#town of rutabaga

[isabellesbian]

another view of the second resident’s apartment plus a functional subway station downstairs 👀🚉

[dailyadventureprompts]

Dungeon: Grandfather's Hungering Maw

Said to have been carved by an exiled dwarven king after his name and ignominious deeds were stricken from the records of his clan, this brooding edifice contains a darkness far deeper than any normal glacial cave.

The dungeon's name comes from a settlement in the foothills, with a mostly human population ignorant of the monument's dwarven origins. In their myths the face is infact that of a great giant, tricked by the folkhero founder of their village into staying very, very still while he was served a great feast, growing so spoiled and indolent that he was eventually buried by the mountain snow and froze solid. A recent series of avalanches that've buried paths and even destroyed homesteads have put it into people's heads that grandfather might be waking up.

Adventure Hooks:

A merchant caravan the party is riding along with takes a detour up into the highlands, following rumours of a village that's paying a premium for foodstuffs of late. Upon arrival they're strongarmed out of their cargo by a crowd of armed villagers, who heap the provisions on an overburned yak cart set to depart up the mountain on the next day. Fear of the giant has made some of the villagers turn into a panicked mob, emptying the granaries and raiding their neighbour's larders to supply ever larger and hastier "tribute" runs up to the mountain's mouth. Food is growing scarce in the village, and those with the foresight to worry about winter provisions dare not speak up: An old woman was accidentally killed trying to fend off the toughs uprooting her garden, and her still warm body was piled into the yak cart next to her unripe rutabagas.

Seeking the power of her infamous ancestor, a disfavoured daughter of the dwarven throne has ventured to the Maw with a group of sellswords in tow in the hopes of discovering the means of making herself queen. Down into the mountain's gullet they've found a great labyrinth, hewn over centuries by the still shuffling corpse of the nameless king, unable to fully rest until he has constructed a tomb worthy of his hubris. The would be ruler and her entourage are eating well thanks to the unsuspecting villagers' food deliveries, and have a few agents in town helping the process along while they continue their delve.

There's more than a stone worn skeleton and a few fortune hunters inhabiting the depths. A millennia ago Ahlkenahl the Vanquisher was a feared demon of war, thought invincible before the dwarven king forged a ring with the fiend's true name inscribed upon it and forced the Vanquisher to pledge an oath of eternal servitude. Driven into exile along with his mortal captor, Ahlkenahl has resentfully laboured alongside the king as he descended into witless undeath, even centuries after the ring was lost somewhere in the tomb along with the chipped fingerbone it rested on. The demon's occasional demolition filled bouts of rage cause the avalanches on the mountain's exterior, and they've only grown more frequent as he's attempted to stop the Heir and her underlings from finding the ring.

It's a three way race between the players, the dwarven heir, and the fiend to see who can find the ring first, having to not only battle eachother, but subterranean monsters, collapsing tunnels, and freezing glacier caverns along the way. Of course Ahlkenahl doesn't play fair, as the fiend can revive any body that finds its way into the Hungering Maw (such as dead villagers loaded on the Yak cart or slain sellswords) into undead minions, growing in strength as the situation becomes more desperate. The fiend can even send the undead down into the valley to do his bidding, chasing after whichever group managed to get the ring first or even go on a murder-filled supply run to bring back more bodies.

Simply getting the ring isn't enough to control Ahlhenahl, as the war-demon's true name is written in an infernal script that must be researched before it can be understood and spoken aloud. This gives the party a chance to catch up if the heir makes it out of the labyrinth with the prize and vice versa. It likewise gives Ahlkenahl's undead minions time to become a real threat both in number and as he deliberately creates more fearsome versions.

The Vanquisher can freely communicate with anyone holding the ring, an ability originally intended to allow the exiled king to command his bound demon in the field which now allows Ahlkenahl to whisper temptation into the ear of whoever holds it. Think of what he could do for them if they let him out of the labyrinth, the enemies he could slay, the kingdom he could carve on their behalf. Sure it would mean unleashing a walking massacre on the landscape but what's a little carnage between pactmates?

Art1 Art2

[terezis]

Lup's holding up the line at the green grocer's stall, idly inspecting a rutabaga for stem rot, when she spots him.

It's crowded at the market this time of day, and his back is turned as he makes his way down the street, but Lup would know him anywhere. Warm brown skin, so much like her own, long hair loosely braided and golden blond in the afternoon sun—hell, he’s even wearing a dumb hat.

That's her brother. That's Taako.

Barry turns to look at her, but Lup's already walking—running—pushing through throngs of startled shoppers before her mouth can catch up to her legs to explain, heart in her throat.

It's him. It's really Taako this time. Of course after years of searching she'd find him when she least expected it, when they weren't even really looking. A giddy laugh builds in her chest as she reaches him—hand on his shoulder, he turns his head; gods, what is she even going to say, where the hell have you been, loco—

Wide eyes. Round ears, maybe mid-twenties, but it's always hard to tell with humans; gender indeterminate. The person who is decidedly not Lup's brother blinks at her, frowning a little, and says, "Can I help you?"

Lup opens her mouth. Closes it. Drops her hand and takes a polite step back. "No," she says, “My bad. Thought you were someone else." The stranger nods and turns away.

It doesn’t take Barry long to catch up. Lup's still staring down the road, hands balled into fists at her side. She grits her teeth and swallows, then turns to smile at him.

"Sorry, babe," she says. "Didn't mean to ditch you." Barry, ever the angel, just pulls her into a hug. The warm circle of his arms is comforting, just like it always is. Lup exhales. "I really thought it was him this time, Bear."

“I know,” Barry tells her. He must be a little out of breath from running after her. His breath tickles her ear. He pauses. "I mean, the resemblance was kinda uncanny. Did you see that hat?"

Lup squeezes her eyes shut. "Barry, what if he's just gone?"

