#the little passage is a work in progress

[saintathelstan]

Alligators / BITE DOWN

[icewindandboringhorror]

................ he 

[onelittlespiral]

Hey dude, I'm just a lil bro looking for a big bro to take care of me in all sorts of ways but all I'm stuck with is my lousy nerd of a roommate. Could you help me out?

FML: Fraternize

My roommate was… chill all things considered. I don’t know, he was just the random guy that I got stuck with when all my bros decided to move into the house and I needed someone to take the lease with. Scruffy, for sure. A bit out of shape. He said he used to play soccer in high school. Cute, but that was about it. Nowadays he was just getting his degree in English. Just a guy. But I didn’t want just another guy.

I tried to be friends with the guy, but he always just blew me and my boys off. He would just say he was too busy studying or playing some video game to come out to the gym with us or hang at the frat. I finally decided I was fed up. I needed my roommate to be more than a rando in my house. I needed a bro. And the fraternity had some resources to make that happen.

They usually keep this kinda stuff for pledges who start stepping out of line, but my buddy slipped me the files that they show to help guys get in line. I don’t remember if I ever saw them myself… what ever. It was a series of videos that promised to turn any guy into a bro in no time flat. So, one night, I put the tapes on when my roommate was home:

“Hey man, I’ve gotta watch these for class, mind if I slip them on?”

“No problem, I’ll just hang out in my bedroom.”

“Actually, it may be something you would like. You should stay. Here, you chill here and I’ll listen while I cook. I’ll make enough to split.”

I turned the first tape on and went to cook up some chicken and rice. In the other room, I heard the video beginning. It wasn’t long before I started hearing my roommate responding to the commands:

You are loyal to your bros.

“I am loyal to my bros.”

When you are around them you feel relaxed.

“When I am around them I feel relaxed”

The gym feels like your second home.

“The gym feels like my second home.”

The frat is life. You are made to be loyal to the frat.

“I am made to be loyal to the frat.”

They kept pushing him in the background while I finished cooking some food. When I walked back into the room, static filled the screen as my roommate stared into space, drool dripping from his mouth. I turned of the TV and he seemed to come to his senses.

“Hey, sup bro? Got the fuel?”

Already he was much better, “Yeah man, chicken and rice.”

“Hell yeah, gotta get a good workout in before getting my homework done.”

We ate quickly and started getting ready for the gym.

“Hey, bro, you think they are still taking new pledges? I’ve been meaning to apply to your frat!”

I was shocked at how quick the progress had been, “Yeah man. I’ll hook you up with my peeps tomorrow.”

“Sweet, let me finish getting ready and we can go.”

Dang those videos were quick. Even the way he carried himself was so different. This is the bro I needed.

The week went on and we kept working out. I hooked my roommate up with the pledge master and he quickly started falling in with the bros. We worked out, partied, did almost everything together now. I gave the rest of the tapes back to my guy who gave them to me. He said he needed them for a few guys who had gotten a little hands-y with some girls at the last party. I was fine to get them back, I didn’t think there would be any more issues with my roommate.

The year flew by until it was time for spring break. I had opted to be my roommate’s big and done all the usual hazing and shit with him. Had to keep him on his A game, I wasn’t going to go east on him. The spring break frat trip was a rite of passage for the incoming pledges. As much as I wanted to go, I had plans to visit California with my partner. We were having a great time, chilling at the beach, shopping through souvenir stores, and hiking parks. But I made sure to get updates about how my roommate was enjoying his week. It was from one of these progress reports that I got word from the pledge master:

Hey, bro. Just letting you know. Your little bro was making some girls uncomfortable at the bar. Can’t have that causing issues for the frat.

Shit man. I’m sorry. Lemme talk to him.

Nah dude, it’s good. We have a protocol for these kinds things. Just letting you know so you aren’t surprised. We’ll make sure he won’t bother any girls again.

Thanks dude. Lemme know if you need anything.

Nah bruh, relax. Enjoy your vacay.

Well as long as they have shit handled. I went back to my vacation and forgot about the whole situation. I would give him crap for it when I got back. The rest of our trip was great. I didn’t hear anything more from my bros so I assumed it all went according to plan. I was eager to get back to my roommate and prep him for full brotherhood when I got back. It wasn’t till I walked into the apartment I knew something was awry:

“Sup, bro, welcome back.”

A deep voice echoed from the balcony. He stepped inside and was greeted by a stranger. His arms were as thick as a football, his legs as thick as tree trunks. The smell of sweat, sex, and stale beer followed him into the room. He had a fresh tattoo on his arm with the number 86 boldly displayed. The stranger walked with swagger up to me, like he owned the place. As he approached, his musk only grew more intense. It wasn’t until I noticed the glasses it all clicked into place:

“Bro… is that you?!?”

“Bruh, who else would it be?”

My roommate stood proudly in front of me. He had been going to the gym steadily but no amount of protein powder could explain the progress he had made in a week. He was also easily 3 inches taller. And the smell. I don’t know how to describe it but he smelled… virile. Like just being around him was starting to get me excited. He certainly had never been like this before.

“Looking good, right? Like the new tat? Year of our chapter’s founding, 1986. After all, I am made to be loyal to the frat.”

That line made it all click together. The tapes. They said they would handle the situation, I didn’t know they would use the tapes.

”Speaking of which, dude. I can’t believe you flaked on the frat and went on a trip with your partner. You’ve got to be loyal to your bros.”

His scent, his words, my mind was swimming in a way it hadn’t in a long time. He stepped towards me, grabbing my head. I was pulled into his pit. I tried to pull back but a hand on the back of my head held me firmly in place. I felt so aroused and so scared as I was forced to huff the scent of pure frat bro. I was… fading. I couldn’t… resist… my… my… bruhhhhh.

“I think that you should sit through the next set with me bro.”

My mind was blank as he told me to sit down on the couch. Of course, I would do anything for my frat bro. He put on a video and sat behind me.

“They said we could watch this one together.”

The video whirled to life as my roommate held me in place in his lap. A flash of color and a brief intro played. It explained that it was the last in a series of videos for brothers who were trouble makers in the frat. This last one was the most extreme. I felt a wave of guilt, knowing I had betrayed my brothers and the chapter. I wasn’t sure what I did but I knew it must be bad. My behavior had to change.

You will conform to the standard set by the frat, whatever it takes. You will be entirely dedicated to the brotherhood.

“I will be entirely dedicated to the brotherhood,” we both repeated, in unison.

Good. Since you have proven you can’t be trusted with making good decisions, your brothers have decided to make those for you. You will become the ultimate frat bro.

“I will become the ultimate frat bro.”

Let’s start on the outside. A brother works out daily, at least. Strong muscles make for a strong foundation.

As I repeated the words, they became my reality. I had certainly never been a scrawny guy before, but this was something else. My muscles convulsed all at once, then seemed to shred and burst. My muscles ached as pecs, biceps, abs all were pulled out of my body. I sweat under the effort as legs bloated and toned, bloated and toned. My back stretched out and shoulders mounded on muscle.

Good bro. Now, a brother should be cocky, with a cock to match. All the other fraternities should know how superior we are.

‘Shiiit, no other frat could even come close. We threw the best parties, had the hottest girls and… fuck the hottest guys. With a bod like this, just about no body could resist.’ As those thoughts echoed in my head, there was a sharp pain in my balls as they started to swell. My cock snaked down my shorts, throbbing with newfound power and size. A moan escaped my mouth as my cock swelled thick as a beer can. Anyone would beg for a cock like this.

A frat bro with a cock like that just needs to fuck. Your libido keeps your mind so full that you hardly have time to pass your business classes.

My swollen balls began to churn as my cock came to life. As my mind was thrust into a deep sexual haze, any aspirations I had on my pre-law track were pushed out, draining right to my balls and slowly leaking out my cock. At the same time, I felt my roommate begin to shift behind me. I felt his cock press against the small of my back, throbbing as it was thrust into overdrive. He began slowly humping against my back, and I leaned back against that massive cock. I wanted to help my bro however I could. He wrapped his arms around me and slowly started jacking me off. My mind was in pure bliss as I was kicked into overdrive. His arms felt so warm and strong, and he was pushing all my buttons till I was thrusting into his hands.

The frat is a part of you. You live, breath, and sweat the frat. Everyone who meets you will know exactly what you’re about and submit to you, an alpha bro. You put the reek in Greek.

My mind processed for a second until the smell hit me from behind and I understood. My hormones shifted as sweat poured out. It was hard work being a fraternity brother, and everyone would know that. I worked overtime as the smell of straight frat filled my nostrils. The apartment changed in response, filled with leftover beers, used tank tops, and soaked underwear. Anyone who entered would fall into an immediate haze, the smell of bros clouding their mind. My mind was… so… slow. Just… needed… FUCK.

You will keep it simple, keep it stupid.

“I will keep it simple, keep it stupid.”

My head felt like it was filled with fluff. No thoughts, just instinct.

