonclans, as long as Merlin stays by his side. (Kilgharrah, Morgana, Gwen, and the knights all groan loudly from where they are hiding and eavesdropping.) Arthur and Merlin then go off to unite Albion and everything is happily ever after!

[mtg-brokentoken]

Favorite card: Stuffy Doll

Card to Combo

Step 1: Find a card

-Done! It’s Stuffy Doll, my favorite card.

Step 2: Break it down

Stuffy Doll only has 4 abilities, but each builds upon each other.

“As Stuffy Doll comes into play, choose a player.” — This is two parts. First, “when it comes into play” means that if you have something enter as a copy it will work, but something like Infinite Reflections falls short. This also means bouncing or flickering Stuffy Doll is a valid tactic. Second, you’re choosing a player, not targeting, so Hexproof won’t protect them. Note as well it doesn’t say opponent.

“Stuffy Doll is indestructible.” Pretty straightforward, damage and destruction won’t do much. This matters more for the next ability.

“Whenever damage is dealt to Stuffy Doll, it deals that much damage to the chosen player.” Okay, lots going on here. First, it doesn’t say combat damage, so fight, burn, etc are options. Second, Stuffy Doll deals damage in return, so Infect sounds like an option (less so with the next ability, but possible). Last thing, it’s damaging the chosen player, so you can play some politics.

“Tap: Stuffy Doll deals 1 damage to itself.” This is a way to send a damage to the opponent, fairly blunt, tapping is instant speed and naturally only once a turn.

Also worthy of mention, Stuffy Doll is an Artifact, a Creature, and colorless. Artifacts have a lot of ways of untapping and being copied, creatures can be untapped pumped etc, and colorless means it can go in any deck.

Step 3: Build it up

I’ve mentioned a few things, but let’s talk a bit about colors of your deck.

Colorless - There’s Affinity for Artifacts, but that only makes it cheaper, so not a huge difference. Darksteel Forge is redundant as this is already Indestructible. Clock of Omens can untap it equal to roughly half the number of artifacts you control. Pariah’s Shield reroutes damage to Stuffy Doll, triggering the third ability, but keeping it around due to the second. With Pariah’s Shield, you might not even block when attacked, so it’s great for politics. Speaking of politics, Stuffy Doll loves an Assault Suit, so everyone can attack or tap with it (more on that later, since some opponents will simply abstain). Sculpting Steel makes a functional copy, Mirage Mirror makes a good blocker but it won’t redirect damage (since you never chose a player). Helm of the Host can be used to spread the love, so more opponents make deals to attack you so you can redirect damage. Even something as simple as Acorn Catapult can get some damage to the Doll while solidifying your board position.

White - Lifelink is a great ability, you gain one life when it hurts itself and another when it hurts a player. White has a lot of damage redirection, can ping attackers/blockers, and does a lot of equipment support. You could arm Stuffy Doll with some pins and needles (or Feast and Famine swords) and swing hard, using your opponents’ creatures to hurt Stuffy Doll when they block. Speaking of blocking, even an instant can be a great help, with Valor Made Real (or enchantments like High Ground) letting Stuffy Doll “chump block” in a very hurtful way. Outrider en-Kor and other damage redirection go from being defensive to offensive tactics. As mentioned before, flickering is a great option for changing what player is going to get hurt. Your opponent is casting Star Of Extinction while it will deal 20 damage to you, a mutual opponent chosen by Stuffy Doll, and Stuffy Doll, so in response you Cloudshift the Doll and choose Mr/Mrs Star Of Extinction and they’re suddenly regretting the decision. Pariah is an option very similar to Pariah’s Shield, but Guilty Conscience is the shining star in white, starting an infinite loop that will need to be addressed (you’re in white, damage prevention is abundant). Felidar Sovereign is also a noteworthy option, if you’re getting Lifelinked.

Blue - Blue has a lot of artifact synergies, clone effects (to get multiple Dolls and be able to have more options for who gets hurt), and Alluring Siren. Blue has a lot of ways to untap a creature, allowing your Doll to do more damage in a turn. You may also want to enchant with something like Curiosity (or Ophidian Eye, or both) to get a few extra draws. Don’t forget Rite Of Replication, Followed Footsteps, or Mechanized Production, so there are enough Dolls to share. Fabricate can be used to make sure you have higher likelihood of getting your Doll out.

Black - Most Black tends to focus on life loss, rather than damage, but Corrupt and Tendrils of Corruption are both viable options. Black also has more tutors than most colors, so you can find whatever pieces you need from your deck. As with white, Lifelink is a great option, Stuffy Doll may hurt itself a bit, but it’s when it starts taking more damage that it really shines, so feel free to use something like Pestilence or Pestilence Demon. Stuffy Doll makes a pretty great blocker unless Evasion, Wither, or Infect are on the table, so use Indestructible to your advantage by having board wipes. Damnation goes right over the Doll like a refreshing breeze.

Red - So, this is probably one area with the most to offer to Stuffy Doll. Whether using Dictate of the Twin Gods, Furnace Of Rath, or one of the various others with a similar template, Doll can get pretty intense (see also: [this previous post] Spoiler: 7 Of these make for 4096 damage). And red is the color most likely to be able to damage the Doll on a whim, with plenty of burn spells doing more than just one damage. There are 7 cards with “Bloodfire” in the name, and 4 of them are good for hurting your Doll. War Elemental can be unlocked by Stuffy Doll, and grows quickly, especially with Pyrohemia (deal one damage to Doll and opponent, then Doll damages opponent, so Elemental triggers twice). Red also has a few ways to duplicate spells. As far as enchantments, red does have a lot that can punish any players, for instance Manabarbs, but then you need something like Pariah’s Shield to redirect the damage to the Doll. Zada, Hedron Grinder and Harnessed Lightning used in conjunction can use almost all of your energy (depending on how you stack the castings) to deal 3x the number of creatures you have as an amount of damage to Stuffy Doll. Aether Flash deals 2 damage to any Stuffy Doll entering the battlefield (for instance if you have one equipped with Helm of the Host). Another great option, though with a couple hoops to jump through, is getting Stuffy Doll to be controlled by another opponent with big or many creatures (Harmless Offering, Bazaar Trader, etc) and then using Alpha Brawl so all those creatures bring the pain onto Stuffy Doll. Red alone does have a lot to offer, but shines most when mixed with another color, typically white. Just to name a few commanders as example: Firesong and Sunspeaker, Razia Boros Archangel (you can even route damage from your attackers to a non-attacking Stuffy Doll), and Gisela Blade of Goldknight.