Barry doesn’t respond, just holds her tighter. They should really get out of the road. Townsfolk weave around them, wagons—people headed to and from the market square, buying dinner, going home to their families. Lup can’t relate. "We'll find him, Lu,” he says. “Next town, for sure."

That's the third time he's said that this month, but Lup still badly wants to believe him. She forces herself to try. Who knows—maybe one of these days he'll finally be right.

-

Lup can't remember the last time she saw her brother.

That's kind of the whole problem. It's so stupid. If she knew where she lost him, she'd at least know where to start looking; but hard as she tries, the whens and wheres of Taako's disappearance escape her, ephemeral like smoke. It’s like he was there one day and gone the next.

[ok that’s all i got for now but wouldn’t this be juicy]

[imtherain]

Soup

So here I am again, having feelings about a man who kills people.

This is for, about, around Simon “Ghost” Riley. From Call of Duty, a game I never in a million years thought I’d care about. But here we are.

Warnings? Hurt/Comfort I guess. Some female mentions for “you” (mentions being an auntie etc.) A lot of sort of sad feelings. Talk of trauma, injury, near death, all that fun stuff. Allusions to past relationships. No pancakes. But hey, there’s soup.

I apologize if you misread the title as Soap, as I have a few times. He’s lovely too, but this one is for Ghost.

