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insomniac-dot-ink · 10 months

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Stories for the Salt

(Genre: Spooky campfire story urban fantasy, wlw background romance)

Summary: A daughter is visiting her mother to help pack up her house and move her out of the mountains. Instead, she encounters a bedraggled hiker that appeared from the woods.

PART 1

Casper had heard two things since she arrived at her mom’s house: "Don’t touch that." And "Fresh air is good for you." Emphasis on the good like Casper had yet to fully grasp the concept. Casper, however, was discovering a limit for how many times you could stand on top of a mountain and contemplate the meaning of life. Then again, maybe that's what is “wrong with city people.” City people were the third topic Casper was hearing all about since her arrival.

She sat on the counter, collecting plates from the top shelf of the cupboard, valiantly ignoring the eyes boring into the back of her head. Their cat, Cassie, was unhappily somewhere else and no help whatsoever--sibling solidarity a lost cause.

Her mom cleared her throat. “I love you so much, honey bee. And I am so proud of you.”

Casper groaned at the ceiling. Where was that cat?

“But,” her mom punctuated the word like an airsoft gun release. “I have decided to cancel the movers.” “The movers aren’t canceled, mom.” Casper had checked this morning.

Her mom sat at the dining room table with one foot elevated. Pillows and ice packs cushioned the sides of a gauze-strangled ankle. Casper’s mother crossed her thin arms over her chest. One set of crutches leaned against the table next to her and her other foot was shoved into a muddy boot.

Casper desperately wanted to pack the woman’s hiking boots first, but forced herself to finish with the delicates. She wrapped a plate without looking up, her mom’s eyes weighing her down like cement.

“I’m sure the movers haven’t started up the mountain yet,” she enunciated each word. “Three more weeks, honey bee. The doctor said only three more weeks–that will go by in a blink of an eye.”

Casper groaned again. Is this what dad had felt like?

She plastered on a smile. “The doctor said some distractions might help too. You know, there’s this great little Greek restaurant that opened up near me. I know how you like Greek food.”

Her mom snorted. “Better than Angelo’s? Have you met my neighbor Angelo? He’s from Greece originally and his wife is from Belgium. Lovely woman and you wouldn’t even notice the false eye. They invite me over some nights in the summer, it’s a summer home and they check in on me now and again . . .”

Ah, Casper noted her mom was returning to her other favorite topic: daughter, there are neighbors. Stop worrying. Casper also wished she could stop worrying.

She finished wrapping the last of the plates and faced her mom.

“Do Angelo or Martine have medical degrees? Mom, we’ve talked about this. This whole mountain is nearly empty. There isn’t a hospital for forty minutes. People die alone out in the woods like this.”

“Only if they’re dumb. Do I look dumb to you?” Her mom barked, utilizing one of her well-worn Mom Jokes: “Okay, don’t answer that. The point is, I’ve been getting along out here for longer than most ‘solo travelers’ have been alive.” “And even well-equipped and intelligent people make mistakes. When alone. In the woods.” She gestured to her mom’s ankle swollen up to a grapefruit.

“I could just as easily take a fall in the city.” She waved Capser off. “What are we supposed to be so scared of?”

“Bad Cell service.”

“Gloria got taken for all she was worth by a phone scammer just last year. They’re targeting old bags like me, safer to be away from all that.”

“No wi-fi!”

Her mom nodded sagely. “Safer.”

Casper rolled her eyes and started listing, “a fall off the mountain. Stalked by mountain lions. Gas leak. Contaminated water–”

“Honeybee, you must think I’m dumb.”

“Bears!” She threw her hands up. “Eaten by bears!”

Her mom tightened her arms over her chest and made a guttural noise in the back of her throat. “Better than being taken out by serial killers in the city. Or eaten by them! I’d rather be eaten by bears. At least you know what they are thinking. Bear spray works a lot better than pepper spray anyway. Do you know, most attackers use the stuff back on the woman?” Her mom clicked her tongue. “Bears don’t have thumbs.”

Casper collapsed back against the cabinet. She grumbled under her breath like she was a surly teen again, “Not yet they don’t.”

“You know something about bears I don’t, missy?” Her mom raised one eyebrow. She took a deep breath. Casper was in for it. The gusto entered her tone. “You know, last year I saw a mother and two cubs. Right by the Hand Bone's trail. And I said to myself, Isla, you're only going to see this once in a lifetime. Once! You better stay right there. I didn't move a single muscle.

I wouldn’t take the bear spray out for the life of me either. She knew–that momma knew–I had my own two cubs of my own and nothing less.” The chair creaked as her mom sat up straight in it, getting into her primary story-mode. “And you know what?”

Her mom gestured. One of the ice packs dropped to the floor. Casper jumped down from the counter. She grumbled, “You saw them again the next week.”

“Once in a lifetime I told myself, only once, but what do you know, that exact mother and her cubs were crossing Jay Road the next week. I was in my car this time, much safer, but I must’ve stayed parked there for thirty minutes.”

Casper gentled her voice. “You have lived a magical life out here, mom.” And now it’s come to an end.

“No where else like it!”

Casper picked up the ice pack and tucked it against the bandages. Her mom’s ankle was still the size of a small melon and she winced when Casper adjusted the position.

Mugs and cups next. Shoes and winter coats and sweaters after that.

“It might do you some good to spend some time out here . . .” Her mom commented, probably noting the sheer number of wallowing noises Casper had been making.

Casper tilted her head all the way back and stared at the ceiling. She gathered her strength. “There’s a huge community garden right next door to me. You’ll love it. . .” Her mom gave her plaintive look and Casper mirrored it. “I don’t want to be the bad guy. You know I’d move up here if I could– or get Joey to.”

Her mom patted Casper on the sniffed and sniffed. “Would you?”

“The movers are coming in the morning.” Casper finished lamely. Her mom took her hand back.

“You both think you know so much more about what’s good for me,” the sour-ness leached through her mother’s words–like they had been a lot lately. Less poetry readings like from Casper’s childhood or bird identification out in the yard.

“And what happens if you get in trouble and I can’t get up here in time?” Casper said quietly, heart squeezing. We could read poetry in Denver, she wanted to say. I could find you birds in the rafters.

But Casper wasn't 9 anymore.

Her mother snorted. “You mean if you can't get up here in time to wrap my plates or hand me two ibuprofen . . . The city? Really? You don’t have to go back either. There’s nowhere like this in the world, honeybee.” Her eyebrows arched. “You might even meet someone.”

Casper pushed to her feet. “It’s getting dark. I’ll get the cat in.”

“There are plenty of people out here! I’ve been asking around for. Hen, my neighbor with the chickens of all things, has a granddaughter like that." Her eyes sparkled, she laughed. "Gay I mean. Oh, I used to have trouble in polite company, but age cures all foolishness. Gay, lesbian, is your daughter a homosexual? My neighbors, the Dutch woman and the Greek, looked like they’d seen a ghoul when I asked, but they admitted it’s easier to be plane once you’ve started–”

“Love you mom!” Casper called over her shoulder. “Super proud of you. Going to text the movers now.”

She heard her mom groan in the background.

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PART 2

When Casper was younger, age seemed to stretch out into infinity. When you are ten there is no such thing as twenty-five and when you’re twenty-five thirty feels like an entirely different planet. You never really expect when your mom gets old enough to hurt and you have to help her to the toilet in the middle of the night. Thirty-two snuck up on Casper.

She ran a hand through her hair, squinting out over the mountains. The peaks were covered in scraggly pine trees and washed-out summer skies. More than a mile high and the air was thin and chilled in her lungs. The sun dipped behind the far mountains and the gorge lit up in oranges and pinks. Dipping and rising, the mountains rolled like ocean waves. Clouds like tides nestled between the teeth of the land, glowing a sun-dipped rose color.

Has anyone else ever felt so miserable staring at something so beautiful? Casper sighed.

Maybe her 16-year-old self had been right. There is something wrong with you. Casper chuckled at the thought. At least she never had to be 16 again.

One or two houses dotted the mountain, but mostly there was nothing but sky and trees clinging to the side of slopes. Pockets of real estate had managed to establish summer homes and outdoorsy Airbnbs, but they were far between. Jay Road wasn’t even called Jay Town after all these years. The neighbors her mom prattled on about lived a mile apart each and some of the cabins didn’t even have running water, just outhouses and wood stoves. Which was fine. It was all fine.

But she was Casper’s mom. Brilliant and impractical. Affectionate and painfully honest. Chatty and yet obsessed with being alone. She was her mom and Casper had to do something about the distance to the hospital. Had to do something about the number of accidents piling up. Had to do something about the isolation.

Casper had unfortunately inherited her dad’s careful nature instead the ability to jump off cliffs into waterfalls or hitchhike across countrysides.

A fire lit in Casper’s belly. Her brother said he’d be back when he could. Australia didn’t have great cell service. Rescheduling flights was complicated. Mom would be fine, she was tough. It was only a few more months.

Casper started walking in the opposite direction of the gorge. She had always been proud to be called “mature for her age” and puffed up when her brother was scolded, told to act “more like your sister.” But it turned out nine-year-old maturity wasn’t something you got dividends on. Figured.

Casper trudged down their long driveway. Gravel skidded with each step and Casper called loudly, “Cassie!” The sound of her voice echoed from somewhere. “Here kitty, kitty!”

For all her mom’s monologuing about the virtue of living by herself, it had not escaped Casper’s notice that she named her cat Cassie. Granted, the cat’s full name was Cassiopeia and her last two cats were Orion and Ursa Major.

“Cassiopeia!” Casper was already going hoarse from yelling. She walked all the way to the road. It was all gravel and dirt and potholes, and the only details of humanity were janky mailboxes lined up in a row. Their wooden posts decaying and metal sagging inward.

A hush settled over the twilight and Casper found herself wandering aimlessly. Tiny stars popped out. She wound all the way toward the cowpaths through the woods–makeshift trails that were more like dusty grooves through the pine needles. They were called Desire Paths for those with a romantic bent.

“Cassiopeia! Cas! Here kitty.”

The pine trees had a malnourished look, thin and brittle, spread far apart from one another like estranged cousins. There wasn’t enough air or water this high up for green grass or big shrubbery and she could see her house through the trunks.

Casper kicked a stray pinecone and gave herself a little lecture: Breathe in the summer pine air. Listen to the birds. Feel the crunch of needles under your boots. Be present.

It was no use, of course, whatever she was supposed to feel out here, Casper didn’t feel it. Plus, there were mugs to wrap and dinner to cook and mom’s impossible house to finish packing up.

A soft meow cane from up ahead.

“There you are!” she called. A small black cat trotted through the trees. Casper knelt down and Cassiopeioa purred loud enough to wake the dead. The cat had a narrow elfin face and impossibly thick whiskers like an old man’s wiry beard. She was a small thing, but could generate a truly astounding loud rumble– a tiny motor trying to terraform the dusty landscape.

“Don’t tell the others,” Casper whispered. “But I always knew you were the smartest.”

Her mom trained all of her cats to come in by dark, but Cassiopioa was the only one that came when you called by name. Her rumble vibrated through Casper’s palm and there was a temptation to just . . . stay there. She could squat in the woods until her heart stopped squeezing and the world stopped spinning.

She scratched the cat behind her ears. “Sorry, bud. The cat carrier won’t be any fun but I promise it’ll be short.” Casper shook her head “Well. Let’s get today over with.” She stood. “Come on, sweetie.”

The cat trotted at Casper’s heel. She was a slow walker and would stop to sniff the ground or pretend she wasn’t following you around at all. Casper wasn’t in a hurry, though.

Twilight left ribbons of pink and purple through the sky and Casper forced herself to think about art and love and buying more plants for her apartment. She tried to listen to the music of nature or whatever it was. Casper stopped. Her skin prickled, the forest was quiet. Birdless. The cat let out a low growl and Casper jerked around.

A hiker stood behind her. The woman was pale and bedraggled and staring straight ahead. One of the hiker’s hands was outstretched behind Casper’s neck, fingers hooker, poised behind her collar.

Casper let out a muffled sound and jumped back, the cat scrambling out of the way behind her.

The hiker’s lips were cracked to the point of bleeding, the skin around her mouth chapped and red all the way to her cheek bones. Her eyes were bloodshot. A red windbreaker clung to her in damp splotches. An enormous pack hung off her shoulders, depleted and torn in parts. She was breathing hard.

The woman’s knees buckled inward. She fell to her knees.

The hiker rasped, “help me.”

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PART 3

Casper staggered, sweat beading on her brow. The hiker was limp against her side—head lulled onto Casper’s shoulder and eyes half-lidded and empty. Holding most of her weight, Casper was lucky the woman was light as a large pile of sticks.

Gravel crunched under Casper’s shoes and her mother’s robin-egg-blue house drew near. The cat was lashing her tail back and forth at the back door, waiting, ears pressed to her skull.

Casper side-eyed the hiker, dragging her to the door. She wet her lips. “How long have you been out here?” she asked in soft tones, gentled into a nursery-rhyme rhythm. “Do you know where you are?”