Green - The main tactic in green is actually to pump Stuffy Doll and attack. If you don’t have Lure or trample, your opponent can just chump block, so don’t let that be an option. Vigilance isn’t as much of an option in green (3 equipment give Vigilance and trample, so the Doll will be blocked but still available to block. Sword of Vengeance has First Strike, which could reduce incoming damage. Haunted Cloak and Forebear’s Blade), but untapping creatures is something green excels in. Rite of Passage makes Stuffy Doll slowly grow just by hurting itself, or if you’re looking for tokens instead of counters, Druid’s Call is a great option.

Boros allows a great option for dealing, rerouting, or preventing damage (think Spitemare, Boros Reckoner). Orzhov has less options, but more lifelink and board wipes. Izzet can use Fatal Attraction and Paradox Haze, and Nin the Pain Artist keeps your hand full. Selesnya would love to wrap Stuffy Doll in an Armadillo Cloak. Going Simic? Ezuri, Claw of Progress would love to make Stuffy Doll into a beater, and things like Evolution Vat. There are options in just about all mixtures of colors for Stuffy Doll to be a great card.

Bringing Infect up again for just a moment. It’s at odds with Stuffy Doll. Poisonous is great, but if Stuffy Doll uses its ability to hurt itself with Infect, it reduces its toughness and negates the point of Indestructible. Also, if you’re attacking with the Doll, you’re reducing the power of your opponent’s creatures, so diminish the value of attacking. If you do have a way to ensure the Doll keeps getting hurt (Pariah, Pyrohemia, Pestilence, Lightmine Field), that damage goes to the player as poison counters... but you’re turning off the self-harm.

Step 4: Rev the engines

Guilty Conscience is typically the best option, but you need a third card to eventually prevent damage.

Damage doubling effectiveness increases a lot, since one damage to Stuffy becomes 2, and then it deals 2 damage to an opponent, which becomes 4, and there are enough options to increase this significantly.

Lure is amazing, but should be used with vigilance or ways to untap so you can still block.

——

So if you made it this far, the reason Stuffy Doll is my favorite is because unlike so many other cards in Magic, it can be a centerpiece of a deck without broadcasting almost anything about your deck. It’s almost too bad it isn’t Legendary.

I did post about Stuffy Doll back on Sept 22, 2017, but due to having created the “card to combo” article since then and Wizards Twitter recently asking about favorite cards, I decided it would be worth going over.

[sweet-sugar-sunsets]

We Are Deadly

a/n: the second installment!! just finished editing it so...kinda long so be warned

warning: there is a lot of violence//swearing//zombies??? idk

[prologue] [chapter 1] [chapter 2, coming soon]

❝ We are an endangered species. A species of nothing. A species of burnt out cities, of pockets of survivors, of living to your next meal. A species of dead. Mostly dead. We live this way, will live this way, will fight this way, will die this way, forever. Or, at least, until this whole damn thing is over. ❞

Chapter 1

Andie

The apocalypse, Armageddon, the end of the world. Whatever you want to call it, it's here. And it's been here for the past two years. Two years of hell. Two years of nothing. Of burnt out cities, of pockets of survivors, of maybe not living to see your next meal. Two years of the Dead. But not the dead who lay in stacks in the alleyways. Not the dead who lay in piles of ash and mass graves on the outskirts of cities and towns. Not the dead who are blackened by elements and decayed by time, their eyes staring at the nothingness of the world. Not those. Those are the Still. The Dead are the ones who get back up, who walk around, who eat us to make more of them, who make more of them and more of them and more of them. And less of us. There are no more cities. No more adults. Only children, masquerading around like grown-ups. Trying to protect their own. Playing a deadly game of hide and seek with each other. We all grew up too fast, to violently.

We are an endangered species. A species of nothing. A species of burnt out cities, of pockets of survivors, of living to your next meal. A species of dead. Mostly dead. We live this way, will live this way, will fight this way, will die this way, forever. Or, at least, until this whole damn thing is over.

My body was disgustingly sticky in the scorching Florida heat. I think that heat makes everything twice as worse. The fact that I had been hiding behind a dumpster for half an hour. The fact that the years old trash that surrounded me made me want the projectile vomit all over the alley wall. The fact that I was surrounded by reanimated rotting corpses. Yep. This heat wave made everything worse.

Frankie, squatting down next to me, was shaking like a leaf despite the sweltering heat. Sweat was dripping from her brow and formed puddles under her arms. I couldn't help feeling sorry for the poor kid. It was her first time on a run and it was already going to shit.

She was only thirteen, only a kid, with scruffy dark hair and skinny limbs. But, then again, I was only a couple years older than her. We were all just kids. All the adults died from disease, but not the kids. No one knows why. Anyone who was under the age of eighteen at the Beginning had a natural immunization to the disease. Our parents, unfortunately, didn't.

The effects of the Lazarus Plague are simple: at first, it can easily be mistaken for the flu. A runny nose, a sore throat, migraines, the usual. Then, the blood starts to flow to your head and you become paralyzed waist down. Next is the fun part; your brain cavity, being completely filled with unwanted blood cells, begins dispelling them in any way possible. Crying bloody tears, a constant dribble of blood from your nose and ears, blood in your spit, in your puke, your piss, your shit. Blood everywhere. Your brain goes senile, you begin muttering incoherently, then the seizures. Eventually, your heart stops. Then you come back. And, my God, do you come back violently.

You turn into one of them, one of the monsters, the immortal gods that now rule this land, feasting on the flesh of their brothers and sisters. The end of days was here. Death, Famine, War, Pestilence. Everything went to shit pretty quickly. Everyone stayed indoors, surgical masks glued to their faces, eyes glued to the TV.

Russia fell first, then Africa. Most of the Eurasian continent fell at the same time. There were rumors about Australia, but no one knew for sure. The US tried to hold on. Strict border limits. No one comes in and no one goes out. Strict curfew. No one out after dark. If anyone started to show signs of the plague, they were to be put down immediately. Their bodies burned. People started migrating away from the coasts in suspicion that it was waterborne. The cities were protected. Quarantines, rations, gas masks, government facilities.

We thought we could fight it. We thought we could get through it like every other catastrophe before.

We were so wrong.

The United States of America fell on January 17, 2019. The government retreated. Left the cities unprotected, left the borders unpatrolled, left the disease untreated. They holed up in their underground bunkers and waited. There was nothing they could do, so why not spend the end of the world in faux comfort. We were left in complete martial law. Complete anarchy.