Anywho

It was one of the hardest things you'd ever done, but after that last mission, you hadn't really had a choice. You'd been just about blown apart by a rain of gunshots. There was an explosion you didn't remember and three weeks of time you lost. Another three lost to a coma. 

~~~~~

You had left the 141 six months ago. 

And while you carried the scars and some pain the doctors said would never go away, what hurt you most was the look in your lieutenant's eyes when he told you you were going home. The way his eyes were hard chips of stone behind his mask when he told you he wouldn't let you come back.

That was the last time you'd talked to Ghost. And you tried not to think about how much his silence hurt you. You had been so close to him for so long. He always had your back and you always had his. You couldn't count the times you'd spent nights together, trying to deal with all the shit you had to do, there were too many. Maybe there were all of them. Then there were the times when you fell into each other's arms because there was nowhere else to go.

And he sent you home without saying anything that even resembled goodbye.

But that was half a year behind you. You had begun to pick up the bits of your life that could be salvaged. Your sister helped a lot. She was the only family that knew you were back, that even knew you were alive. She lived across town from your apartment, but she made sure to stop by to check on you as often as she could. 

You had taken to making food when the things in your head got too loud. You made beef stew and thought of Soap. How he always told you to add more potatoes and made jokes about the Irish in good humor. You made chicken noodle soup for cold nights in safe houses. Leek soup for when it rained and for stomach aches. And you made cakes and pies and cookies for Price and Gaz, both of which had terrible sweet tooths and always tried to steal the batter or taste the dough. 

You left a bowl empty for Ghost because you didn't know what else to do.

Tonight you made turkey soup. Lots of root vegetables from a friend of a friend who had a farm south of the city. Good fresh earth still clung to the turnips when your sister brought them to you. She had a whole bag full of turnips, parsnips, carrots, and rutabagas. Onions from the store. 

You made the broth with the carcass of the turkey you shared with your sister and her husband two nights before. At their place with their kids. The house, full of color and joy and laughter and life. You got to be Auntie y/n and not a soldier. Not a broken thing left for eternity to find left behind. 

Sometimes it was easier to forget the 141 when there was laughter around you. 

Sometimes you drove home and cried. 

The soup was delicious, warm. Tasted like the stuff that kept you alive with a hug.

You'd gotten good at making soup, as though it was the only thing you knew how to do. Your sister always made bread. Your whole apartment smelled like a Hallmark movie. You sat together at the table, three bowls, two now dirty, and all three empty. 

Your sister had stopped asking why a while ago. You figured she knew it was a type of mourning. She always knew you in ways you didn't tell her. Knew how you only wore earrings when you wore dresses. How there was always a knife close at hand. How you slept with a gun, loaded, strapped to the side of your nightstand.

How you always made soup when you missed them.

You had picked up your bowl and your sister's when you heard a knock at the door. All of your alarms went off, thinking the worst at first. But then you remembered how there was a single mother down the hall who you often told could come asking for dinner when she smelled it. Knowing she needed good food sometimes for her and her twins. Remembered just how far your sister’s bread recipe could carry down the hall.

You covered the peephole with your hand before looking through it. In case whoever it was had a gun waiting for you.

There was a shadow outside the door. Tall, broad, black sweatshirt. They were looking down the hall, towards the exit sign that glowed faintly red along the white parts of his mask.

You opened the door and he turned to you.

"Who is it?" Your sister called. You were frozen in the doorway.

"I shouldn't have come," was all he said, turning with his duffle bag to head towards that glowing red light. You caught his sleeve before he could flee. 

"Can you do me a favor?" You call over your shoulder back into the house. "Go hide in the bathroom, I'll let you know when you can come out," you stepped out into the hall and closed the door enough that she wouldn't see him. You knew how he was. How he liked his privacy. 

"What? Why?" Your sister's confused voice.

"Just do it, I'll explain later," you call back. Ghost hadn't tried to pull away yet. You just held his eyes while you both listened to your sister grumble as she did as you asked.

"You have company," his voice was gravel, just like you remember it. The accent slides around his words like silk. 

"She's my sister, she watched my place while I was gone." You told him. You hadn't talked about family, there had been no room for it amongst the gunfire. "If I ask her to go, will you stay?" You didn't want to feel the hope that tried to block your throat. You didn't want to admit how badly you missed him. How being apart had made you realize just how fucked you were, falling in love with your LT.

But he wasn't your LT anymore. Not your commanding officer in any way. So what was he? 

"Simon?" Your voice is smaller than he remembers it but hearing his name in your throat brings him back to earth. 

"Affirmative," he said. His voice was smaller than it used to be too. As though he didn't want you to hear it. You pulled on his sleeve. 

"You can go to my room while I send her home, she wasn't going to stay much longer anyway." You tell him when he resists your tug. "You can take a shower if you want, it'll feel good. Or you can just…" whatever other suggestions you had died in your throat. "Just, don't leave, ok?" This time he only nodded. 

He pulled off his boots inside the door and followed you to your room. You didn't see him look around your apartment, didn't see the way he took in the mismatched furniture, the loudly colored rugs, the blankets and pillows that filled the arm chairs. You pointed him into the darkness of your room, flipping the switch to light the lamp on your bedside table. The only light you kept in your room these days.

He looked somehow more massive in the space of your room. He glanced at the dresser which had a mess of body sprays and lotions your sister kept bringing you. There was another chair, filled with clothes this time. The bed was made up with bright colored blankets and more pillows than he'd ever seen in one place before.

"They say the more pillows you have the lonelier you are," He spoke like it was a joke. 

"That they do," you didn't agree but you knew better than to lie. "I'll be back in a minute," he dropped his duffle on the floor next to the bed and nodded. 

You sighed heavily and went to kick your sister out. 

She was worried about leaving you with Ghost. You had told her more than enough to make her nervous about him. But you trusted him still, even if he had sent you away. Even if he hadn't said goodbye.

She promised to call you in the morning and you locked the door with all three locks.

When you came back to your room, you could hear the shower running. The duffle was opened and a few pieces of black fabric were spilling out. You weren't surprised that he wore only black when he played civilian. 

"She's gone," you called through the door of the bathroom. "Take your time," you added. 

A few minutes later the bathroom opened and Ghost came out. A simpler Balaklava over his face now, a black long sleeved shirt, black pants. The steam from the shower spilled out into the room and backlit him with the harsh light over your sink. He was barefoot as he stood on your carpet.