The woman’s eyes remained half-open and unseeing. Her lips were parted and cracked to bleeding. Casper winced.

“I’ll get you some water the moment we get in,” she hissed, and the woman closed her eyes.

They crossed the lawn and the hiker managed to prop herself up as Casper ran to get the door open. The cat darted into the house the moment the door was cracked, and Casper called through the hallways.

“Mom!” Casper was suddenly glad she had her mother. “Can you get the first aid kit?”

“What’s that?” Thumping sounds answered and soft “ow.”

Brine filled her nose. Casper swung around and the woman was standing behind her, eyes bloodshot and wide. “Um,” Casper flattened herself to the wall, mind racing. “Do you want to wait outside actually?”

The woman swallowed several times and pointed to her mouth.

“Right, right, right.”

Her mom rounded the corner, crutches clattering against the hardwood floor, expression pinched.

“Who is that?”

“Mom! Stay with, uh, her. I’ll be right back.”

They got the hiker into the house despite Casper’s worry flaring like a rash. She supposed there was no point in talking about the importance of having neighbors if she refused to be neighborly. Her mom shot off questions and then petered off when the woman coughed into her fist, whole chest shaking.

“Where did she come from?” Her voice shook and Casper paused. Isla, of all things, was not known for being fearful.

“I don’t know. I picked her up in the woods.”

The hiker leaned against the doorframe, eyes fluttering shut and muttering strings of hoarse words. Casper darted to the kitchen. The nearest hospital was a long way away. She filled up an enormous glass of water, remembering to add some electrolytes.

“Good lord is that woman alright?” her mother muttered. She stood in the hallway, eyeing the stranger.

Casper glanced between them, her mom’s crutches, the woman’s ragged form. The timing couldn’t be worse. It was just Casper.

“Mom, I may need to borrow the car–”

“Who is that?” Her mom repeated, staring.

“She’s not well. I don’t think ambulances come up this way–”

“They don’t. Casper! Who is this?”

Casper strode into the living room, mimicking how she imagined the ER doctors held themselves upright. Grabbing the couch cushions from the unwrapped furniture, she lined them up on the floor. She tuned-out her mom’s questions and guided the woman across the room.

“Here, ma’am, please lie down.” The woman stammered something back and Casper held her breath. The hiker smelled overwhelmingly of stale sweat. Casper ignored how her own shirt was damp from holding her up and eased her down on the makeshift mat.

The woman pointed at her mouth again and Casper held up the glass, tipping her chin up. “Just a small sip.”

Water dribbled out of the side of hiker’s mouth, running down her cheek. She closed her eyes in the next second and collapsed back. Casper exhaled. Well. Shit.

An image flashed in her mind’s eyes. The woman, standing behind her, hand outstretched, fingers hooked near Casper’s neck and a shine in her eyes. Casper shook her head as to dislodge the thought. She worked in a hospital, even if it was just administration. She knew better than to expect shock to look the same on everyone.

Her mother cleared her throat. “So. Where in the woods?”

“Nearby. She was looking for help.”

Casper stood, knees cracked and back straining. Food would probably help. More water.

“She must’ve gotten lost from one of the trails.” Casper silently urged her mom to not mention solo hikers being “dumb.” She glanced between them. “Or from that big gorge one.”

Her mom pursed her lips, brow furrowing. She looked coolly over Casper’s shoulder. “Dear, which trail were you on? Do you remember?” Casper whipped around and the woman’s eyes were open wide. “What happened to your gear?”

The hiker shook her head, shaking. Casper knelt without thinking and handed over the water. “Here. A little more.”

The woman grabbed the glass in both hands. She tilted her head back and drank like a racehorse, glugging and noisy. Water spilled down her front and Casper politely looked away, some sense of propriety surfacing.

Casper willed her brain to work. Twilight was descending and the roads were awful to drive on at night—she’d have to do something quick.

“Mom, let’s go talk in the other room.” She stood, whispering, “is the truck filled up?”

“The truck?” Her mom frowned. “This young lady should get to decide whether she wants to be forced off the mountain.”

Casper rubbed her temple. “What?”

“She survived this long. Some people don’t like quitting halfway through.”

Casper narrowed her eyes to slits. She couldn’t be serious.

“No!” The hiker spit-up water down her front. “I can’t go back. Look, it’s dark.”

They studied her. The woman’s entire front was wet, straight black hair plastered to her cheeks and chest heaving.

“Easy now,” her mom put out a hand. “We won’t force you. I understand these parts. We can take you wherever your party is or down the road to the sheriff–”

The woman shook her head vigorously. Her pupils seemed to pulse, and she spoke in rapid gulps, “Not back. Not down that way. They’ll come from there.”

“Okay.” Casper put her hands up like calming a spooked animal. “We don’t have to go anywhere just yet. You can rest here, you’ll be safe.”

“No!” The hiker gnashed her teeth and the alertness returned to her gaze. She glanced around, faltering upright and falling back down again. “Where are we?”

“You’re near Hand Bone’s peak. Off the main road,” her mother said slowly.

“Do you know how you got here?” Casper added at the same moment. This might be a worse case than she thought.

“How late is it?” the woman’s chest started rising and falling rapidly. “How big is the moon . . .?”

Casper and her mom shared a look. Her mom recovered first.

“Want some more water, dear?”

The woman pressed her palms to the floor and lifted herself up in a painful lurch. Casper put a hand on her shoulder.

“You’re not well,” she murmured. The woman’s shoulder was chilled and shaking under her touch. “Can I get some more water? A blanket?” Casper ran through her mental list: blanket, first aid kit, maybe some bread, a call down the mountain.

Then packing the house. Somehow.

Her mother gasped and Casper wanted to shout, “what now?!” The woman had wrenched the sleeve of her jacket up. Her arm was covered in purpling bruises.

“Casper!”

“I’m on it.” Casper fumbled for the first aid kit her mom dragged out. The hiker went very still.

“It’s quiet,” she said, eyes roving over the room and body taut. Casper remembered the hand behind her collar. “Where is your cat?”

Shock looks different on everyone.

Casper held herself motionless, mirroring the young woman. “What’s your name?”

The hiker’s eyes narrowed. She growled, “Who are you? Whose house is this?”

“Easy now,” her mom repeated. “It’s mine. You’re not feeling very well right now. Would you like some aspirin? We’re going to call someone to help you feel better.”

The woman's forehead was slick with sweat. She itched at her arm and Casper forced down bile. The odd bruises covered her forearm like an abstract painting, purples and yellows molting together.

Casper tore her eyes away and took deep even breaths. The moon was enormous through the window, a perfect yellow disc through the trees.

The hiker’s breath came in rapid bursts and Casper forced herself to grab her shoulder again and ease back down.

“My name is Casper Lake. Do you know what year it is?” Casper asked clumsily. “Do you know your name?”

“My name is Maya,” she said through gritted teeth, lips bleeding sluggishly. “And I am trying to get out of here.”

“We’ll try and help y—”

Maya jerked forward to her hands and knees all at once. Casper put a hand on her back and then recoiled, falling to the floor and paling. Clear water poured from the woman’s open mouth as she puked an endless stream on the floor.

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#campfire story #urban fantasy #short story #spilled ink #ghost story #part 1 #stories for the salt #long post cw

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voregeoise · 1 year

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A Hunger (prototype)

Happy vore day my fellow freaks(affectionate)! I made this for ya! It started off as just experimenting with tropes I hadn't messed with before.There should be another tale out today that's far less angsty. In the meantime, enjoy this longer tale!

(Posting this draft rn, just ignore that last part)

His name was Vall. He was a Vulcanite.

Compared to his human roommate he was an odd being. Tall, two sets of arms, a pair of antennae and golden eyes. The majority of his body was almost always cloaked by wing-like extremities that were covered in a dense layer of white fur, leaving only his head with its grey keratin shell poking out the top. They were thought to once have been used to scare predators away and look less threatening on the fly. To extend them to reveal multiple limbs and appear larger. Or keep them closed to look more amiable to friends and allies. His kind were also intelligent. It was their knowledge and technological prowess that took them and humans to the local moons of their world so quickly.

But most interesting of all was their ability to halt most bodily processes. They could stop beating their heart for up to five minutes, hold their breath for almost an hour, stop digestion at a moment's notice and halt most brain activity for several minutes. It's assumed these powers evolved to avoid detection from predators thousands of years ago, and simply stuck around even after they stopped being useful.

His human roommate was a nice fellow. He was a private man, he kept to himself, sometimes to his detriment. But he liked him. He was the only person he really connected with, he was nervous around other people. He was a very close friend. A little under six feet tall, tiny compared to him who stood just over fourteen feet tall. He worked at the same job as him, at an aerospace engineering firm. They had met years ago. And now shared they a home together. Their lives were good. Everything was fine, that was until he started having episodes.

He was sleeping when it first happened. He was awoken by an agonizing, gnawing hunger. It felt like had had been starved for weeks. He had eaten only a few hours ago. Why did he feel so hungry? It hurt terribly. He winced and groaned in agony. He tried not to cry, but the pain made in difficult to keep himself together. Thankfully this racket managed to wake his friend.

"Are you okay?"

"No! Fuck, that hurts. I need you to get me something to eat. Grab as much as you can hold and bring it to me!"

"What do you want?"

"I don't care damnit! I said to get me something to eat! Grab any-"

His yelling was cut off by him collapsing to the ground from a sudden intensification of the pain. He clutched his middle, writhing in agony. He heard his roommate run downstairs to the kitchen. A minute later he heard the door open and in walked his friend with as much food as he could carry. He picked himself up and made a beeline strait for him.

He snatched it out of his hands and scarfed it down. In only a minute or two he ate enough food to last him a few days. He didn't even chew. He couldn't wait that long, he needed to pain gone now.

When he finished eating he collected himself. What just happened? Why was he so hungry? What was wrong with him? He turned to his friend, he had a shocked look on his face. There was an awkward silence before either spoke.

"A-Are you okay?"

"No?"

"What happened?"

"I don't know! I just felt like I was starving."

"What do we do?"

"I-I think we should go to the hospital."

A speedy trip to the doctor gave few answers. They figured out that he wasn't actually starving, his brain just thought he was. They had no answer for why this happened, the only idea that they had was that it may have been a mental breakdown. But that didn't make sense, he was mentally well, happy and wasn't stressed. But that was their only idea. They didn't know what possibly could have happened. They could only hope it was one off.

It wasn't.

-------

Two months later it happened again. He was sprawled out on the couch a few feet from his friend. He was scrolling through social media when suddenly it struck. A stabbing pain, far, far worse then last time. It felt like hell. Thankfully his friend knew what was happening. Just like last time he ran to go grab something for him to eat. And just like last time he scarfed it down in only a minute. But it wasn't enough, he still felt like he was starving. The food barely numbed the pain enough for him to get up and run to the fridge himself. His roommate looked on in horror as he tore through everything in there.

--------

It was late. And they were out of food. They had had guests over last night. His roommate was supposed to go to the store but everything was closed. He'd go in the morning. But there was a little nervousness between them. It had been two months since the last episode. They were on borrowed time, but they only had to make it through the night. Surely they would be fine, right? What were the odds that an episode started tonight? Well, worryingly likely. They weren't sure he could make it through the night if one struck tonight. They just had to hope. But luck wasn't on their side tonight.

They were so close too. It struck early in the day, the sun wasn't even up yet. An agonized scream woke them up. They both instantly knew what was happening.

"Oh, oh no. Vall, there's nothing for you. It'll be thirty minutes until the stores open and it'll take another thirty minutes until I can bring your food home. Can you last an hour?"

"A-An hour?! I-I can't do that! There's got to be something! Anything!"

"We both know that there's no food. I can get you some painkillers if you think that might help."

Painkillers helped, but they didn't fix it. It was like putting a band-aid on a broken bone. He sat there for a few minutes, groaning in pain. Every second that passed he became more and more desperate. There had to be something! He could eat the houseplants, maybe he could take some food from the neighbors or he could eat hi-

He stopped that thought before it could finish. He could never. Eat him? He'd never do that, no matter how much it hurt. He wasn't a meal, he was a friend! How could he even dare think such a thing! That was too far.

A sudden increase in pain forced him to reconsider, or at least think about it.

Well, maybe he could? He'd be fine, right? He was probably big enough to get him down without hurting him. He wouldn't digest, he could stop his digestion process at will! He didn't need to digest him! His brain was lying to him! He just needed to eat something, anything. To hold him over until the stores opened and he could get some real food. Get something in his stomach. But to eat him?! He couldn't! He wouldn't!

But he was just so, so, hungry. He had to eat. He couldn't wait an hour. He wasn't sure if he could wait another minute. But did that really mean eating his best friend alive? He knew he shouldn't, but the agony in his middle was a good argument that maybe it wasn't the worst idea.

