#sure i could have homebrewed the fuck out of it but it would have been so stinky to balance

[tgcg]

an open fly walking

i didnt like this one but i thought id finally air it out since its been sat in my folders for months now

TG: hey karkat

CG: YEAH?

===

TG: you ever noticed you like

TG: walk weird

CG: WOW, OKAY.

CG: HAVE *YOU* EVER NOTICED THAT I DON'T GIVE A SHIT?

TG: pff

===

TG: no listen because i got my ears scoping that shit im like a scouter for dude activity

TG: ok maybe me mentioning it to you is gonna fuck up your ecosystem or something but

TG: you have the heaviest feet of the century man

CG: I DO???

TG: just thrust them straight down into the ground like youre trying to homebrew a san andreas fault

TG: viciously tamping on tectonic plates hoping for top score on the richter scale

TG: waging war against solid particles and the basic flow of gravity

TG: i could ID those footfalls out of a million i mean it

CG: SERIOUSLY?

===

TG: i mean theres nothing wrong with it but

TG: yeah

CG: I SWEAR TO GOD IF YOU'RE FUCKING WITH ME RIGHT NOW.

TG: im not fucking with you striders honor

TG: when have i ever lied to anybody about anything

CG: NOT UNPACKING THAT QUESTION WITH YOU TODAY.

CG: BUT SHIT, HOLD ON. LET ME SEE.

TG: yeah take the umbrella go over there and just walk to me

CG: ON IT.

===

===

TG: see you just kinda slam em straight down dude

CG: THIS IS THE WORST DAY OF MY RIOTOUS FUCKING JOKE OF A LIFE.

TG: dont your feet ache

===

CG: MOOT POINT. THIS MIGHT SOUND INSANE BUT I'VE ACTUALLY HAD MY STRUT PODS FOR A WHILE. ANY KIND OF PAIN THIS WOULD'VE BEEN CAUSING WOULD BE TOTALLY FILTERED OUT OF MY SPONGE BY NOW AS BACKGROUND NOISE.

TG: damn i didnt think that through

TG: my shades

CG: ALRIGHT, GET BACK UNDER THE SHITTING UMBRELLA AND THINK ABOUT WHAT YOU'VE DONE TO ME.

TG: look ive fucked myself over here too i dont have shit to clean these with

TG: ugh

===

TG: guess its karma

CG: HOLY FUCK. HOW DID I NEVER NOTICE THIS BEFORE?

TG: i dunno but im gonna assume having a dad thats a literal crab monster is probably a contributing factor

TG: im guessing thats not a great role model for this kinda thing

TG: just conjecture i mean

CG: YOUR ENVY IS OVERWHELMINGLY OBVIOUS DAVE. AS A DISCLAIMER, HE WOULD'VE ABSOLUTELY KICKED YOUR ASS.

TG: yeah probably

CG: THAT'S PRETTY MUCH ALL THERE IS TO SAY ON THE MATTER.

===

TG: but see bro had me stringent on feather feets

TG: i bet i could slip across a bike horn warehouse with nary a fucking toot

CG: HAHA. ASSUMING YOU DON'T MAKE A TOTAL ASS OF YOURSELF, AS PER USUAL.

CG: IF YOU WEREN'T CONSTANTLY RUNNING YOUR GASH ABOUT EVERYTHING AND BEING AN INIMITABLE CLOWN I SERIOUSLY THINK YOU COULD BE ON PAR WITH YOUR CUSTODIAN.

CG: THAT IS A MONUMENTAL "IF".

TG: well look at it this way

TG: im basically doing you all a favor by being a dumbass

TG: never gonna get caught off guard by the bozo patrol

CG: WOW. GOOD POINT.

===

TG: also screw this can i use your shirt

TG: this stupid hoodie is just smudging my lenses up

TG: i cant see dick

CG: UH

CG: SURE, I GUESS.

TG: cool

===

TG: so yeah i could be prowling around like a goddamn verbal assassin sniping convos left and right

TG: but no ive got the decency to go bunp in the night

CG: YEAH.

CG: IT'S DEFINITELY COMPOUNDED BY THE CONSTANT INANE RAMBLINGS.

CG: BUT

CG: IT'S ACTUALLY PRETTY RELAXING, Y'KNOW? IT HAS ITS OWN RHYTHM.

TG: see yeah i sound it off and

===

TG: wait really?

CG: YEAH

CG: I DON'T KNOW

CG: FUCK. HOW DO I EXPLAIN THIS WITHOUT WANTING TO CRAM MY FROND DOWN MY PROTEIN CHUTE.

===

CG: IT'S LIKE

CG: A SALVE FOR MY AGGRAVATION SPONGE.

CG: YOUR VOICE IS THE HUMAN EQUIVALENT OF ASPIRIN.

TG: uh damn karkat hold your hoofbeasts i was talking about the rhythm thing

CG: ALRIGHT, THAT'S IT. I'M TAKING US BOTH THE FUCK OUT RIGHT NOW. YOU HAVE REACHED THE BAD END OF THIS CONVERSATION.

TG: you think thatd be heroic or just

CG: IF I WAS STILL GHOSTING AROUND THE RUINS OF SGRUB'S ARCANE FRIGGIN GAME SYSTEMS, THE COMPLETE LACK OF SHIT AFOOT NOWADAYS WOULD BORE ME TO DEATH.

CG: LIKE. WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME OUR THERMAL HULL LEVELLED UP, DAVE?

TG: hah

===

TG: but uh

TG: i mean we had aspirin on earth

CG: NO, NUMBNUBS.

CG: I'M SAYING YOU ARE MY ASPIRIN.

TG: oh

CG: YEAH, TAKE THAT TO THE BANK AND SHOVE IT UP YOUR 20-KARAT ASS.

===

TG: heh

TG: well get this

TG: i will literally talk at you forever for free

TG: you got lifetime priority seating for the davealogues

TG: never gotta go to the drugstore again you can just get doped up on my dulcet tones for the rest of time

TG: take that and some of this

TG: im packin punches

CG: OW, FUCK! NO! MY MIGRAINES!

CG: SWEEPS OF VEINCLOTTING AND NERVEFRAYING DOWN THE FUCKING GAPER. BECAUSE OF YOU.

CG: YOU ASSHOLE, THIS IS THE WORST THING THAT HAS EVER HAPPENED TO ME.

CG: AND YOU'RE LAUGHING.

TG: chuckle up it only gets worse from here

===

CG: BE HONEST WITH ME. DID FONDLING MY SHIRT IN THE MIDDLE OF THE STREET EVEN DO ANYTHING?

TG: barely but yknow sometimes you just gotta deal the cards youre given

TG: ill just be astigmatic for a while its cool

CG: PFF… OKAY MAN.

[xhatake]

also this will be my last dnd post [ for now! if i pursue the online game itch, I'll probably seek players out through this blog bcs i love most of the community here. i might also look via my dragon age blog but that fandom just be hitting different sometimes its scary ] but i just want to say that any time i roll well & kill an opponent [as a monk] i often opt to put vaeron's hand through people's chests to end their lives <3

[bloodyshadow1]

I know the bad kids are weeping, especially gorgug, about how Arthur's hologram/illusion told them all their studying and hard work was pointless, but that doesn't mean it was. Look, the purpose of an education is to gain knowledge and grow. Sure modern education as a whole has corrupted the idea of school and education, but that doesn't mean it's pointless.

Despite how hard it is, the bad kids have flourished this year, it's terrible that they were put through that, but it doesn't mean their hard work was in vain. This isn't a post about how pain or adversity makes you strong, because fuck that. But life isn't easy, there are challenges that you have to endure to get what you want.

Sure, they could have taken the last stand early in the year and if they succeeded, they would have had an easy year, especially compared to the year they had. But if they had taken it, whose to say they would have succeeded. After the night yorb fight, they were level 8 or 9, they are currently 13 but I assume 14 after that last combat. that's 4 to 5 levels they gained since the start of junior year. And that's what levels are supposed to represent, experience. Exp is supposed to show what your character has been through as they go through life learning and growing, it's not a notch on your belt of all the things you've killed to gain power.

If the bad kids tried the last stand at the start of the year, they would have been creamed. Yes, they weren't as stressed, but they also hadn't grown as much and would have been slaughtered. Fig didn't have her paladin levels that did massive damage this fight, Adaine and Kristen wouldn't have access to 6th and 7th level spells, Fabian would only have 3 as opposed to his 7 levels in bard or the confidence to be maximum legend, Gorgug wouldn't have had his homebrewed subclass and pioneered at Aguefort, Riz wouldn't have his higher level spells and abilities that would have meant no haste which meant no double sneak attacks that helped them so much this fight.

This is what sets them apart from people like the Ratgrinders. Because as much as the Ratgrinders seem to hate them for being 'favored' by the school, the Bad kids have earned every scar and bruise, every stress token, every spell slot and point of HP to get to where they were today. They beat the deadly challenge in a way that no one has done before and they got a 100% on the questions, not a single one of them went down, the proctor was barely hurt. There will always be people who take the easy way out that doesn't mean the path you forded was wrong

[mwolf0epsilon]

To say he wasn't quite expecting the spectacle that awaited them in the medbay was an understatement. Although, that said, he doubted anyone could conjure up the absolute abomination Olly had laid eyes upon.

Truthfully, when he'd decided to accompany Rhythm when the new medic called for him, Olly really didn't think he'd be faced with...

Well, this...

"What in the fresh hell...?" For once he let his voice go a little higher than usual as he stared at the bizarre setup. The harness itself was fairly standard. The B1 droid torso strapped to it not so much. The thick cables connecting the back of its head to the medic even less so.

"This, gentlemen, is revolutionary homebrewed medical engineering." The tinny voice of a standard B1 proclaimed, while the medic grinned wildly with unabashed delight.