You will listen to your pledge master, follow all he says.

“I will listen to my pledge master, follow all he says.”

It was so much easier to just trust my bros. Whatever they said went.

You will live for and serve your bros, live for and serve the frat.

“I will live for and serve my bros and the frat.”

I would do anything for my bros. Gotta keep ‘em happy.

The frat is life.

“The frat is life.”

My roommate’s cock was still rock hard behind me. His grip was edging me as moaned for release. I could dedicate my life to men like him.

Thank you for your cooperation. There will be no further issues. Now cum.

And I did. Ropes shot across the floor as all the changes were set in stone. I was just another frat dude, struggling through Business classes and fucking through the night.

And with that the video ended. It took a sec for me to regain my senses. I slowly refocused my eyes and… fuck bruh my head is pounding. Musta partied too hard last night. Shit, I was drooling all over myself, lol. I mean, I’m hot but not that hot. And fuck, I made a mess. Bro, what happened? It’s already late, I’ve got to get ready to go out tonight.

I was going to throw on a polo and some shorts when my roommate put a hand on my shoulder. This man must’ve got a double dose of whatever I got. Bro, he was on another fucking level. He pulled me in tight, cupped my ass in his hands, held my chin, and slid his tongue in my mouth. All at once, my world shifted as the fraternity’s motto rang in my head, I will be entirely dedicated to the brotherhood. An aching in my balls told me that I wasn’t going to make it out tonight. I had my frat bro… no, my big bro right here. And he will take care of his little bro. He pulled down his sweatpants and a thick rod popped out from the waistband. He gently guided me to his cock, the true source of his musk. Our scents mingled as my thoughts were consumed by sex. The salty taste of pre coated my tongue as the tip slid down the back of my throat. My mind faded as the smell of the frat filled my nostrils. I was lost in bliss as my bro started pumping, pumping down my throat. Gone was the nerdy roommate I had:

There was nothing left but frat bro.

[alkali1]

Fantasy Maternity Ward

It had been a relatively quiet day at the maternity ward, but all of Dr. Ixia's hope of going home on time vanished when she heard the anguished screams of the petite elven woman being carried into the delivery room by her hulking orc husband. Half-orc deliveries were almost always a drawn-out, tortuous affair, and with the three-year length of elven pregnancies, the mother would surely need a lot of time and assistance to squeeze out the 60-70 pound toddler currently cramming its way through her overdilated cervix.

The nurse briefed the goblin OBGYN on the patient's status: "She's carrying a singleton, half-orc 163 weeks pregnant, and nearly fully dilated." The doctor's eyes widened at hearing how long the pregnancy had been. Elves usually couldn't handle bearing interspecies babies the full three years, but this woman had gone severely overdue. She shuddered thinking about the sheer size of the baby, and whether her body could even stretch enough to accommodate it.

The patient was helped into the birthing bed, her feet strapped up into the stirrups. Her breasts, sagging low with milk, were pushed up into her face by the enormity of her womb, which dominated the rest of her body. From Ixia's low angle it looked like it could be the size of the rest of her combined. The elf's straining, barrel-sized belly shifted back and forth as the strong, overdeveloped child confined within writhed, desperate to be born.

The doctor reached into the patient's swollen pussy to examine her cervix. She found her to be fully dilated, with the baby's watermelon-sized and colored head battering against the elf's hopelessly tiny pelvic inlet with each desperate push.

"Huff...huff...stuUUUUUUUUUCK!" was all the poor elf could say as another contraction made her strain desperately to squeeze the colossal head through her unyielding hips. "We're going to give you a little something to help you stretch", said Dr. Ixia, loading up a syringe with a clear potion.

Ixia made three careful injections into the ligaments holding her pelvis together, one in the front and one on either side of her delicate tailbone. She wrenched the strirrups back, bringing the elven woman's feet almost parallel to her head. The patient let out a desperate scream as she reacted to the burning sensation of her pelvic ligaments stretching like taffy.

With her hips finally widened enough for her pushes to slowly start squeezing the overdue toddler downwards, the patient writhed underneath the suffocating boulder of her belly, clinging desperately to her orc husband's burly arm. Each push brought a few agonizingly slow millimeters of progress, and with it an unimaginable searing pain that made her scream and wail that her hips would split. Though this was one of the most disproportionate births she'd attended, it was nothing the veteran doctor hadn't seen before. Ixia squirted some lubricating oil into the now bulging cunt of her patient, working it in around the brow of the child to hopefully ease its passage somewhat.

After a few hours the head was just barely starting to approach the elf's bulging lips. With a sliver of green skin visible, each push made her swollen flower distend just a bit more, until it formed a sickening bulge several inches wide. Her perineum was pulled so tight that it dragged her anus open with into a teardrop shape.

Ixia sighed, realizing that the elf's hole was just too small and tight to stretch around the colossal toddler head. She gently ran her fingers around the taut rim, testing its pliability and trying to stretch it around a little more of the huge skull. There was just no way it was going to fit without splitting the poor elf wide open.

"Ready the traction forceps," Ixia said to her assistant. As the device was being assembled, she rubbed a sticky potion into the elf's vaginal lips and perineum. "This will help you stretch wide enough to deliver." she explained.

With the ointment taking effect Ixia was just barely able to wiggle the curved metal faces of the forceps into the patient's birth canal and secure them into place around either side of the head. She locked them together and hooked the apparatus up to a chain, then turned a crank to create constant pressure against her patient's stubborn cunt.

"IT'S RIPPING MEeeeeeee!" screams the poor elf, struggling to stay calm with the burning sensation in her overstretched cunt suddenly multiplying tenfold. "Calm down, you're not tearing. Just breathe and push when you feel a contraction." Privately, Ixia had her doubts. The doctor prided herself on rarely having to cut her patients, but the sheer size of the grossly overdeveloped half-breed could easily prove too large for the extra capacity provided by the stretching ointment.

Over the next three hours the elf's grotesquely stretched pussy gradually stretched around the baby's boulder-like, fused skull. The doctor periodically ratcheted up the tension, and reapplied more ointment to the patient's vulva and perineum. But just before it reached its widest point, it stopped progressing.

The red-faced elf gasped as Ixia explained that the shoulders had become stuck on her tailbone. "Brace yourself, this will be quite uncomfortable." said the doctor as she pulled on an elbow-length surgical glove.

Ixia carefully squeezed her hand into the gaping maw of the elf's rectum. She faced severe resistance from the stretching and squeezing being exerted on the hole by the massive obstruction lodged in the birth canal. Every square inch of space in the moaning patient's pelvic cavity seemed to be taken up by the baby, but finally the doctor was able to get some leverage on the shoulders.

With the next push she attempted to rotate the anterior shoulder, but it wouldn't budge. It was completely wedged against the unusually prominent bone. With a sickening pop, the fragile spur gave way. Ixia quickly withdrew her arm from the patient and provided counterpressure as the unstuck baby surged forward.

"Try to pant through the urge to push. If it comes too quickly you're going to tear yourself badly." But the agonized elven woman was far too deep into the throes of labor to resist her body's desperate signals. With the next contraction the head finally popped free from her gaping cunt with a gush of fluid. Ixia disengaged the forceps and gently guided the shoulders and torso out. With one more quick push the gigantic toddler fully emerged from the elf's blown-out birthing hole.

Ixia needed help from her assistant to lift the child onto the mother's chest. As the new parents cooed over their firstborn and the nurses cleaned him up and did their examinations, she supervised the delivery of the placenta and stitched up the shockingly minor tears in the elf's loose, swollen-purple hole.

"76 pounds 15 ounces!" announced one of the nurses after weighing the chubby newborn boy. "One of the largest I've ever delivered" thought Ixia to herself. With the ordeal largely over, the doctor advised the patient to stay on bedrest for at least six weeks while her tailbone healed and alchemically stretched body parts slowly returned to normal. Finally, hours after she expected, she could go home.

[batnip]

Reversed Karma AU

A Rainworld Alternate Universe.

...

 The.. triple affirmative has been found- the affirmative that a ..solution has been found, the affirmative that the..solution is portable, and the affirmative that technical implementation is possible and generally applicable.

I remember that cycle... ancients swarmed the stuff, only privilege given to the founder, Sliver of Straw, was leaving us first.

And then cycle by cycle, our parents left..

Spoilered for absurd about of text, and general spoilers.

Saint never wanted to ascend anything. And by the time every last ancient was dead and gone, cycles passed, and structures fell. The green fuzzy thing was not once fuzzy, growing a coat as the rain sent by iterators stopped.

- - So it trailed along, guilty for what was not its fault, bringing iterators to life again. With a new name, [Pilgrim].

-- Footnote : Karma needs are reversed with the Pilgrim. Dying will up their karma, surviving will lower it. Secret passages will be added to cross gates you cannot with low karma, as it is needed to progress. =======================================

Rivulet is an odd case. I wanted them to obviously give rarefaction cells, as they did to Moon originally. So the tale goes they were created by a rebellious, younger Ancient who was fond of life and the cycle. One who refused the common ideals.