You didn't know what else to say to him.

He went to his duffle and put his things back. You thought of all the times you'd imagined him here, how he'd look amongst your things. Mourned how you'd never find out. But here he was. 

He stood and faced you.

"I didn't know you knew where I lived," you finally said. You weren't surprised he could find you, but you didn't know how else to break the silence.

"I've known for a while," he replied. 

"So why now?" You had your arms crossed as you watched him think of what to say. Maybe you imagined it but there was something sharp in his eyes, something like fear or loss or… something.

"I had to see you…make sure you were ok," 

"Why?" You didn't want him to know how fast your heart was beating.

"I had to know," you felt anger flare at his attempt to answer you without telling you anything. 

"Had to know what, Simon? Had to know if I was still alive? Had to know if I was still going to the doctor's, to rehab? Had to know if I was living alone or with someone who would actually fucking care about me?" It wasn't fair to accuse him. You knew that. But it had hurt so much when you were sent away. Hurt like a battery acid injection. Hurt like a thousand paper cuts that could never figure out how to heal. 

When he didn’t say anything you laughed. Of course he’d stay silent. He never quite figured out how to talk unless it was to give order, to tell off color jokes, or to grind out dirty words into your ear.

“It hurt like hell when you told me to go home,” You said. “Did you know that? It felt like you were kicking me out of the 141, out of all of your lives…out of your life. As though you couldn’t stand to so much as look at me.” You weren’t looking at him anymore, so you missed the way his eyes snapped to your face.

“You almost died, y/n,” He said. “Because of a bad call I made. I had to watch you get shot to shit, watch you bleeding out while Gaz did all he could to keep you from dying. It was a miracle we got you to a hospital at all.” You felt tears gather behind your eyes, pulling angrily at your throat as you tried to keep them inside.

“I never blamed you for that,” 

“It doesn’t matter if you did or not because I fucking did,” Ghost snapped. “And then I had to see you hooked up to all those fucking tubes and machines, not moving.” 

“You didn’t have to stay,” You tried to ignore the way your heart clenched at his words.

“Three weeks. I had to see that shit for three weeks before you opened your eyes again.” He took a step forward and you watched him cross the space until he was before you. You looked up at him, his frame so large in the dim light. You knew people who would be terrified of being so close to him. But not you. Never you.

“And first chance you got, you told me to get the fuck out… forced me to retire,” His face was hidden by his mask, but you could see the way his shoulders fell as your cheeks grew wet. You wiped at your eyes with your hands and pretended it didn’t kill you for him to see you like this.

“I couldn’t…I couldn’t see you like that again,” His voice was soft now. When you didn’t look at him, he sank to his knees, his hands coming up to touch your legs, gently, as though he was afraid you’d break. “Every time I closed my eyes, I saw you laying there, bloody or plugged up with so many machines…” He shook his head as if to displace the memories. His hands moved up your sides. You didn’t want to forgive him, didn’t want to understand.

“You told me not to die, and I didn’t,” You said. “And you paid me back by leaving,” 

His head dipped down into your lap as his arms closed around you. He was hurting too. Just as much as you were. Your hand moved to the back of his head, wanting to comfort him even after all this time. You knew he wouldn’t be here if it didn’t matter, if you didn’t matter to him. But it hurt so much for so long.

“Didn’t know what else to do,” A confession at the altar you built to hide your heart from the world. You felt the walls, the temple you haunted, start to shake and crumble.

“Why are you back?” Your voice was small as your hand traced the back of his head. You’d never seen him like this before, and it meant something to you. It had to.

“Soap said I was a dumb fuck for letting you go,” 

“That’s all it took?” You could almost laugh. You used your hands to bring his face up so you could look at him, but frowned when you saw his eyes, dark as always, but more haunted than normal.

There was more to it than just Soap talking shit. “Tell me what happened, love,” 

“Bad intel, shit went sideways.” You felt your heart clench.

“Who?”

“Whenever I closed my eyes all I could see was you all shot to shit, bleeding out like you were in a hurry to die,” 

“Simon,” You pressed.

“Me,” He finally said. You had his face in your hands, but he pulled away and ripped the balaclava off, showing you his face. You’d seen him before, but seeing him now, his eyes angry and wet, caught you off guard. There were no new marks on his face, but you studied him just to be sure. “I was the one bleeding out… and you weren’t there to see it.” Your heart dropped like a nuclear bomb, but when it hit bottom it didn’t explode. It just sat there, heavy.

“But you’re ok now,” You said. You were telling yourself just as much as you were reminding him. “And me, I’m here, I’m safe too,” Your thumbs brushed his cheeks, something that, even when you were together, you’d rarely gotten to do.

“I thought it would be better if you weren’t there,” He continued. “That I wouldn’t keep looking for you,” You wondered how long he’d been keeping this to himself, knowing he didn’t usually open up to anyone. You wondered if he’d told Soap, and that’s why he’d called him a dumb fuck.

“It sucked being here without you,” You said. “Not hearing from you. Soap calls once in a while, checks in. Price even offered to come visit. But I told him no.” 

Simon looked at you for a long time, not saying anything more. You held his face, knowing he’d run out of words. After a while, you just sighed and leaned down to kiss his forehead, holding the kiss for three counts too long.

“Should I go?” He asked. Your hands were on his shoulders now, his still along your waist while he knelt on your floor. You shook your head.

“I made soup, if you’re hungry,” You told him instead. He thought for a moment before he nodded. It took him a minute for him to pull away from you enough to stand. You picked up his mask and handed it to him before taking his hand. He laced his fingers with yours.

If he was going to stay, you were going to have to start over. And if you were going to start over, you’d do it right this time. Soft touches, gentle kisses. Not fast fucks in the desert. Not sloppy quickies behind the barracks. Not moans concealed by gloved hands.

He dutifully followed you to the kitchen and took the chair you offered him. You went about reheating the soup, as it was cold now. You didn’t say much, and he didn’t say anything. But his eyes followed you, face still open and empty of his mask. You weren’t sure you’d ever seen his face this long in a single go before.

It was nice.

“My sister made the bread, it’s fresh,” You told him, handing him a thick slice. You couldn’t help but touch his face one more time before turning back to the stove with his bowl.

You sat with him while he ate. Watching as he dipped the bread in and brought it to his mouth. You wondered if he liked any specific soup best. Maybe squash soup, or tomato, or mushroom bisque.

“What?” He asked after you’d stared at him too long.

“I missed you,” You said, knowing better than to lie. His lips threatened to turn into a smile.

“Missed you too,” He speaks carefully, as if the words were new, before returning to the soup. 