He turned to him, he was pacing the room. Just looking at him he felt hungrier. He looked so, appetizing. No, he tried to force those thoughts out of his mind. What was wrong with him? He felt shame flow through him, before it was drowned out by pain. He had to eat something. But this? Could he really bring himself to eat his friend? He'd known him for years, he was his only real friend! Could he really treat him like a meal? His conflictions were silenced by a gruesome agony. He had to, to make the pain go away.

He stood, it hurt worse then he could imagine. His friend seemed shocked that he could even bring himself to stand.

"Vall? What are you doing?"

He stepped towards him. He felt tears welling in his eyes. He didn't want to this, b-but it wouldn't hurt him right? H-He'd be f-fine in there. He slowly parted his cloak revealing two of his arms. He reached out for him and grabbed his shoulders.

"V-Vall? You're scaring me... What are you doing?"

"I-I'm so sorry about this."

"VALL?! What do you mean?!"

He lifted him until they were eye to eye. Was he really about to do this? I-It wasn't too late to put him down. A stabbing sensation in his stomach prevented him from stopping, he had to make the pain go away. He fully parted his cloak revealing his second set of arms. Fully stretched out his cloak reached end to end of the room. He looked almost angelic, but to his friend he must have looked like a demon to his friend. He reached out and grabbed his legs to stop him from struggling.

He could see the fear on his face, he felt terrible. B-But he wasn't in any danger! It'd only be a little while in there!

"W-What are you going to do?"

"Im just so hungry. P-please forgive me."

His friend who seemed so much smaller then usual stared him up and down, until his eyes went wide with shock as he realized what was about to happen to him.

"WAIT!! Vall no! Put me down, please! I can figure something out! I promise! Just please don't hurt me!"

"I-I'm not going to hurt you! You'll be fine! I-I promise! I'-Im just s-so hungry. Just p-please don't fight it!"

"Vall wai-"

He cut him off by shoving his head in his mouth. He could taste him, to his starved mind he was delicious. He never thought he would think that. He could feel him struggling, but he was no match for his size and strength. He pushed him further into his mouth and swallowed. He could feel his head lodged in his throat. He franticly tried to quickly gulp him down. He tilted his head into the air, slamming his friends legs into the ceiling. With his shoulders firmly pushed into his throat he was practically choking. He needed to get him down quick. He felt as more and more of him was crammed inside of him. He could hear him shouting something but couldn't make it out, he was too focused on his meal. Only a few seconds later the only part of his friend still outside of him was the tips of his feet, and in one more gulp, he was gone. Almost as quickly as it had started he was gone. Completely within him. He gasped for air. He took a few breaths and retracted his cloak once more. He let out a belch. He felt so full. But despite that, from the outside you would never guess what had just happened. His friend was entirely hidden by his cloak. The hunger was gone now, completely sated, he felt calm. For a moment that is.

Only a few seconds later the weight of his actions came crashing down on him. Had... had he really just done that?! Did he just eat his friend?! No... no, no! This had to be a dream of some kind! He was in denial, and he knew it. He felt movement inside him. As the weight of that feeling hit him, erything seemed to lose color, it felt like time was slowing around him. The intense feeling of shame, regret, disgust washed over him. He had just eaten him, alive. That thought rang through his head. What started as the slight sting in his eye quickly changed to complete sobbing. He was a monster! Why had he done this?! How could he?! He was a danger to the people around him! He didn't know what to do as those thoughts swirled violently through out his mind. He felt completely alone. Until he heard his friend speak.

"V-Vall? A-Am I going to be okay?"

"Y-Yes." He squeaked out between sobs.

"Why? Why did you do this? Why?!"

"I-I... I just... I-I.."

He felt him kick, the pain almost knocked him to the ground.

"Answer me Vall! Why did you do this?! What the fuck is wrong with you?!?!"

"P-please don't s-struggle."

"I'm going to struggle you freak! What the fuck Vall?! Spit me out!"

"I-I will.. Just p-please stop, i-it hurts when you kick."

He felt another kick. It knocked the wind out of him for a moment.

"I fucking hope it does! I was going to help you! And you pull this shit?! What the fuck is wrong with you?!?!"

He had no answer. He deserved the pain of his kicking and struggling. He just collapsed to the floor and started sobbing harder. He just wanted to shrivel up and die. Years of friendship and trust destroyed, all because he couldn't wait. Every time he felt him squirm or kick or struggle in there his demands for answers rang through his head louder and louder. He felt like a monster. He only wanted to say one thing.

"I-I'm so sorry."

He curreled up and tried to cloak his head too. He wanted to be hidden away from the world, so nobody else would know the horror that became of him. So he couldn't hurt anyone else. He laid there form a few minutes, crying to himself, regretting everything he had ever done. He barely even realized that his friend wasn't struggling anymore. He heard him speak up again, softer this time.

"Vall? It's okay. I'm sorry too."

"W-What do you mean? Why are you sorry? I did this!"

"Me screaming at you is only making you worse. Just, take your time to calm down, it's okay, I forgive you."

"Y-You... f-forgive.... me?"

"I do. You'd never hurt me. I trust that you did this for a reason."

He couldn't belive it. After everything he had done, he still forgave him. He could hear his friend's voice shake, he was still a little scared but he seemed to truly believe that he was safe. His mind seemed to calm a little, maybe they could work this out. He tried to collect himself, but it hard. It took a while to just get to a state where he wouldn't break down if he even thought about what he had done. Maybe now he could talk to his friend.

"A-Are you okay in there?"

"I'm fine, if a little cramped."

"Let's t-try and get you out."

"No, not yet, I have questions."

"What do you mean?"

"I want to know why. Why did you do this?"

He felt tears sting in his eyes once more, but he had to keep himself together, he owed him answers.

"I couldn't wait that long. It hurt, so, so much. I didn't want to do this, I just couldn't take the pain. I knew you be okay, you were never in danger, I just needed something, anything to hold me over until the stores opened."

"Well is it working?"

"Yes, it is." He responded shamefully.

"How long until the stores open?"

"Twenty minutes, but you won't have to be there that long, I'll get you out now, I can deal with the pain."

"No Vall, you can't. Well be right back at square one."

"What do you mean?"

"You clearly cannot deal with the pain."

"Well what's other option?"

"I could wait here for a while?"

"W-What?"

"I could stay here for bit, for you."

"W-Why would you want that?"

"It's not that bad in here, I don't mind staying here for some time if it means you aren't in so much pain."

"A-Are you sure?"

"I'm sure, why don't you try and relax in bed?"

Maybe he was right. Maybe he should just try and relax. They'd both been through a lot in only a few minutes. He picked himself up off the ground with some difficulty. It was a little challenging to maintain his balance, with the hundred and fifty pounds of extra weight in his abdomen. He made sure to carefully lower himself on to his bed, as to not disturb his friend. When he eventually laid back down he finally was able to fully relax, and only then could he really take in the sensations he was feeling.

He could make out every movement, squirm or shift his friend made. It was a strange feeling. But without the fear and regret from before, he almost, enjoyed it? It tickled a little. But it a good way. Like a soothing massage. He could feel his friends breathing. The steady rise and fall of his chest. He could feel the warmth of his friends body heat, it made him feel sort of cozy. He curiously pulled his cloak back to see where his friend was stored. It didn't look all that much different then normal, maybe a minor bulge on his belly but that was it. His friend was almost completely buried under so much him. He was so hidden, yet so close. Only a thin layer of flesh away was him. He hovered his hand over it, an intense desire to feel him. But something held him back for moment, nervousness perhaps? It didn't stop him for long, he gently touched his middle, and to his surprise he felt him touch back. He felt so close to him in that moment. Emotionally and physically.

He wondered what it was like for him, to be in his stomach. It couldn't hurt to ask, right?

"What's it like in there?"

"Blue, your stomach is a deep blue."

"It is?"

"So was your maw."

He look at the mirror in the room and opened his mouth. He was right, it was a deep rich blue. He had never really thought about it that much. It never really struck him as something notable, all members of his species had blue maws. But now, it was a comforting thought to know his friend surrounded by such a nice color.

"I ment, what's it feel like?"

"It's sort of soft and not too small."

"I thought you said it was cramped?"

"It's tight, but not in a bad way."

"Cozy?"

"l-l uh, wouldnt say that. Oh and wet, it is very wet in here."

"Is that bad?"

"Not really, I'm soaked but, I don't really mind. But I am going to need a towel once I'm out of here."

"I can get you that when you're out."

"Thank you."

--------

The sun was up, it had been up for a few hours now. The stores had open a long time ago, but neither of them brought it up, he wondered why he hadn't spoken up yet, but he didn't mind, he enjoyed him being in there. But they couldn't sit here forever, they eventually had to get something for him to really eat. Eventually his roommate floated the question.

"So, how about we think about getting you something to really eat."

"Do you want to run out to the store?"

"It'll still take a while to get there, grab the food and get it back to you. I think you should get it."

"What? I should go out, IN PUBLIC, with you in there? Are you serious?"

"Am I really that noticeable? Am I not hidden by your cloak?"

He did have a point, he looked no different then usual from the outside. But to go out and interact with people, in this state. He was terrible with people normally, he couldn't imagine trying to talk to someone with another, living, breathing being inside of him. Just thinking about it made him nervous. But he really didn't want to deal with the pain a second longer than he had to.

"No" he begrudgingly admitted.

"You can get your food, come home, spit me out and eat some real food."

"But what if somebody asks why I'm walking funny? What if somebody notices the little bulge when I'm holding things?"

"Just.... say you had a good meal or something, I highly doubt anyone will immediately assume you ate somebody."

"You do have a point."

"See? You'll only be out for half an hour. If for whatever reason somebody finds out, you can pin all the blame on me."

He felt calmer, maybe he could. Maybe he could go out and get his food like this.

A few minutes later he was waiting at a bus stop. There was a few more people waiting too. All humans, his kind were vastly out numbered by humans. There was about a hundred humans for every Vulcanite. He stood out. He tried his best to keep his cool. Nobody seemed to notice his anxious behavior. Only a few minutes later the bus arrived. He ducked his head as he stepped on. While modern infrastructure was designed for both humans and Vulcanites, but it was hard to make everything suitable for such large beings.

He wondered if he should sit down or stand on the bus, if he sat it would draw less attention but it would be uncomfortable for his friend, but, if he stood people might notice his.... meal. No, he was over thinking this. Nobody would notice if he stood.

Ten minutes later he ducked his head once more as he stepped of the bus. He was here. When he walked about. He made sure to grab twice the food he'd normally get. He knew that he would eat a lot once they got home, so he should make sure they had more food after he was done. He was shocked to see that no one took notice of him. Well not entirely, he occasionally got a few curious looks from people who didn't see Vulcanites much. He didn't mind though. He understood that humans were very curious beings.

When he grabbed everything he'd need he made his way to the check out. He recognized one of the cashiers. Anne. She was one of the guests they'd had over just yesterday. He looked down at his stomach. The ones that had eaten the last of their food, the ones that had driven him to eat his friend. He didn't mind. He was almost glad that they had run out of food. It had led him to this unique experience.

He made his way over to her and put his groceries next to her.

"Oh! Vall it's you!"

"Y-yeah, it's me."

"Sorry for eating the last of your food."

He awkwardly chuckled.

"It's alright, no harm done."

"Thank you, say where's your roommate? I usually see him here, never you."

He panicked to think of an excuse. She'd be surprised to realise he was here too.

"Oh! He's... he's uh... working today! They're having issues at Helios! They needed him."

She seemed to notice his stuttering language. But she didn't push it.

"Okay... If you say so."

He quickly picked up his food and left. Even though it was minor, the exchange between him and Anne left his heart pounding, his brain had already run through all the ways he could slip up. But he made it. He walked home carrying well over a dozen large bags of food. It was a little hard to hold so much in all four hands and keep his middle hidden. But he managed.

---------

He opened to door and placed the bags on the kitchen table. He prepared himself to spit his friend out and immediately scarf down the food he had bought. No wait, he should grab a towel for his friend. He walked back downstairs and tosses the towel on the table, only then did he notice that he hadn't heard or felt his friend since he left the house. He prodded at his stomach.

"Are you alright?"

"Huh? Oh... yeah I'm fine. I just fell asleep."

"Asleep?"

"Yeah? I fell asleep. Is that an issue?"

"No, it's just, a little surprising to hear that you actually fell asleep in there. It it actually that comfortable?"

"Oh, it's, umm, alright I guess, it's not uncomfortable. Nevermind it, did you get your food?"

"Yeah, nobody noticed. I also saw Anne. She asked where you were."

"Well what did you say?"

"I told her that Helios needed you."

"Did she buy it?"

"Not entirely. She definitely knew something was up but she didn't ask. Anyway, are you ready to come out?"

"Yeah, I'm ready."

"Alright, just give me a moment."