-- The swift little mouse they created, was given their own ability to create low-density rarefaction cells (singularity bombs) and refine them into more high-quality cells which the Ancient learned themself.

-- As soon as the news was spread to the general public of the triple affirmative, they sent the [Technician] out into the world, wearing several pearls describing their mission. ===========

Monk and Survivor lived with their colony, and were sent to scout a new home for the colony by the [Mapmaker]. They are named [Guard] and [Scout] in Reversed Karma. They brought Scout's two slugpups with them, even if the journey was dangerous, finding a new home for Scout pups was important to both Scout and their Sibling.

-- They find the tree in journey's end, Guard staying with the pups there as Scout tells the rest of the colony, including the leader, Mapmaker.

-- Footnote: Monk still brings Moon her cloak and several pearls. =========================================

The [Mapmaker] replaces Gourmand in Reversed Karma, making a map for their colony to follow. They are the leader of their colony.

-- Very similar to vanilla, leaving current living to the tree, showing the colony to the new home.

-- Footnote : Rain is beginning to return to normal, without cold mechanic. =====================================

The [Traveler] replaces Hunter in Reversed Karma, created by Five Pebbles to check on the local group. They spawn in the grounds of Unparralled Innocence. They do not have the Rot due to Five Pebbles more careful creation of a purposed organism compared to No Significant Harrassment.

-- Footnote : Cold mechanics are in work in these areas, as UI and CW were revived later than LTTM and FP.

-- Footnote : You may optionally visit Chasing Wind. ==========

The [Mother] replaces Artificer in Reversed Karma. Their slugpups are both alive, with the same explosive quality. They give Pebbles back his cloak and become a citizen after Sofanthiel locks onto them.

-- Footnote : Mother has bad reputation with scavengers due to passing tolls without payment before the campaign. They get a backspear due to one less hand slot having two pups.

-- Footnote : Rain has returned to normal.

-- Footnote : Mother has reduced food needs compared to vanilla Artificer due to needing to feed their pups. ===============

The [Messenger] replaces Spearmaster in Reversed Karma. They were created by Seven Red Suns to send messages between them and their friends, similar to [Traveler]'s check-ins with other iterators.

-- Footnote : Messenger has a mouth, and cannot duel wield spears.

================================================

A note from the OP: I hope you like them.. I've been wanting to show them off for a while. One of my headcannons for iterators was that the natural urges are coded into them with anti-ascension stuff. Like. Make ascension for us, but not for you. This is why they were wildly unsuccessful in finding the triple affirmative. Also.. Tumblr nuked quality of my image :c If u read all this and liked it perhaps a rb?? also hehe funny number thank u all

[everythingelseisextra]

Commit to the Bit

Part One: Everything Is Fine

Part Three: Treasure The Memory

Description: Your first real meeting with Thomas Shelby does not go quite as planned. Warnings: Language Word Count: 1751 Author's Note: Each chapter will be progressively longer. PLEASE let me know what you think. Tag List: @theshelbyslimited @look-at-the-soul

You wake up a little before dawn.

The night air surrounds you, the windows open, as you sit and eat your pitiful breakfast in your pitiful kitchen, the cabinets stopping your chair from going too far back, the sink a little too close to the table. You wear the same clothes as the day before. Your body aches and your head rings from a faint hangover, and exhaustion ripples through you like chills. Through the windows, you can still see the moon, hovering above the horizon, faint in the gray light. 

You leave your house before the sun is fully up. Pale light filters into the hayloft windows, giving you some sight as you open the barn doors. The horses nicker to you, expecting their grain, weaving back and forth in their stalls or bobbing their elegant heads. You mindlessly fill their buckets with each individual’s specialized diet, mind elsewhere. 

Expect me tomorrow morning. 

When? How would he find the barn? You gave vague directions, hoping it would deter him. And, most importantly, what would he want once he got here? You couldn’t give him anything. You barely had enough to keep yourself going, to keep the days going. You worry that, although you have nothing to give, he’ll still decide to take. He’ll come with that bold intensity you saw the night before, and you’ll find yourself trapped, invisible walls closing in, with no strength to stand up.

Horses fed, you move on to saddling and riding your first horse. A stallion, with a sweeping, arched neck and muscles filled out to perfection, chestnut coat shining. He’s your stud, and you make some money off of selling his coverings. His registered name is Speed of Fire, ironic considering he was never fast enough to race, even before his injury, but you affectionately call him Draco. 

Dressage saddle girthed up, you swing your leg over his back and start your ride in the arena. You work through his warm up, making sure he stretches his body in the proper ways, then start asking for more intricate movements; canter pirouettes, passage, piaffe. Your breath comes short, your muscles tense and relax, your hips move with the motion of the horse, swinging. The sun rises. Faded warmth washes over you. It’s during these moments of synchrony when you forget who you are, forget your worries and the unsteady nature of your identity, and you get to focus solely on connection with another creature, communication so subtle it’s as though you’re reading each other’s minds. 

Halfway through your ride, you stop to give Draco a walking break and catch your breath. Your eyes scan the horizon above the hills, where deep pink and purple and bright, unending orange blend together as the sun makes its way up the sky. You glance towards the barn, where some of the horses watch you ride, having finished their hay, waiting for their turn. You look away, gathering your reins, preparing for another workout. The hair on the back of your neck stands up, and you halt your horse, head on a swivel to check around you. There, at the side of the arena, leaned up against the dusty metal railing, Thomas Shelby watches you quietly, his head tilted slightly, eyes tracking Draco’s movement. Your eyes meet, you on the towering stallion, but him taking up just as much presence with his expression alone. Air thins out around you, and you suck in a slow breath, not breaking contact with the stranger on your property. 

Then, as if possessed, your outside leg shifts back, and Draco steps quickly into a canter. Without thought, without planning, you find yourself doing what can only be described as showing off. Extended canter, collected canter. Tempi changes, canter pirouettes. You’re a finely tuned machine, each tiny movement a conversation with the horse, each silent shift eliciting a full response from him. 

By the time you’re done, Draco has sweat dripping down his neck, breathing hard, and lightheadedness swirls around you, making you take in slow breaths to steady yourself. You can feel his eyes on you, pointed, judgemental, and there’s a faint tremble in your hands gripping the reins. Staying on the horse gives you some protection; there’s not much someone can do to you while on horseback, unless he decides to shoot you, in which case, there’s nothing you can do. You trust Draco. He has a habit of pinning his ears and showing his teeth to strangers, snaking his neck towards them, though you’ve tried to train it out of him. Some stallions always have an edge to them.

You walk Draco to the arena gate, reaching out to push it open, but Thomas is already there, pulling it back to allow you out. You nod your head to him, voice once again stuck in your throat, branding you with the poetry of all the words you couldn’t speak. This time, though, your heart doesn’t jolt, your mind doesn’t go blank. He’s on your turf now.

“Beautiful animal.” He nods to Draco curtly as you walk by, as if unimpressed by your show of talent. His words defy him. “Beautiful ride.”

You nod again. Thanking him feels like handing him your power, like bowing your head and allowing him to judge. This is a game of reading silence, and you know how to win it. After a moment of hesitation, you dismount. You bring your horse over to the cross ties and tie him, giving him a treat from your pocket once the bit is out of his mouth. Thomas’ footsteps follow you, but you refuse to look at him, focusing on undoing the girth and pulling the saddle off. In your periphery, he stands, a dark figure surrounded by the grandeur of a sunrise in full force, undeserving of the golden outline it gives him. His hands in his coat pockets, his gaze on Draco, his cap pulled low over his eyes. Again, you catch a glint of metal along the rim. 

“Is he for sale?” He walks up to Draco’s neck, running a hand along the sweaty length of his neck. 

“No.” You turn and carry the saddle to the tack room, hefting it onto a rack and placing the pads on the rail underneath it to dry. You return to find Thomas by the horse’s head. You pause, watching them, hoping to go unnoticed. As usual, the stallion’s ears go back, his nose wrinkles, his neck arches. Thomas nods, continuing to stroke his neck, and says something you don’t understand. Another language, perhaps, one that sounds smooth, lyrical. Draco quiets, his liquid eye softening, though his ears stay pinned. Protective, not aggressive.

“He doesn’t trust you.” You walk over to grab a hose, waiting for Thomas to move so you can rinse the sweat off Draco. 

He doesn’t. “Name a price. I’ll meet it.”

“No.” You step forward, raising the hose, trying to make your intent clear. 

“Horse like him could get you out of a little house like that.” His fingers toy with Draco’s mane, still gentle, still looking into the horse’s eye. “Got no reason not to sell him.”

“He’s not for sale,” you insist, taking another step forward. 

His eyes shift to you, clear, icy blue and unreadable. “You don’t know who I am.”

“No. I don’t.” You point the hose towards him, a clear threat. “Move, please.”