"Stars... That is... Wow." Rhythm was caught between sounding impressed, stupefied and honestly a little afraid. "Is it safe?"

"Seeing as the test is going well without signs of major discomfort and/or painful death on my end?" The medic shifted his weight from one leg to the other. The B1 torso remained motionless, basically little more than a prop. "I'd say so!"

"Death was on the table?!"

"Wait... Are you back to doing trial runs on yourself...?"

"I would never do onto a patient anything I couldn't be sure is safe. I might technically be signed up as the dental expert, but you'll find I have a lot of other proficiencies and a fine work ethic!" The medic proclaimed, the tinny voice sounding mildly offended. "That said, this process has been quite difficult to iron out, unlike the other projects I've dabbled in... It's not as straight forward as an extraction, or a root canal, or even making a crutch that both aids you in getting around and with reaching high shelving when your range of shoulder joint movement is severely impaired... So uh, yeah, I needed someone to be here in case something went wrong."

"That's... Teeh that's a little... Dangerous." Rhythm winced. Olly agreed.

"It is... But sometimes a leap of faith is what gets things going. And while I trust you all to respect me when I sign... I can't say the same for everyone else on this planet..." He insisted with a slight frown.

This Olly understood as well. There had been instances where the mute medic had been deliberately ignored when he'd expressed concerns. Sure this contraption was a little insane from conceptualization to execution, but it would certainly make it harder for people to ignore him. Especially with such an outstandingly grating voice.

At the end of the day it was no different from the various custom-fitted crutches, canes, hoverchairs, prosthetics and other assorted items Tongue Twister had made for the vode who needed that little extra bit of help getting by. Everyone deserved some independence.

"Plus when has anyone ever heard a Clanker say 'I'm gonna fuck your mum' in several different languages?"

Olly sighed in exasperation while Rhythm let out a startled laugh. Of course.

[hbyrde36]

Self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love 🖤

oh! so fun, thanks anon!

In no particular order because they are all precious to me:

Steve Harrington: Vampire Hunter

Vampire Eddie Munson, Vampire Hunter Steve Harrington, P.I. Robin Buckley, bad-ass gun toting Nancy Wheeler, VAMPIRE DUSTIN!, Stripper Chrissy Cunningham, and so much more.

My ‘steddie as Anita and Jean-Claude from the Anita Blake novels’ fic. I fucking love this thing. It’s SO FUN. The book series it’s pulled from start out in the 90’s (yes I’m old and I read them when they were originally published🙈) and as much as I love the idea of Vampire Hunter Steve having a beeper, I decided to bring things up to present day (along with quite a few other changes to make it my own, and to fit the steddie vibe). It’s weird and a little challenging writing a fic intermingling two different pieces of media, but I love weaving in and combing elements of each universe's lore, while still maintaining the main beats of the story. If nothing else, read this one for the dream sequences!

2. Caught in the Undertow

Post season 4, Canon Divergent – Eddie lives and Vecna has been defeated.

AKA the sad Eddie fic, or, as i used to call it in my head, 'the passively suicidal Eddie fic'. This was my first foray into the ‘giving my own issues to my blorbos’ thing, although it still seems to be in character for them, I think. Don’t worry, I spread it out between both Eddie and Steve, so they’re both a little fucked up. I loved and hated writing every word of this fic. It was so hard sometimes and I made myself cry more than once, but it was incredibly cathartic. This is the fic I go back to and read parts of more than anything else I’ve written.

3. Times Like These

Time loop, Eddie POV

TLT was my first brain worm, my first ever fanfic, and the first thing I’d written period in a very long time. I had no idea what I was doing, but I was so intrigued by the idea and there weren’t many (any?) Eddie POV time loops on ao3 at that point so it was definitely a little bit of a “fine I’ll do it myself” moment. I was just so curious how it would play out if Eddie, the new guy who knew so little about the upside down, who got thrown into the mix and died all within a single week, were to be the one stuck in a loop. What would he think was happening to him? Would he trust the party enough to tell them? What would he do or change to try and fix things? I think I’ve improved quite a bit as a writer since I finished this, just through sheer practice, but I’m still so very proud of my first baby and think about it often.

4. Life is a Game (and True Love is a Trophy)

Canon was just a crazy homebrew D&D game, sort of.

My second brain worm, this fic lived in my head for 8 months before I had written a single word of it. It all started with the idea that, 'what if all of the events from the show had just been a D&D game played by the boys in Mike’s basement?', and then I ran with it from there. It’s a work in progress and we have still have a ways to go (I’m not sure we’re even at the halfway point yet) but I love how it’s turning out. The response from readers, in comments on ao3 and tumblr, to this one has been very kind and encouraging. It makes it SO easy to work on knowing others love it as much as I do.

5. Thank God we didn’t peak in High School

Friends-with-Benefits to Lovers, Modern Au, life after high school au, no upside down

I wrote this series at the last minute for Steddie Week. Last minute, as in I didn’t even start until several days into the event. I’ve never put out so many words so fast. This fic is loosely based on my own marriage’s origin story, although our beginnings were even more dramatic than this (I felt like I had to tone it down to make it believable). This is the first project that made me realize how fun writing from prompts could be! It’s definitely not my best writing, but the story is fun and cute, a little dramatic and angsty, and as always the boys get their happy ending!

[picathartidae]

okay so i have to ask about The Favored Ones (because unfortunately at first i misread it as The Flavored Ones and um now i can't not think about that 😅)

Alright, more of my unhinged homebrew setting D&D stories! This will probably also be an overly long and meandering answer.

The Flavoured Ones sounds very fun, but sadly this story is full of angst and trauma and sadness, because it revolves around an evil cult (as a lot of D&D campaigns seem to).

Said cult is called "Auvrael Olo" in-universe, which roughly translates to "favoured ones" in the yuan-ti language, and this is yuan-ti cult. I have massively rewritten the yuan-ti into a subrace/ethnicity of humans, rather than their own thing, because ideas were had and I had spiralled out of control by this point. And thus, the title.

It actually started life as a fanfic for AC Odyssey, which is kind of embarrassing, but it's been slowly developing into its own thing, and now works better in my setting than it does in Assassin's Creed. If you're familiar with that game, then I'll explain it by saying it's basically about the character of Deimos (Alexios) trying to find himself after a good ending situation, and readjust to life after being raised as the Chosen One of a cult before getting dragged out of it kicking and screaming.

In my setting, gods can only directly interact with the Material Plane if they take on mortal form (this is a recurring motif with me). The gods of the yuan-ti (my versions of Mystra and Cyric, they're very different here than in the Forgotten Realms, basically only have the name in common) do this, by incarnating into human form every generation -- these mortal incarnations are called the Shahmaran (in the case of Mystra) and the Nehushtan (in the case of Cyric).

The protagonist, a guy called Alexander Fiennes (nicknamed Sasko), is the Nehushtan, and he's essentially trying to find himself and work out how to be a normal fucking person while also reconciling with his trauma and the inescapable conclusion that he is literally a god in mortal form. And he struggles with morality because Cyric is generally considered an "evil" god.

Consequently, he's a target of various different groups of people for various different reasons, and his efforts to have a normal life with his wife and son are constantly derailed in spectacular fashion.

In terms of a snippet, I have this dialogue he has with his wife (not long after they first met, before they got married)

“You got out. You realised the truth, and you got out. That’s what matters.” He laughed bitterly and turned away, unable to stand even looking at her as the shame rose. “Not without a lot of help.” There was silence for a moment. Then two. And then; “From what you’ve told me, you were in deep," Aminah insisted softly, reaching out and placing her hand over his. "Deeper than most can hope to come back from. Anyone would have needed help, in your position. It’s not something to be ashamed of.” A shiver ran up Sasko's spine at her touch, though he could never quite bring himself to pull away. “You don’t understand," he insisted. "Auvrael Olo, they- they were everything to me. When they told me what I was and what I had to be, I believed them. I bought the whole story. They didn’t turn me into a monster so much as I let them.” “Alexander.” He didn't look at her. He couldn't. “Alexander," she called again, squeezing his hand as he finally brought himself to meet her gaze. "Listen to me very carefully. You. Were. A. Child. You were a child, and they were all you knew. What happened was done to you. You didn’t let them do anything.” He wasn't entirely sure he deserved that. Not after everything. But it must have shown in his face then, because Aminah's brow furrowed, and she seemed to grow all the more determined to make him understand. “The first thing you did once your decisions were your own to make was try to help people," she reminded him, her voice ever so soft and her tone ever so gentle. "I think that says far more about you than anything you did while under a cult’s control.”

I even made Sasko as one of my Dark Urges in BG3 (former insane cultist connected to an evil god, so he fit the vibe), as well, so I even have screenshots for you! (I also made his wife, and had him be her dream visitor, because of course I did)

[darkerknowledge]

OPEN DND ONE SHOT ON DISCORD

Hello, I’m planning on running ‘Prisoner 13′ from the upcoming dnd book ‘Keys from the Golden Vault’ on Friday the 17th of February at 6:30 PM CST. I will be the DM. I’m looking for 4-5 people to join me as adventurers! If you are interested, there’s more information below the cut.