It was at that moment he realized something. How does he make himself vomit? Could he just.... push him back up? He lodged all of his hands under the slight bulge in his middle, and pushed. It made him feel sick. But that was good. After a bit he felt him be forced back up into his throat. He felt him reach his arm up until he felt it pop back into his mouth. He quickly used two his hands to reach into his maw and grab him. It was tough to keep his grip, his hand was covered in drool. But he managed to hold on and pull him out. He felt him be dragged out of him until he was holding him in the air. He was a mess, utterly soaked in saliva. He gently put him back on the ground and handed him the towel. Only then did the hunger come back. He immediately started devouring the food around him. Only a few minutes later he felt full. He took a few deep breaths. The episode was over. Finally. He turned to his friend. He didn't seem to mind the view of his gluttony. He was too busy cleaning himself off.

---------

The sun was gone now. The unusual day they'd had was still on both of their mind. But neither showed it. They hadn't talked about it, all day. The were getting ready to go to bed. His roommate was watching a documentary on his phone in bed. And he was sat at his desk, next to the mirror, reading a novel. He heard his roommate speak.

"Are we not going to talk about what happened today?"

"Why? Is there something you want to say?"

"Well..."

He saw a look of nervousness on his face. Almost like he regretted asking. What was on his mind? Did he... enjoy his time? He assumed he might have enjoyed it. Perhaps he was a little embarrassed to admit it.

"Did you like it in there?"

"N-no!" He snapped back.

He smiled, that was it. He turned to him.

"Did you enjoy it? It's fine if you did."

"I..."

He seemed reluctant to admit it. He knew it would a little odd to say you enjoyed you're time in somebody's stomach. He didn't mind, he had enjoyed it too.

"You did, didn't you. I don't mind, I liked it too."

"Well..."

"Are you not going to admit it?"

"Maybe a bit..."

Ha! He had his answer. But there still seemed to be something on his mind. He knew him, he wouldn't admit something like this without a little... "encouragement" He had an idea. Maybe he could push him a little, it might get him to admit whatever was bothering him.

"Awww, are you upset you had to leave?"

"N-no!"

"Don't worry, you can tell me."

"....a little...."

He got up out of the chair and walk towards him. He had an idea that he might like.

"Say... Maybe you could help me during episodes, hold me over for a while, like today?"

He showed a toothy smile to signal what he was implying. He saw his friend squirm a little.

"I-If you w-want to..."

"Both of us know you want to, that's what bugging you, just admit you want to get eaten again."

"Fine. I had a good time. I wouldnt mind helping you through episodes by doing... that."

He reached out and ruffled his hair.

"Good to hear."

He walked back to his bed, and laid down. He looked at his friend, laying in bed, trying to continue his documentary. But he could see him turning to look at him every now and then. He quickly turned his head back to his phone when he noticed him staring at him. He felt a smile cover his face. He almost looked forward to the next episode. He rolled over to face the wall. He thought about the way he had teased his friend. It was oddly... fun? Just to playfully mess with him a little. He had never really done something like that. He normally didn't have enough confidence to talk like that, but after today, he felt a little more sure of himself.

He fell asleep with a smile on his face.

#i gave him tarrare disease FUCK #endo #safe vore #endosoma #pred pov #tw vore #half size vore #vore day #oh hey #the old first draft of the vore day fic #this is for my mutuals who are oh so normal about Val

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throughtrialbyfire · 8 months

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WIP Wednesday <3

thank you so much to the incredible @skyrim-forever @thequeenofthewinter @dirty-bosmer @gilgamish for tagging me this week, if you haven't read their posts or checked out their art, you absolutely should!!

i'm gonna tag @orfeoarte @umbracirrus @aphocryphas @wispstalk @thana-topsy @v1ctory-or-sovngarde @totally-not-deacon and YOU! yes, you, reader, if you haven't been tagged then consider yourself tagged and feel free to hop in! i'm so excited to see what you're all working on this week, and no pressure as always!

i'm doing another two-for-one special this week because i'm having so much fun with writing the different points of view of the dragonborn trio, and want to show how their thought processes differ when grappling with situations. these are snippets from chapters 22 and 23 of "Cycle of the Serpent", Wyndrelis and Emeros' POVs respectively. hope you enjoy it! <3

Chapter 22, Wyndrelis POV

Wyndrelis sipped coffee. Ate little. Did his best to recall yesterday. They had wandered into Solitude on a bright noon, sun glistening off the Sea of Ghosts. Every green tree and every bounce of the light off the stones and the grass, every palm of the wind along their backs and sound of Athenath's tambourine, the birds dove and swept the breath of Kyne along their wings. It had been picturesque, a painting, a moving landscape of a perfect journey. To get into Solitude, to get their official Imperial pardons. To join the Bard's College, and maybe spend a few months learning from them before heading back on the road. The kinds of things that made sense, that formed coherent images in Wyndrelis' mind. The gates opened. Then, the shouting. Then, the crowd and the gates locking and the Nord up on the block, instantaneous, nothing they could do, crowd cheering and dispersing and all so quick, all so calm, a reminder of where they were and what that meant. This land was a leviathan, spines rising from the seas of calm as a reminder that this land was fed in blood.

Athenath had cupped their fingers over their mouth. Emeros stood, still, balling his fists. Wyndrelis didn't remember anything much further. He'd slid down the city wall. He felt grass beneath his palms. Sweat on his brow. Tremors. Helgen. He smelled it still. Burnt flesh and homes destroyed. Ash still stained his clothes if he thought on it too long, creeping back just when he'd been able to push it from his mind. Emeros had made an absent motion. The other two followed him closely, Athenath fidgeting with his hands, Wyndrelis' gaze focused on the ground. The Bosmer paid for a room at the inn. The laughter at the tables and the songs of a student bard gave the Dunmer a headache. Had they eaten? Had anything to drink since they'd stepped foot into the inn - the Winking Skeever - up until now? The bitter gnawing of his stomach when he'd awoken told him no, they hadn't. He sipped water slowly. Athenath had made a small dent into their soup. Every bite took more strength than the last. Wyndrelis held his gaze on his own meal, now. Half-consumed. Barely tasted. The linger of salt on his tongue. "I don't think we're doing much of anything for a few days," Emeros commented, attempting a light tone, "so if neither of you have any immediate plans, we should…" trailing off, he caught sight of Wyndrelis, the furrow of his dark brow, then the look on Athenath's face, neutral aside from the reddening under their eyes, and he sighed, "…gods. Let's… Take a few days. To collect ourselves, I suppose. We're no good to anyone, not even ourselves, if we're in this state."

Chapter 23, Emeros POV

If Emeros ever got General Tullius and Ulfric Stormcloak together in a room, he'd kill them both. A languid haze shone off the waters of the Sea of Ghosts. He watched it from the window of the Winking Skeever with what could only be described as mild contempt. Contempt for the silence. For the goings-on of the people down the hall, at the hearth, in the town square. The sundry moods of them in all their garish hues, impish laughter coating one, stress coating another, cloaked all in these colors of the day ahead. But in none of them, did Emeros sense grief. Roggvir's head had lolled off the stone stage, landing squarely with a grotesque plop at the foot of an Imperial soldier. This had aroused no response. Another head. Another axe. What difference, then, was made in this one? None. None at all, he concluded with a quiet scoff. So, it had meant what, nothing? A life cut with a deft swinging of a blade at orders given, same as a tree fallen to a woodsman? Sawmill machinery, this war. The warmth of a hand on his arm startled him from thought. In the reflection of the glass, he saw the face of Athenath, Wyndrelis' figure hovering close behind. The night's rest had done them all some good; Athenath's unusually rosy hue returned, and Wyndrelis seemed to have regained some light in his eyes, or at the very least, stopped shaking. "You okay?" The question arrested him, a quiet surprise settling in the Bosmers features. What good would it do to answer honestly? What would be the point? They had all seen the same thing, the same, horrific thing. They shared, too, in the suffering for it, the knowledge of their own terrible near-miss with the executioners. How ironic, then, the dragons, those dreadful bastards of Akatosh, had been the ones to save them. The bashful shuffling of Wyndrelis' fur-lined boots against the stone floors drew Emeros back from his silent thoughts, meeting Athenath's gaze. "Yes, I'm fine," he replied, shaking his head, "I'm more worried about you two." The sprawl of Athenath's thumb along the side of his shoulder forced Emeros to find some way to redirect. To keep the other two grounded. He cleared his throat, turning slow on his heel to face both of his friends in full, amber eyes darting from one to the other, small smile catching on at the edges of his lips. "Truly, I do hope you're both feeling at least a little better." The other Mer glanced to one another. Emeros turned back only to the window to catch sight of a hawk, sweeping the sun away a moment, his own grave face staring back at him, his smile a grim touch. He dropped it.

#tesblr #skyrim ldb #last dragonborn #wip wednesday #writeblr #ficblr #skyrim #tes v #skyrim fanfic #skyrim fic #tes v skyrim #oc ; emeros #oc ; wyndrelis #oc ; athenath #my writing #cycle of the serpent #bishop.txt #skyrim oc

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christiansorrell · 3 months

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Play-By-Blog #19: The Isle by Luke Gearing

Welcome to my ongoing play-by-blog of The Isle by Luke Gearing! We are playing this adventure with its original system, The Vanilla Game (adjusted somewhat to fit the format). You can check out the Play-By-Blog Repository to get all caught up if you wish.

How Play-By-Blog works:

I write up the situation, NPCs, and more, just like a DM.

You vote in the poll to help decide the character's course of action.

I roll the dice, resolve actions, and write them up next week.

So on and so forth for the rest of the adventure!

Notation:

[Text in brackets is out-of-character/GM text!] "Non-italicized quotes denote text from the original adventure!" "Italicized quotations denotes NPC dialogue."

Our character: Medon Girou - Magic Cutpurse

Our maps: The Isle, The Dungeon (so far)

[You can use the links above to find Medon's Character Sheet and map of the Isle and the so far uncovered portions below the surface. On the Dungeon map, you are currently in Floor 2, in Room 12.]

Now, back to the adventure!

[As @leatherandtea commented on last week's entry, "the only way out is through!" Time to slice some eels (or die tryin')!]

You look behind you, eyeing the path you took to get into this flooded chamber, but you know that you haven't the time to turn and run, not without risking serious harm from the encroaching eels.

You keep up your offensive and bring down your katana towards the nearest eel. [Attack Roll: 14 - Above your AV of 11 - Miss!] Your attack misses, the blade striking through only water before hitting the stone floor beneath.

The eels strike out! [Attack Rolls: 3, 20 - One is under your AC of 5 due to their out-of-water fighting conditions and the other is above their AV of 11 - Misses!] Both creatures lash out at you, but you quickly recover, sidestepping their attacks.

You take a split second to collect yourself, line up your blade, and bring it across the closest eel. [Attack Roll: 10 - Between your AV of 11 and their AC of 2 - Hit! Damage Roll: 6 - Max Damage!] You sever the eel's head entirely from it's body, cutting a clean slice straight across its throat. Blackish blood sprays out onto the nearby stone wall. Just one eel left. [50 XP gained!]

The remaining eel wriggles and reaches out as your blade flies past, attempting to bite down on your right shin. [Attack Roll: 15 - Miss!] You pull your leg back, just in time and take a stronger stance. Confidence grows in your chest as you realize you've bested two of these creatures with relative ease. Perhaps you will make it out of this flooded hall alive.

You bring your katana back overhead and strike down. [Attack Roll: 3 - Hit! Damage Roll: 6 - Max Damage (again)!] Your blade lands exactly where you intended and it splits the eels from crown to belly vertically. In a spatter of blood, the final eel thrashes at the waters' edge before quieting. [50 XP gained!]

You grab the 3 eel bodies and hang them off your pack, letting their necks drain out their remaining blood onto the floor. Although the skin and eyes are strange compared to other eels you've eaten in the past, the meat itself looks good. You don't know if you'll have means to cook it, but if you can drain as much blood from the bodies as possible, it should be better than nothing to eat (if somewhat dangerous, you've always heard eel blood is poisonous).

You take a moment to rest and nibble away at the last few pieces of your pocket cheese, pondering the raised corridor and slight orange glow you can make out from within it just across the flooded chamber. [Resting roll (1d6): 2 - You recover 2 Grit!]

Seeing few other options (the iron slab to one side of the flooded chamber has no visible mechanics, if its even a door), not wanting to travel back through the trapped oil room, and absolutely not wanting to get in the water after your altercation with the eels, you ritual cast Teleport [Roll (1d6, failure on a 6): 2 - Success!] and appear in an instant in the raised corridor to the west.

Before you, the path curves downward, deeper into the stone of the Isle, bearing faint marks of worn-away stairs. From below, you can smell old seawater [The path heads down to the next floor of this expansive dungeon - Floor 3.]

[It's really fun rolling out this combat because it feels really high stakes, even to me, as I do it! I couldn't believe those 2 max damage rolls in a row. Medon is made of tougher stuff than I imagined, it seems. See you for the next one! - Christian]

PBB #20 is up now!

#meatcastle pbb #ttrpg #indie ttrpg #ttrpgs #rpg #fantasy #luke gearing #play by blog #play by post #the isle #polls #choose your own adventure

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barovianchickenandwaffles · 10 months

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Barovian Tales: Elven Knights and Summer Misery

So, there I was one quiet Tuesday, wondering if business would pick up when I got a letter.