“I’ll take you into town, then. Help you recon—”

You turn on the hose. A deluge of water sprays onto him, square in the chest, and he skitters out of the way, spooking Draco into a prance. You stand there, shocked by what you just did, then, in a spark of bravery you didn’t know you had, decide to commit to the bit. 

“You don’t get to intimidate me into selling my horse. You don’t get to decide that I’m going into town with you. Those are both my choices.” One hand on the still-running hose, the other preparing to kink it, you shift your shoulders to stand square in the soaked face of Thomas. “I don’t care who you are. Someone who doesn’t treat me with basic respect doesn’t deserve my time. Are we clear?”

Your heart pounds in your chest as his furious eyes turn to you. Holding his arms away from his dripping body, the layers of the suit completely wet, his hand slowly reaches up towards his cap. 

You step back, readying your hose, your only weapon. Blood pulses in your temples, all air seems to leave your lungs, and your hand begins to tremble as you wait for him to lunge. 

Instead, he wipes his face with it, then nods. “Really fucking clear.” 

“Good.” You kink the hose and shakily walk to turn it off. Back turned to him, you hold out your hands, watching them shudder with the spike of adrenaline. Then, slowly, you walk back, catching a moment of hilarity as Thomas attempts to squeeze water out of his suit and fails. You don’t quite feel safe enough to smile, but, at least, you feel a little better. 

“We can turn him out,” you say, nodding to Draco. “And I’ll get you a towel.”

“Turn him out,” he repeats, tense brow furrowing. 

“Put him in the arena and let him be a horse for a bit. No expectations.”

“Never heard of that.”

“Apparently you haven’t heard of much,” you snap. 

His eyes flick to you, almost brooding. You’ve never seen light eyes hold so much darkness. “Don’t bother with the towel. I’ll go.”

“Fine.” You turn back to Draco. “Nice meeting you, Mr. Shelby.”

He scoffs, and starts off towards his car, parked in the dusty valley your property sits in. In your mind, a dialectic is born. You feel relieved, glad that you’ll never see him again. And, deep down, you’re disappointed. Maybe this could’ve been something more. Maybe you could’ve won a friend out of it. 

No. Stupid of you to have expected that. You are constantly looking for hope, expecting it to be soft and gentle, when in reality, hope is something with sharp teeth and a bloody, battered body. Hope is something that’s born of isolation. Hope is something man-made, purposeful, something you keep in a jar like a butterfly, and catch more once it dies. 

Hope is a man speaking gently to a fearful, aggressive horse, instead of punishing him. 

You shake your head. Stupid. 

But you can’t help but watch as the car drives off, hoping it will turn back. 

[oh-yeah-i-exist]

Aeterna Amantes

"Lovers, forever."

Redeemed Dark Urge and Unascended Astarion can still be badass when they want to be 😌 why let all the cool gear they looted go to waste??

*SPOILERS WARNING*

This is very much a work in-progress BUT I have NOT been able to get Durge Tav x Astarion out of my mind. I have done multiple playthroughs as the Dark Urge (my Tav's name is Eiji/Evie) because I just find the storyline so compelling and there are many little details in the game for me to explore. Some folks are theorizing that if Durge chooses to defy Bhaal and gets reborn by Withers, they receive a fragment of Withers' divine powers. Plus, Withers said it himself that "Death shall not claim thee whilst I persist" or something along those lines, which could possibly mean Durge is now immortal.

Some other tidbits that support that theory include:

In the Murder Tribunal, if my Tav chooses to become one of Bhaal's Unholy Assassins, she can talk to the ghosts of Bhaal's fallen servants. One of them, Illasera, tells her that Bhaal created her from "a place beyond mortality." So it is quite possible that Durge was already immortal/gifted with extreme longevity to begin with.

In the epilogue, when Durge talks to Astarion, he will eventually end the convo by telling them to go spend time with the other companions because he and Durge have forever together anyways.

I have already constructed several elaborate headcanons about how Durge will spend the rest of eternity with (unascended) Astarion. They both deserve peace after redeeming themselves, and they would make such a cool couple of anti-heroes. Protectors of the Underdark, leaders of an army of vampire spawn. They provide safe passage for the lost and the down-trodden, especially those who seek second chances, and will not hesitate to throw hands with hero-wannabes who think they can make a name for themselves by slaying "the Vampire Lord" or "the Fallen Bhaalspawn."

[sandboxer]

Why Phoenix and Edgeworth are exceptionally well-suited for kink

The short answer: because they’ve been doing it together for the entirety of their professional lives.

The long answer: because they’ve been doing it together for the entirety of their professional lives.

After the events of 1-4 (and to some extent 2-4), Phoenix and Edgeworth regard one another as friends. Edgeworth begins to help Phoenix in investigations, they treat each other with (relative) kindness, and they see one another outside of work.

In court, though, little changes from their first encounter to their last. The two remain antagonistic—and at times, almost nasty—toward one another.

To me, this dichotomy looks a lot like kink.

There is nothing tender or kindred about their interactions in the courtroom. Their court scenes are seldom wholesome or sweet. Instead, each man pushes the other to the brink of their abilities so as to reach an ultimately Good goal—a climax, a just verdict. And often the path there is not paved in kindness. Edgeworth does not cease his insults, and Phoenix doesn’t lose the urge to triumph over Edgeworth. So does the courtroom magically trigger some kind of latent hatred in the pair?

Clearly, this isn’t the case. Rather, it is because of the profound respect they have for one another’s abilities that they are able to have heated arguments in court and trust that the other will turn the content into some sort of logical conclusion or use the momentum to piece together evidence. Their in-court personas maintain a sort of hostility/antagonism throughout their association, not only despite their friendship, but because of it.

And is this not kink? Is kink not the assumption of roles or dynamics that may be unpleasant outside of a scene, but serve a wonderful purpose within it? Is kink not the exorcism of strong emotions within agreed upon boundaries? Is kink not pushing one’s partner to the brink of their desires and abilities, armed with the knowledge that 1) it is acceptable to do so and 2) the activity will conclude in some sort of satisfying ending as a result of the exertion?

Consider this passage from The New Topping Book:

Play pushes both top and bottom out to the far ends of the spectrum. Each player, in traveling further out, supports the other in going yet further. Thus as a wonderful scene progresses, the bottoms get smaller, the tops get bigger, and the larger the territory we encompass: we move to the outer ends of the spectrum, generating something like centrifugal force, spinning further and further out while holding each other safe and tight.

In pushing each other out further toward the bounds of their comfort and intellectual abilities, Phoenix and Edgeworth generate this same kind of force. It’s like pulling a rubber band taut, only so that you may let go and feel it snap. The two-handed pull gets converted into energy. When it’s time to let go, both men let the band snap, and the energy they’ve created is released. The case is won or lost, whatever the result of their joint effort. Their reciprocal pull out to the furthest ends of their comfort is crucial to reaching the correct verdict. Such is kink—the eroticism of extremes and the otherwise unacceptable, so that the rubber band can snap that much harder.

I see a lot of parallels between their dynamics inside and out of the courtroom and a couple who gets off on, for example, sadomasochism. For these two, court is kink. It is a bounded realm of unpleasantness brandished for the heightened reward it produces. It is assumed personas that cut deep into the heart of their wielder. It is the trust that outside of that bounded context, those assumed personalities may dissolve, and the dynamic need not persist.

[vera27]

Black and white and colored. I've included a little fic below. It's my first attempt at tomarry or harrymort.

Temporus Secare

Summary: When Harry accidentally travels to the past, he takes up the alias Henry Dursley, parading as a squib employed at an enchanted machinery shop. There he keeps himself out of trouble and stays in the shadows, all while working on a device that will take him home. Sometimes he struggles with the pureblood patrons but Harry is quick to apologize and nothing comes of it in the end. A year into his struggle, and he's completed the necklace. But when an unexpected visitor appears, someone that's been watching from the shadows, Harry has no choice other than to fight and irrevocably change the future.

The peat and dirt below Harry chilled his knee, bringing frost to his skin. All of this…. His chest heaved, fatigue from the day baring down on him in chains. Laboured breaths fogged the air. He felt hopeless, desolate.

Happiness was elusive. A thing that could never be tangible, leaving it to slip through his fingers. He’d had it back home, back years—decades—into the future. Picturing nights at the Burrow or evenings at Grimmauld place surrounded by Ron, Hermione, the Weasleys came easily and accompanied by infinite warmth. Yet now, all that happiness—love and family—was gone.

All of this…. Harry’s fist tightened. He ground his shoe down. The tissue beneath gave until he felt the harsh grind of bone. The man under him grunted, his eyes glinting dangerously in the dark of night.

‘You already have me at your mercy, Dursley. I did not take you for a man of violence,’ the other said.