How does dnd on discord work? It’s a lot like in person play, I will narrate, you will interact with your fellow party members during exploration/roleplaying. Combat is the only thing different since we won’t have physical battle maps and minis to use.  How will combat work?  I will have a hand drawn map that I will stream via webcam. I don’t paint minis, so it’s a lot of ‘this is a dragon, this is you, what happens?’ Do I have to show my face on discord to a bunch of strangers?  Nope! I won’t be. Are you LGBTQ+ friendly? Yes! Will this be a good space for women? Also yes! Age requirement?  18+ preferred, not out of any explicit reasons, but when everyone is over 18 it makes it easier. If you are younger, let me know as we will talk about it and mention it to the table so nothing inappropriate happens. How much does this cost?  A whopping 0 dollars! Are you a good DM? I had a dnd show for awhile, I wrote content for dnd as a freelancer for a third party publisher for awhile, and I’ve been DMing for four years this summer! I’ve had players stick around long enough to finish 3 campaigns, and that number keeps climbing! I’m not very experienced, is that okay? Sure, as long as your familiar enough with the terminology, we can work together. If you’ve watched a dnd show like Critical Role or Dimension 20, you should be good. I am newbie friendly!  Why are you blazing a post for a one shot?  I want to meet cool dnd friends, and I’m hoping after a trial run of one shots, if we all like each other, it’ll turn into a weekly or biweekly campaign! How long will the game be?  I’m not sure, there’s all sorts of ways the game could be short or go longer. I’ll confer with everyone on how long they can stay, and find a good stopping place if it goes on too long. Then we will do a part 2 if you all want to. You needn’t worry about having to go to bed and the rest of us playing. Will there be a session 0?  Yes and no. For a one shot, I don’t think we need to meet up beforehand, but there will be safety tools in place (such as lines and veils) and what I call ‘hard-no’s’.  What is a hard-no? There are a few things that I as a DM am uncomfortable with running, and therefore won’t. For example, explicit roleplay. This will be covered by a ‘fade to black’ if it even comes up (it probably won’t.) If you had to rate your content like a movie what rating would it be? Pg-13 that allows you to say ‘fuck’ more often than just once. I cuss a lot, but less out of anger and more filling in my sentences.  Can I play homebrew?  Not for a one shot. The limit is officially published classes/subclasses/species/subspecies with stuff Matt Mercer made by approval.  Is there anything banned? Yeah, Silvery Barbs and bigotry. 

What if I want to play the one shot but not the campaign you’re looking to start? Yeah, that’s fine. This isn’t a contract.  Can I talk with the other players to build a better team composition?  If you all are the type of players to want to build a group together, you are more than welcome. However, you should be able to go through the one shot playing whatever you like. I will balance for the party rather than the last person who joins getting pushed to healer if there isn’t one already. Your fun is important! If you want to be a tiefling warlock and we have 2 other warlocks, then who cares? ELDRITCH BLAST FOR DAYS, YO! Can my friend join? Yeah, if there’s room.  What if I really want to play and miss an open slot?  The more the merrier, I say. I’m also building a discord server for dnd nerds to have fun, so you could join that one and play something else! What are your inspirations? I love horror, but this isn’t a horror game. What I like about the fantasy genre is how cinematic it can be. It’s fun to narrate, like jumping in the air and bringing an axe down on the dragon’s head while it tries to shake you off, but you hold on! That’s epic! I love that, but I also love down to earth character moments, too. Your party slayed the ancient dragon and now have its hoard. Do you keep it and run? Do you pay off your debt to the Thieves’ Guild? Or are you Robin Hood types? What happens when all three of those are in the same party? Nicholas Eames, writer of Kings of the Wyld and Bloody Rose, is pretty similar to how my games feel, but with a lot less wink-wink-nudge-nudge third wall breaking.  What if my question wasn’t answered here? I’m here to answer questions. My ask box and my direct messages are open! 

[honourablejester]

Random Adventure Hook for Two of my Homebrew Deities

Specifically, Khitim, the Lady of the Tooth, and Borkh, Lord of a Helpless Death. Because while they’re both from the less moral end of the alignment chart, they have distinctly different opinions on certain issues. Borkh believes that the only true measure of power is having the unchallenged right to mete death openly, and Khitim’s only law is survival at any cost. So I thought it might be fun to set up a circumstance where they, or rather their adherents, had reason to come into conflict.

(And yes, I’m a bit hung up on Khitim lately, but I’m a bit in the mood for feral, and she does tend to bring that in spades)

So. We’re going to picture a city. I’m thinking a smaller, regional city, we’re going to keep this relatively low-scale in impact. And the lord of this city, the governor or burgomaster or duke or whatever his title, is a devotee of Borkh. He strives for his rule to be absolute, and the expression of that absolute power is the execution of those who defy it. He is, in short, rather tyrannical, and he bears his black rod openly. He was given this power by right, and who has the right to challenge him on it? His rule is legal, and his decrees just, by virtue of being his decrees.

And I want to picture an execution. A prisoner on their knees before the headsman’s block. A outsider, an outlander, someone from beyond the city limits. I don’t think a priest of Khitim, no one she would have paid attention to before, just someone from the world beyond this city and the sharply defined edges decreed by its lord. And this outsider does not acknowledge this lord’s, or Borkh’s, right to kill them. They’re a survivor. They’ve seen so much more than this piddling little city could ever dream of. Fuck the God of Executions. They follow Khitim’s law, and under that law no one, ever, has the right to kill them. “Take my life if you’re able, but I’m damn sure never going to lie down and say you have the right to it!”

And Khitim … Khitim hears this. And Khitim is greatly pleased.

There’s a strange silence, a breathless hush across the execution block and the city square around it. And then, abruptly, where a defiant prisoner knelt mere seconds ago, is a werewolf. Possibly even a loup garou. A massive, monstrous, lupine form, erupting upwards, bursting shackles as they emerge. Roaring. Perhaps at least half out of pain and confusion, it’s not every day of someone’s life that a deity transforms them out of the blue and on the spot, but oh. Oh, they catch on quick. Because they’re not bound any longer. Because their smug would-be executioner is right there, and suddenly they have claws. Yes. Yes, they catch on very quickly indeed.

That was a couple of months ago. That one, that first one. They tore themselves violently free. Slew one of the city’s executioners. Only one of many, admittedly. And they’re weren’t close enough to slay the lord himself. But now. Now there is another force, in this city, another faction, another tide. A direct challenge to the lord’s authority. To Borkh’s authority. The city has a lupine revolutionary leader, and a great many people have flocked to them. Despite their ferocity. Despite their bloodthirst. Despite the carnage of their rampages, and the innocents who often perish in them. Because. Because damn it. At least they never claim to have the right to those deaths. Only the means.

Several more werewolves have been made. The city government calls it a plague of lycanthropy, called down by the dark magics of heretics, in the service of a barbaric goddess. But people rally behind them regardless. Martial law has clamped down in response. Tyranny grows day by day. And explosive violence, in response. The city is now a battleground. Two gods, two philosophies, two beliefs. The city divides, one camp or another. And many, many people are left caught between them. Dead either way, maybe. Left only to choose which side they would prefer to be slaughtered by.

And into this powder keg, should they so choose, steps a party. Heh.

I do like Khitim. I think I am, perhaps, kneejerk, just a bit on the chaotic end of the scale? Laws are just too big for me to trust them unequivocally. So yeah. I probably wouldn’t side with Borkh, myself. Though, granted, that doesn’t necessarily make our werewolf anarchist a better choice. Taking a third option is always encouraged. But yeah.

I wanted to show a little bit of a schism, a point of fracture, between two of my homebrew deites. Gods are fun when you involve them in the world. You know?

[auspex]

🍎💙😊👨‍👩‍👧‍👦 for Mark?

YAYYYYYYY YIPPEEE thank u

🍎 RED APPLE — where was your oc born? do they still live in/around their place of birth or do they live somewhere else? how do they feel about their birthplace?

He was born in a small town outsideof Detroit! He now lives in Detroit proper so like an hour ish drive from the outskirts or an hour and a half/two hours from other parts of the city. im tempted to make it Cement City but i haven't decided the canon location yet. want to consult with ST in case he was planning anything relating to it.

he has no desire to move back, but i wouldn't say it is wholly negative. there's good and bad memories there. Overall he dislikes the place and would describe it as "kind of a backwater, not interesting whatsoever, and very... conservative." lol.

💙 BLUE HEART — does your oc have any cool/special powers and/or abilities? how are they with magic, if it exists in their world?

YEAA HE IS MY SPECIAL BOYYY ok. He has blood sorcery, which is normal for Tremere, sure. He's good at it! 3 dots right now which is fairly experienced and exceptionally high for someone who has only been dead for 8 months <3 also he has premonition due to some weird sigil Julius put on his back despite not having the normal auspex dots required for it. Also he knows how to scry on people, and how to force a group premonition, both of which are homebrew technically. also he knows blood strike which is from older editions and its mega op. he got to learn it cause he did Good on Julius Quests <3 and got a good grade in serving Julius which is both Normal to Want and Possible to Achieve of course. <3 augh. what a guy.

😊 SMILING FACE WITH SMILING EYES — what are your oc's career/general life desires? what do they want to get the most out of life?

Ohhh wow yea this changed after his embrace for sure. Right now... he desires to please Julius first and foremost unfortunately. but he does have wants outside of that. He wants to get in a position where he feels safe; he wants to interview elders on history; he wants to spend days upon days researching history... i also think that now that he's undead his beast does want him to have some level of authority and so sure he wants some level of authority over other vampires as well. not a lot but enough to feel more secure. he feels somewhat entitled to it due to being Julius's childe and due to being well. generally good at things and advancing quickly in the Camarilla/Tremere. nepo baby

But yeah Mark dream: hermit house, comes down occsionally to Exert Authority; safe enough to interview elders; stable enough to spend days reading.

Oh and also important: he does NOT want to become out of touch like he has seen many other kindred become. it disgusts him. he feels Superior for not being out of touch. he SMIRKS when kindred don't know how to use phones. he appreciates cassidy trying to keep up with things despite being old so instead of feeling superior it endears him hehehehe gayass.

👨‍👩‍👧‍👦 FAMILY WITH MOTHER, FATHER, SON AND DAUGHTER — how many people are in your oc's immediate family? how many people are in your oc's extended family? do they have aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents, etc? who in their family are they closest with? are they close with their birth family, or do they have a found family?