Usually such letters are bills, notice of collections, lawsuits, or (gulp) a summons to Castle Ravenloft. But this was different. It was a letter from the Dusk Elves of Vallaki.

Dear “Uncle” Oleksii,

We hope this letter finds you well, and that business is good. (Ha, if they only knew) We request your presence at our community as soon as possible. Please cookingware and ingredients, and be prepared for some cooking.

We believe you will find this worth your time.

Warm regards,

Tharivol Moonglow

Huh. Now that’s something. Elves, for some reason, tend not to like my cuisine no matter how much lard I bake into it. They prefer “healthier food” with “more vegetables”.

Further, my short-lived business venture in Sithicus went down in flames (literally) when Elven rebels there rose up in revolt.

So, why now?

Well, a business opportunity is a business opportunity. I packed my gear and set out.

The trip to Vallaki was miserable and creepy.

First, that weird, faceless creature that haunts the outskirts of the village, and sings in a warbly voice, followed me silently for an hour outside town. Shudder.

Then, the old hags selling dream pies had a lemonade stand by the road. I knew better than to consume their wares, but then they insisted I listen to their business presentation. They wanted to sell me membership in a “Vacation Club” with time-allocated property in Kartakas. No thank you. I may have a 4th grade education but I ain’t that dumb.

Thankfully, I didn’t even have to go into Vallaki proper, just the outskirts. Too many bad memories after my betrothed was eaten by an enormous frog monster there.

I pulled my donkey wagon to the elf village just south. It’s about the closest thing to a lovely spot in Barovia (which is saying a lot) and it’s a shame I don’t come more often.

As I approached a tall, thin elf was waiting for me. This must be Tharivol Moonglow.

“Greetings Master Oleksii, and welcome,” he said in a falsetto voice, “please leave your cart here and follow me up the hill.”

I did as requested and we strode up toward the center of the village. “Your timing was impeccable.”

“Oh?” I said, suddenly getting a bad feeling.

There I saw the elf houses arranged in a ring around a common grounds in the middle. At the grounds were two sets of tables, and a makeshift hearth for cooking.

And there, smiling at me smugly was none other than Vlad, owner of Barovian Wieners and Pancakes, my rival.

“Hello Oleksii,” he said.

“Hello Vlad,” I grumbled.

“And hello to both you losers,” said a voice that sent chills down my spine.

I turned and saw him: Rahadin, the right-hand of the Devil Strahd.

“Look if this is about that kickback I sent you last week, I had no idea those coins were slugs. Honest.”

Rahadin chuckled, “we’ll discuss that later,” he said.

I couldn’t hear half of what he said over the creepy aura of screaming voices around him, but as far as I could figure, Rahadin invited us both for a cook-off. Elves don’t usually eat fried chicken, wieners, or hotcakes. Instead, we’d be asked to cook three dishes based on a random selection of ingredients, and the Dusk Elves would be the judges. The winner would have a charter, signed by Strahd himself, to open a shop in Vallaki. Not bad for business.

The ingredients were:

An assortment of vegetables from the Elves

Wheat flour

Salt

Eggs

Spice from some faraway land that smelled of curry.

Dried noodles from another land

Finally, a slab of 100% all-Barovian “mystery meat”

We were given 1 hour to come up with three dishes.

“May the best chef win… me,” taunted Vlad.

“If it turns out anything like your food, I’ll be in Vallaki in no time,” I shot back.

“Yeah, well, in your dreams Oleksii.”

Nice comeback, Vlad.

I stood at my grill and noticed a large glass vial with some kind of oily fluid in it with the words “Vegetable” and “Oil”.

I yelled over to the judges, “is this some kind of joke? Vegetable … oil?”

You haven’t seen a facepalm until you’ve seen an elven facepalm. Better yet, an entire panel of them.

It was a fast, intense hour. I poured my heart and, er, “soul” into my cooking, using my years of experience. My Babusya would have been slightly proud of me. She might have even nodded in acknowledgement.

When at last time was up, we stepped back and offered our dishes to the judges. Vlad was first. He presented some dishes I hadn’t seen before and I was bewildered. Where did he learn to cook such things. The judges chewed thoughtfully, but it was hard to read their faces.

Next was my turn. I lifted the cover on my dishes and was greeted by a gasp from the judges.

“You cooked … waffles … and fried chicken?” inquired Rahadin. To be honest, all I heard was:

(Scream, mumbles) cooked (more screams and mumbles) fried (screams)?”

“Yes?”

“Out of all the ingredients?” said a similarly stunned Tharivol.

“Um, yeah, wasn’t that I was supposed to do?”

I made cabbage waffles with deep-fried mystery meat, dried curry noddle waffles with fried mystery meat, and deep fried turnip waffles with fried mystery meat.

I know, like, 2 recipes only.

Three days later I was back in Barovia without a charter. I got bonus points for somehow converting dried noodles into waffles, but otherwise no win.

Further I managed to ruin the mood of the contest after making a passing joke about needing some lady elves around there to pretty up a “batchelor pad” like their village. Awkward.

When I came back, I learned that Rahadin and his goons had been around and filled my entire office, from floor to ceiling, with metal slugs as “payback”, and my lockbox had been broken into. That’d cost me about three weeks worth of earnings, never mind how long it would take to clean out the office.

Later, I found out that Vlad’s new restaurant went under after some customers were eaten by an enormous frog monster, and the rest were flogged by Baron Vallakovich for not being happy about it.

I sipped my bitter, bland Barovian Chicken and Waffles-brand coffee as I looked out the window thoughtfully.

Just another week in Barovia.

The End

p.s. thanks for all the positive feedback on the last story. It is appreciated. Also check out an older story I wrote last year.

#ravenloft #dnd #ttrpg #barovia #tumblrloft #d&d #dungeons and dragons #waffles #life in barovia #barovian tales #curse of strahd

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detective-giggles · 1 year

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Flufftober 2021: Domestic Fluff

And with this fic, I think all my 2021 flufftober plans are complete. I fought with this one a little- I wanted to write all the boring domestic bits that we normally skip in fic but that are totally part of real life, you know? @chaotictarlos, thank you for the beta and thank you so much for the edit! It’s perfect! And to you and @noxsoulmate, thank you for letting me blow up your messages over this fic!

Beeeeeep…beeeeeep…beeeeep…

TK groaned and reached a hand out, attempting to smack his phone into silence. He missed, his hand hitting the table with a dull thud. He groaned again, but didn’t attempt to open his eyes until he felt fingers running through his hair, scratching his scalp gently.

“Hmmm?”

“It’s not your alarm, babe. It’s the oven timer,” Carlos explained gently, a smile evident in his voice.

“Hmmm.” TK hummed and closed his eyes again. Carlos chuckled fondly and TK’s eyes flew open as he sat up quickly. “Sorry. How long was I out?”

“Twenty minutes or so,” Carlos shrugged.

“Sorry,” TK repeated.

“It’s okay,” Carlos stood and pressed a kiss to the top of TK’s head.

“Gimme two minutes, and I’ll be in to set the table.” He stood and made his way toward the bathroom.

“Take three minutes and wash your hands,” Carlos teased. TK was halfway to the bathroom before his sleep-addled brain processed the remark but he was too tired to think of anything clever to add.

“Ha.” TK splashed some cold water on his face in an attempt to make it through dinner without falling asleep on his plate and then joined Carlos in the kitchen. He pulled some plates out of the cabinet and placed them on the counter before gracefully moving around Carlos to grab their silverware.

Their shifts had kept them apart a fair amount of nights, but they ate meals together whenever their schedules aligned, and TK found comfort in the familiarity with which they danced around each other. Carlos dished up their plates while TK grabbed some bottles of water, and they met at the table at the same time.

They both sat and Carlos waited, as he always did, for TK to take his first bite.

“This is so good!” TK murmured, as he always did. Carlos beamed and then dug into his own serving, and the two ate in a comfortable silence for a few minutes.

“Sorry I fell asleep again. We only had one night off together this week, and I had to ruin it,” TK said after another bite, only feeling mildly guilty about it.

“It’s okay, I’m glad you’re finally getting some more sleep!” Carlos reached for TK’s right hand with his left and gave it a squeeze. “I know your overnights have been extra busy lately.” Carlos gave him a sympathetic smile and turned back to his plate, gently rubbing his thumb over TK’s knuckles while he ate.

“Yeah, and the overtime has been rough too. I hope they replace that paramedic on B shift soon.” TK started to pull his hand away and frowned when Carlos didn’t immediately release him. “I’m going to get more food. Are you coming with me or are you going to let me go?” He asked with an amused laugh. “This is the first time in a week I’ve eaten something I didn’t have to cook myself, I’m going to enjoy it.”

Carlos gave TK’s hand one last squeeze and then let go. “Bring me back a piece of garlic bread when you come?”

“Of course. You want anything else while I’m up?”

“No, thanks.” TK served himself a bit more chicken and returned to the table, holding Carlos’ garlic bread behind his back in exchange for a kiss.

“It’s a nice night, want to go for a walk after dinner?” Carlos asked.

TK looked thoughtful and then shook his head. “I’m still tired. I’m thinking we could head to bed early. You cooked so I’ll clean up,” TK offered, collecting both empty plates and carrying them to the sink.

Carlos shook his head as he quickly packaged up the leftovers and tucked them into the refrigerator. “And by go to bed early, you mean…”

TK grabbed the soap and a sponge and sighed, defeated. “I think I actually mean go to bed.”

“Well, we’ll finish faster if we both help,” Carlos pointed out. He grabbed a clean towel from the drawer and hovered near TK as he started washing the dishes. He stepped closer, pressing his body up against TK’s back, playfully pinning him against the counter. “Hey, babe?”

“Hmmm?”

“You, uh, missed a spot,” he teased.

TK rolled his eyes and splashed some water in Carlos’ face. “You can wash them if you want.”

“Nah, you go ahead.” Carlos tossed the towel over his shoulder as he leaned back against the counter, crossing his arms. He only let a few dishes stack up before he hurried, humming softly as he worked.

TK only grumbled a little, he despised washing dishes, but with Carlos singing softly in the background, it wasn’t as bad as he remembered.

“One last chore before bed,” Carlos whispered, pressing a soft kiss to TK’s temple. “I can get them if you want to sleep.”

Shaking his head, TK collected their boots from the laundry room and set them on a chair near the table, and then went to grab the shoe polish and rags. Carlos spread out a few pieces of newspaper over the kitchen table and set their work boots up side by side. TK returned after a minute and handed Carlos a spare rag. They both got to work and eased into a rhythm, taking turns dipping the rag in polish and shining their shoes.

They had just finished their first boot each when TK paused. “Oh my God, we’re actually adulting, aren’t we? Is this what being an old married couple is like? We get a place in downtown Austin, and we consider doing dishes and shining boots a big Friday night.”

“TK, baby… We can go out next weekend if you want. But right now? I’m perfectly content here, in the loft, with you by my side. Even if we are just getting ready for tomorrow’s shifts. We’re doing it together, and that’s all that matters.”

“You big softie,” TK turned and booped Carlos’ nose, getting just a little shoe polish on his face. “You, uh, missed a spot.”

Carlos rolled his eyes fondly and leaned in, trying to give TK a kiss. TK laughed and tried to dodge, but Carlos caught him and managed a kiss, making sure to rub a little of the shoe polish onto his cheek.

TK grumbled again, playfully this time, as they finished their boots and cleaned up their supplies. They did a cursory check of the loft; Carlos made sure the door was locked, while TK checked the stove. They turned off the lights and TK slipped his hand into Carlos’ as they walked a few feet to the bedroom.

Carlos pulled off his shirt and tossed it in the hamper. When he looked up, TK caught sight of the smudge on his nose and let out a giggle. He disappeared into the bathroom and returned a few seconds later with a damp towel and carefully cleaned off Carlos’ nose.

TK followed Carlos into the bathroom to brush their teeth. “Big spoon or little spoon?” Carlos asked, his mouth full of toothpaste.

“You pick,” TK replied.

Carlos climbed into bed on his side. TK shut off the light and joined him, curling his body around Carlos’, and draping his arm over Carlos’ middle. “Every night you ask, and every night we sleep the same way.” TK pointed out.

“I’m just making sure you didn’t change your mind.”

“Never,” TK promised. “I’ll be your big spoon forever.” Carlos reached for his hand and TK grabbed it, linking their fingers together, and together, they drifted off to sleep.

#flufftober 2021 #domestic fluff #tarlos #old married couple stuff- even though they're neither old nor married #tk strand #carlos reyes #quiet evenings at home

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faytelumos · 9 months

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A Good Girl's Eulogy

cw: real death; animal and human death mentions

---

On August 28th last year, some time around 5pm, my family's 18 year old chow/shepherd mix took her last breath.

When we first got her, she fit comfortably in my mom's hands. She was the runt, and mom had picked her out for that fact. The runt of the litter doesn't always get adopted, she said. While us kids and Dad were at home, fawning over our new baby, Mom went to get bowls, food, and toys. Us kids went to bed and Dad watched the puppy, the gears in his mechanic's brain working, and when Mom got back, he looked up to her, our new family member in his lap.