You were content, for now. He was here, he was clean, he was eating. You could touch him.

And the empty bowl was full.

[Masterlist]

[dailydemonspotlight]

Day 11 - Pyro Jack / Jack-o'-lantern

Race: Fairy

Alignment: Neutral

April 3rd, 2024

On the streets at night in the cold, deep darkness, a candle flickers. You know this means only one thing. Hallow's eve is right around the corner. Introducing the second of the Jack Bros, Pyro Jack!

In Ireland since the 1700's, it's been a tradition to put up Jack-o'-lanterns as the month errs towards Halloween, inspired by the legend of a man known as 'Stingy Jack.' According to the story, there was a tricky drunk in an Irish town with the name Jack, a man who would sell a soul for six silver coins or break into a bank in order to fuel his ever-growing reliance on booze. He was hated, by even the heavens itself, yet soon he found himself at death's door. That is when the Devil came to him, to see if he was truly as terrible as the stories painted him out to be.

One night, Jack wandered the cobblestone roads before coming to a dreadful sight- a body, laying smack-dab in the center of the road. However, it had a face not of death, but rather, devilish envy, as the Devil himself made his presence known. Jack had one last request, one typical of a drunkard- to get one last drink in before the end. The Devil obliged, likely finding it foolish, and took him to a pub, where they both drank the night away. Jack, then, asked the Devil to cover his tab. His idea? To turn the beast into a silver coin. Impressed by his trickiness, the Devil did as asked... only to be slipped into a pocket with a crucifix, held captive by slippery Jack, who had now fucked with the devil himself. Baffled and trapped, the two made a deal- Jack would be given 10 more years on the earth.

Unsurprisingly, when the time came, Jack yet again tricked the Devil, and was granted eternal recompense, as the Devil was forced to make him never go to hell. Ever. When Jack's time came, however, his life of deceit and fraud only gave him a ticket out of Heaven's pearly gates, and the Devil wasn't one to give up on a deal either, so he was eventually forced back to earth, forever to roam as a lost spirit held alive by the flickering light of a lantern within a turnip. Ever since, Jack-o'-lanterns have been a popular tradition of Halloween, originally starting as incredibly freaky looking rutabagas before eventually changing to the far more iconic autumn fruit of a pumpkin.

The idea behind the lighting of the Jack-o'-lanterns is scarcely known, but it's mostly thought to be a tradition to help guide Stringy Jack along the roads and to help his soul find peace in his eternal roaming of the plains of earth.

Pyro Jack, unsurprisingly, is based on Jack-o'-lanterns, though mostly in his pumpkin head. The lantern he carries is likely an allusion to Stringy Jack, lighting the way for his soul to wander aimlessly in the megaten world. Being the second Jack Brother, Pyro Jack is also his counterpart, representing the flame to Jack Frost's ice. Pyro Jack is also based on the phenomenon of Will-o'-wisps, flickering lights that appear in the dead of night with no real explanation, typically around swampland and forests.

He typically appears in every SMT game, mostly as an early game demon, as well as a component to his big brother, Black Frost. Overall, Pyro Jack has a fun and festive Halloween design, some really fun folklore, and, while simple, works as a perfectly effective little spooky spirit in the smt series.

[ferbracket]

Candace Competition

Rutabaga Princess. ''This is the official rutabaga regalia for the 100th Running of the Chinchillas from Danville to Badger Town. By wearing this it will entice the chinchillas to follow me the Princess!''

Rutabaga Princess. ''First, we can't possibly write a song in this filth, so you girls can start by cleanin' up the bus.''

[omg-theyre-roommates]

Ooh for the five headcanon thing, Logan and Haru getting used to having Andy around?

Oooh yes. Sorry took a bit but here you go!

1. After they fail at trying to find Andy's parents/guardians, Logan and Haru take him back to the base. They obviously had to move stuff around to make room for him and Haru sacrificed his bed for Andy since he likes sleeping on hard surfaces.

2. They already had experience with children being around Jasmine, but having a kid 24/7 was definitely new to them especially with the dangers. Andy knows how to take care of himself but he's still a kid.

3. They quickly become Andy's big brothers/parents. Haru liked to let him help around some of the safer chemistry experiments while Logan taught him how to hunt and take care of the goats. Each of them took turns keeping an eye on Andy while the other was scouting out.

4. When Grace started coming around, she also took a real liking to Andy. She liked to play simple tricks and tell Andy different things about archeology or how spies get information out of people. Andy thought at first everything was boring but after finally listening to what Grace has to say, he really likes her.

5. Both of them were really worried when Andy ran off to Sandrock. Logan and Haru searched practically everywhere and only calmed down when Grace spotted him in town. They were really sad about the decision about Andy living in Sandrock permanently. They both knew it was the best decision but missed having him around a lot.

+1. One time Logan put on Andy on Rambo to go on a ride, he didn't properly keep Rambo on a lead to keep him still so Rambo, like goats do, wandered off and started scaling a wall. Haru and Logan both freaked out. Haru searched for rutabagas in the bags to lure Rambo, Logan chased after them, and Andy was having the time of his life.

[ultimatebabygirlsupremebattle]

Alright, here's where we're at everybody!

The left bracket semifinals featuring @probably-not-a-rutabaga and @less-depresso-more-espresso will be posted at the usual time next week!

The 'Biggest nerd' mini tournament will be posted next Saturday (Eastern Standard Time) as usual, unfortunately this time we can't allow last second submissions, as we're trying to lessen our stress right now, but we're hoping that any interested participants were preparing based on the calendar and made a start on their submissions over the last week, when the 'Biggest nerd' submissions were originally supposed to be open

As for the right bracket semifinals (which will be posted the week after as always), instead of following up via DMs like before we figured we'd just ask here, @avidlylivid @cpunkhobie @glitter-alienzzz @teenagemutanttransgenderturtles, have you all thought up a team name yet? (Its fine if not, there are a lot of you and we haven't properly asked yet, but try to come up with one before your semifinals!)

Anyone interested in a more personal update can look below the read more! (Warning for descriptions of oral surgery and recovery, for those who didn't know. It does get detailed because we ramble a lot.)

So! Surprise surgery! It was definitely a lot, we were on a two year waiting list to have all of our wisdom teeth removed at a hospital closer to the city (we're hella rural, we're lucky we have a hospital at all, but no specialists actually live here), but on Monday morning last week we got a call saying the person who was going to be operated on by the once-a-year visiting specialist cancelled at the last second, so that day we went to the hospital and went over the details of the surgery, and then we were told it was going to happen the next day. We still could have turned it down, but it was a crazy opportunity because the two year wait would be removed, and we would get to have the surgery done in our home town (travel is intense on us, and the original hospital is 6 hours away). So we agreed (with no real chance to communicate inwardly about it, a lot of us are rightfully upset about the lack of warning and preparation time).