FUCK i haven't thought about extended family. might confer with ST to answer. He has no siblings though, just mom and dad. he is not close with any of them. I imagine a lot of the extended family dropped him when they found out he was gay :( but yes regardless of if he has extended family, they are not close. Mark has no found family at the moment <3 lonely boy. for a minute there it looked like it could happen with Sampson and his friends/family but then he got embraced and lost that <3 he so Lonely now <3

[spurious]

💡for live oak #5 I really want to know the thought process behind it!

✏️ or 📓 for twenty (more) questions

(Also just wanted to say that I loved twenty questions so much!! I will leave a proper comment at some point but just wanted to express my love for the fic 🌻🌻🌻)

WIP Wednesday!

💡 What gave you the idea for this one?

Okay well. Look at the first two lines of Live Oak With Moss 5 and tell me it’s not about Rodney McKay:

Long I thought that knowledge alone would

          suffice me—O if I could but obtain

          knowledge!

SO. I knew, obviously, that this is a Rodney fic, but I was waffling around for a while about what kind of Rodney fic it would be. Coming off of O I Think We Should Be Brethren, I was like no Laura don’t write ANOTHER introspective novella!!! But the problem is that it’s actually 100% what the fic needs to be, and so I came to terms with that and decided that it’s kind of cool to have these two in conversation with each other.

But that didn’t actually happen until I got the idea for the *actual* hook of the story, which is that it’s, in a very oblique will probably take 20k to even get there way, a Tao of Rodney fic. I had this realization while washing my hands in the bathroom at work and whisper-screamed to myself about it in the mirror. SO the way we hook that episode, the poem itself, and my need to write a lengthy examination of Rodney’s backstory and emotional landscape all together is through the concept of Rodney as a child having read a pulp scifi story about a man who uploaded his mind to a computer and subsequently sort of fantasizing about doing that, on and off, for his entire life. Until he gets the chance to basically do that by ascending and realizes he doesn’t want to!

📓 out of context portion of notes:

Ummmmmmmmmm I know I wrote some notes on this last night and now I can’t find them?

I definitely remember writing that John will finally ask if Rodney got off to any of the porn he downloaded and Rodney will be weird and cagey about it despite having no reason to be! Important.

✏️ deleted scene……I do, actually, have an entire deleted scene from the original twenty questions, so

For Ronon’s birthday, Teyla works the hell out of her trading connections to get ahold of a huge bottle of Satedan-style homebrew: the team take a jumper to the mainland and make camp, a little beach-front barbecue set up in the sand. Rodney bitches about the sun and the heat and the outdoors, but he turns pink and giddy once they start passing the bottle around the fire—the stuff’s like fucking paint thinner, and Ronon gulps it down like it’s water.

The topic turns to the rumor about what had happened with Major Lorne’s team a few weeks back, a first contact mission that’d been heavy on the contact, and between team members, at that. John had read—and then heavily redacted—the report, then had trouble looking Lorne in the eye for a day and a half.

“Lorne’s team,” Rodney says, knocking back a too-long swig from the bottle and then giggling a little, “they’re all…well, fine, I suppose, but if we had to, I mean, you’d be spoiled for choice!” He follows this statement up with an expansive, sloppy gesture to Teyla, Ronon, John, then back to himself. “I mean, who would you pick?”

He’s looking at Ronon, thank god, but before John can open his mouth to tell Rodney to can it, Ronon’s already answering him.

“You’re asking which of the team I’d have sex with off-world, if I had to?” Ronon says, in his usual deadpan rumble. Rodney nods, and Ronon glances at John across the campfire. “I’d pick Sheppard,” he says, shrugging. “Probably be the least weird.” Then he looks at Teyla. “No offense.”

“None taken,” Teyla says, her usual diplomatic formality softened into something sly and amused. “I am sure Colonel Sheppard would be a very generous lover.” John nearly swallows his tongue, and Teyla grins at him, unrepentant, before leaning back, surveying the three of them like a queen at court. “All three of you would be fine choices, of course, but I think Ronon's youthful enthusiasm would lead to an enjoyable encounter."

"What about you, Rodney?" John asks, wondering if he can head this off, get Rodney rambling so long they all forget John hasn't answered.

Rodney looks at John, speculative and too-long, before shaking himself, blinking. "Well, Teyla, obviously." He licks his lips nervously, eyes darting to Teyla, then back to John. "She's our only woman, so."

"Right," John says, not getting why Rodney's being so furtive. He feels fuzzy from the Satedan liquor, but he takes another long swig when Ronon passes him the bottle.

"Well, it's your turn, Colonel," Rodney says, seeming to try for a lean but succeeding more in pitching over sideways. "Who'll you pick?"

John thinks, oh, god, just say Teyla, it'll be easier, opens his mouth and hears himself say, "You, obviously," and then the liquor hits him like a punch to the solar plexus and he has to scramble away as quick as he can to puke his guts out in the sand.

Ronon laughs at him, calls him something that apparently roughly translates to “middle schooler at his first party,” and the conversation moves smoothly, mercifully, to a discussion of their most embarrassing drinking stories.

[utilitycaster]

Not sure if you have answered this fully in a post or another ask, but is there a deity (lesser known/prime, or a non-god like Delilah) that you think would make sense for Laudna if she needs to make a patron change after the whole Delilah incident? Or if you think she will make a patron change at all?

Obviously you don’t want it to be tied to the Raven Queen or Vax or campaign one things, which is fair and valid for a campaign that was supposed to be about Marquet. But I wanted to know further what your thoughts were, or if you have other thoughts entirely on it?

Thank you:)

I haven't! The following is going to be somewhat long, because I don't think I can answer this without talking through where I'd like to see Laudna's story go from here.

The way I understand Hollow One, Laudna cannot really be brought back as a Hollow One (though I'd fudge the rules for Revivify specifically). I'm not saying it can't happen, since Matt did homebrew Hollow One and may rule differently; but if that happens I don't have much to say about it and would need to see how things play out for a bit to have any insight since I'm not sure what the next move is for Laudna if she remains largely unchanged.

If she's brought back as human - either with her memories intact or back to her younger self, the woman who died on the Sun Tree, but actually this arguably works better with her retaining her memories - then that's a pretty massive shift. Suddenly she's "normal" in a way she hasn't been, and more importantly, she's mortal. I would like her to explore that concept of a second chance or rebirth. And either way, either she died before she had a chance at adulthood, or she is finally free of the patron who's plagued her for the past 30 years, and so I'm interested in seeing Laudna grapple with the concept that actually is remarkably like what FCG's experiencing: Oh fuck, I have a soul and everything matters now.

Now my personal preference really is for her to retrain warlock with bard and have no patron. I like the idea of Laudna exploring the freedom of being entirely her own person, beholden to no one; and honestly I think bard would be better mechanically given the party makeup. But if she does want to pursue having a patron:

One thing Matt (and Aabria!) has done very well is have localized patrons. Uk'otoa is deeply tied to Wildemount, as is Xalicas (who never showed up in C2 but who does have some worshipers who come up in Call of the Netherdeep); The Observer, meanwhile, is very much of Niirdal-Poc. So it might be that she goes for some time without a patron and then finds something in Yios, or the Rumedam desert. I think this would be a great opportunity to tie Laudna more to Marquet and build out the world. On the other hand this will take a little time to properly build to.

Hilariously, given my FCG comparison above, Avandra, aka She Who Makes The Path, is really fitting thematically for someone who's been on the run for decades but is finally able to make her own road. Celestial would be the obvious subclass.

A little out there, but given that I'd love to see Laudna's crafting given more importance through being a bard, if she instead looks to deities, Moradin could be a weird but intriguing pick. (Also probably celestial).

Given that the Feywild is involved with the plot already and Fearne has clear fey connections, an archfey wouldn't be too hard to seek out.

Finally, because I've had Zahra on my mind given my "Darling" count, Zahra had a Great Old One patron named Sirius and we never learned much about them but they were vaguely tied to the moon, which I think could be interesting to explore.

[coralinehecc]

Corals Monthly Update #3

HOHOHO!! FIRST BLOG POST OF 2023 AND I’M NEARLY 2 WEEKS LATE!!! Super sorry about the long wait! I’ve had tests recently and only got off of school like a few days ago haha! So! Welcome back to my monthly update on what I get up to in my life! Now, before we get into January, I, for the final time, have to tap back into the previous month. Curse past me for thinking the 21st was a good day to start doing these!!! ANYHOW! The rest of December and early January were a BLAST! But lemmie talk about what happened after I made the last update. CHRISTMAS!! I had a great time with my family and I got a bunch of fluffy things cuz that’s apparently the easiest thing to get me now. We also had dinner on Christmas day with my Grandparents like every year. Over-all that day was very fun! I even got drunk playing Minecraft which was funny for everyone in VC. The next few days weren’t anything exciting, however my brother Finn had a bunch of his friends over for his birthday which was chaotic. But the excitement picks back up on the 28th! BECAUSE SKYE AND VI CAME OVER FOR NEW YEARS!! We’ve been planning this since like, June, so it was awesome seeing them again! We did all kinds of stuff from shopping to playing some awesome games! (I am now chronically addicted to Ultra Kill thanks guys)

We even did some baking! Here is our glorious creation I dubbed, “The Jimothy”. 