"We have two choices for her name. Diesel, or International."

Diesel was smart, and maybe all dog owners think theirs is unusually intelligent, but our girl was clever.

By the time Diesel was a "teenager" she knew we didn't like her out of the yard alone. She belonged in the back yard when there wasn't anyone around to watch over her, since the front yard was completely unfenced and open to the neighborhood. Every day, when Mom got up, she would let Diesel into the back yard to do her business, and ten or so minutes later, would call Diesel back into the house for breakfast. Every single day, this was the pattern. And one day, Mom strayed from that pattern to look out into the front yard.

And there was Diesel, casually patrolling the front yard, unattended.

Shocked, Mom had headed to the back yard, but by the time she got around the side of the house, Diesel, too, was in the back yard.

We learned that day that she had found a hole in the fence, and more than likely was taking daily constitutionals into the front yard, perhaps to check up on things or watch birds, before returning to the back yard to be collected for breakfast. If she ever had any more sneaky escapades or excursions, we never caught her.

We adopted other dogs, who became Diesel's companions and fellow family members in her adulthood. A stocky little thing that had been surrendered to us from another family (we gave him a Nicholas name after a US president) a tiny pup we had gotten from a local breeder (who we also gave an automotive name) and another tiny breed who we adopted from a home that couldn't care for him anymore (named after a color).

Diesel was always the biggest by far, tall and strong. She was dominant in personality and in charge, and she often led the others around the yard here and there to anything that was interesting or required attention.

She didn't need a leash if a human was with her. She started one-sided fights with President, chased rabbits and birds, always came when she was called, knew how to shake hands, and you could pat your chest to get her to jump up, put her paws on you, and gives kisses.

She deserved more love than we gave her.

Dad played fetch with her, took her for rides in the truck, and called her his good dog. He was outside working often, and they spent time together when she wasn't exploring or checking things out with the others. She'd sit with him inside in the evening, and he'd give her scritches.

Five years ago, he died suddenly. I lived out of state. The police officer on my mom's doorstep told her she didn't want to see the body.

A lot happened in that week. I asked myself more than once if Diesel knew he was gone. I came and visited, and then went back to the life I had left paused.

Three years ago, Diesel got very sick.

Mom wasn't sure she'd make it through the weekend, and I dropped everything again to return. She was sixteen at the time. She had been a part of my family for sixteen years, and I stopped just short of telling my boss and coworkers that my sister was dying.

She was his dog, Mom wept over the phone.

When I got into the house, she was in a sorry state; skin and bone, her strength sapped as she lay on the living room floor. She hadn't eaten in two days, and she'd stopped drinking that morning. I couldn't have imagine it, not from the girl who had been a powerhouse and boss over her huge back yard not so long ago.

I gave her bland food to coax her to eat, and overnight she seemed to gain ten pounds. I took her to the vet, told them where she hurt and to be careful of her temper, and then took her home. The appointment that, three days ago, had been for her final breath, turned into a prescription for antibiotics. But at her age and in her state, chemotherapy and surgery wasn't an option. So we let that battle go.

I came, visited, and then went back to the life I had left paused.

Last year, another call.

She's really bad. I think this is it.

Tell her I'm coming. Tell her I'll be there tomorrow.

I silently hoped I could perform that miracle twice.

She was so thin. She wobbled on her back feet, toes getting caught as she walked. She coughed, raspy and rough. I picked her up, my once 60 pound firecracker, and she let me carry her upstairs so mom could give her a bath in the tub.

I laid with her for hours, two towels wrapped over her and curled up against her back so she didn't shiver as she dried.

The vet came to us. A new, affordable program for geriatric or terminally ill dogs. I made sure Mom would get her ashes back. Because we'd had her for eighteen years, and she was going to stay with us now forever.

The other dogs and all of us kids and mom held her and stroked her. The vet was so kind, and we all watched as our beloved girl let go of her pain.

I carried her, wrapped in my dad's favorite blanket, to the back of the vet's car. There were two other bundles in the back. Small, and tenderly covered.

I watched her go, and I stayed in the street after she'd turned the corner.

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milf-harrington · 1 year

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this might be a bit long because my heart is full of love

one thing about my sister is that she's never been a big reader, even with a majority of our family being massive book nerds.

it was like- one of our things as siblings is that she liked sports and makeup and i liked books and did well in school; even when we got older she's always been outdoorsy and i've always been indoorsy.

(this is a very general simplification, we're actually hella similar to the point we dress the same some days without meaning to lmao)

and i just remember growing up she'd always make these comments/complaints about not being smart like me and mum, or claiming to be a bad/slow reader, or that she wished she liked books as much as us. when she finished tomorrow when the war began, she was so proud and excited that i couldn't help but pick up the series after her because it had to have been good if she managed to finish it - which wasn't meant to be insulting, that's literally just how things were

there's an incident that gets brought up a lot, it's one of our common funny sibling stories, from when she still lived at home - she would've been maybe 16, so i would've been 12 - and we were arguing like we always did and i called her vain and she just...stopped. because she didn't know what that word meant, and while my first instinct was to explain that i was calling her shallow and full of herself, my mums response was to sigh and say "don't use big words when speaking to your sister, remember?"

and my sister always tells that story through laughter because when you know us it is funny but at the same time...she's always considered herself the stupid one.

she never finished high school, she struggles to understand the fancy words or phrases i use without thinking, she's not big on reading, she can't keep a desk job etc.

but another thing about my sister is that her mind is incredible, and she is so emotionally and socially intelligent, and she's wise. she has so much fucking wisdom, and she just hands it out without thinking, just dropping these little nuggets of advice that have literally changed my life like she's telling me what jacket would match my outfit better.

i can't wrap my head around harvests or grain types or machinery, but she happily infodumps about all that stuff with the same ease she talks about work gossip and whatever happened at the last party she went to; and she just. remembers things that probably would've fallen out of my head immediately.

but she thinks she's an idiot, reckons she's the dumb one in the family, and most of that comes from the reading thing.

it's one of those insecurities that i don't think she even acknowledges as an insecurity.

and when her son was born, and we realised he loved books, she made so many self-deprecating jokes about how he was going to be just like the rest of us, and she was going to be the only one in our family who didn't read.

and then, a few weeks ago, she told me she wanted to find a book she'd heard about on tiktok because it sounded interesting; and then she came back from the shopping later that afternoon with two books.

and she finished them both in a handful of days.

so she bought more, by the same author. and i have watched over the past week as her little book collection has grown and spread out, and i've watched as she's eaten through a hundred or so pages in one sitting.

"It turns out I just really don't like nonfiction," she'd told me. "But I really like this author, I like the way she writes."

("None of us like nonfiction! It's boring!" Is what me and mum said.)

I love my sister, i could give less of a shit if she's an idiot or whether or not she likes to read. We hang out all the time regardless, we share our interests with each other and we talk about music and what's going on with our friends and how we're dealing with our childhood trauma. we sit in silence or we talk shit or we play uno or i tell her about my writing or she complains about bills.

she's my sister, yknow? who gives a fuck what her interests are as long as she enjoys them.

but man i cannot describe the level of pure delight i have felt watching her find this piece of herself that she's always wished for, yknow? the first time she started telling me about her latest book she just fucking lit up and she was so animated and excited and i was just sitting there, floored, because she was so happy.

and i haven't been able to stop myself sometimes, from actually telling her how nice it is to see her so excited about books, to see her understand why mum and i are the way that we are - but i'm always worried it comes across the wrong way.

what im excited about is the fact that she finally understands something she's always wanted to understand, that she gets to talk to me about books the way she's always wanted to.

my sister not being much of a reader (despite her attempts and wishes) has been a fact of life for as long as i can remember, but she just crept into my room to excitedly tell me the plot twist in Layla by Colleen Hoover, a book that's only taken her 2 days to read, and i just love her so much it makes me feel stupid.

#i dont know if any of this actually makes sense im just.#i am so fond of this woman and so proud and happy for HER that she's found joy in reading like the rest of us #kaueamua tag #captain speaks

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snowyfrostshadows · 2 years

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Bit of dialogue practice/test to see if I could actually for realsies write these characters and not just. Do a bunch of doodles.

In which Mario thinks over a recent boss fight and talks with his brother.

-----

Mario leaned his head back on a tree and sighed.

The fight for the first star piece honestly hadn’t been the toughest or hardest fight he’d ever been in. In fact, if it had happened less than a week ago, he’d probably have been able to win it easily without a second thought.

As it stood though, he’d just stood there, frozen, unable to move an inch as the amalgamation of Koopas moved to rip him into shreds. If Luigi hadn’t been there, jumping in front of him to block the hit and then throw one of his own back at the...thing Dimento had presumably created, then there was a good chance that would have been his last fight.

Mario couldn’t help the bitter snort that escaped him.

It should have been obvious, what Dimento had taken from him, as revenge for beating him the last time and to use to remake himself.

His Bravery.

Somehow, even after they’d put together the aspects of the others’ that had been stolen were what was what they were best known for, the question of what that would be for Mario...had never really come up.

...well, no. It kinda had. But he’d brushed it off.

He still felt like himself. Still acted and talked like he always did, unlike Peach and Luigi. And unlike Bowser, he’d never relied on brute strength to get out of a jam so that had never been a concern.

So, maybe a small, selfish, egotistical part of himself thought he’d lucked out. Was the same hero who’d save the day and set everything back to normal as always.

Who’d have guessed that promising to save the world and actually doing it were two different things?

The sound of approaching footsteps jolted him out of his thoughts and prompted him to attempt to pull himself together enough to at least look as cool and collected as he normally did after a fight.

“So do you always dip out on the after-party or is it just cuz I’m here?”

The faux calm he’d managed to dig up promptly deserted him as his brother made his way into his little hiding spot.

It wasn’t that he was...unhappy to be traveling with him and actually working together to collect the various stars needed to stop Dimento. Big adventures like these with his brother were a rarity and somewhat of a treat. And, and, he wouldn’t even still be here if it wasn’t for Luigi!

It just.

It didn’t quite feel the same. Luigi wasn’t the same. It wasn’t his fault Mario was having a hard time connecting this new…..aggressive side to his brother to the one he was used to.

“No. I just…” Mario trailed off, not entirely sure how to articulate his feelings in a way that wouldn’t upset his brother. “...I guess. I just feel...the party’s not really for me?”

Luigi raised an eyebrow. “Didja somehow miss all the Toads coming up to thank you for personally defeating Dimento’s paper-mache project and making it safe to leave their little village again? I mean, I don’t blame you if you did, it was kinda sickening how they went on and on about it. Like. We get it, you’re too stupid to figure your way out of a paper bag let alone avoid getting captured and eaten. Move on already.”

“That’s not it.” Mario snapped before taking a deep breath. His brother didn’t really mean to say that. That was just the No-Heart-Thing talking. He normally got along great with Toads.

“Then what?”

“I just. Why did you tell them that I was the one to beat the monster? Not you? I just stood around like like-”

“An idiot?” Luigi interrupted dryly. He shrugged. “Apart from not wanting them to fawn all over me, seriously, how do you put up with that? It’s annoying; I knew if Dimento’s little arts-and-crafts project hadn’t thrown you for a loop, you’d have dealt with it easy. Like you always do. Why does it matter who the Toads think save them anyway? They’re happy and it’s another big party for you. Win-Win.”

Mario frowned. Luigi made it sound like he thought he only cared about getting rewarded for doing good and not because it was the right thing to do.

“I. I don’t. Care about the party.” Luigi snorted but Mario pressed on. “I care about being honest about who actually saved them. Which was you! And every time I tried to say anything, you spoke louder or cut me off!”

Luigi rolled his eyes. “Right. Because who’d believe The Great Mario lost a fight and his dumb loser brother had to bail him out? Toads are stupid but they’re not that stupid. But fine, if you’re being all mopey over proper credit, you can fight the next thing Dimento sends our way and I’ll stay on the sidelines. Would that work for you, Red?”

At the mention of another monstrosity rearing its’ ugly face at them, the rest of Luigi’s rant faded into the background as his heartbeat seemed to roar in his ears.

He couldn’t.

The first big fight was always the easiest but he couldn’t fight, couldn’t move.

And and it only get tougher! More teeth! More claws!

Not again not again not again not again not again not again not again not again not again not again not again not again not again not again not again not again not again not again not again not aga-

“-rio! Mario!”

Slowly, Mario found himself out of his sudden spiral to find himself face to face to a very familiar worried Luigi.

He wanted to laugh but found there was a sharp pressure on his chest so he ended up taking a couple of rattling breaths of air.

“Hey hey hey? You back with me?”

Numbly, Mario nodded and Luigi offered him a weak grin. “Good. That’s uh. That’s Good. I’m uh. Gonna grab your hand here. And just. Help it off your chest there so you can get some more air? Yeah?”