(Extra space for app notification users, since opening via notification automatically opens the readmore)

The surgery itself went well, general anaesthesia isn't as bad as we thought it would be, we didn't even stay awake long enough for the "count down from 10" thing you see in movies and shows, and next thing we knew there were nurses in front of us asking if we wanted water or anything.

The problems came (and are still coming) after. We have a sensory based eating disorder (ARFID, to be specific), and impulsively having oral surgery done (in the mouth, where an insane amount of senses are) kinda is making life impossible. We went to the ER the day after our surgery because nausea was messing us up real bad, but when on nausea meds and plenty of painkillers food just....its really rough. Obviously solids are out of the question (even now when we're starting to get out of the danger zone), but that leaves liquids and.....have you ever noticed how liquids are only ever sweet? Sweet is not our preferred taste. With the way our ARFID is, our body's way of rejecting food is our throat closing up and just straight up not letting anything go down, so forcing ourselves to eat is physically impossible. Its the end of the day, as we're typing this, and all we've managed to eat is a cup of yoghurt and a little bit of jelly. Its been really bad.

On top of all this, we can barely sleep, the limited ways we can lay down make getting comfortable really rough, and when we do eventually fall asleep we wake up a few hours later because the pain meds are wearing off. We do best at 10 hours of sleep a day, and we're only getting 6 right now. This and the lack of food leaves us bedridden, the medical issues we already have aren't happy with us.

Its hard to say how well we're healing up, we're too squeamish to actually look, but there's been minor outside improvements like the level of pain when the meds wear off and how wide we can open our mouth (swallowing is also pain free now), so we're not too concerned. Still really want a follow up appointment with the dentist soon.

We've been getting a lot of help from our support worker with everything, we normally don't rely on her too heavily but its definitely been needed, and might still be needed for a while even as recovery starts to speed up because there is definitely going to be recovery time from this recovery.

Do we regret it? Sometimes, but this surgery would have had to happen eventually anyway, and under more taxing conditions too. We're trying to keep that fact in mind as much as possible.

Still, we're never agreeing to next-day surgery again.

....maybe.

.........it depends on if it saves us from travelling for the surgery.

[bleachbleachbleach]

So, I recently moved to a new place, and looking at the local paper this morning I  learned about the 25th Annual Rutabaga Curl.

Curling. But with rutabagas. 25th annual.

So please, I desperately need to know:

What produce-themed cultural events does Soul Society have?

Is this primarily why Rukongai farms stuff, since they don’t need to eat it? The annual DAIKON DASH? (A long-distance relay that spans all 80 districts in a given cardinal block).

Does the Seireitei also have produce-themed games? Were they culturally appropriated from Rukongai, or perhaps brought as immigrant customs by Rukongai folk who entered the Gotei?

What produce-themed events does Karakura have, in the town’s attempt to distinguish itself as a culturally distinct patch of Tokyo suburb sprawl? How ham do Isshin (and Karin and Yuzu and perhaps, grudgingly, also Ichigo) go?

Has the Sewing Club (read: Ishida and Orihime) ever designed a giant produce costume?

IS THERE A PARADE

[i-am-thedragon]

What did you want to say about your hypothetical Flatland adaptation?

Glad you asked!

Long, long explanation below the cut.

So my Flatland story is sort of a sequel to the original story, and one that actually focuses more on Spaceland. It takes place at the beginning of the year 2050, fifty years after A Square's encounter with a three-dimensional sphere. A Square, at this point, has long since died miserable and alone in prison.

The third dimension, or 'Spaceland' is essentially just the universe as we know it. Earth is populated by geometric humans who see Flatland as an unexplainable curiosity and seek to study it. Of course, Spacelanders can only make their presence known once every millennium, so study has to consist mostly of observation.

There are two major science and technology enterprises leading the study of Flatland: GaussCo, and Sonnwell Scientific. GaussCo's Flatland division was founded and originally headed by a famous sphere named Albert, who was tasked with the duty of contacting Flatland at the beginning of 2000. His role as the head of GaussCo's Flatland division was passed down to his son Juno, and then to Juno's daughter Rutabaga, who is the current head in 2050.

Sonnwell Scientific came into the game a fair bit later, but is rapidly catching up in their research and advancements. However, there is a terrible reason for their success. Their scientists are kidnapping Flatlanders, imprisoning them in their labs, and performing all manner of cruel and unethical experiments on them! The public was outraged when they learned of this, but to Rutabaga's dismay, the outrage quickly died out in favour of morbid curiosity of the experiments' results.

Of course, what Sonnwell Scientific was doing should be a huge violation of the rule/tradition that Flatland can only be interacted with at the beginning of each millennium, but they had found a loophole. By capturing Flarlanders in dark vessels and not allowing them to see or know what was happening to them, they technically were not making themselves or the third dimension known to Flatland. From Flatland's perspective, a series of mysterious missing person's cases were occurring across the world.

The story begins on the eve of 2050. Rutabaga laments her legacy, the flaws of her father and grandfather, and the current state of affairs. In order to clear her head, she visits Flatland to observe it. Unfortunately, she arrives to find Sonnwell's scientists there collecting 'subjects'. She witnesses one of them take a mother and her children from a house.

Meanwhile, Edwin Square is out in town. To his surprise, there is a rush of people panicking, shouting claims of a notable politician disappearing right before everyone's eyes. Soldiers are quickly neutralising them. E Square rushes home to safety, only to find that his wife and children are missing. Realising that they've likely become the latest victims of the unexplained disappearances, he falls into a hysterical panic. Suddenly, a disembodied voice tells him, "You deserve to know the truth".

Rutabaga is absolutely violating the "once every millennium" rule/tradition by speaking directly to a Flatlander, but she does not care anymore. She attempts to explain to Edwin what has happened to his family, but he does not understand. So, like her grandfather, she pulls him into the third dimension, with which E Square is in awe. The lesson continues, and E Square refuses to return home without his family, but Rutabaga has no way of getting them back for him. In the meantime, she puts Edwin in a simulated two-dimensional space in her research facility, where he will live for the duration of the story.

From then on Rutabaga and her best friend/assistant Barnaby will try to find some way to rescue Edwin's wife and children, along with the rest of the captured Flatlanders, from Sonnwell's labs, while also dealing with their own personal problems and the flaws of society.

Of course, the whole thing is hypothetical. I don't think I have the patience or commitment to flesh out the entire thing into any medium.