Black hair that mirrored the surrounding night, pale skin, and eyes akin to blood reflected. On his face, flaunted smug satisfaction. Harry felt anger rise, noxious and acidic. The man beneath was human—enough to make his hand twitch with the killing curse—and yet not. A wax doll with no heart. A monster that had split his soul thrice. He wanted to purge this vile man. Rid the world of him, if only to prevent what was to come. But killing him wouldn’t accomplish anything. It couldn’t bring Harry back home, and Voldemort would rise again.

Harry looked away. On his neck, the iridescent gemstone dimmed to a dull grey. The luminosity, the pathway, lost. Above, the moonlight shone red like Voldemort’s eyes. He shut away the sight, taking in the dead silence of winter’s end.

All of this…for nothing.

It wasn’t supposed to go this way.

Harry had planned everything, had his movements down to a bulleted list that would make Hermione proud. There were rules. Stay quiet. Don’t involve yourself in raids, attacks, murders. Anything brash, Gryffindor, could change the timeline irrevocably. Past that, find a way home. And he did. Not through Albus Dumbledore, not through the Ministry and the unspeakables, but through the author of an informative research parchment on time travel and time rifts.

Evan Nerian Prewett had been integral in the development of the Temporus Secare. A time turner of sort. One that, rather than turning time backward, created a rift to an exact point in the future. A fickle device that could posit multiple realities but only allowed passage to one through a series of rituals, star alignments, and lunar cycles.And there was but one future that Harry was interested in.

‘An interesting necklace. Prewett holds a rather brilliant mind. A pity he’s been diagnosed with a terminal ailment,’ Voldemort continued.

Something sick roiled in Harry’s stomach. Prewett lying on the bed at St. Mungo’s, there to stay as his illness progressed, flashed in his mind. The man had little more than weeks left, but he’d poured all the effort he could into helping Harry get here.

Harry ground his heel into Voldemort’s shoulder. ‘Shut it,’ Harry hissed, still not meeting the other’s eyes.

‘Touchy,’ Voldemort said.

What a bastard. But Harry didn’t snap back. Silence sunk back in as he scrambled to think. Options. Plans. He could play it by ear. It wasn’t far from the usual, after all. They’d ended up improvising time and time again, as things had tended to go awry. This wasn’t any different. Harry took a calming breath. He could Obliviate him and—

‘I’m guessing that rather dull colour it has transitioned to isn’t what you’re looking for,’ Voldemort continued.

Harry bit his lip.

‘Thought not,’ he said.

Harry could hear the sly smile in his tone. Resentment prompted him. He dug his wand into Voldemort’s chest, sneering down.

‘One more word and I’ll split you sternum to hip,’ Harry spat.

‘Promises, promises. However, if you were going to kill me, I imagine you’d have done it earlier,’ Voldemort smiled, cruel and manic.

‘Who’d have thought the quiet, bumbling clerk at Le Voile was such a cold-hearted sadist? So clumsy in the store, but here you’ve bested me. Did you have fun hiding in plain sight? Did you enjoy acting as if you were nothing but a worthless squib, catering to the most arrogant of purebloods?’

His wand dug into the other’s chest, the tip sparking noxious green flecks across clothing.

Harry didn’t hate working for Le Voile. It was a tiny establishment, quaint and filled with magic. The owner—a Soul Seer—had taken up the obscure business of attaching the departed souls of familiars to mechanical bodies. The work performed was worth it. But there was some truth to what Voldemort said. Harry hated working the counters, being subjected to scrutiny day in and day out. He’d tuck his magic tight to his chest, smothering his power so it couldn’t stretch, breathe. Dimming it day after day. But the small shop checked off his list. A business that didn’t exist in the future, that wasn’t in Knockturn Alley, and that was niche enough that few customers stopped in.

‘The fire in your eyes speaks for itself. But you certainly fooled Malfoy. Grovelling with your head to the floor, murmuring apologies in that obedient tone. A talented actor. I wonder, is Henry Dursley even your real name?’

Harry flinched at the accusation.

‘Such an accomplished liar. Possibly even better than I, but the cracks are there. Bowing like you’ve been cowed since birth, but you fight like you have been fighting all your life. I do love that undaunted bravery. However, I must say the sight of your submission was quite...enticing. How I’d love to see it, you, kneeling between my knees.’ Voldemort smirk turned salacious.

Harry reeled back. His stomach turned and twisted. What the fuck?

‘D-do you ever shut up, you psycho?’ Harry cursed his stutter, cheeks both pinking and paling at the thought.

Voldemort laughed. It was loud, not nearly as high and shrill as he knew from before. Harry blinked, stunned. Then, as fast as a snake, Voldemort struck.

A red curse spelled from his wand. Rouge rolled over Harry’s skin. He felt his muscles tense. Immobile from the stunner, Voldemort flipped them round. His tall, lean body loomed over Harry. The expression on his face was obscured by the night’s shadow. Light from the moon lay hidden behind clouds.

Harry cursed and writhed but was bound from inside his mind.

A hand, much too cold to be human, hovered over his brow, touching his scar and sliding to his cheek. Dabbling in dark magic had already made its mark. Red eyes glinted in the dark of his face. They looked hungry, ravenous. Harry would’ve shivered if not for the binds that held him.

‘You’re an enigma, Henry,’ Voldemort said almost playfully. ‘To others, you seem to be nothing but a pebble in a river of gold, but I can see it. I’ve known since the moment your eyes met mine. Your value, your power. It calls out to me as if an old friend. I feel it’s warmth, it’s raw strength, and I know you can’t be anything further from ordinary.’

His thumb trailed down Harry’s face and to the hollow of his neck. Sharp nails cut against the buttons of Harry’s shirt, tearing it open and allowing in the cold. Gooseflesh rose on his skin, either from the winter air or Voldemort’s icy touch. Harry couldn’t tell. But the hand continued on its path, sloping over his collar and to his chest. Trepidation filled him with a terror he’d never felt.

What was Voldemort doing? Why was his hand on Harry’s chest?

Its slow drag came to a pause above his heart. On his core.

Harry’s body resisted the cold of Voldemort’s touch. It felt stomach-churning, disgusting, yet at the same time, Harry felt oversensitive, vulnerable to its lazy movements. But then, something sparked. A magic unlike his own reached through the tips of those fingers to Harry’s core and caught fire.

The air escaped his lungs, everything coming into picture. Colours flared to life, bright and vibrant. Sounds heightened, sharp and full. Harry could feel the trickle of sweat drip down his nape. He could hear the ragged breaths of Voldemort above him. Senses heightened to overstimulation. It was too much and too little at the same time. Pain and pleasure. A wholeness to Harry’s soul that he didn’t know he was missing settled in. His finger twitched.

The stunning spell was coming loose.

Voldemort moaned to the sensation. Above Harry, the man’s eyes were blown in arousal. Harry’s breathing caught. The moon shone through the clouds, illuminating them. Red painted Voldemort’s face in a flush, melting waxy features to something much too human.

Harry shivered, trying to move, but was still bound by magic.

Voldemort laughed again. This time low and deep, a strange sort of mania rolling with every hitched chuckle. He leaned into Harry’s space; face much too close for comfort. Hot breaths ghosted Harry’s cheek. The hand on his chest rose to his nape. Fingers toyed with the chain of the artefact, teasing it forward.

‘What a precious thing. One that I almost let slip by,’ Voldemort whispered.

Then tugged.

The chain snapped. Links broke. Golden rings rained down in the dark. Voldemort rose from him. He held the item—Harry’s only way home—and inspected it. Would he take it, steal it away? No. Harry wouldn’t let him. This was something much too dangerous to let fall into Voldemort’s hands.

‘Ut te ad mundum,’ he read the words carved into metal.

To take you to your world. The golden bands around the greyed gem glinted. Harry’s heart pounded. His wrist twitched. The magic binding on him loosened further.

Voldemort took one look at Harry, rose his wand. But not towards him, and spelled.

‘Deletrius.’

His yew wand pointed to the device. The Temporus Secare shown one last flaxen gleam before it turned to dust, the gem falling inert to the ground.

Harry howled. A raw scream tore from his chest as magic flared from his core. A scorching wind rose and tossed Voldemort off him. He stood. Voldemort grunted from the burns on his hands. Harry towered over him once more. His wand aimed at the other’s chest, heel digging into his clavicle.

‘Why? Why did you destroy it!?’ Harry demanded.

Voldemort smiled, that manic expression still on his face despite his palms—red and blistered from burns.

‘I won’t let something of such value slip past my grasp,’ Voldemort said.

Harry stared at him in confusion. Valuable? He’d destroyed the device. It wasn’t a vanishing charm or a displacement spell.

‘What are you talking about? You destroyed the necklace. You aren’t making any sense,’ Harry said.

‘Yes. A steep price. But it’s worth nothing in compare to you.’

His brows furrowed. He observed the blood red that tracked his every move, twitch, and the dark glint of his eyes that seemed to look with… with....

The burned, blistered hand snaked out to grab his ankle. Fingernails dug into his flesh.