War took the streets. Famine took the cities. Pestilence took the households. Death took the world. The cities were decimated. People retreated to the forests. Doomsday preppers took to their bunkers. Everyone else holed up in their homes, windows and doors boarded up, waiting for the virus to seep through the walls or the last sardine can to be emptied. The streets were clogged with the Dead.

"Andy, what do we do," Frankie said yanking on my coat. Tears were welling in her eyes. I think she recognized just how screwed we were. It was a narrow alley, with high walls and minimal coverage. Besides the dumpster we were hiding behind, there was an old tin trash can, knocked over and dented from a hundred undead feet and a fire escape who's ladder had been pulled up beyond reach. One end was blocked by a ten-foot chain link fence, behind that, what looked like the remains of a parking lot. The other end led back onto the main road, also clogged with Dead.

Great, we were so screwed. I kept searching the walls, looking for something, anything, that could save us.

Slowly I zipped my jacket up to the collar. Every small noise I made sounded like a thousand atomic bombs going off. The jacket would cover my bare skin from the claws and hopefully the teeth, too. I pulled my gun out of its holster on my hip. I couldn't believe I was actually doing this.

I pulled Frankie in close and whispered as softly as I could. "Make a break for the fence, I'll cover you. If I can't make it, leave me behind."

I smiled. "Don't be a hero."

She answered back shakily, "Don't be a jackass."

Our little mantra, that had started half a year ago when she tried to shield me from a rogue shooter.

Don't be a hero, I had said, My life is no more important than yours, so don't go sacrificing yourself for me or anyone else. She had answered with a snarky little comment that I can't remember now, followed by those three little words. Don't be a jackass.

"Do you remember how to hotwire a car?" I whispered. She nodded slowly. "Get out of here if you can." I pulled her into a tight hug. It was a shit plan, with an almost guaranteed failure, but it was the only option we had right now.

I slipped the supply pack from my back and handed it to her. We got into position, each of us on either side of the dumpster, crouched and ready to run. I met her gaze and began to count down.

Three.

She pulled her knife from the waistband of her faded jeans.

Two.

I gripped my gun tightly and swallowed hard.

One.

And it all went to shit.

tagging: @she-who-the-river-could-not-hold @michael-hearteyes-wheeler@mikeweezers @puzzlingsnark @dustinhendrsn

[junker-town]

Cowboys DT Neville Gallimore shouldn’t be THIS fast

Oklahoma’s Neville Gallimore is an intriguing interior defensive lineman in the 2020 NFL Draft.

Retired defensive end Stephen White explains why Neville Gallimore can be a good trump card for the Dallas defense.

The Dallas Cowboys selected Neville Gallimore with the 82nd overall pick in the 2020 NFL Draft. Here’s what Stephen White had to say about Gallimore ahead of the draft.

Speed is a funny thing.

You have some fast guys who run so effortlessly they just seem to glide along the top of the grass.

And then there’s Neville Gallimore.

Big homie looks like he is straining to get every ounce of speed out of those thicc legs of his on every play. In fairness, the guy is 6’2 and over 300 pounds, and he could probably smoke you in the 40-yard dash without breaking a sweat.

I would’ve said he could smoke “us,” but I’d never be stupid enough to race this kid after watching him chase down plays on tape.

I’m used to focusing a lot on a player’s speed when it comes to talking about wide receivers, but it’s a somewhat new experience when discussing a defensive tackle. However, his speed is pretty much Gallimore’s defining characteristic as a football player. It’s definitely the thing that jumped off the screen to me while watching his tape from Oklahoma. Gallimore’s ability to accelerate to the quarterback after coming off a block is actually better than a lot of edge rushers I’ve broken down over the years.

Yeah, it was pretty cool to see him post a sub-4.8-second 40 time at the combine, something very rare for a 300-pounder. But I’m telling you, his game speed was even more impressive than that.

What Gallimore does well: He hustles

Combine Gallimore’s wheels with his great effort on most plays, and what you have is a player who can make plays even when things aren’t perfect.

Let’s be real, not all sacks come from a neat process of guys defeating a blocker and then taking the quarterback down. In fact, a lot of times it’s the guy who is stuck on a block initially who ends up getting the sack after his teammates who did win their one-on-one matchups flush the quarterback right to him.

I want to be clear that Gallimore is the kind of player who can get a ton of sacks just by winning his individual matchups. But with him being so fast, he’s always going to end up with a few “extra” sacks and pressures just off hustling to the ball and mashing the gas once he sees a quarterback trying to escape out of the pocket.

I was particularly impressed with how quickly Gallimore could loop around the edge on pass-rush games. It’s like a cheat code having a defensive tackle who can cut the corner like that. One second the quarterback is trying to avoid the edge rusher coming inside; the next thing he knows, Gallimore is coming around outside to lower the boom on him.

They just don’t grow guys that size who are that fast on trees, and that makes him a damn good trump card for any defensive coordinator in the NFL.

What Gallimore does well: Creating pressure

In addition to that speed, Gallimore showed some strong pass-rush moves. He has a good-to-great get-off, is active and violent with his hands, and his lateral quickness was top-notch. That allowed Gallimore to get quite a bit of pressure even though he primarily lined up as a nose tackle, either head up or in a one-technique, for the four games I watched. That isn’t what I would call normal.

Every once in a while he would also break out a nice spin move that would’ve probably been a lot more successful if the guys assigned to block Gallimore weren’t always getting help.

I don’t know about the rest of Oklahoma’s defensive line because I wasn’t focused on them, but I kept wondering how Gallimore was forcing so many double-teams and chip blocks, yet he would still seem to be about the only guy who could generate consistent pressure. Of course, Oklahoma using three-man rushes way too much (one time is too many) didn’t help.

I mean, Gallimore was legit triple-teamed on one play, after beating the first two offensive linemen he faced with a spin move, and then a quick arm-over, respectively. He still managed to force the quarterback off the spot before the third guy could block his path, but then the quarterback took off and gained positive yards on third-and-long.

Did he get a sack or pressure on that play?

No.

But if you don’t think that was still an outstanding play by him, you and I are not the same.

Hell, I saw Oklahoma use Gallimore as a spy a time or two, something that is usually more reserved for edge rushers or linebackers these days. But Gallimore is fast and athletic enough to do that effectively against even some of the shiftier quarterbacks in the league.

With the traditional “pocket passer” just about a thing of the past, the more speed you can get on the field to match up with these newfangled dual-threat quarterbacks, the better. You also won’t have to worry about subbing a defensive tackle like Gallimore out in those passing situations, especially in two-minute situations.

Where Gallimore can improve: His technique

Having said that, there are some issues about Gallimore’s game that I have concerns about.