[isabellesbian]

a messy little apartment above the shops 🧺🪟

[quibbs126]

Now I want to make a farming sim game based on that idea of a farming kingdom, in which you the player decide to come to this kingdom for a fresh start as a farmer, and the leader (I do really like the idea of their name being Golden Wheat, but I suppose another option could be Honey Wheat? I dunno) is just offering a place for anyone who wants to farm, so long as they pull their weight in the kingdom

To keep the cast and location small, maybe this is early on in the kingdom’s life

All the other characters you meet are other vegetable/crop flavored cookies, and yes, you can romance them

And also other ideas I had based on lore I came up for this kingdom:

Because of the nature of how the soil of the land was made (ie Soul Jam and magic powers fertilizing the land), the crops also have a low chance of coming to life. Some of the wildlife and/or livestock and/or enemies of the game is these living food. In game, it’d be like, at most a 5% chance or something (I dunno, I don’t make video games)

Once a year you have a festival in which the land is fertilized once more by the leader with their magic staff. They’re somewhere between a deity like the Harvest Goddess and just the town mayor in terms of this game

Admittedly, if this were to become a game, I probably would have to change them from cookies, since that might be a bit too similar to Cookie Run and I suppose the characters have no reason to be cookies, but also I want the characters to be food flavored, but not just straight up like, a talking rutabaga, and this feels the best way to do it. Also I had an idea that on the character customization screen, you’d choose your “skin” color by saying what flavor your dough is, and I feel like there are other fun and creative things you could do with making your character a cookie, that was just the only one I’ve come up with so far

[custardcove]

First Memories

Chapter Two - Waiting and Wandering

Alice sat in the window-seat of her guest bedroom, peering through the glass and into the garden below. It was a warm, mid-spring afternoon.

Two days had passed since she woke up on the beach. Her parents back home knew she was fine, but they hadn’t been able to shed any light on the situation—they thought she’d been staying with Pansy in the first place. Physically Alice was feeling a lot better, though her memory remained patchy, and she’d been having strange dreams. Dreams where someone was distantly calling out for help; someone she knew. She couldn’t do anything. It made her feel helpless. But this morning she’d managed to finish a letter, and Pansy had posted it for her. Now all they had to do was wait. She hoped it was formal enough. It was full of please can you’s and if you wouldn’t mind’s. There was no good in accusing Queenie of taking her things, nor could she simply invite herself over to the villa, so treading carefully was her best bet.

Pansy’s garden was a sight to behold. It wasn’t the largest in Erryton, but even from where Alice sat she could see the vibrant colours and carefully cared for greenery. Roses and tulips, peonies and primroses, hydrangea, rutabaga… It made her feel like she should be outside, so she decided to get up.

Steadily, she made her way downstairs. Neither Pansy nor her baby were at home right now—unfortunately, Alice hadn’t really been listening, so she didn’t remember where they’d gone. Leaving a note on the living room table, she took the spare key and went out, locking the door behind her.

The sun was as pleasantly warm as it looked, and there was a gentle breeze in the air to ease the temperature. Alice didn’t know where she was going, but she started her walk. Erryton seemed to be a blend of rural and commercial, with plenty of stone and brick buildings. Pansy’s home was closer to the grassland than the others, but from where Alice walked she could see both the ocean and a road to town square. She thought it looked quite tidy; all the important buildings were at the heart of the city and down at the port. The further away you got, the more the land was lush and leafy. That wasn’t to say there weren’t spots of green in town – there was a local park, and an effort had been made to add trees to the main roads every-other-streetlamp. There were a few cars on the road, but not many. It was that time of day where everyone was already where they were meant to be.

Alice found herself drifting away from the centre of town. Despite the inviting atmosphere, she didn’t want to be among other people right now. Instead, she made her way north, toward a spacious plot of land. An impressively large home stood there, cut off from view by a brick wall, trimmed bushes, and an ornate black gate. It was even further from town square than Pansy’s house. This had to be Queenie’s Villa.  Alice stood on her tiptoes to peer through the black bars and get a better view of the garden inside. There was a marble fountain out front, carved to feature dragons. It made a soothing, trickling sound, and had a big, paved path beneath it. On either side were blue rosebushes as far as the eye could see – which, from where Alice stood, wasn’t very far. Tilting her head, she took a look at the villa itself. It was a modern build, but it had been designed to look old-fashioned. Despite its largeness, she was surprised Queenie hadn’t gone bigger.

She didn’t want to be caught staring, so she took a step back. Faintly, she thought she heard something—was someone calling to her from the house? Alice squinted, straining her eyes and ears for the sight or sound of someone. There was no one in the garden, or near the house. Her eyes were instead drawn to the intercom, and then to the letterbox hung on the gate. If she were braver, she’d call in and ask right there. But she wasn’t, so she walked away.

Perhaps what she heard came from behind the house. It took some walking to get to the other side, paved path becoming trodden grass, but beyond the villa was a dense evergreen forest. Alice took a few steps off the path toward it. If she went through there, then maybe…

“Hey, dumbass!”

Alice froze at the sound of the masculine voice, fearing confrontation. Once she mustered up the courage to turn, however, her apprehension became annoyance. She knew who that was.

On the dirt road, the door to a rusty red pickup truck opened to reveal a man with a farm jacket and muddy boots, who strode over to begin his lecture. “I know you’ve got a fuzzy head or whatever, but you can’t just wander in there! A pack of wulves would tear you apart right out the gate. Hell, human like you’d even get trampled by a heartstag…”

Alice scowled, cheeks burning red. She knew he was right; she hadn’t been thinking, but he was being too rude for her to admit it. “It’s nice to see you too, Pablo,” she said sourly. “How did you know I was here? Do you have a sixth sense that tells you when pathetic humans are nearby?”

“I was just telling it how it is, nothing personal.” He ran a hand through is hair, scratching there and considering his next sentence. “I didn’t. Stopped the truck ‘cause your friend noticed you by the road, said he—”

“Alice!”

She had less than a second to brace herself before a dashing blur scooped her into a hug. Thankfully, said blur had very scrawny arms.

“Uff—Taylor?” Alice squirmed a little. “It’s good to see you but, uh, could you maybe … not?”

“Sorry—sorry,” he released the hold immediately. “I was overexcited; it’s been a long time since we’ve seen eachother. How many years has it been? It must have been when I left Forsythia, but the exact details escape me.”