‘ “You.” You’re referring to me?’ Harry said in a breathy voice, like it had been punched out of him.

‘Yes,’ Voldemort said, his voice sibilant as if speaking parseltongue. ‘I’m drawn to you. I won’t let you go.’

Harry’s heart dropped. His hopes trickled away—sand between his fingers. Eyes that darkened with obsession bore into him.

‘My magic sings to yours. My soul longs for you.’ Such horrible promise lingered in the air. ‘Your mine as much as I’m yours.’

And Harry knew he was never going home.

[mostly-mundane-atla]

Hi! Your blog is awesome. I don't know if I'm allowed to ask non-atla questions, so I hope this is okay. I'm working on a non-avatar ttrpg campaign that takes place both in a (fictional/fantasy) northern tundra region AND during a magical endless winter. The people in it aren't based on any specific culture but, given that they're successfully living in similar environments & have for countless generations, I want to draw as much inspiration & knowledge from real-life circumpolar cultures & native science as much as possible. Do you have any advice or even just fun, underappreciated ideas for winter tundra survival, things someone who grew up in a desert like me wouldn't think of on my own? If you need/want more direction: I'm particularly looking for clothing, shelters, resource gathering-practices for non-food (esp what kinds of resources would be valuable), as well as like, any fun details that evolve naturally in a culture that formed in the tundra that you'd want to see represented. I hope that makes sense ^^; Thanks so much if you decide to answer, have a good day either way <3

[I am SOOO sorry this took so long! Tumblr kept not saving my progress when i tapped "save draft" so i had to rewrite a few of these passages a few different times]

Don't worry about asking, friend, i get cultural questions all the time and i'm happy to share.

Note: my knowledge is almost entirely based on coastal tundra peoples with access to marine mammals. That's not to say it's impossible for people to live farther inland, just that it's not my area of expertise.

Clothing

Just about everything you wear is going to come off of a dead animal. This doesn't necessarily need to be the case if your fictional culture has a means of raising hardy livestock for fiber and a history of woven textiles, but even then skin clothes are warm and generally quite hard-wearing and are a good fit for living in these circumstances.

This amount of fur means lice are a perpetual problem. If you want to make that an immersive part of the game, you can work in a mechanic for checking scalps and clothing and bedding for lice.

Bird skins can also be used for clothing and waterfowl specifically has the benefit of water resistance. Fish skin can also be used for similar properties. Animal intestines can be made into a waterproof material if sewn with sinew and soaked before finishing.

On that note i'd recommend making a list of available animals and what qualities and textures their skins and furs have. Even if you don't intend on being incredibly descriptive with clothing, it's something better to have and not need than need and not have. And if you do anything else creative in a similar setting you have your nifty little source to consult.

When it comes to the actual construction of the clothes, you want a loose fit. Trapped air ia a great insulator and you want clothes to be easy to move in. Another benefit for loose-fitting upper body garments in cold weather is you can pull your arms in and keep them by your much warmer core. Not only will this option keep you comfortable, it can also prevent muscle injury or getting frostbite

Mittens can be worn on a string yoke. This doesn't have to be exclusive to children either. Wind can pick up out of nowhere and lost mittens means fingers exposed to arctic cold which can mean gangreen and amputations down the line.

Swimming or running to deliver a message may involve stripping nude, even in cold. Clothes soaked in water or sweat are deadly in the cold.

Clothes may be stored in bags outside when not in use. The low temperatures can kill bugs and bacteria. On a similar note, boots and coats are best to be hung to dry as soon as one is indoors for the day. This may mean it's normal for people to be topless indoors.

Boots should never have holes or tears. Frostbite and resulting gangreen is already bad enough but you especially do not want it on your feet

Shelter

You're going to want dwellings to have as few rooms and windows as possible and small doors. The fewer walls you have, the easier it is for heat to circulate throughout the whole dwelling. You'll probably want one room separating the door and where you sleep. Remember: trapped air is a great insulator.

The culture I've reconnected with is semi-nomadic so the permanent houses are not always occupied and a village can seem abandoned when it's just on its "off season". You can take that or leave it depending on what you're going for.

Even if the dwelling is not a tent, you're probably still going to have poles serving as a supporting frame.

Sod houses are common due to the availability of sod (the grass and the dirt its roots are tangled in). Tents made of warm, waterproof skins (like walrus skin) are also an option.

An easy way to insulate such a dwelling is to build a wall of packed snow around and fill the gaps with loose, airy snow. This traps air the same way down feathers do.

Non-Food Resource Gathering

While I imagine you meant obtaining resources outside of hunting, in a tundra or tundra-like setting, a lot of your resources are going to come from dead animals. Your garments and shelters and bedding are likely to be made of animal skins, with hollow and/or fluffy fur for warmth, or smoked intestine or fish skin, sewn with tiny stitches and soaked to keep everything flush, for waterproof boots and overlayers. Antlers and tusks are good carving materials for things like spoons and closures and slabs for armor and handles and also talismans and smoking pipes and beads and art. Baleen is good for art too, as well as boot soles and smaller sleds and beautiful baskets. Sinew and rawhide are good for thread, ties, and rope. Bones have a near infinite amount of uses from tiny wing bones to make sewing needles to huge whale bones used to build houses.

For the purposes of working this into a roleplaying game, i'd second the recommendation of keeping a list of animals in your universe and their properties, as well as the things that can be gathered from or made of them. A sort of crafting recipe guide would allow all kinds of quests and sidequests.

There are, of course, non-animal resources to gather for non-eating purposes. Soapstone is the traditional material for oil lamps. Grasses can be woven into baskets for any number of purposes, including supports to give the uppers of one's boots more structure. Wood, in the form of slices of tree trunks, can be hollowed out into bowls and small tubs and buckets or, as logs or slats, can make up flooring. Sturdy branches can be used for frames in houses, boats, and drums, and tree resin makes both good glue and antibiotic salve for closed wounds. Sod, also called turf, makes a good building material and moss is exellent insulation in boots. You can make a list of these too, if it helps.

If your fictional culture has a strong tradition of metallurgy, then they'd also mine for metal that can be used for knives. If not, slate is another option that requires significantly less fire. You could even have both and make the metal a status symbol.

Fun Details to Represent

There are so many lovely little things that show up in arctic cultures

First, a gift economy. Where a cash economy relies on a fairly individualistic culture where you work for someone else to earn capital and exchange that capital for goods and services, a more collectivist and interdependent culture natural to the harsh conditions of the tundra tends to result in a gift economy. The currency in a gift economy, to perhaps oversimplify, is favors. Someone does you a good turn, you remember that, and when you're in a position to help, you return the favor. Usually this means basic material things like hospitality and food, but the "gifts" exchanged can also be luck! King Islander boys would often wish hunters setting out at dawn good luck, with a slab of driftwood as a token of that luck, and if the hunters were successful, they'd give the boys who wished them luck a share of their catch. I believe it was Frank Ellana who remenised that this was what the world was like before money.

Another thing that would be nice to include is parenting practices considered fairly gentle to a Euro-American perspective. Physical punishments are traditionally treated as abuse and scolding a child is not only seen as wrong but something an adult ought to be ashamed of. Discipline is instead a series of moral lessons, teaching children why what they did was wrong and using stories as examples of the consequences. Given the amount of stories about the dangers of abusing a spouse or child, i'd say a lot of these lessons were proactive and preventative. Knowing someone will be hurt by it is considered enough of a deterrence to stop bad behaviors. Traditional potty training, for example, is also gentler in comparison; starting at a younger age (about six months) with more emphasis on praise and encouragment than routine. The goal here is to teach the baby to signal when they need to go so they can be taken out of mama's atigi and relieve themself in a hygenic manner instead of holding it until they get permission. Even our take on kissing is based on inhaling instead of pecking with the lips. This kind of gentleness is usually overlooked to instead focus on the badass hunter image or overall "cuteness" so it would be nice for it to be referenced.

Oral histories would be pretty neat too. I think the idea of learning to be a historian of oral histories is an interesting one and i think it has a lot of potential plot hooks for an rpg.

That's all i have for now. Sorry for the delayed response time. Happy gaming, and i'm always up for further discussion if you would like ^-^

[rotten-games]

Rott Update

So! It's done and debugged.

It's been a long year, a hard one, but hopefully things will change and I'll be able to get back into gear and into the groove of things again (an explanation post coming soon to a theater near you).

I'm not going to lie... there's a lot here that is rough, there's a bit I'm not too proud of, but truth be told if I don't release it as is I'm never going to get anything done. FOR THE MOST PART, it is a complete experience; there should be nothing here that isn't completely playable or obviously a placeholder. If there is let me know and I'll fix that.

Keep in mind that old saves might not work with the current build. If you come across a bug and you have used an old save, you may need to restart the game to get it to work properly.

With that all well and said, if you just want to experience the game here's the link as always: https://rotten-games.itch.io/rott-book-one

If you want the full rundown here's the change log below the cut.