The biggest of them all is that he plays too high way too often. He’s a strong guy, but the saying “low man wins” exists for a reason. When Gallimore comes off with good pad level, he is usually able to penetrate into the backfield, or at the very least hold his ground.

When he comes off the ball trying to do an arm-over right away, however, it’s too easy for average offensive linemen to push him around. I know Gallimore can make a bunch of plays behind the line of scrimmage, but he may end up being a feast-or-famine guy who is a liability on some running plays if he doesn’t tighten that up.

Sometimes Gallimore exposes his chest a little too much when he is trying do an arm-over move, whether against the run or pass. I know a lot of defensive line coaches teach “long levers” and they want their charges to reach out and try to swat the offensive lineman’s shoulders. I don’t really agree with that unless the guy has abnormally long arms (Gallimore’s are a respectable 32.75 inches long, but nothing special) and is uncommonly strong (nah).

My reasoning is if you are going to expose your chest to offensive linemen that way on a semi-regular basis, your arms had better be a lot longer than theirs so you can make contact with their shoulder before their punch makes contact with your chest. Also, when your club move does make it to his shoulder, you had better be heavy-handed enough to shock him with the force of the blow.

Otherwise you are going to end up going sideway involuntarily, especially against the better offensive linemen.

In Gallimore’s case, all too often he was getting caught in his chest when he was trying to use his club and he would end up getting knocked out of his own lane. That means not only was he off course, but he might’ve potentially gotten in one of his teammates’ way.

I believe those issues are fixable, but it’s probably going to take some time to get him out of bad habits, and playing too high is one of the worst habits you can have as a primarily interior defensive lineman.

Where Gallimore can improve: Being more versatile

I also wonder about Gallimore’s versatility. I love the thought of him as a three-technique, and I could see him pass rushing from time to time on early downs as a five-technique. On the other hand, he just didn’t strike me as the kind of sturdy run defender you’d want as a nose tackle in the NFL. If a team wants to stunt him a lot, maybe, but other than that I just don’t know how it would work out.

Of course, every team could use another good interior pass rusher, and Gallimore is definitely that, even if his pad level is inconsistent. I just don’t think he is quite as scheme adaptable as the other interior defensive linemen I’ve broken down so far, Derrick Brown and Javon Kinlaw. I didn’t see Gallimore using very many power rush moves at all. He was always either on an edge or going laterally.

I don’t know if you can get away with being a finesse interior pass rusher all the time. At some point the better guards will just start jump-setting you until you prove you are strong enough to run through their chest. Which isn’t to say Gallimore couldn’t be a good power rusher, because he has the leg drive and he at least appears to have the upper-body strength to get good push. But it might be something he has to work in early on.

Nevertheless, I can’t stress enough how much potential Gallimore has with all that athleticism. I would bet on him improving his technique as a pro, especially because he goes so hard all the time on the field. He strikes me as a guy who isn’t afraid to put the work in, so the payoff would be worth the risk, as far as I’m concerned.

Gallimore’s NFL future: First-round potential

He may never be as well-rounded of a defensive lineman as Brown or Kinlaw, but I see Gallimore as different kind of player than those guys, and he will have the opportunity to dominate in his own way in the league. I mean a guy that fast, who already has some decent moves?

I could see him being the most productive pass rusher out of the group three years down the road. And, let’s be honest here, we all know that’s what most fans are going to judge these picks on — sacks and pressures. Mostly sacks, no matter how wrong-headed that is in general.

At the end of the day that’s not really what matters for teams, however. What does matter is what he can bring to their scheme. If a team is looking for a big-time two-gapping run stopper, I don’t think Gallimore is going to be their guy. But I also don’t know why you would look for a run-stopping nose tackle in the first round, anyway.

On the other hand, if a team is looking for a guy who can come in and at least provide some juice inside on third-and-long right away, most teams could do a lot worse than Gallimore.

Let me reiterate, he is going to be a guy who makes a few extra plays a game just off his athleticism, whether he improves his technique or not. You simply can’t have enough players like that on your team, especially with all these athletic quarterbacks in the NFL right now. That’s why I see him going early on in the first round, maybe somewhere around the middle at the latest.

I can’t wait to see if at least one team agrees with my assessment.

Be sure to check out my other scouting reports on Chase Young, Jerry Jeudy, Derrick Brown, Jedrick Wills Jr., A.J. Epenesa, CeeDee Lamb, Javon Kinlaw, Mekhi Becton, Terrell Lewis, and Henry Ruggs III.

For the purposes of this breakdown, I watched Gallimore play against Texas, Iowa State, Baylor in the Big 12 Championship Game, and LSU in the College Football Playoff semifinal.

[myth-lord]

CREATURES FROM MYTHIKA: B

BAKEKUJIRA (Japanese Myth)(Undead/Skeleton/Spirit/Beast)(Huge/Gargantuan)(Best Stat: Strength): Vengeful and undead these whales only exist to extract their unnatural vengeance on an ship they find, whaler or merchant the Bakekujira doesn’t care which ship it destroys. They are followed around by many other undead creatures that became their slaves after feeding from their magical undead flesh. There are two types of Bakekujira, the smaller Ghost-Narwhale and the bigger Ghost-Sperm Whale. Wherever they swim the water around them turns red like blood.

BAKU (Japanese Myth)(Beast/Chimerae)(Small)(Best Stat: Stealth): While many Baku are friendly creatures that feed on nightterrors and other nightmares, there are just as many evil Baku that selfishly feed on good dreams and rob sleeping creatures of their imagination and thought. Baku are enemies of dream-haunting creatures such as Nocnitsa and Incubi and they combine the features of tapirs and elephants, but all in miniature sizes.)

BAKUNAWA (Philippine Myth)(Dragon/Sea Serpent/Elemental)(Gargantuan)(Best Stat: Strength): Enormous mutant Sea Serpents with abilities over shadow and darkness, they live in the depts and only come above the waves to destroy any source of light they find. Bakunawa are leaking with almost liquid oil-like shadows which search for any source of light and kill it to create utter darkness in their wake. Because the moon also provide light the oily shadows sometimes form a shield (eclipse) before the light of the moon and many people thought the Bakunawa is able devours the moon.

BANSHEE (Irish Myth)(Undead/Spirit/Fae)(Medium)(Best Stat: Defense): Once beautiful and vain Elven women, their death created a force of envy and now these Banshee’s terrorize the night with their wails of death and misery. Some people say their unholy wails predict death, the truth is that they cause more deaths than they predict. Banshee’s are the handmaidens of the Horseman of Death, but all other Horseman have their own variants of banshee called Pesta (Horseman of Pestilence), Limos (Horseman of Famine) and Nemain (Horseman of War).