Oh. That. That was why that hurt. He’d been squeezing at his...heart? Why would he-?

“Sheesh you’ve got a hell of a grip. C’mon R-Mario, Easy breaths. Relax. In, out, in, out, and there we go. Why don’t we take a seat huh? Unwind a little?”

Mario felt himself being gently guided to a nearby stump and pulled down while Luigi sat down next to him and awkwardly rubbed his back.

Gradually, Mario felt his breathes become more even and his heart-rate settle back down.

“Sorry.”

Mario looked up. Luigi had pulled away from him and had his hands clasped firmly together as he stared at the ground. “I saw you were getting worked up and instead of backing off, just dug in deeper.” A hard laugh escaped him. “Some brother amiright?”

“No. It wasn’t you.”

Luigi shot him an unimpressed look. “Really. Coulda fooled me. I mean, I sent the Ma-” he grimaced, “you into a panic attack. And assumin’ you’ve never had one before and I’m the only one here…”

Mario shook his head. “It wasn’t you.” he insisted more firmly. And it wasn’t. If it was anyone’s fault it was Dimento’s for starting this whole mess.

“I was. Terrified at the thought at having to do this all again. That’s all.”

Luigi stared at him for a moment before his mouth twitched into a half smile. “You? Scared? You? I know you don’t wanna hurt my feelings Red, but you can come up with a better lie than that.”

Mario shrugged and leaned back. “It’s not a lie. Promise. Dimento took my courage and the idea of facing off against him and more of his monsters makes me want to turn back to Peach’s Castle and let someone else deal with all this for once.”

Luigi was staring at him wide-eyed. “Are you. Are you sure? Like, me sending you into a panic attack is a lot more believable than that!”

Mario shrugged again. “Is it? I mean, he took Bowser’s Strength, Peach’s Patience, y-your Heart. Why not my bravery as well? It’d definitely make things easier for him, don’t you think?”

“I guess so….” Luigi frowned and gave him a hard look. “But are you seriously just gonna throw in the towel because some color-repulsed two-bit clown says you aren’t brave?”

“I don’t know. Probably not, I don’t want to let anybody down but if I can’t even fight back-”

Luigi jumped up, furious. “Who cares what anybody thinks or expects from you! Hell! I’ll fight everyone myself so you can have a direct line to the stupid clown personally! Whatever new body he dreams up for himself will probably be as stupid and easy to hit as it was last time, no bravery needed!”

Mario felt himself smiling a little despite how off-putting it was to see Luigi of all people vow to hit as many enemies as possible.

“You think it’ll be that easy?”

Luigi gave a small sniff and scowled. “If I can get over my fears, you should be able to handle the one fight that’d make all of this shit worth it.”

Mario blinked. “Fears?”

Luigi looked at him like he was the dumbest person on the planet. And honestly, maybe at this point he was.

“Dimento took my heart not my overwhelming fear of everything.” Luigi’s scowl deepened. “Which is such a jerk move of him. ‘What-we’re-most-well-known-for’ my ass. Because when anyone thinks of me, their first thought is ‘my heart’ and totally not ‘scared-of-my-own-shadow’” Luigi threw his arms up with a look of disgust. “Stupid clown.”

Mario stared at his brother in disbelief as he mentally went over the stupid fight from earlier. How Luigi had never once faltered his step during it and seemed to take vicious delight in throwing everything he had at the monster, eerily akin to what he’d been like brainwashed into thinking he was a minion for Count Bleck.

Luigi paused at Mario’s disbelieving look. “I am! Still, y’know, scared of stuff. It’s just.” He grimaced and looked away as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Got some other emotions and junk working with it. If that makes sense.”

“...If you say so.”

Luigi frowned, and...something flickered in his expression that Mario couldn’t quite read before it was gone again.

“Believe me, don’t believe me, I don’t care. But uh. If this is gonna be a Thing where I do all your fights for you, then you should probably hold onto these.”

From a pocket, Luigi took out the small star piece that he’d recovered after the fight. It was a beautiful thing, glowing softly with a cool red light.

“If I’m doing all the jumping,” a small smirk pulled on Luigi’s face like he’d said something funny “then someone should keep these safe. And who knows, maybe with enough of them, you’d get some of your courage back.”

Mario smiled and gently took the star from his brother, marveling at the faint warmth it gave off and how it seemed to glow a little brighter in his hands than it had in Luigi’s.

“I’ll take good care of them.”

Luigi snorted. “Course you will, you’re Mario, Hero of the Mushroom Kingdom. If anyone can keep something safe it’s you. Now c’mon. There’s a party going on back in the village and if you don’t come back with me, I swear I am going to kick Toads into a tree until they get the hint to leave me alone.”

A small laugh escaped him at the mental image, even if he felt horrible at the thought. “You wouldn’t”

Luigi smirked, “I dunno Red, I don’t have a heart remember? Who knows what I’d do?”

#unnamed spm fic #*peppers in some hints that luigi may or may not be mr.l-ing this*#is this too obvious???#i feel like i'm being too blunt but boy oh boy is trying to write identity problems rough #especially when the pov character is how we say oblivious?#honestly it's all probably ooc and a smidge of a mess #mario #luigi #mr. l #sorta #one plus side to writing this out; got some better ideas for the actual fic like......what the heck the'd be fighting i guess #tw: language #my fics

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dearestaeneas · 1 year

Text

Moss, Again

word count: 1059

Moss lay on their bed, Khosekh curled up on their chest. The Other Moss would be visiting any time now, ready to complain about their job and boss and gas prices. Moss wondered if they’d ever grow annoyed with the topics of discussion, but after so many years it still hadn’t happened. Janet from Accounting really was a bitch, and it was nice to hear about Other Moss politely rejecting invitations to baby showers and block parties and cookouts.

“Mrrp?” Khosekh meowed.

“They’ll be here soon,” Moss said, eyes closed. “Work doesn’t get out for another hour.”

Outside, rain pattered on the window frame. After weeks of threatening looking skies, thunderclouds finally rolled in in full force. Alice had planned to come over, but as the first few drops fell onto the pavement, she’d texted Moss: if i come ill never leave. & before u say it, i have to work tomorrow. maybe see u friday?

Moss was slightly relieved: they’d finished their work for the afternoon and realized with the force of a train crash how exhausted they felt. Khosekh’s weight on their chest was like a weighted blanket and they worried they’d fall asleep before the Other Moss showed up.

“Honey! I’m hoooooooooome!” The Other Moss called from the next room.

“In here,” Moss replied, eyes still shut. It’s like they can sense when I’m about to fall asleep sometimes.

“My darling!” they sang, rushing to Moss and Khosekh. Khosekh’s weight was forcefully removed from Moss’s chest, and Moss opened a single eye to see the poor cat being swung about in the Other Moss’s arms.

He was a very good and very long-suffering boy.

“This weather is horrendous!” The Other Moss said, holding Khosekh before them and staring into his eyes. It was like Moss wasn’t even in the room. “What are we going to do about it?”

“I actually like it,” Moss said. “It hasn’t rained in a while. We needed this.”

“You sound like an old person,” the Other Moss said.

Moss paused. “That’s fair.”

“Have you eaten yet?”

“No. Something about writing today really knocked everything out of me.”

“Did you finish your draft?”

“Close. I have a few more points I want to wrap up, but I think it’s something I’ll finally be able to knock out this week.”

The Other Moss flopped onto the bed next to Moss. They smelled like vanilla. “Yay! Oooh, let’s celebrate. Come! I brought dinner.”

Moss turned to their side to face the Other Moss. “You never bring food.”

“I did today!” With that, they shot up from the bed and collected Khosekh again. “I got you lo mein! I couldn’t remember what kind you liked so I got them all!”

Moss sat up. The Other Moss, filled to the brim with good intentions, overdid things. Obviously. Moss often wondered how much money they made at this office job they supposedly hated, because when gifts were brought, they were very often excessive and confusing.

Not that Moss was complaining.

They followed the Other Moss and Khosekh into the dining room, where the Other Moss had already set out plates and was beginning to pile them high with noodles and egg rolls. The plates were green ceramic, painted with little flower details all around the edges.

“These are nice,” Moss said, picking one up. “Did you just get these?”

“I did!” the Other Moss said, clearly delighted. “They got left in the break room! They were there for a week, untouched! That sounds like fair game to me.”

Moss put the plate back down and moved to the cabinets, pulling out two glasses. “I worry you might be a bad coworker.”

“Probably!” the Other Moss replied. “Do you have root beer here?”

“I picked some up after you asked last time.”

The Mosses sat across from one another, so invested in the food they barely spoke for several minutes. The Other Moss was clearly almost full because they suddenly said, “Do you remember Tom?”

Moss looked up. “With the Hatchback?”

The Other Moss nodded gravely. “The very same. It was Deidre’s birthday today, and he kept insisting that we all pitch in and pay for lunch for the whole office to celebrate.”

“It couldn’t have been that expensive if everyone was pitching in,” Moss reasoned.

“That’s not the problem. The problem is that we need to get the entire office involved for Deidre’s birthday?”

“I thought you said you liked Deidre.”

“That has nothing to do with it,” the Other Moss said, sitting back in their chair. They poured the root beer into one of the cups and slid it over to Moss before filling their own. “You know how I feel about mandatory interactions.”

The Other Moss, to be frank, hated them. Passionately. Not that Moss enjoyed them, but the Other Moss seemed to have a moral objection to social niceties. Moss conceded that what the Other Moss described was, to them, an unforgivable overreach.

“And he’s still taking my parking spot.”

Moss, between bites of noodles, said, “You should probably kill him.”

“I’d never get away with it,” the Other Moss replied seriously. “You know how identifiable his car is, with the wizard painted on it. And did I tell you he’s started wearing bowties to work?”

Moss shuddered. “Those only look good on lesbians and golden retrievers.”

“I know!”

This back and forth continued as they finished eating and began cleaning up after themselves. As the Other Moss washed their stolen dishes and Moss dried them, the Other Moss said, “How’s Alice? I thought I’d finally meet her today.”

“She’s good! She was gonna come over, but had to cancel because of the weather. She’ll be over Friday, if you’re free.”

“So she really wants to meet me? I don’t imagine most people jump at the idea of meeting their partners’ families.”

Moss shrugged. “She’s as up to speed as she can be without ever actually meeting you. Maybe I’ll even cook that night.”

“So she and I can bond over burnt food?”

Moss stopped and stared at the Other Moss, deeply offended. The Other Moss, noticing that the wet plate they were attempting to hand off was still very much In Their Hand, looked up. “Oh, don’t give me that,” they said. “I’m you. Like I don’t know that we can’t cook for shit.”

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sharkiegorath · 1 year

Text

rambling text post (suicide mention, in a past/recounting context) (sudden lore drop)

I’m 26 and I’ve had two friends who killed themselves. Completely unrelated. 7 years apart. We weren’t close, but they were important to me. They were named David and Dave. They were both talented artist-writer-poets who died on the 14th of an early month. They were passionate about theater and politics, and they had ostentatious middle names honoring historical figures.

I know suicide intimately, not because of my own depression, but because there's more empirical evidence for suicide's role in creating me than God's. I'm close to my grandma, who'd raised one of her younger brothers, a genius who ended up violently killing himself in his early 20’s. It’s still a big shameful open secret contributing to our family’s collective trauma. Then my grandpa (the same grandma’s husband) tried to kill himself when my mom was 9; that was one of the reasons why they migrated to Singapore. So suicide has changed the trajectory of my existence before I actually existed.

I'm hypersensitive but the funny thing is, I tend to handle death pretty well, even sudden death. I don't mean 'well' in the sense of, like, Getting a Good Grade in Grieving. I mean the general enormity of loss doesn't stagger me and that's good because it lets me help the people grieving harder. I’ve lost friends, family, and pets. I was sad each time and mourned. Yet before Dave, the 'hardest' I'd ever grieved was over a pest rat caught in a cage, who was taken away by a freak meeting with an exterminator before my dad could release it in a jungle to get eaten by a snake. Make of that what you will.

When David died in early 2016, I was in a long depressive-sometimes-manic-generally-overall-miserable episode. Most of our friends had just started college, and a lot of us had major mental health issues. I'd isolated myself but I think we felt the loss in an amplified way because of that shared struggle and anxiety. I learned about David's explicit political motivations through his dad's memorial blog. I wailed after a semi-uncomfortable outing because I clumsily brought it up, and a comparatively stable longtime friend said they wanted to "remember the good" about David. I felt that David would've wanted to be accepted for 'the bad'. I wasn't even 20 yet.

Right before Dave died last year, I was the happiest I’d been in a long time, and I'd been pretty stable for years. I was writing a lot. I was recording videos and teaching myself to edit. I was excited for the future and amassing unprecedented peace with the past. I’d just watched Our Flag and it rewired my brain chemistry, so I was getting these epiphanies like "you have experienced love and belonging (you were just too traumatized and self-loathing to realize)", "a big chunk of your life is ahead of you", "you aren't unknowable and unlovable"...and then suddenly someone who made me feel known and loved, whom I'd known and loved, was gone for reasons I'll never understand.