This version of the game includes the following:

The equivalent of the full first four chapters that were included in the original version of the game is now included. I've now caught up on the rewrites and will be moving onto the completely new chapters after a brief break.

You can now meet an additional three to six romancable characters with varying degrees of interaction; Lokeira, Korrin, Ettia, Ardwen, Nox, and Bex!

Train with Severa, Herron, or Spotter and potentially see a start to your own romances with them during the festival.

Get rejected!

Make a bargain.

Speak to a messenger of the Gods?

The original dreams in chapter one were edited. Typos were fixed and some passages were changed. In some cases, additional choices were added.

A light mode has been added. It's a little bit rough and I would like to do some further changes to it but for now it's here. If you need some changes made or additionally want further colour modes added just reach out and I can see what I can do.

The relationship screen now mentions milestones in your relationships with certain characters (both romantic and platonic!)

Known bugs:

As far as I can tell I've ironed out most of the bugs but there's always inevitably some that sneak through and I have no doubt that there will be others. There's two main things I haven't yet been able to fix.

There may be some visual issue that I haven't gotten around to but aren't a priority at the moment. If you see one please let me know so I can note it down for later.

This one is a bit illusive. You may find you are unable to progress the game near the end of the final chapter. I currently cannot replicate this bug (I've tried, trust me I've tried) and thus have no idea whether it's fixed or not so... watch out.

​That being said, I'm glad to finally get this finished. I'm gonna be having a brief break before getting back into it (mostly to find and compile my old notes for the next few chapters).

Hope you enjoy :)

[ask-the-rag-dolly]

On the element of the recent anon misconduct;

I think the reason anons got really aggressive in the hospital is because, until 00's tip, learning things was almost completely on us. Beside intermissions and the occasional wink-wink nudge-nudge from Bee, everything from how the virus works, how to spawn things, use commands, character lore, characters themselves, all had to be determined by asks testing and pushing things blindly.

And to be fair I LOVE that dynamic, it makes this blog what it is, it adds a sense of risk and realness to decisions, and in a way lets the audience progress as a character, which is why so many feel such a strong connection to the story. They haven't just facilitated a story for a fictional character, they've gone on the journey themselves. All the things they have are their own, and hard fought for.

That said, when anons realize that A, their most beloved character (& frequent source of story) has been lying to them, and B, that the real answers are right behind a door, then they may decide to take matters into their own hands, as they've learned to.

yeah i was surprised by the thing but i can't say it was entirely unexpected . being stuck with such a stubborn character who would Lie and Deny things to her own detriment and having a Golden Backstory Crumb Passage down the hall would also make me go " ooooooo what's this "

i had to throw that tip in because we gotta change things up a little if we want our favorite rag doll to survive to phase 3 LSMAIOH you have to give her Treats ( praise and words of affirmation )

[lupi-usque-ad-finem]

thinking about werewolves

werewolves that find comfort in the moonlight. werewolves who adore the sunlight. werewolves with ptsd from transforming. werewolves being overjoyed after their first transformation. werewolves being open about their fears and loves in their lycanthropy and finding solace in others. turning another as a sign of love, trust, and consent. full moon ceremonies. werewolf body language. werewolf slang blending with human slang. humans who grow up in a pack of werewolves and being practically identical to them. the first time a werewolf is welcomed into their pack. packs of all kinds. hippie packs of werewolves travelling across the country in a van way too small for all of them. a small town gas station run by the local werewolf lady who’s ears perk up and smiles when you walk in. elder werewolves. retirement homes for werewolves. elder werewolves playing and spending time with their grandcubs. werewolves with control over their transformations and live as a constant mix of human and wolf. werewolf coats, mannerisms, traits, and forms differing depending on where they live in the world. city dwelling werewolves. countryside werewolves. backpacking werewolves finding entire towns filled with werewolves and packs and realising that yes, they can find home exactly as they are. werewolf safe havens. famous werewolves using their influence for progressive change. a human and werewolf finding love. cubs playfighting with the human kids in the neighbourhood. werewolves with huge families and all kinds of siblings and elders and cubs. werewolf families having weekly game nights and dinners with their human neighbours. werewolf trait genetics. cubs who have frail fur and short nails and babble instead of bark. cubs who are furry and have fangs and claws and snouts and shrill little howls. werewolf siblings where one appears fully human and the other looks like the family dog and they don’t even notice a difference. coed human and werewolf schools. the football team populated by werewolves. the track team winning national championships every year. the spring play of Beauty and the Beast winning the community vote for best costume design. drama kid werewolves painting sets and getting acrylics and oil paints in their fur. recess being the preschool cubs favourite time of the day—right after lunch of course. night classes for werewolves and insomniac human students. one day the English teacher comes in half transformed and just sighs and calls it a movie day. prom being won by a werewolf and human couple. werewolf outreach groups to help those recently turned. search and rescue werewolves. war dog werewolves. werewolf physical and mental therapists. werewolf astrologists. werewolf clinics. werewolves consenting to their bodies to be used for scientific research when they pass. organ donor werewolves. werewolf scientists working to discover their true origin. hormone therapy for werewolves who find it difficult to transform or those who need help controlling their transformations. werewolf summer camps. werewolf sled teams. land owners who are both the grounds dogs and the ranchers. werewolf herding dogs. werewolves who grow out their fur then cut it to make coats for werewolves who’ve lost their fur. werewolves who carry the fangs of their deceased with them. werewolf bones laid to rest next their human mate in graves thousands of years old. tombs of packs and families in pristine condition. oil paintings of packs hundreds of years old. werewolf funeral traditions. discovering that multiple influential poets, archaeologists, leaders, scholars, scientists, etc. in the past were werewolves. werewolf and human history being intertwined for millennia. drawings and scriptures and proverbs of large speaking wolves living alongside the humans depicted. myths and stories and tales and passages about werewolves. times in history where humans and werewolves were virtually indistinguishable. the oldest known cave drawings full of massive paw prints placed purposefully and lovingly right next to human hand prints. werewolves. <3

[penvisions]

dev's masterlist {joel miller}

I've somehow expanded my writing enough to warrant a whole separate masterlist for the one and only Joel Miller! He's so diverse and there are so many facets to his character, so it's been fun to explore writing for him. ♡ Keep in mind my blog and online spaces are strictly 18+ Each fic has its own masterlist post with links to chapters, warnings, and supplemental content! Happy reading! ♡

back to - navigation || main masterlist

*Series / Multichapter Fics:

Title: return the favor Pairing: Post Outbreak! Joel Miller x Smuggler! Reader Status: work in progress Summary: With a past as rich as anyone in the times after the Outbreak, you find your medical and survival skills to be a valuable asset.You were dropping off some medical supplies that FEDRA was willing to pay big for when you got tangled up in a mission that involves a teenager with a mouth almost as smart as yours and gruff older man whose graying curls were his only redeeming quality. But the longer you traveled with them and the more that happened out in the open land of what once was, the more you find yourself connecting with them and wanting to protect them both at any cost.

ao3 link || series masterlist

Title: garnish Pairing: Chef! Joel Miller x Bartender! Reader (a restaurant au) Staus: complete Summary: Summer is a time of fun and carefree days for those who are fortunate enough to not work within the food industry. You however have found yourself back in that world and so long were the days you could spend doing nothing. Along with the shift back to a world you once left behind is the figure of Joel Miller, who is as magnetizing as he is irritating that is now a part of your daily life.

ao3 link || series masterlist

Title: zest Pairing: Chef! Joel Miller x Professor! Reader (formally known as Bartender! Reader) Status: work in progress Summary: With the passage of time, Joel Miller had shifted from ‘chef’ to something more. Your once hidden relationship a secret now out in the open. After a break in which you finished your degree and managed to land your dream job of teaching at the collegiate level, Joel had thrown himself into his work at the restaurant where you met. Back together and in far better mental places in your life, you both are caught off guard by the sudden news of being prospective parents. But things are always gonna get hectic because, of course, how else would things go with the two of you involved? It’d been that way for nearly two years after all.

ao3 link || series masterlist

Title: by the grit of sandpaper Pairing: Jackson! Joel Miller x F! Reader (Artisan! Joel Miller x F! Reader Status: complete Summary: Joel Miller is a gruff as they come, the world having changed him for the worst. But settling in Jackson with his brother changed him for the better. He's known around town as someone to help, whether it be with home repairs, construction, and hand carved trinkets. An offhand comment from you inspires him to branch out and create helpful kitchen wares. And it seems everyone has been gifted one from him, except for you. It makes you rethink the casual friendship you had developed with the man that had just begun to expand beyond patrols.

ao3 link || series masterlist

*One Shots:

Title: for the record Pairing: Jackson! Joel Miller x Patrol Partner! Reader Summary: The longer, more dangerous patrol routes around Jackson are designated to you and one Joel Miller. You both have an understanding with each other, talking wasn’t the biggest concern for either of you, but being confident in each other was. He wasn’t a bad friend in your scavenged life, but then again you were beginning to think you didn’t want to be just his friend…and that’s got you more than a little sexually frustrated.

ao3 link || fic

*Construction Corner:

(hehe see what i did there?) The fics listed here are currently {under construction} and have no release date as of yet.