BARBEGAZI (Swiss Myth)(Fae/Gnome/Elemental)(Small)(Best Stat: Stealth): The elemental gnomes of Ice and cold, Barbegazi are xenophobic, distrustful creatures that fear everything that is bigger than themselves. They ride the avalanches they cause themselves and can form all types of items from ice on thought alone, often using this ability to create icy spears or spiky knuckles around their fists to attack enemies with, but always from the safe cover of snow.

BARGHEST (English Myth)(Undead/Beast/Elemental)(Medium)(Best Stat: Speed): The howl of a Barghest or Black Dog is said to foretell doom and despair. Barghest kinda look like the Shadow Mastiffs from D&D and can hide and merge with shadows to ambush or stalk their prey, Barghest feed both on fear and flesh. Seeing a Barghest often means doom or death as the creatures seldom let a prey escape, while most Barghest are solitary hunters, packs of the shadow hounds are known to exist too, their multiple howls are enough to cause massive panic and disorder in even the biggest cities. Some barghests serve the Horseman of Death as his hunting dogs.

BAROMETZ (Medieval European Myth)(Plant/Beast)(Large)(Best Stat: Strength): Originally created by friendly Druids to act as plant guardians or alarm systems, the evil hag Baba Yaga has created her own vile variants which are extremely aggressive and destructive and function more like living battering rams for her minions. Barometz mostly look like rams made entirely from leaves, thorns, roots, branches and other plants, their huge horns are made from magical tree bark.

BASILISK (Medieval European Myth)(Beast/Reptilian/Dragon)(Medium/Large)(Best Stat: Defense): There are many species of Basilisk in Mythika, the normal variant looks like an iguana with eight legs and its gaze causes poisoning. There are also desert Basilisk which look like eight legged GilaMonsters and even jungle Basilisks which look like eight legged Chameleons. The most dangerous type of Basilisk is known as Dracolisk, and it combines Basilisks with Komodo Dragons, their gazes cause terrifying rotting diseases.

BATIBAT (Philippine Myth)(Fae/Nymph/Troll/Plant)(Large)(Best Stat: Strength): When a person or creature cuts down the tree of a Dryad it will be in for a surprise later in its life, as the Dryad will be transformed and corrupted in a horrid version of her old self called a Batibat. The Dryad will turn ugly, fat and extremely physically powerful, they will have a connection with the creature that cut down its tree and will track it down and torture it in its nightmares before sitting down on its body to crush it. After they killed their quarry they will not rest and become forces of vengeance that often work together with other evil nature creatures such as evil Cu Sith and Black Annis.

BAUK (Serbian Myth)(Fae/Bogey/Elemental)(Small)(Best Stat: Stealth): These sneaky shadow bogeymen look like cute little black bear cubs, but underneath their cute veil hides a macabre evil. Bauks love the taste of fear just like all other bogey’s and often terrorize their young victims for years on end until chased away or killed, though Bauks are extremely hard to kill as they can use shadows to teleport away. The only thing you mostly see from a Bauk are its bright blue eyes coming from the shadow. The Bauk uses shadow to teleport and can even teleport only parts of its body around, they often use this to steal objects far away.

BAYKOK (Native American Myth)(Undead)(Medium)(Best Stat: Speed): Bizarre undead warriors that hover through the air with their bizarre looking bird-talons and their magical bows which shoot magical arrows that can track their prey down. Baykok are legendary monsters as they track down and hunt for more powerful creatures from which they take trophies once they are killed. They are the hunters of hunters. They have many different types of magical arrows at their disposal, some take away the ability to cast magic and others poison the victims with magical venom.

BERSERKER (Norse Myth)(Human/Shapeshifter)(Medium)(Best Stat: Strength): Born like ordinary humans, Berserkers are put on a special training and ritual from young age so they gain their special abilities when they mature. Their training is rough and beastly, and many children die from violence and gladiator-battles so only the strongest survive. When they are finally Berserkers they are unstoppable and magical forces of wrath, anger and hatred, hacking and slashing at their enemies with such brute force that they not only shatter their bones but also their morale. Berserkers in Mythika are like the Orcs of D&D, mostly used by other more powerful creatures as cannon folder in times of war. Berserkers love to train and enslave powerful beasts to ride upon such as Emela Ntouka and Ngoubou.

BINAYE-AHANI (Native American Myth)(Demon/Anaye)(Medium)(Best Stat: Defense): Evil demonic limbless twins that magically hover through the air and which have a strong magical link between the two of them, if one of them dies the other goes berserk and will eventually cause an shocking electrical death throes. These twin demons can also cause lightning to run between the two of them and electrocute any creature foolish enough to walk between them. They shoot lightning from their eyes and anyone that meets their gaze will be stunned.

BLACK ANNIS (English Myth)(Fae/Hag/Shapeshifter)(Large)(Best Stat: Intelligence): The most common of all Hags are the Black Annis Hags, these ogre sized women have very thin arms and legs but their skin is as tough as iron and few weapons can easily pierce it. Hags are the opposite of Nymphs and embody everything that is ugly, evil and horrid in nature. They hate young and pretty creatures and mostly feast on those. They all follow Baba Yaga and never disobey her.

BLACK TAMANOUS (Native American Myth)(Ooze/Parasite)(Medium)(Best Stat: Stealth): Black Ooze creatures that enter warm humanoid bodies and turn the hosts into ravenous cannibals that only feed on their own species flesh, the Tamanous doesn’t feed on the flesh but on the act of cannibalism. In their natural form they look like animated tar or oil, inside a host they are not hard to spot as the victims eyes, mouth and nose is leaking tar at all times and its leaves footprints made from oil.

BONGURU (Solomon Island Myth)(Beast/Plant)(Large)(Best Stat: Defense): For some reason the flesh of a Bonguru boar makes the perfect place for other parasitic creatures to thrive. On its back grow all types of parasitic fungus and inside its body and tusks live swarms of hostile parasitic hornets and wasps. While the fungus and insects give the Bonguru endless pain they also protect it from enemies and help it hunt for prey. When you fight a Bonguru you fight the huge boar, a swarm of ravenous carnivorous hornets and a cloud of spores. While the Bonguru is in constant pain it has strong regeneration abilities to keep it alive even though it is slowly eaten by plants and insects.