Overall the rest of December was awesome! I’m glad I got to celebrate New Years with my besties! Overall, I’ll give it a 10/10! Best way to end 2022 >:D Here’s a few more misc photos hehehhehe

NOW! FOR JANUARY!! January started off still vibing with the guys. However they would then go home on the 4th which sucks. But before that, both Skye and I spent a lot of money on consoles that are almost as old as ourselves. They bought a fucking PS Vita and I got a motherfucking Wii. We both had fun with em and I even helped Skye homebrew their Vita since I wanted to put PebbleCD on it (I failed but shut uuup) But yea, sadly the guys had to go and it sucked! But I still had a great time. There’s a bit of a gap here right up until the 12th, where finally, the big event happened. CAREY IN THE HOUSE WENT LIVE!! I had finished it a few days prior but figured I’d build up hype by posting it on that Friday. AND IT SURE WORKED! The video blew up faster than any of my videos before it! I am so happy the response has been overwhelmingly positive. I also love how the only main complaint that was common amongst people was that Careys exaggerated accent was annoying which, yea can’t argue against. For anyone wishing for more CITH content, I did a behind the scenes mega thread over on my twitter if you wanna have a deeper look into the production! I’ll even link it here:  https://twitter.com/Carey_Black_/status/1619731723352444928 Now, to move onto why it took me forever to make an update. My mock exams.. BUT BEFORE THAT!! THERE’S ALSO THE FACT THAT MR WULF AND I WERE ABLE TO ARCHIVE THE ORIGINAL EDDSWORLD BANG BOOM SPLAT PROJECT FILE!!

This all started because Wulf wanted to edit the credits for his arcade BBS build since I was helping him out and since I said SWF modding is hard he just casually asked Psycosis and after seeing his WIP cabinet, gave Wulf the FLA! So a current “BBS arcade version” is in the works by yours truly thanks to both the generosity of Psycosis and the fact that Mr Wulf is a fucking mad man who could stop global warming in a month if he wanted to LOL! Here’s Wulfs finished Cabinet btw!:  https://twitter.com/MrWulfOfficial/status/1622295302685315073 But yea, for real. My mock exams were a pain! For those outside of Ireland or have a different name for em, Mock exams are, well, exams that act like a practice run for your finals. They’re always harder than the actual finals and are usually graded stricter too! Why? Who knows! The Irish education system is a joke. I feel like I did somewhat ok in them anyway? Some were definitely worse than others but overall it was more of an inconvenience. I did get this really cool art piece out of it however.

Exams would later spill over into February and like I said at the start, I finished and got off school a few days ago. Overall, this month was about a 7/10. It was pretty good, especially in the Eddsworld department, but mocks and other personal tid bits I didn’t mention here dragged it down for me. Since February seems to be mostly me being off school, I hope this month will be better haha! Only time will tell! Thank you for reading! And I hope to see you next month!! (Hopefully on time too haha!) 

[vulpeskorsak]

Day 25 of Whumptober 2022: Twitching tail

Day 25 of Whumptober 2022!

No. 25 SILENCE IS GOLDEN

Lost Voice | Duct Tape | “You better start talking.”

Timeline-wise my current shorts go: Day 2 -> Day 15 -> Day 5 -> Day 16 -> Day 25 -> Day 1 -> Day 18 -> Day 22 -> Day 13 - > (Day 4 -> Day 9*) -> Day 3 -> Day 7 -> Day 8 -> Day 21 - > Day 19 -> Day 6 -> Day 11 -> Day 12 -> Day 23 -> Day 14 -> Day 17 -> Day 24 -> Day 20

*Day 4 and 9 do not happen in the same AU where Ludwig exists.

Day 10 is a modern AU.

Victor is my human fleshsmith inventor (KibblesTasty Homebrew class) from a long-running DnD adventure.

Lady Lourencia “Caiman” Doe was his lover, a noble woman secretly running the biggest gang in the sea-side city they live in, who is able to transform into a large anthropomorphic caiman.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/42626646 (AO3 link)

Twitching tail

“You better start talking as soon as you are able to… The Doctor has been asking me for a new test subject for a while now. And I’m pretty sure he has never gotten a chance to work on a tabaxi before.” Caiman grins, showing off her razor-sharp teeth. “And you know, that man will be veeery grateful if I let him keep you… Not even sure that I need you to talk right away, now that I’m thinking about it. Maybe, I should let him have his fun… I know a guy who can speak with the dead, so we can get the information we want even if my boy… breaks you too early.”

A large half-human half-caiman woman is leaning over the table, where the tabaxi thief lies paralyzed by a potent drug. She is very well-built, can probably snap her neck with one hand, and is taller than even the Doctor in this form, though the thief has not seen what she looks like normally.

She had no idea what she was getting into when she sneaked into this clinic. Certainly, no clue that it is protected by Caiman herself. The leader of the Emerald Tigers, the biggest gang in the city. She has heard rumors about her. They say she broke the wall of the gang’s den with its previous leader when taking over the leadership role. They say she is ruthless and violent but can show mercy if you submit.

Should she just submit and tell them the whole story?

The tabaxi has begun feeling the tip of her tail, so she wiggles it nervously. She still cannot talk but after whatever the Doctor injected into her some control is beginning to return to her.

The Doctor is sitting at his alchemical table, that she can see now that she can turn her head. He is looking at Caiman in excitement, like a child who has just been promised a brand-new toy.

“That sounds… like a great idea, my dear.” He purrs before getting up with a different syringe in hand. “Shall I knock her completely out now? Oh, I have so many things that I wanted to try out!”

“Oh?” Caiman perks up. “Do tell, my good doctor.”

“I’ve been wanting to test my new late-stage White Plague cure…”

Fuck! She submits! She submits!

She has seen people sick with it and what it left of them by the end… She has no desire to live to a late stage and survive.

“Though it will take her a couple months to get there… but I have plenty more stuff I wanted to do. Like, I’ve been thinking if you can do a blood transfusion between two drastically different species such as us humans and tabaxi. And I’m also lacking a tabaxi tail in my tail collection… though if I could eventually get the whole skeleton preserved, that would be even more fun. But bones can get severely damage over the course of the Plague, so maybe I should just-“

“No!” The tabaxi suddenly cries out.

She herself is not sure when exactly her ability to speak came back, but she sure is grateful it did now.

Caiman turns to her with a raised eyebrow and a smirk. The Doctor looks at her with a tinge of disappointment.

“I… I will…” She coughs. “I will talk…”

“Ah… It’s almost a shame… It seems the good doctor will have to search for a new subject. Unless, you lie to us, of course.”

[frogsandfries]

I really hit the ground running this morning: I guess we should've tried earlier, but as a last ditch effort, I put the dying sapling apple trees and plum tree out on the lawn. I figured, there were some plants my sister left for dead outside and they're thriving. Perhaps we could accomplish a bit of a repeat performance. If not, we'll just have to get some apple trees next spring and plant them immediately.

The soil here is really clay-y. I'm not sure if it's from all the rain. I've touched a lot of Wisconsin dirt, and this is the most clay-like. But it's also rained the most this year that it has for a long, long time.

I have to mow the lawn over the next few days. My sister bought the push mower for her pleasure, now it gets to be my torture until her leg heals up enough.

I bought some carbon transfer paper. I decided, instead of trying to risk printing on my colored pencil paper, I'll try printing on my shitty printer paper, and transfer it. This better be worth it for all this effort.

I don't know if I mentioned, but yesterday, my sister insisted that we go to the farmer's market. By the time we got there, it was already at peak traffic, but it had been such a struggle for her to get the block or so up the hill, so I got the blueberries she wanted. They are in the freezer for now. I'm reserving my dance-card-for-chores for mowing the lawn this week. It's an absolute monster of a lawn, and I have to use the push mower.

Anyway, while they were there, there was this LGBT person with stickers and a table. My dad got info on where to get a trans flag in town, so we went over there. I grabbed a graphic novel, sent a picture of one of the sections to a friend who I thought would vibe with it. I think there were like some local/homebrew/zine games there.

We got Sonic! It was, okay, don't judge me, it was kind of grounding to have some of their pretzels. Living in Wisconsin again has been hard for my brain to accept.

Anyway, dad brought the rabbits downstairs.

They brought themselves upstairs. I didn't fucking know rabbits could fucking climb stairs. So I brought them downstairs and swept aaaaaaallllllllllllllllll their shit from just the one room they shat'd in. Sooooo muuuuuucccchhh shit. Might as well get a horse instead.

Today has mostly just been for relaxing and recharging, so I've been hanging out downstairs with my sister, except the part where she took a nap, so I went to chill with my tablet on my bed, rolled over and it was six in the evening.

I might have to start consuming caffeine again. My sister being out of commission at the moment is really forcing me to face all my limitations head-on. I simply cannot do this job full-time, on the schedule I'm on, and do everything else. This house is absolutely gargantuan. Two floors. The kitchen is basically two rooms. There's a dining room, basically three living rooms. Two bathrooms, one on each floor. A master bedroom that's two rooms with a door between, a laundry room, an extra bedroom I'm using for my office right now, and my room.

We're having cleaners come tomorrow, thank gaawwwddddd. It'll be such a relief to have a clean slate. It's such a tragedy that I really have to go to work tomorrow already. Whenever my sister goes on her vacation, I am taking PTO and not-P-TO. I desperately need to find a new job. I'm keeping this job by getting mildly high most shifts and doing some creative project while I'm at work and it is not healthy.

Anyway, I have a ton of media I want to add to my personal library: Steven Universe, Star Trek, Wolf Children and Magus Bride. I want to finish collecting Saga. And I want to finish collecting my own graphic novel.

I'm just so fucking tired.

[thewestern]

Chapter 26

Do you believe in magic? 

Somewhat akin to splitting the atom, spontaneous fermentation brewing is an alchemic practice, bordering on straight-up witchcraft. (Which is to say, they’ve burned ladies at the stake for less.) One wherein man simultaneously assumes and resigns control o’er the forces of nature, albeit for the benefit of all humankind. Or, would it be to his and hers great detriment? What was it Mark Twain said about drinking? That it’s the cause and solution to all of life’s problems. (Words which had sometimes been paraphrased in chalk on the sandwich board under the awning on the curb out front from the Newfy.) I am become hungover.   