Title: gone to the dogs Pairing: Boston QZ! Joel Miller x F! Reader Summary: What happens when the world ends in such a violent way that it robs you of your very humanity? Do you submit or raise your hackles and fight back? The answer is obvious to Joel Miller, known for being someone to not to cross even in the most dangerous corners of the Boston QZ. The answer is obvious to you, too, who transformed in his likeness.

ao3 link || series masterlist

[klaineccfanficlibrary]

Do you know of any fics that are being regularly updated? Like current fics where the next chapter is being upload every tot days? I miss having a new chapter of a fic to look forward to reading 🥲🥲 please and thanks ♡♡

One way to check is to go on A03 and in work search, select the relationship you want - "Blaine anderson/Kurt Hummel" and you can select Works in Progress. Currently here are a handful updating regularly, if i don't mention your fic, please feel free to let me know. ~Jen

Undiscovered By @heartsmadeofbooks chap 1/?

All Blaine Anderson needs is a little help to put himself through school. That’s all. But he’s going to get so much more than he hoped for when he meets Kurt Hummel, the successful, sexy workaholic who in turn needs someone to make the loneliness disappear.

~~~~~

Klueless by @kurtsascot chap 4/22

It’s 1995. Kurt’s a senior at McKinley High, and he’s looking to lose his virginity and get his love life in order before he goes off to college.

Unfortunately, Blaine, the pretentious son of Burt’s ex-wife, is in Lima to intern for Burt’s congressional reelection campaign, and Kurt is stuck dealing with him until the election is over.

~~~~~

14 Stones of A curse by Anna_Timberlake @shame-is-a-wasted-emotion chap 5/15

“It's the only way to break the curse, Kurt. Believe me.”

These were the words that had driven 29-year-old Kurt Hummel to take a long break from his prestigious job at Vogue.com and travel approximately 3300 miles. He didn't know if it was true. But if it was, will he be able to break the long impending curse of his soulmate? Welcome to the journey of Kurt Hummel discoverying his past self and his soulmate.

Soulmates and fantasy- AU and reincarnation.

~~~~~

Falling for you By @bitbybitwrites chap 4/5

Doctor!blaine, florist!Kurt, Dadfic, Christmas

~~~~~

And longer fic, updating weekly/monthly:

Sonder by @gleefulpoppet chap 77/?

 Kurt is one of the most respected and talked about men in the fashion industry and business world. His app Style•Revolution is the fastest-growing app in history, still rising after three years. Recently, he moved the company to Seattle to be at the heart of the newest technology epicenter in the United States. Yet, with all his success, experience keeps teaching him to be wary of people’s motives who want to be close to him, and he wonders if he’ll be alone forever. Or maybe this city has plans for him that he can’t imagine when his gaze locks with a mysterious, honey-hazel-eyed busker.

~~~~~

Out of Eden By @wowbright chap 64/75 est

As a gay Mormon, Kurt Hummel has decided to go the rest of his life without falling in love. But toward the end of his two years as a missionary in Germany, Elder Anderson moves into his apartment—and Kurt's best-laid plans fall apart.

~~~~~

Head over Feet By @spaceorphan18 chap 8/15

After Kurt and Blaine broke up the second time, they went their separate ways, living their separate lives in New York City. Fifteen years later, a retirement party brings them back together into each other's orbit, with surprising, for both of them, consequences. Are they able to fit each other into their already complicated and messy lives? And are these newfound feelings real? Or just echoes of a past relationship?

~~~~~

The Queen's Passageway By @coffeegleek Part 4 of one shots of Everybody's Naked & There's a Country to Run verse

This is an expansion upon the one-shot, Passage Ways, chapter 12 of One-Shots in the Everybody’s Naked & There’s a Country To Run verse. You don't have to know the verse to read it.

[blueiskewl]

Three Students Just Deciphered the First Passages of a 2,000-Year-Old Scroll Burned in Vesuvius’ Eruption

A Roman scroll, partially preserved when it was buried in the eruption of Mount Vesuvius in A.D. 79, has been virtually unwrapped and decoded using artificial intelligence.

The feat was achieved by three contestants in the Vesuvius Challenge, a competition launched in March 2023 in which people around the world raced to read the ancient Herculaneum papyri.

Papyrologists working with the Vesuvius Challenge believe the scroll contains “never-before-seen text from antiquity,” and the text in question is a piece of Epicurean philosophy on the subject of pleasure. The winning submission shows ancient Greek letters on a large patch of scroll, and the author seems to be discussing the question: are things that are scarce more pleasurable as a result?

The author, whose identity is unconfirmed, doesn’t think so: “As too in the case of food, we do not right away believe things that are scarce to be absolutely more pleasant than those which are abundant,” one passage from the scroll reads.

The three members of the winning team had previously individually made significant contributions to the competition. Luke Farritor, a computer science student at University of Nebraska-Lincoln, and Youssef Nader, a machine learning Ph.D. student at Freie University in Berlin, had been two of the first contestants to detect a smaller number of letters, winning $40,000 and $10,000 respectively. Julian Schilliger, a robotics student at ETH Zürich, developed a tool that began to automatically segment the scrolls. They will share the $700,000 grand prize.

Nat Friedman, a tech investor and executive, and one of the challenge’s organizers, recently printed out the winning submission. “All this has been in this dreamlike digital world in my imagination before," Friedman says. "Seeing it on paper, rolling it up, it just made it so tangible.”

There’s a lot more to discover. The scroll partially decoded by the winning submission was one of 800 discovered in a southern Italian villa that was first uncovered in 1750. The combined efforts of the competitors and organizers so far have resulted in around 5% of one scroll being read.

The final scramble to read the scrolls

Since the Vesuvius Challenge launched nearly a year ago, participants had both cooperated and competed, sharing their latest techniques with each other and posting pictures of their progress. But as the race for the grand prize intensified, the Discord, a social media platform where the participants shared information, went dark, says Friedman.

Of the eighteen submissions for the grand prize, most of them were received on the last day of the contest, Dec. 31, and three were sent in the final ten minutes, according to Friedman. Friedman recalls he was at home with his family around Christmas, decorating for the holiday while compulsively refreshing his phone, when the winning submission came in. “I ran into my little office at home and popped it open,” he says. “I was like, ‘Wow, this is really magnificent.’”

In accordance with the criteria set in March 2023, the winning submission contains four passages of 140 characters each, with at least 85% of the characters in each of those passages recoverable by professional papyrologists. It also contains a further 11 columns of text.

It isn’t known who authored the ancient scroll, but experts have developed theories. “Is the author Epicurus' follower, the philosopher and poet Philodemus, the teacher of Vergil? It seems very likely,” writes Richard Janko, professor of classical studies at the University of Michigan. “Is he writing about the effect of music on the hearer, and comparing it to other pleasures like those of food and drink? Quite probably.” Robert Fowler, a professor of Greek at the University of Bristol, also believes the author to be Philodemus. “Like other Epicureans, he valued pleasure above all - but pleasure rightly understood, not mere indulgence,” Fowler writes of the philosopher.

In the final section of the scroll, the author appears to criticize his intellectual adversaries, who “have nothing to say about pleasure, either in general or in particular, when it is a question of definition.”

“I can't help but read it as a 2000 year old blog post, arguing with another poster,” says Friedman. “It's ancient Substack, and people are beefing with each other, and I think that's just amazing.”

What comes next

The Vesuvius Challenge has issued a new grand prize for 2024 that will allow the AI-enhanced decoding to move at a faster pace.

The competitors largely have been developing algorithms for automatic letter detection—using AI to see traces of ink on segments of virtually unrolled scrolls. Aside from letter detection, the other main challenge associated with reading the scrolls is segmentation—separating the layers and virtually unrolling the scrolls. So far, this process has been highly manual; the Vesuvius Challenge employed three full-time segmenters. In order to ensure that they’d have segmented enough of the scroll for someone to win the grand prize, Friedman bought the team new monitors and computers to boost their productivity. The challenge for 2024 is to automate the segmentation process.

Friedman admits that he has had other tempting offers of new quests to pursue. Over the last year, he says his inbox has been filled with Robinson Crusoe-esque proposals, from people alerting him to lost shipwrecks and ancient cities, undecoded languages, and strange glyphs on the sides of mountains.

But he can’t walk away. He wants to help read all of the 800 scrolls already discovered in the villa. And some archeologists believe there is a main library containing tens of thousands of scrolls, still waiting to be excavated.

To expedite the excavation, Friedman has obtained the mobile number of the Italian civil servant responsible for the villa, whom he has texted, twice. “My hope is that I won't have to go and dig it out myself,” says Friedman. “But if that's what it comes to, I will.”

By WILL HENSHALL.