BOOBRIE (Scottish Myth)(Beast/Bird)(Huge)(Best Stat: Strength): Enormous swamp birds that look like monstrous marabou storks and which haunt swamps on their long stilt-like legs. Boobrie are big enough to swallow a human whole and crave the flesh of humans more than anything else but otherwise feed on juvenile Catoblepas and adult Vodyanoi.

BOUDA (African Myth)(Humanoid/Beast/Demon)(Medium)(Best Stat: Strength): Cruel and evil Hyena-like folk with strong bonds with Demons, so strong that they even have demonic blood flowing through their veins. Bouda act much like D&D’s Gnolls and worship demons and often fight in their huge armies. They devour everything from their prey even the bones, though they also create their weapons and armor from the same bones, there are even some Bouda that have learned to use their own bones in battle, making them grow out of their flesh to create weapons from.

BROLLACHAN (Scottish Myth)(Elemental/Undead/Fae)(Gargantuan)(Best Stat: Stealth): When a group of Fae dies together when under the effect of fear the result is often the birth of an mist elemental called a Brollachan. These horrifying mist horrors can show anything trapped within their foggy bodies their worst fears, these are only illusions but Brollachan feed on fear alone. They often work together with other monsters to bring prey down but think of Will o Wisps as annoying parasites.  

BRUCHA (Irish Myth)(Beast/Vermin/Swarm)(Small)(Best Stat: Defense): Created by the Horseman of Famine these metallic locusts are a plague to be reckoned with. Brucha eat anything, cattle, hay, harvest, trees, plants, animals and even the rocks, but while they can seriously wound humans with their sharp iron spikes they never eat them, rather letting them starve so they die on the famine they love and serve. A swarm of dog-sized Brucha is like a forebode that the Horseman of Famine isn’t far behind.

BUCKRIDER (Dutch Myth)(Human/Demon)(Medium)(Best Stat: Speed): Once normal human bandits and scum, the Sinlord of Greed changed them into half-demonic cultists. Now they ride around on demonic flying bucks killing all in the name of the Demon Lords. Some Buckriders are chosen and eventually turn into full demons when they proven their usefulness.

BUGGANE (Manx Myth)(Fae/Beast/Troll)(Large)(Best Stat: Strength): More beast than fae these mole-like ogres love to burrow through the earth creating entire networks of caves and tunnels underneath the sunlight they fear and hate. Many unseelie fae use Bugganes as bodyguards and beasts of burden, the bugganes enjoy protecting the smaller fae creatures and become enraged when someone tries to hurt their fae masters in any way.

BUKAVAC (Slavic Myth)(Aberration/Amphibian)(Large)(Best Stat: Defense): Six legged amphibian horrors that mix the features of salamanders, toads and frogs. Their most bizarre features however are their enormous horns which they use in battle, when prey or enemies prove too hard to beat with teeth and horns alone they use their secret weapon, their ability to control sounds, they absorb the sound around them and then burst it out through their toad-like maws in a furious blast of sonic power, this alone is mostly enough to cut the most powerful steel in half.

BURRUNJOR (Australian Myth)(Beast/Reptilian)(Large)(Best Stat: Speed): These dinosaur-like monsters are much like a Deinonychus the size of an Allosaurus. They thrive in most environments and are often seen as the apex predators. The males are covered with beautiful and brightly colored feathers to attract the rather bland-colored females to their side. Some Berserkers ride Burrunjor into battle.

BUTATSCH-CUN-ILGS (Swiss Myth)(Aberration/Ooze/Shapeshifter)(Large)(Best Stat: Defense): Horrifying and disgusting green ooze like aberrations that are covered in eyes and maws (much like the Gibbering Mouther from D&D) whenever they absorb a new victim into their oozy mass they gain the victims two eyes and mouth. These aberrations are mostly found in hot water and can spray their enemies with the same heated water.

BOSSES:

Baba Yaga (Slavic Myth)(The first of Hags) Balaur (Romanian Myth)(Hydra King) Baldanders (German Myth)(Master Shapeshifter and Spy) Balor (Irish Myth)(King of the Fomorian and all Giants) Baxbakwala (Native American Myth)(Right-Hand of Gluttony) Beelzebub (Infernal Myth)(Right-Hand of Pestilence and lord of all Vermin) Behemoth (Biblical Myth)(Beast of Earths Destruction) Bergkonge (Norwegian Myth)(Lord of the Mountains) Bloody Mary (English Myth)(Queen of Mirrors and Right-Hand of Pride) Bushyasta (Persian Myth)(Sinlord of Sloth)

FRIENDLY CREATURES:

Bagiennik / Bai Ze / Basajaun / Bishop Fish / Bluecap / Boitata / Byakko

OTHER MONSTERS: (I like them but aren’t going to post them)

Babi Ngepet / Bakru / Ballybog / Banaspati / Berbalang / Berberoka / Bicorn / Blemmyes / Bloody Bones / Bodach / Bolotnik / Boobach / Brobinyak / Bungisngis / Bunyip / Bush Dai Dai

@NOTE: All pictures found on GOOGLE PICTURES, not my own work, and mostly here to give an impression of what the creatures COULD look like.

If you see your own artwork and want it removed, just PM me about and I instantly remove it.

@NOTE 2: While all these creatures come from mythology, I gave my own spin to these creatures, many of these creatures don’t have the powers and abilities I gave them. 

[weepingstar]

From Famine to Feast

Credence had never had the pleasure of reading anything other than his mother’s printed sermons, her annotated Bible and the occasional hymn at Christmas. Mary Lou believed anything other than that was conjured to distract you from the Lord’s word and path. Credence usually nods in agreement and tries not to think about the nights he reads a tattered novel he found once on the street, now hidden under a floorboard beneath his bed.

So, upon moving into the home of Mr. Graves (for as long as he should wish, forever even, if that’s what he would like Mr. Graves tells him) he’s quite overwhelmed. For many reasons of course, but especially because Mr. Graves appears to be an avid reader, even has his own library, with books in languages Credence has never heard of, topics he’d never imagined. Credence limits himself to asking to borrow just one book at a time despite Graves’ insistence that anything in the house is his, agonises over which one he should choose this week. Credence reads, and he reads, and he reads.

Read on AO3

(hey! so i’ve been going through my imagines and little fics and slowly editing/lengthening/transferring them onto AO3, this one was a little long, but i do still intend to post them all on here too. please go leave kudos or something because i’m a creature driven by my ego okay love you xox)

Graves will often find him tucked away in a large armchair by the fire in his study, eyes drooping shut or already closed by the time Graves returns home from work. Knows the boy always has a book in the pocket of his warm wool coat he’d bought him, just in case the opportunity would arise for him to read a few pages. Loves to see his boy sucking and nibbling at the side of his thumb when concentrating especially hard on a particular passage.