Back on the farm, not terribly long after the Stone Rock Boys had bedded down for the morning, the Gang of Four from the New Frontier had themselves awoken on the early side of reason. Before their as-yet unscheduled rendezvous with the boy Wolff, the Mick had quite reluctantly agreed to lead Grace and Zeke on a partially guided tour of the coolship room and the accompanying barrel cellar that Hank had converted from the previous homeowner’s survivalist bunker. Grace was delighted to have her suspicions confirmed regarding the subterranean room’s origins. 

(In a freak occurrence of fatal irony, the previous homeowner sadly passed away in his own survivalist bunker. And would you believe it was on account of he locked himself down there by accident? Most survivalist bunkers lock one way, from the inside, so as to keep any marauding bands of dystopian looters from burglarizing the canned foodstuffs and cache of seeds, which would all but certainly soon become the new currency. However, here was such a hardcore survivalist, that he equipped his bunker with a double-cylinder, computer-activated deadbolt mechanism, which would also seal him from the outside in. His reason being that he didn’t want to be tempted to resurface prematurely into a world that was sure to be hostile to human life. So, anyway, one Saturday afternoon he was down there tinkering on a few things, some routine grouting, mostly — doomsday prepping is a lot like homebrewing, or any other hobby, in so far as there’s a lot of busy work — and he must have pressed the wrong button or something because damned if the titanium-reinforced door didn’t airlock above him. Twenty-five years, the timer was set for. And he hadn’t stocked but a single bite of food, nor a drop of water. That’s supposed to be the final step. [Even if the food is non-perishable, you’d prefer it to be as fresh as possible.] Would you even believe if his AV guy had been scheduled to come by that very afternoon to install the full comms setup, as well as the entertainment system, but damn if nobody came to answer the front door. So it was that our intrepid survivor died twice. First of boredom. Second of thirst. For all we know he might still had been down there, if it weren’t for his then soon-to-be-ex-wife discovering his decomposing body some days later. [It’s the smell that’ll haunt her.] On account of they had been undergoing a trial separation, his now-widow was only just stopping by to get his signature on the last of the divorce papers. If he wasn’t in the house, flat ass planted firmly on the sofa, then she could bet the farm he was down there was playing in his fucking fort. Boy how he hated when she called it that. She never took him or his apocalypse planning seriously. Maybe it was for the best. Their marriage could have never survived the bunker. He would have written her out of the will altogether, had he made one to begin with. [When one has reoriented one’s life entire around the steadfast belief that the world is going to end, like in the fairly short term {nigh}, what then is the use in settling one’s affairs?] On the bright side, though, it would stand to reason that as his legal wife at the time of his untimely demise, wouldn’t she stand to inherit the estate entire? Not so fast, on account of since our story is taking place in a separate property state, rather she had to split the pot four ways with his two asshole daughters and one dickhead son from a previous marriage, which divides out to half of the half she would have gotten in the divorce! Mercifully, she did get the farmhouse, which she promptly put on the market for to cover her considerable loss. As a general rule of real estate, the presence of a level-five survivalist bunker increases the home value least twofold. That is, of course, unless somebody fucking dies in it. [In some states, including this one, sellers must disclose any death{s} that have occured on-property over the previous three year-period.] Then it’s basically moot. Because well it must be some lousy survivalist bunker, ain’t it. Hence in part how come she sold the place to Hank for a song. Some guys are just lucky.)  

Therein the ancient secrets of the ten thousand-year brewing tradition would be fully revealed, firmly placing our pilgrims on a time continuum that spans the millenniums, with the Dawn of Man in the Cradle of Civilization, the Sumerians of Southern Mesopotamia (SoMo), mercantilists in the glorious reign of Holy Roman Emperor Charles V, peasant farmers in the seventeenth century Senne Valley, Hank and Russ in Hank’s garage and so on and so forth to the sixteenth power.

Meanwhile, Kitty would make waffles.

Although she seldom cooked — again, the kitchen was Mick’s dojo — when pressed, she could make a more than passable breakfast, particularly one for soaking up a hangover. Nothing fussy. The breakfast necessities. Some or other such menu of dairy, swine and starch. The latter preferably starting from a box with precise steps and measurements printed on the back. A control recipe from which she may slightly deviate with variable ingredients as so dictated by the scientific method. A dash of cinnamon, a dollop of sour cream or a splash of vanilla extract. 

She paroused Hank’s walk-in pantry for anything semi-perishable which could be combined with the outside groceries they brought along — a half dozen-carton of eggs and a vacuum-sealed package of bacon in a tent-pop cooler. For a presumed-dead man of going on a year, his wares were surprisingly well-stocked. Right at her eye level, beside the spine of a lone cookbook — The Joy of Cooking … For One: Big Flavor in Small Portions — was just what the doctor ordered: an unperforated cardboard container of pancake mix. And there staring back at her was the familiar face of an antebellum mammy with the Yessa Massa smile. Comma get ya griddle cakes while dey’r hot off the stove top nah. Mmm-mm, get’cha sum wahrm syrp to drizzle all up on ‘em. Y’all hurry up nah befuh I battuh dem cheeks wit mah wooden spoon nahu. (The beloved Big Momma Maybelline character is the trademarked intellectual property of the Amish Grains Corporation, a division of ​​Cyclospora Brands. Any reproduction of her likeness without proper consent is expressly prohibited and will be punished with commensurate lashings.)     

Diligently, Kitty checked the expiration date, which they were coming up on a month past. Hank himself used to deride the practice of labeling foodstuffs with so-called By-Dates. Best By, Sell By, Use By, Buy By, By and By; Bye, Bye, Bye. He considered it criminal behavior on behalf of the CPG Cartel to encourage recurring purchases. Next to nuclear proliferation and all these damn boy bands, of course, it’s Food Waste that’s the biggest crisis confronting humanity, he used to say. You know how long it takes a head of lettuce to decompose, in absentia of oxygen? Twenty-five years. About as long as you’ve been alive, young lady. Quarter of a century. And by that time it finally does disintegrate, that leafy green’ll leave behind a methane that’s twenty-something times more powerful a greenhouse gas than carbon dioxide. I mean for crying out loud, Kitty, there’s a floating trash patch two-thirds the size of Texas bobbing around the Pacific as we speak. You can see the damned thing from outer space!

Notwithstanding the existence of an garbage archipelago, Kitty had done enough failed volcano science projects to know that baking powder does lose its potency, eventually. But the blood suckers at Big Food would have no doubt accounted for that fact and as such conspired to give themselves a grace period whereby unsuspecting shoppers would have to buy more storebought mix than they would ever possibly need. For heaven’s sake, how could Hank have ever finished a box this large to begin with, not that he’d even started. How many pancakes even is this? The Nutrition Facts (/Datos de Nutrición) say each serving size makes two units of four inches each, diameter she assumed. That radius squared multiplied by pie would make a mega-pancake fifty square inches in area, twenty-five inches the way round, talking circumference. Imagine that. Okay — Earth to Kitty — serving size is a quarter of a cup, or thirty-six grams. Box is thirty two-ounces. That’s nine hundred-some (seven) grams. Over thirty-six is — long division, f’n, f — twenty-five. Times two makes fifty. Fifty flipping pancakes. General Ulysses S. Grant. Half a hundred flapjacks. Oh, farts … it says so right on the back.  

  Anyhow, when and over how long a period was this Single Man supposed to consume fifty pancakes from this Family Size box. He hardly spent any time in that second house anyway. Kitty remembered when she and Mick first stayed for one of her three-day weekends. President's Day, or Was it Martin Luther King? One of those bank holidays they give you on the other side of Christmas, in the grayest stretch of winter, if only to keep postal workers from drive-by shooting their mail routes. Hank had been off scaling up or traversing across or spelunking down some four-dimensional plane in a faraway land for two weeks’ time, and insisted they Use The House, he said, as a token of his thanks for minding the store in his stead. Yea, as if his being here makes any fucking difference anyway, Mick would scoff. By then Hank’d been spending more and more time away, either planning the new production facility, or else off on another of his solo old dude adventures. Indiana Scones, Mick took to calling him to his face, because he loved traveling and breakfast pastries. He’d left the lonely farmhouse key — no chain or even a ring — on his desk next to the ship in the bottle off the starboard bow. On top of a yellow pad of post-its whereupon he’d left a rare-for-him note. 

K+M

Thanks for minding the store. 

XOHO  

At the risk of perpetuating this cycle of gratitude everlasting, whenceupon they returned, Kitty wanted to get Hank a little something to say thanks for letting them Use The House. Casual gift-giving was an important component of her personal culture. Yet what do you get for a man that has at once everything and nothing? A man who has enough expensive wheelie toys to round the curve of a mid-life crisis onto life’s home stretch, no matter the terrain. Who has every book ever written about any adventure ever over or undertaken. (Beside, getting someone a book as a present is poor etiquette, Kitty believed rather staunchly. Awfully presumptive, isn’t it?) Someone who saw his favorite band play on four continents before its founder and reluctant leader died a past-timely death. A man so devoted to his hobby he made it a profession. What do you get a man like that? A bottle of wine? He never drank the stuff. Only skeletons in his cellar. Maybe fetch him another from the janitor’s closet.