“Uh, yep.” Alice nodded stiffly, uncomfortably reminded of the town’s collective amnesia. Looking him up and down, she didn’t think it would be good to mention that she couldn’t remember how they’d met—not right now, anyway. She did remember that Taylor was human, just like her, and a close friend. But not remembering how made her feel a secret shame.

Pablo decided it was time to interrupt. “Pansy told me you only got up a few days ago. Good to see you gettin’ fresh air, but I figure I should take you back right around now.”

“Oh—probably,” Alice said slowly. So much had happened in the span of a few minutes—she supposed she’d have to leave the forest behind. There was no guarantee that the voice hadn’t just been imaginary anyway.

Pablo’s truck was a two-seater, and his son was wating patiently inside, so the pair of humans had to get in the back.

“This doesn’t feel very safe,” Alice mumbled.

“Don’t worry,” Taylor reassured her, “Pablo drives slow, and there’s this belt strap you can hold onto when there’s bumps in the road.” He showed her the worn attachment behind them.

“I’d prefer a seatbelt…”

After a steady drive, they were back on the main road, and Pablo’s truck stopped outside Pansy’s house. Alice felt wobbly getting out, but Taylor offered her a hand, which helped.

Pansy’s front door was already open, and Pablo’s son ran ahead inside once they heard voices within.

“We were already headed this way,” Pablo explains, talking to Alice while facing away, “Pansy took Lyra out with her, and they said they’d be coming back here to make dinner.”

So that’s where Pansy had gone. As Pablo and Taylor entered the doorway, Alice followed and tried to remember who Lyra was. Pablo’s wife, decidedly. She didn’t know her very well. Despite this, she recognized the mermaid when she saw her—and soon remembered that Lyra wouldn’t be able to do the same. But the others were doing the talking for her.

“Mom, I brushed the baby goat. It was so soft.”

“That’s lovely, Ashe. Those new fluffy chicks will be coming soon too, right Pablo?”

Her husband nodded slowly. “Yes. Though they won’t be fluffy to start with.”

Taylor, unable to stay quiet for long, announced himself. “Good afternoon! Alice and I have returned to spend time with you all. Where’s Miss Pansy?”

In the midst of the hubbub, Alice noticed that there was an orange aquatic cat-creature settled on Lyra’s lap. Opening its eyes no more than a sliver, it batted Lyra with a paw. This seemed to give her the clear to turn her wheelchair in the direction of Taylor’s voice. “Good afternoon,” she replied with a slight smile. “She’s in the kitchen. Now, Alice, I don’t think we’ve met before. But Pansy’s been telling me a lot about you.”

“Um, yes.” Alice fidgeted. She wasn’t sure what to say to that, and everyone was looking at her with unspoken expectations. “Nice to meet you.” How did she recognize what Lyra looked like if this was their first meeting? Maybe she’d seen a photograph…

Lyra laughed, though Alice wasn’t sure what the joke was. “Don’t worry, she didn’t tell me anything incriminating. Only that she’s been calling you ‘Custard’ since you washed up in Custard Cove. But that’s okay. I’ve washed up on the beach before too.” As if to emphasise her point, she flicked the fins of her mermaid tail. “And Taylor—looking around the farm again, were you?”

Pablo grunted. “Loitering, more like.”

Taylor took this in good humour. “I have time off! And it’s a good thing I did, or I wouldn’t have met up with my old friend.” He gave a warm glance back at Alice, but it made her insides feel like wet cardboard.

“I was just taking a walk,” Alice explained. “You know, to get my head right. I’ve never really been around Erryton before.”

Now that he’d lost his mother’s attention, Ashe seemed completely disengaged with the adults’ conversation and wandered off into another room. He returned carrying a startled Primrose, who herself was gripping onto a large foam piece of jigsaw. Pablo headed over at once to supervise.

Lyra’s finned ears pricked, picking up on this movement, but she was still focused on Alice’s words. “Oh yes. Erryton’s quite a big place. Not as big as my hometown, mind you, but big enough to lose your bearings if you’re not familiar with the lay of the land.”

“Yes, um.” Alice’s eyes darted down as the creature in Lyra’s lap yawned. “Is this your cat?”

“This is Mango. More specifically, she’s a fishkit, and my seeing-eye cat.” Lyra’s smile widened. “She can also speak for herself.”

“Mango does not wish to speak to the rabble,” the orange lump grumbled.

Taylor shrugged, raising eyebrows at Alice. “If you want one that’ll talk to you, there’s a real chatty purple one near the docks.”

“Bloosh,” Mango spat.

“I see.” Alice looked back at Lyra. Her red hair obscured most of her face, but it was clear she found Alice’s choice of words amusing. “I mean, um. Maybe I’ll try that sometime. Does anyone know what Pansy’s making for dinner?”

“Curry.” Pansy’s voice. The humans turned to see her emerging from the kitchen, wooden spoon in-hand and a bright expression on her face. “There’s plenty for everyone, if you’d all so kindly take a seat in the dining room, we can get started.”

Everyone began to filter through, but Lyra stayed put. “Alice,” she stopped her.

“Er—yeah?”

“Pansy also mentioned you’d written to Miss Von Drachen. I don’t know much about Lady Queenie herself, but my family has some history with hers.”

Alice felt silly repeating herself, but she wanted to hear more. “Yeah…?”

“You seem like a nice girl. So … I’m warning you to be careful. The Von Drachens—they’re not the kind of people that hand things over without a catch.”

Nodding, Alice remembered she should vocalise. “Yes—I will. Um. Thank you for your concern, Lyra. I’ll try to be alert.”

“No problem—now let’s go get some curry, shall we?”

---

||Previous|| - ||Next||

[turing-tested]

To give additional data on the produce festival theory, my hometown has a rutabaga fest and the only rutabaga present is the fiberglass statue of the mascot. We haven't even grown rutabaga in like a century it's all green beans and grains now.

i love how every time i get on to go thru hals asks theres more asks about local food festivals.

i like this rutabaga mascot. if this were the central like magnet rutabaga that kept rutabaga fest in my town i would be content with that

[sasquapossum]

Retirement is tougher than you might think. Today's schedule:

Get up at 6am

Run 5km in the already hot/humid air, stretch, etc.

Go back to bed for an hour or so

Get up, shave, shower, etc.

Work the ski-club booth (yes in this weather) at a local "Town Day" thing so we can get more members and not have to shut the whole thing down

Wash dishes from last night's dinner (which I cooked as I've been doing every night for four months except when I fetch takeout instead)

Go to the grocery store

Make a cheesecake

Pick up my daughter from work

Make an extra large batch of "yummy slaw"

More dishes

short break

Dinner and early evening with in-laws (hence the cheesecake and slaw)

Does that seem relaxing to you? Especially for an introvert it's not. The two social events alone are enough to exhaust me, never mind the stuff in between. I love my in-laws because they're wonderful people, and I'm glad to see them, but my batteries are already run down and we haven't even gotten to that part yet. Maybe I'll start that next resin project tomorrow (after I upgrade the memory in my daughter's computer). Just no energy for it today. After we get back, I'm turning into a rutabaga.

[ferbracket]

Candace Competition

2nd Dimension. ''Busting my brothers? I've spent every day of my life trying to protect my little brothers. I had to grow up pretty quick around here to make sure they didn't have to.''

Rutabaga Princess. ''This is the official rutabaga regalia for the 100th Running of the Chinchillas from Danville to Badger Town. By wearing this it will entice the chinchillas to follow me the Princess!''