Credence reads basic books on magic during the terrible rains that September and October bring, finds time for the occasional classical novel in the month of November, and is keen on either lighthearted works or deeply serious and thought provoking volumes in December. Graves has to warn off Credence from a few things in his library, when the boy had stumbled across Magick Moste Evile he’d told Credence that not all the books were suitable for him to read, but as an auror he’d had to be aware of them. Credence, ever the obedient boy, puts the volume back in it’s place and goes off to find another.

Graves is very aware of his little bookworm, has started to gradually add more to his already staggering collection, tries his best to recall books that he loved during his childhood, brings Credence books that had helped him when his mother had died in his early teenage years. Firmly clenches Credence’s shoulder when he sees a tear running down his soft cheek at that particular book, perhaps that hadn’t been the best idea.

Brings him The Tales of Beedle the Bard, explains he read them when he was a little boy, had them read to him too. Credence enthusiastically nods his sweet little head and goes off to read it straight away, secretly hoping it might give him a peek into Graves’ mind as a young boy. Credence carefully enquires about the prevalence of Hippogriff’s in North America after reading The Monster Book of Monsters, Graves assures him that pigs would fly before Credence encountered a Hippogriff in their home, and not to worry, please. Graves begins to see a trend in Credence’s interest in the magical world, that is to say, unfortunately, Divination. Graves almost throws himself off a bridge when he realises he’s buying Credence a copy of The Dream Oracle as well as Unfogging the Future, thinks he’s not only gone soft for the boy but entirely insane. Picks up a copy of Famous Fire-Eaters - one of his keen interests as a rowdy fourth year - to balance his purchases out a little.  Upon presenting Credence with the three books, his boy's eyes light up as he immediately goes to read them, Graves finds Famous Fire-Eaters a week later with a bookmark on the second page, the other two Divination books read in their entirety and annotated.  

On one particular evening, for whatever reason Graves isn’t quite sure (Credence would surely call it Fate), he goes to sit next to his boy on the cosy couch in the living room, plucks his most recent love from his fingers, and begins to read aloud to him.

He’s shocked by his own gumption, and at the same time wonders why he’s never done so before. Credence is obviously a little embarrassed at first, telling Graves that he really doesn’t have to, are you sure you really don’t mind, isn’t the book too boring for you Mr. Graves? But once settled and reassured, he rallies round quickly, avidly listening to Graves’ deep voice read Charles Dickens to him, snow softly falling outside of the window, the fire embers glowing in the hearth. They pass through several chapters without really realising, sometimes stopping to discuss a certain line or for Credence to ask the meaning of a particular word, more to speak to Graves than from any real curiosity. Credence growing closer and closer to Graves until the boy could almost read the book himself over Graves’ shoulder, Graves also is surprised to find his arm wrapped tightly around the boy’s shoulder, not entirely believing he put it there himself.

Graves tells Credence they should finish the book before Christmas, together.

Although Graves holds several medals for bravery amongst other things, had won a fair few trophies in his days at Ilvermorny and beyond, and as the Director of Magical Security and head of MACUSA’s Magical Law Enforcement, one might say he was an accomplished man. However, if you were to ask Graves himself, he would say his greatest accomplishment was this, taking a previously broken boy and slowly putting him back together, reminding him of human compassion and gentleness, it would be the feeling of Credence’s head resting on his shoulder as he reads to him, snow still falling outside but not a chill felt between the two of them.

[ciathyzareposts]

Morabis I: Won! (with Summary and Rating)

              Morabis I: The Dungeons of Morabis

United States

Independently developed and released as shareware

Several versions released for DOS between 1991 and 1992

Date Started: 2 May 2020

Date Ended: 10 May 2020

Total Hours: 11 Difficulty: Moderate-Hard (3.5/5) Final Rating: (to come later) Ranking at time of posting: (to come later)

          Summary: A roguelite, Morabis blends Rogue-style gameplay with an Ultima-esque attention to map design. There are some interesting new features added, such as a targeting cursor for missile weapons and the ability to see and dodge incoming missiles and magic blasts. Overall, though, most of Morabis‘s changes from the traditional roguelike template make it longer and more frustrating than the typical roguelike. Bugs, misspellings, and version inconsistencies also hurt enjoyment.

*****

The second half of Morabis preceded much like the first half, except that with more difficult levels some of the game’s problems became magnified. The chief issue with the game is the level scaling that goes on as you descend further into the dungeon. Creatures increase in attack power and accuracy in proportion to the level you’re on, such that you never seem to “develop” as a character. Meanwhile, you’re constantly having to chase down new, improved weapons and armor to account for the greater monster power. Because their accuracy also improves, you spend a lot of time fleeing combat and waiting to heal before re-engaging. You spend an awful lot of time gingerly standing in doorways in this game, as if an earthquake is always about to hit.

      The search issue never went away, but it was magnified on some levels where large portions were initially occluded. I was also a bit irked by the sheer number of ways the author found for enemies to paralyze or confuse me. I swear that every enemy, even ones who had no special powers on earlier levels, were capable of one or the other during the last 10. Between enemies and traps, I couldn’t walk more than five steps at a time without being told I couldn’t move. Half the time, I had no idea why. And at least half my deaths were caused by walking the wrong way into lava when I was confused.

             Starving and unable to move sometimes feels like the default state in this game.

          Food was also a sporadic problem. It was quite literally feast or famine. There was one period where I had to save-scum for about half an hour until I got a couple enemies to drop food when I killed them; otherwise, I starved to death before I could get anywhere. Nothing is more frustrating than finally finding food and having it turn out to be rotten or poisonous, but of course Rogue had that, too.

The best times were when, for a brief time, I had a magic item capable of alleviating some of the game’s more powerful annoyances. I enjoyed a Ring of Trap Avoidance for a few levels. A Ring of Slow Digestion was also a godsend. I found a Scroll of Nutrition at one point with about 15 charges. That was a load off. There are supposedly Rings of Lava Walking and Rings of Avoid Paralysis in the game, but I never found either. Anyway, rings don’t last forever in Morabis, so at best they offer temporary reprieve.

         A “wraglor” degrades my armor just before he kills me.

          As I descended, I started to appreciate the author’s approach to level design a bit more. I corresponded with Michael Höenie, and he sent me some of the game maps as examples. (There’s no way to view the entire map of a level from within the game, unfortunately). Using handcrafted levels instead of randomly-generated ones allowed him to do some fun things with the terrain. Some levels suggested rough-hewn natural caverns, while others suggested fortresses or jail cell blocks. Level 24 is basically one long, thin causeway over lava. The final dungeon level in particular, Castle Morabis, had an almost Ultima quality in the map design. It’s just too bad that you can’t appreciate it from within the game. The 81 x 81 level sizes are a bit large, too.