  That Hank was hard to shop for was no big deal to Kitty. For a fact, the challenge made the thrill she received from gift-giving all the more fulfilling. You know, she’d read something in a magazine recently — must have been in a waiting room at a doctor’s office, the only place she could have possibly encountered print media — about how experiences were the new possessions. Obviously she couldn’t afford to buy him another first-class round-trip ticket to Timbuktu. (One Wednesday Hank had casually dropped to Kitty that he was Diamond Status, whatever that means.) Nor could she bring Jerry back to life. (Hank had been one of the pious few holdout deadheads who’d outright refused to see any of the GD’s incarnations, PG, which he considered heretical.) But she could make him a breakfast treat. A baker’s dozen cinnamon rolls. The buns themselves came from a dough pre-rolled, canned and mascotted by a claymated Frankenstein’s monster with a crystalline blue male gaze, and the haunting falsetto chortle of a childlike ghost. (The prototype was painstakingly rendered via stop-motion, requiring its five bodies and fifteen decapitated dough heads be rearranged in the frame up to twenty-four times to shoot a single second of real-time footage. Since the early nineties, the beloved advertising character has been brought to life digitally, with the miracle of CGI.) But, Kitty frosted them herself with a homemade, Irish Cream-infused glaze, and topped off with a garnish of glittery green sprinkles. He was so heart-warmed by the kind gesture that he insisted Kitty stay for a toast to their good health over the first half pint of the new More Perfect Double IPA — as so christened by Mick … Hank had wanted to call it, God Exists — freshly kegged this very morning by her betrothed. Never mind that Seven AM is a tad bit on the early side for a Eight Percent ABV, or that you’re on your way to teach the Periodic Table to sixth graders. O, c’mon, Kit. It’s a half of a half. A quarter. 

And so they did.

What a fine memory it was.

###

Although she was blissfully unfamiliar with the term mise en place, Kitty did prefer to have her ingredients, utensils and other cookware prearranged in advance, like how a surgeon would have their instruments pre-sterilized and set out just so, with the corresponding donor organs at the ready for transplant in a little cooler not dissimilar from the one Kitty and the Mick received lightly used as a wedding present from Skip Engel, the Newfy delivery driver. That cooler is there on the marble counter, next to the waffle iron — which one more commonly receives via their wedding registry … although they were one of those meant-to-be type of couples who already proudly owned a waffle iron, so they left it off — with the mixing bowl, whisk, two shapes of spatula (one for flipping, the other for miscellaneous spatulate), measuring cups and spoons organized in descending fractional volumes. Griddle with the nonstick teflon coating that’ll be sure to give you bone cancer. Center-cut bacon strips and a stick of butter which will hopefully do you first. From Hank’s aforementioned refrigerator, Vermont maple syrup that you’d more than happily drown in. (She remembered he’d had that from there last visit.) And from the icebox, wild, Maine blueberries. For our dish this morning, a culinary romp through ye olde New England. The breakfast world is flattening. Two brown eggs, XL Organic. Pair of Free Rangers. Mama Maybelline, bonded there on the cardboard box in a lithographic phantom zone for all time. An additional pinch of baking powder for a little extra leavening, just in case. Her variable ingredient, lemon zest for which to compliment the blueberries. And lastly but not the least— oh fudge, I forgot the mother fucking milk. 

Kitty flung open the fridge in desperation, breaking off the vintage handle clean off its moor, and looked deep into the recesses of the shelves for some variety of I Can’t Believe It’s Not Dairy alternative Hank would no doubt have had stocked. Oh bother … either way it would long since’ve soured. Or does fake milk even have a shelf life? As she considered the potentially broad implications of plant-based pasteurization, basking in the cold hum of the refrigerant vapor, Kitty yet again began to weep. And not for the waffles that never were, neither, should it go without saying. 

Tears in her eyes, Kitty closed the now handleless door and turned back toward the kitchen counter, and promptly dropped the carton of quite possibly expired hemp milk on the Spanish tile floor, whereupon it exploded. 

Seated atop a barstool on the other side of the island, sipping a hot cup of coffee out of one of Hank’s hand-made ceramic mugs, as if she’d brewed the damn pot herself, was Ms. Hildy Wolff. Yep, that’s her alright, styled all immaculately in her country best, riding boots over jeans, a wax canvas coat over a cable knit sweater. Off on a cantor were you, Duchess? Is what it looked like anyway.  

My goodness … I hope I haven’t ruined brunch. Oh, don’t cry, dear. You know the saying. 

I wasn’t. And it’s hemp. 

Ah, how like Henry. Indeed. Always high off something.

Did you know him? 

Henry? 

Yeah, Hank.

Well, yes, of course. Also quite like him, to have never mentioned me. I’m sorry, but do I know you? 

No. I don’t think so. I saw you at his fun—ehr—celebraish— memorial thingy. You’re—

—Yes, but please don’t mention it. When we were already on to talking about you, who must have known him too, if you likewise attended his little gone away party. And I gather you’re staying here somehow in accordance with his will and testament. I saw no sign of a forced entry, anyway. I suppose squatters don’t typically make pancakes. 

Waffles, actualy. And we worked for him, at the Newfy. Well I didn’t. Sometimes I did. The Mi—my husband is the head brewer. Actually, I think I work for you.  

Is that so, actually, you think? How lovely. And in what capacity, may I ask? You’re obviously not one of mine on the fifth floor or elsewhere in marketing. And you’re far too handsome a girl to be an accountant. Human resources, then? No, that too would be a waste. 

English. 

Oh? The humanities. I was close then I suppose. Well, wonderful. I wasn’t aware we had a Department of Literary Studies at Wolffenbrew, Inc. 

Teaching. I’m a teacher. At Collegiate Acade— 

—Oh at SciTech! Of course … well, that truly Is wonderful. But I’m afraid you don’t work for Me, darling. Alas, you work for the public school system. And I’m not a city taxpayer, thank heavens. So in no such sense am I your boss, to be clear. I suppose that would be the principal. I am his boss, however. Such in my capacity as Chairwoman of the Board. May she long live, and he never forget it. In any case, as a fellow female educator myself — or at the very least as your devoted champion [clasping her hands, right over left, to her heart] — I always do try to make the effort to express my utmost gratitude, for what it is you do. So, sincerely, thank you, for all that it is you do. 

You’re welcome?

Kitty never knew quite how to respond when well-to-do types thanked her for being a teacher. It happened more often than you think. 

And you said your husband, was he, was one of Henry’s boys? The teacher and the brewer. How very— quaint. American Gothic, a revival. American Bohemian, maybe more like it. Anyway, sort of an odd couple are you? Compatibility-speaking. Now, I don’t mean in terms of dual income, although— oh, Hildy, stop it. What I mean is strictly from a practical standpoint, in terms of scheduling. As in, you’re off early; he’s hoe late. Well, who am I judge? Especially with regards to an accounting of one’s time spent with her family. Better appraised by quality over quantity, is all I’ll say on the matter. I beg your pardon, but are you expecting? It’s only— I couldn’t help but notice a certain, glow. I can’t imagine the compensation at SciTech is stellar, but the benefits for working mothers are particularly first-rate. You have me to thank for that, personally, not that I’m one to boast. 

How was this very rich lady making such a poor first impression, Kitty wondered. Something in the manner she spoke, like she was trying to talk her way out of a straightjacket. In that way she was faintly reminiscent of Billy, her excitable boy. She even affected the hint of an accent, albeit borderless and cosmopolitan. Suffice it to say her son’s island boy beatboxing had much more soul to it. As to the status of her uterus, Kitty ignored the question.

Have you come for Billy? 

No. Although I understand he also paid a visit to your brewery. 

You could say that. He drove his car through it. 

So I hear. And for that I’m terribly sorry. 

Apology accepted. 

How gracious of you. Motherhood is a lifetime appointment, I’m afraid. If it is indeed so, that you are … with child, then I hope you’re prepared for one excruciatingly painful day, physically, followed by pangs of psychic pain every day thereafter. 

So, I guess the glow wears off, Kitty gathered.  

As for your wall, of course, I’d be delighted to reimburse you for the full cost of repair. However, as is the purpose for my calling on you unannounced, I’d prefer to pay for all four walls and everything within them. I furthermore suspect it’s for this very reason — my stated intention to make you this offer — that Billy attempted his little car stunt, although his logic escapes me.  

I don’t understand. 

Which part? I aim to acquire the New Frontier, darling. The business and, more importantly, the brand. 

Why? 

What do you mean, why? 

Why do you want to buy it? To buy us. 

Oh, yes. Please excuse me. Why, would be the obvious question, wouldn't it? It’s just not one I’m quite accustomed to being asked. Hmm. Why, indeed. Yes, well, as it happens, I myself am being bought out, as it were. Don’t weep for me, though, as this is an outcome I’ve long since courted. I’ll be compensated handsomely, as so will you be I can assure. Originally I had justified this transaction — our mutual — as a means of one ensuring the other by way of exploiting a tax incentive loophole. It’s since been clarified to me they are not correlated. Actually, the takeover of Wolffenbeir by a Chinese concern has nothing at all to do with our storied brewing tradition, nor our beer at all. Are you familiar with Doctor Lupus?  

Sure. He’s up on our wall. Right next to Bertha. 

Ah, the bison! Perhaps you’re not aware of this, but she also belonged to me at one time. What a magnificent animal. I always admired how the cows have horns of their own, which is actually typical of most bovids. Of course, I grew up on a ranch, not terribly far from where we sit. Whatever livestock we had — however perfunctory it was — was dehorned. An abhorrent practice. The cowboys burned them off the calves’ skulls with a red hot iron. But not the bulls. They could keep theirs, if only for appearances I suppose. 

Unable to tell if this was a lament for animal rights or some form of country-fried feminism, Kitty disregarded it thusly.   

But, as for Ezekiel, while his cultural relevancy has regrettably been defanged somewhat stateside, abroad apparently he is an icon of sorts, particularly in the Orient. As such the time value of his intellectual property far exceeds that of the current market capitalization of the legacy business itself, lest depreciation. Can you even imagine? Perhaps I should be flattered. After all he was my creation. Giving birth to him was the career achievement of my life. Still, I can’t help but feel … 

A pregnant pause now. 

Empty? 

Kitty offered her armchair analysis, free gratis, to which Hildy’s brow furrowed — no easy feat for someone of her bone restructure. Not to cast assumptions, but Kitty was pretty sure that Hildy’s kitchen had undergone some remodeling. Wondering as such, she at once felt bad about feeling judgy. Kitty would often offset the private opinions she considered to be toxic by thinking something positive about the person or thing she had thought poorly of just previously. As for Hildy, she looked stunning for a woman her age, a complementary observation albeit backhandedly so, but nonetheless the best Kitty could do considering the circumstances. It was true, Hildy was of the rarified air for women of means who could afford to have work done that had the appearance of effortlessness. 

No, I wouldn’t go so far as to say Empty. Unwhole, how about. 

A cornerstone of Hildy’s success as an executive was her uncanny ability to conversationally agree in principle, without making any due concession.

Did you know him?

Did I know whom, dear? Do you mean Henry? 

No, Elvis. Yes, Hank. Kitty thought. To whom the heck else would I be referring? The presumed dead man whose second house we are occupying presently. She expressed her thinning patience with a facial gesture of her own in the affirmative.  

Hmm. Henry, as I knew him. Although his given name was John, did you know? John the Brewer. Once we were lovers. But only very briefly. Who could ever know him, beside?

You gotta be kidding me, Kitty snickered to herself. Hank could always pick ‘em. And, I mean, the nerve on this woman. We were lovers once! Ha! Who says that? As for the being unknowable part though, Kitty thought, point taken.

So, what do you say? 

As to what? 

I’m sorry. Here I thought I was being obvious when apparently I was being rather opaque. What do you say — saying as they do in a dealmaking scenario — as to the possibility of being acquired. You, by me. 

Kitty didn’t respond right away. There was no repartee to be had between these two people talking over, under and around one another in conversation as somersault.

So …

I’m sorry. I forgot where I was for a second. Does that ever happen to you? 

No. I’m cursed with a constant awareness of my surroundings, I’m afraid. 

Well, Mrs. Wolff,— 

Hildy, please. You know the first name policy at SciTech is another of my brain children. So as to create Buy-in, pupils should feel a sense partnership with their instructors. 

Guiding principle number seventeen, Kitty recited.

Yes! Perhaps it should come as no surprise I had a hand in framing the SciTech Pyramid of Principles. In large part because I’m passionate about ensuring that all stakeholders feel adequately engaged. In point of fact, rather than an outright acquisition, try to approach my proposal as a potential partnership of sorts, between our organizations, and as well between us as female professionals. Not to mention, women in STEM and working mothers, I presume, or otherwise expectant. 

No one’s ever referred to me a professional woman in STEM before. I’m flattered. However, Hildy, I’m not in a position to enter into partnerships on behalf of the brewery. My husband is the proprietor. Like I said, I’m just a teacher. 

And don’t we encourage a mindset of entrepreneurship our among students and educators the same?

GP number three. Why are you doing this? 

You asked me that already. 

But you didn’t answer. 

Does it matter? 

I guess not. 

So, then. What do you say? 

Kitty expected the Mick would have accepted her offer sight unseen. Since Hank, he had talked increasingly about Getting Out. About just such a scenario as This, being their ticket. Oh, yeah, huh? A ticket to where? 

I don’t know. I could get a straight job. I’ve done it before. We could use the money for grad school? Preferably yours, but potentially mine. Who knows, maybe we could both go back? 

No, my dear, we can never go back, she thought. Kitty loved the Mick infinitely — sometimes more than she thought she could bear. That being said — beware of the old, I love you, comma … whom among us — the prospect of investing the meager savings resultant of their modest dual income into his postgraduate education seemed of the low yield, high volatility category. Not the quadrant you want to be in, to be sure. And for her part — having spent, best-case-scenario, a quarter of a lifetime in a classroom — school was out. As in, of session, and as well the question. At least so far as Attending It went.

Which isn’t to say that she had any tangible objection to moving on from the Newfy. When Hank— went away, so to did the essence of the place dissipate, so to speak. The very idea of the New Frontier. It was always His. The man with the business plan. She wasn’t sure if Mick could Sell It with the same … feeling. So why not, then, Sell Out altogether? 

Well, because … maybe I don’t fucking feel like it. Uprooting my entire status quo. Is mine an identity entirely predicated upon a presumed missing gu— oh, what the hell, he’s dead. Hank’s as dead as a doornail. He’s disco, baby. So, is mine an entire identity predicated upon a dead guy’s stupid pipe dream to fuck off to drink beer with people he underpays to be his friends? Perhaps so. But It Is mine, and It’s Not for resale on the secondary market. So, because, maybe go fuck yourself, you, you bitch, Kitty thought.

What if I say no, was how Kitty said it, out loud. 

Momentarily, Hildy considered this. 

I hadn’t considered the possibility.

To reiterate, Hildy was in uncharted territory. As an executive her interactions were most always vetted in advance for certainty of favorable outcome. Short circuiting upon experiencing resistance, she changed subjects.

I’ve only ever tried to be a friend to my son.

That’s funny. Kitty’s first impression of Billy was precisely, here’s somebody who probably doesn’t have so many friends.  

Mine was a Difficult childhood. You may presume otherwise, that it would have been easy, because of who I am and all that I have. 

I don’t think that at all.

Bless you, then. But my mother, after my father’s passing, she became … quite unfriendly. So I tried to be the opposite to my little boy Billy. My only son. My mother wouldn’t just say No. She would chant it, like a mantra. She would almost hiss it. So I told my son: Yes, dear. 

(In many respects, Hildy considered her approach to motherhood similarly to her career as a marketer. As that of an Innovator. Today’s mothers talk of positive reinforcement like they invented it, but Hildy had been positively reinforcing for going on three decades. And in the face of all evidence to its ineffectiveness, she persisted.) 

Empower him the tools and the freedom with which to grow, I firmly believed. And I still do, by the way. There were variables we simply couldn’t account for. He was born at the wrong time, for one thing. Clinically speaking, that is, he was a patient in a period when the whole of psychiatry was gun-shy over the backlash to lobotomies and shock therapy, albeit deserved. Still, it stifled our imminent discovery of better living through chemistry. Pediatric pharmacology in particular has advanced by leaps and bounds in the decades since. If only he’d been born just ten years on, we might have had the tools with which to sedate him, compassionately. Alas, I had to make some difficult choices with regard to his mental welfare. Seeing those brutish orderlies grab him from the bed in the middle of a pitch-dark night. Blindfold him. Toss him into a windowless van. That was traumatic for me. Nevermind redundant. But I had no choice! His entire life, he was an escape artist. A Tiny Houdini. Have you any idea the strength of a rope ladder one can fashion from seven hundred-thread count Egyptian cotton linens? One could belay the El Capitan entire! So they were adamant, he had to be taken by force. Enrollment via the element of surprise.

I stand by my decision. No, in point of fact, I believe I believe I’m entitled to some recognition for having the courage to make it. After all, being a mother doesn’t allow for second-guessing one’s self. As you’ll soon see for yourself. Now, yes. Certainly, their methods are unconventional. That I’ll grant you. But, don’t we as educators know … the only way forward is through. And sure enough, out he came the other side, a different person. Of an improved disposition. One who at long last, wanted reasonable things for himself. Lo, they seem just out of reach. Oh, how I’ve tried to hand him them! They did say to expect a period of adjustment. Of course, I didn’t think it would last well into his twenties.

 Listen to me piddle away. I’m terribly sorry. What was your question again? That’s right: Why! And you rephrased it, as if the answer would reveal itself upon repeated asks. What if — was it? — in reference to your hypothetical refusal. So I’ll once again repeat myself, regarding these questions that I don’t often receive. They’re also not questions I would dare ever ask of myself. There is only the wish and its fulfillment. As per the dark matter between those two points, it simply does not exist. Or, at the very least, it’s none of my concern.   

Kitty could sense that it was her turn to talk now. And yet, her words had been sumarily sucked out of her. Whatever melancholy wind it was that Mick so often pissed into, a chronic exasperation she so often drafted off of, Kitty now felt herself head on. It was a considerable strain. Thus Hildy resumed. Now I’m going to do something I’ve never had occasion to. Perhaps you’ve seen this scenario played out as trope in television or film. I’m going to write a number on this hot pink pad of adhesive note paper, our informal substitute for a term sheet. The figure you see before you constitutes my offer, that is final. You may accept it, which I strenuously urge you to do. Or else, you may refuse it, thereby accepting the consequences for postponing my gratification, which are dire. Before we begin, do you have any questions? 

Why?  

[thedeityofstars]

dnd moment

i've not been in the hobby for long, but this memory always sticks out

i was dming mines of phandelver for my three friends

we had a sharkin fighter, dragonborn barbarian, and vampire bard. yes, i allowed homebrew races because that fighter's my boyfriend and he always has sharks on the brain. this all happened three years ago, so the specifics might be missing.

we had just wrapped up the goblin hideout, wherein the boss encounter was swiftly ended by our barbarian saying "i think i'm mad" in his calmest voice, then rolls that nat 20 and obliterating the boss, pretty much negating all difficulty that could have existed. but that was not the moment in question.

we were helping ourselves to the loot. the fighter and barbarian were laughing at the pathetic little bard who cannot lift to save his life. i listed out what was in the boxes, and i mentioned perfume. so, regarding the shark fighter--specifically, he is a tiger shark, and apparently those big dudes will eat anything. so ooc, he was indecisive on whether or not he should just eat the perfume. our barbarian simply stated "i mean...he would", and the bard was egging him on "fuck around and find out"

fighter, a victim of peer pressure, and going full toddler brain "i chug the perfume"

the dudes were giggling, having set up the fighter for an epic prank. but i had to be a good, sensible dm/babysitter and hit him with the "are you sure?"

"...yes."

"make a con save"

immediate regret--he rolled a 6.

"you're now poisoned."

we were in hysterics. the fighter got really into roleplay, groaning in pain, making other weird throat sounds, and just being all "Zelgarr should not have done that ugggghhhh". the barbarian and bard had to drag his ass back to civilization. this did encumber them; tiger sharks are chonkers

unsurprisingly, this was not the last time they did dumb shit. even more shocking, no one died throughout the whole campaign.

pic related.