         The final dungeon level, courtesy of the author.

           Every fifth level features a mini-boss guarding the way down: Fennel the Fire Lark on Level 5, Jahaÿ the Gobnor on Level 10, Ñehnor the hobnorlin on Level 15, and Nimlatch the Dragon on Level 20. They had more hit points than others of their class but otherwise weren’t terribly difficult.

There’s an odd special encounter on Level 18 with a roomful of unicorns. They attack you, but if you attack them, the game says, “Oh! Thou mustn’t hurt a Unicorn!” (“Thou-speak” is another borrowing from the Ultima series.) What you’re supposed to do, according to Höenie’s web site, is find some grass and drop it in front of them, then they give you a key necessary for the final dungeon level. I didn’t read this until I’d left Level 18 well behind me. The encounter isn’t really fair. Nowhere else in the game do you interact with creatures this way, and there’s no particular reason to think that the unicorns would want grass. 

         I can’t attack the unicorns, but they have no such compunction.

         As for keys, you find copious numbers of them on the way down–brass, pewter, tin, copper, steel, platinum, beryllium . . . so many that you run out of inventory space if you try to carry them all. They’re mostly unused until the final level, where it appears that every other door wants a different one. At least two doors require the one that the unicorns drop, and I didn’t have that. Rather than waste hours going back to Level 18, I hex-edited my saved games to jump across the door.

               Opening one of the final doors with a key.

          Level 25 is shaped like a castle. You start in the lower-center, and if you just move north from there, you come to the chambers of the demon lord. As I approached his chamber and he taunted me, the game called him “Satu’Javu,” but when I actually fought him, he was named “Satu’Nävas. Either way, I killed him in a few blows on my first try.

            The demon has two different names depending on whether he’s taunting me or dying by my sword.

           The Amulet of Sae’gore is found in a nearby chamber, guarded by a couple of “zelthorns.” I had hoped that when I killed the demon and picked up the amulet, the game would automatically end, but no, just like Rogue, I had to make my way back up to the surface. Also like Rogue, the game preserves the original difficulty level of the game levels as you ascend, meaning that it’s really no challenge once you get out of the bottom few.

Uninterested in spending this kind of time, I made use of an exploit. When the character dies on a level and you reload, the game always reloads you on the up-staircase of that level. Thus, through a boring but faster process of die-reload-up, I made my way to Level 1 and out of the dungeon. There, I got the concluding message:

            Congratulations!! You found the amulet and escaped with your life! Unfortunately, Lord Devnon, seeing your triumph, has escaped. Fleeing with only his life, he has returned to Valkner’s Keep. Peace will now reign in the land of Croon, at least for a little while . . .

                 Winning the game.

               This brief paragraph manages to confuse the story even more. The story in the manual is titled “your quest for the Amulet of Sae’gore” but doesn’t even mention the Amulet of Sae’gore, and is instead about the new king attempting to defeat Lord Devenon by finding the Scarlette Sword and the Armor of Power. Nether Satu’Javu, Satu’Nävas, the land of Croon, nor Valkner’s Keep are mentioned in the manual backstory, either.

On a GIMLET, Morabis I gets:

                1 point for the game world. What would normally be 2 is lowered by the tangled backstory.

1 point for character creation and development. Every character is the same generic adventurer, and the level scaling problem makes development feel futile at times.

0 points for no NPC interaction, although Höenie had plans for them in the next version.

         Fighting enemies while walking on a thin bridge over lava. One wrong step means death.

        3 points for encounters and foes. The enemies were satisfyingly variant in their special abilities, although not to the level of NetHack or even the original Rogue. I liked the mini-bosses at regular intervals.

2 points for magic and combat. The game features fewer tactics than traditional roguelikes, in particular lacking any spellcasting system. There’s also no speed differential and fewer useful items to employ.

         Sorting through a treasure pile after killing a dragon. I’m not sure I want to know what an “avocado wand” is.

            3 points for equipment. It has a roguelike’s variety but not quite as much variety as most. I found that wands were almost useless. There’s only one main armor type–no helms, gauntlets, boots, and the like. But what really killed this category for me was the lack of consistency between objects of the same description. Part of the challenge of roguelikes has always been discerning, through various clues and testing, what colors go with what potions and what descriptions go with what rings, scrolls, and wands. The difficulty of lower levels is eased slightly by the fact that you’re no longer wasting time probing each new item for its likely properties. In Morabis, with colors and descriptions assigned randomly to each individual object, that process never ends. The only mitigating factor is that Scrolls of Identification are relatively common.

0 points for no economy. You can collect gold, but there’s nowhere to spend it, nor does it count towards any score.

2 points for a main quest.

         Finding the Amulet on Level 25.

         2 points for graphics, sound, and interface. Pretty much any decent roguelike gets a 3 for its utility of graphics and its keyboard interface. I subtracted a point for the searching, the lack of an automap, and frequent artifact issues with the interface.

2 points for gameplay. For the most part, I found the levels too big and the annoyances outweighing the satisfying moments. There’s no real replayability inherent in it.

            That gives us a final score of 16, from which I subtract 2 points for bugs and needless confusion in the story and instructions. The confusion comes from Höenie being between versions when he gave up, the manual having been edited ahead of the game itself.

In e-mails to me, Höenie said that Morabis started in 1985 (when Höenie was 16) as a text-based BBS game. Höenie had been a dungeon master on a server for Scepter of Goth (1978), and when Scepter was deprecated, he set out to create a similar game. 

After he got some experience with offline games–principally, Rogue, Tunnels of Doom, and Ultimas I-III–Höenie began working on his own single-player roguelike, blended with elements from Ultima like the inability to see around walls. He originally called it Morabis II, but it soon became just Morabis. After he released it, Höenie got about halfway through Morabis II: The Quest for the Staff of Yar’Bore–which would have included a level editor, spells, and NPCs with dialogue and transaction options–but ultimately life intervened and he never finished it.

Höenie maintains a web page devoted to Morabis, on which you can find some instructions for further cheating the game by adding items.

The next game is supposed to be Moraff’s Dungeons (1993), the first time that I move prematurely forward in my chronological order, and I confess that despite how well I argued for this new development a few months ago, I’m now having second thoughts.

source http://reposts.ciathyza.com/morabis-i-won-with-summary-and-rating/