Of course it also reminded me of the guilt and trauma surrounding David. I mean, they had the same name. I used to visit Dave's blog and think "haha that's funny, I knew a similar David! Good thing this one is alive!!" and maybe I'd think something about Goliath. I don't know.

I didn't process Dave's death properly because my family had emergency roof repairs on the day I found out. I had to ''staycation'' with my highly anxious, unwell mother and our highly anxious dogs, requiring a lot of movement and logistics. It rained the whole week. I had my period, which is near-debilitating. My parents were really kind about the situation, I love my dogs, but there was nothing we could do. My mom has a (consensually taken) video of a concerned Bonbon circling me 30+ times while I cried on a swivel chair. I tried to write to meet deadlines and all of my stories became about death or loss and they were bad but not interestingly terrible.

I've waited this long in the post to mention I've had past suicide ideation and periods where I just didn't want to live. It hasn’t been a Problem since I was 18. (A whole 8 years ago!) I get better every year. I'm firmly in a place where I know I want to stick around. I don't just 'not want to die', I want to live; I would be pissed if I couldn't. Still. I’m surprised at how hard it is to find suicide bereavement resources for people who are also suicidal. Weird, right? Nobody talks about the shell-shocked survivor’s guilt. Nobody talks about the multifaceted jealousy. Nobody talks about the part where, if people around us are mirrors, what can you conclude when a mirror somehow smashes itself?

David and Dave were both always nice to me. I mean it when I say they made me feel loved and seen, in a special way I've rarely felt. I only knew them a little yet what little I had meant so much. But David was demanding and hypercritical of his loved ones. Dave got into a lot of internet fights and discourse, some justified or funny, some uncomfortable or imo wrong. All humans are complex but they categorically weren’t just ‘sweet kids’. They didn't get to mature or learn. I know for a fact that I would've disappointed them if we'd been closer; maybe I already did. The reality isn’t always this complicated, right? Maybe? I assume? I honestly don’t know what a ‘typical’ suicide is like, because I haven’t personally known a suicide victim who wasn’t a confrontational Marxist with very strong opinions about theater. And I'd prefer not to know a variety. Jesus.

Eventually, I told my therapist about David and Dave. I said it was hard knowing that friends with my intensity of emotion had killed themselves. She said I was different from them because I'm a girl (lmao) and because I'm "not angry". I accepted it at the time, since fighting isn't a crucial part of my personality, but I got angry after thinking about it. Because I'm not so different when it counts; because I'm the kind of person who'd grieve a friend's suicide by complaining it was wasteful, ill-timed, and/or politically incoherent. I hope they would've appreciated being challenged. It's the best I can do for them now.

David hated Singapore and reportedly viewed America as a better option; he wanted to live in New York City. Dave lived in New York and viewed America as the ultimate evil. They would've deeply understood each other in many regards, but also gotten into a fistfight about Western imperialism. I'm the only person connecting them. What do I do with that? It feels like eldritch knowledge. Because of my upbringing and brain, it’s cognitively impossible for me to say it’s just a freak coincidence. I feel like I'm one of Job's sole surviving servants. I think there was A Reason, but that Reason is recursive; it’s just so I would know.

Two years ago, that Marvel TV quote kept getting passed around. "What is grief but love persevering?" Oh, fuck that. What's that supposed to mean for me? I didn't feel intense grief for the family/friends/pets I've lost, even at the very moment, so I don't really love them? I feel intense grief for one random rat and friends I held at arms' length, so I must love them the most, even when I resent them or planned to let the rat die displaced in the wild anyway? I can never separate Dave and David from each other, or from me. I’m going to be dragging this around for the rest of my life. I live in a carcass.

#'why did you casually mention a jungle' bc i lived and currently live next to a jungle next question #sharkie says things #suicide mention

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purplesurveys · 10 months

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1714

Have you ever seen an emu in real life, whether in captivity or the wild? I have never.

When was the last time you visited your state’s biggest city? I live in it.

Do you remember what colour the eyes were of the last person you spoke to? Dark brown, as all Filipinos have.

Have you eaten pasta in the past week? Sure. It was fast food spaghetti but still.

Did you pierce your ears yourself or have it done by a professional? I'm pretty sure my parents had it done by a professional. I had been a few weeks or months old after all.

Are you wearing any shoes right now? No.

How many letters are in your surname? Six.

Do you enjoy Burger King? Their burgers are good but Burger King is honestly something I just never seem to look for? Idk, lol. Like I'll never say no to it, but I also don't ever go, "I think I'll get Burger King today." In general I guess I'm also not into fast food burgers much, unless it's Jollibee.

Have you ever worn bell bottom jeans? I don't think I've ever, actually.

How far away from your house is the nearest ice cream place? The nearest one I know of is around a 30 minute drive away.

What colour is your kitchen counter? It's a shade of peach.

When was the last time you washed the dishes? Not a plate but I washed my glass around half an hour ago before I settled in my room.

Do you own a lot of cookbooks? We don't have, like, a bookshelf's worth of cookbooks if that's what you mean by 'a lot,' but I'd say we have more than average. My dad's a chef, so he liked to collect them early on in his career.

How many rooms are in your house? Four.

Have you ever seen American Pie? I haven't. I heard of it a lot as a kid but was also always warned not to watch it, so I kind of brought that with me until now. I still have no clue what that show(?) is about haha.

What do you think of Leonardo DiCaprio? He's really good-looking and an even better actor but I do find his dating choices quite weird given his age.

Do you stay in touch with many people from high school or college? It's a good number. Most of my current circles are from my years in school.

Are you feeling nervous about anything right now? Just a little bit, but I'm trying not to think of it now so I can focus on my weekend and free time.

How many cars can your driveway and garage hold? Technically just one, but we have some extra space around the backyard area and our front yard so we're able to have our two other cars fit in those slots. Mainly so that we don't block the road because it's so annoying that most of the nighbors do that.

When was the last time you were late for something? Around a month ago for one of our events. My teammates arrived earlier to cover for me first so I wasn't too worried, and I was mostly stressed because of the traffic and because the driver kept on heading towards turns that led to more traffic.

Do you own an iPod, and if so, what type? I have not used an iPod since high school.

Did you ever play Stardoll when you were younger? I don't think I've ever heard of that.

Is there a university in your town or city? Yes. There's a small local one literally right beside our village gate.

What’s your father’s handwriting like? The hilarious thing is I don't even know what his handwriting looks like because he writes so rarely. He just...signs. I should hand him a blank piece of paper one of these days and just ask him to write random phrases so I can finally know hah.

Have you ever lived on a farm? Haven't.

Are you hung up on anybody right now? No.

Do you eat fries one by one or in big bunches? Just one each, every time. I always eat stuff like fries by piece.

Did you wash your hair last time you showered? Yeah I never skip anything when I take a bath.

Has anyone ever ransacked your bedroom? Apparently my mom did because that's how she came to read my diary when I wasn't around. I've always been a bit peeved about her entering my room since then.

Do you have any weird sleeping habits that people have told you about? No. I also don't like sleeping with people around, so that's also probably why no one has ever told me anything.

Do you enjoy That 70s Show? I tried getting into it but couldn't understand the humor right from the first episode - either that or I just simply found it unfunny, idk - so I didn't really care to watch the rest.

Are there any clouds in the sky, and what colour are they? Well right now it's 2:01 AM so everything looks black/super sper super dark blue.

Do you think you’re fast at typing? I know I'm fast, haha.

What was the last type of pizza you ate? Pepperoni, but I removed all the pepperoni from the slices I took as I don't like it.

How old are you? 25. WOW I can't believe I'm 25

Do you know anyone with an unusual middle name? Yes.

Would you consider yourself to be intelligent? Only in select aspects.

Have you ever waxed your eyebrows? Nope.

What does your shampoo smell like? Just...idk like a refreshing one?? It doesn't have a distinct scent.

Have you ever passed gas in front of your significant other? I don't like farting hahaha I always suppress mine. Only my sister has heard me do it and that's because those got out accidentally.

Do you have any big regrets in your life? I wouldn't say big, but there have been a few medium-sized regrets here and there.

What colour is the ground or floor where you are right now? Brown.

Do you live on a street, avenue, road etc.? Street.

Can you taste anything right now? Just the remnants of my coffee.

What was the last board game you played? I don't play board games but I played Anomia with my family the other night.

Are you renting the house you’re currently living in? No.

Do you listen to Guns n Roses? Other than the like two songs I know of theirs, no.

How old were you when you had your first boyfriend or girlfriend? I was uhhhhhhh 16, I think.

Have you ever been a bridesmaid? A junior bridesmaid, if that counts; my aunt had that kind of gimmick during her wedding. I was 8 and didn't actually do anything in the role.

Has the sun already set for the day? Forever ago. It's about to rise in a couple of hours or so.

Do you know how to tie a tie? No. I had to wear a necktie from kinder to high school but since I didn't know how to tie ties I just kept the knot and wore it like I would a necklace for the 14 years I studied there hahah.

What are the age gaps between you and your siblings? 2 and 5.

Does your birthday come before June 19th in a calendar year? No, before.

Do you pay attention to the FIFA World Cup? If so, what team do you go for? I'm paying attention to the Women's World Cup right now because 1) one of my clients is the Philippine team's official outfitter so we have had a million and one events related to the World Cup; and 2) THE PHILIPPINES IS (well, was now since we're out...but still) IN THE WORLD CUP FOR THE FIRST TIME. Made the entire country turn into rabid football fans overnight lol it's so surreal to see it all unfold. I love our girls :')

Even if PH got booted though I catch up whenever I can! Some narratives have been super heartwarming, like Jamaica's who apparently had to do crowdfunding to even get to the tournament in the first place.

Are you on any medications right now? I am not.

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clarktooncrossing · 1 year

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Giraffe's Eye View | The Hobbit (1977) REVIEW)

Wondering why the sudden case of Deja Vu? It's because this was posted as one long review called 'BINGE WEEK', but I've decided to shorten it for the sake of your sanity and mine. If you're interested in my previous review, click here for my thoughts on 1956's The Ten Commandments! For now though, onwards to a grand adventure!

Let it be known throughout the land that I am not a worshiper of the Church of Tolkien. Before finally checking out Peter Jackson's beloved film trilogy last year, my only exposure to the classic British novelist's work had been Letters from Father Christmas, a collection of letters he wrote to his children as a version of Santa who dealt with a peculiar polar bear when not fighting off goblins.

Ha, wouldn't that have been amazing? Santa Claus vs David Bowie, what would even top that?

How is that not a Marvel comic already? Oh wait, I'm getting off track, let's get back to the point shall we!

As far as The Hobbit goes, any knowledge of that comes from the three-part comic review done by Linkara of @atopfourthwall fame. Any of you who haven't checked them out really should, the show is funny and he brings up a lot of good points in regards to the book and movies. If nothing they taught me about Tolkien's bedtime stories that served the basis for this 1977 animated feature directed by, of all peeps, Rankin and Bass!

For all you young wiper-snappers wondering who Rankin and Bass are, again you have my pity. Unlike VHS though, chances are you've seen the work of these two television icons. They're responsible for seasonal staples such as Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer, Frosty the Snowman, Santa Claus is Comin' to Town, Nester, The Leprechaun's Christmas Gold, Rudolph and Frosty's Christmas in July, and Nester, The Long Eared Christmas Donkey. Yesir, Nester, a sad rip-off of Dumbo where the mom actually dies! Merry Christmas! Like the tale of the donkey, most of these seasonal specials show their age, but still have timely yuletide messages at their core that ring true today. Combine that with memorable music, charming characters, and the occasional nostalgic nightmare fuel, and you have a lineup of seasonal staples that's as warm and comforting as a cup of hot coco. Still, those are just half-hour Christmas outings. How do Rankin and Bass fare adapting The Hobbit?

Our story focuses around Bilbo Baggins (Orson Bean), an unassuming hobbit content on living a contempt life in the Shire. That is until a wizard named Gandalf (John Huston) randomly comes a calling alongside twelve elves. Eleven of these elves might as well be set dressing considering how much they add to the story. Asides from giving Rankin and Bass regulars like Paul Frees something to do, their only purpose in the plot is to be captured, nearly eaten, then fight in the war of the five armies at the end. Before all that though, they approach Bilbo proclaiming he's a master burglar, asking him to help reclaim their gold from a greedy dragon named Smaug (Richard Boone). Bilbo reluctantly agrees, even going so far as to sign a contract agreeing to join the endeavor. Yes, Bilbo signs a legal piece of paper declaring he's being hired to something illegal. Along the way he encounters trolls, wolf-riding goblins, giant creepy spiders, and a mysterious ring formally owned by a sickly looking creature named Gollum.

Gollum here is far sicklier in appearance than in the Peter Jackson movies, looking like a mutated frog freak that lives exclusively in mud. Honestly I prefer this design and now wish we lived in the timeline where Andy Serkis had to mocap this to life. Other character designs can be off-putting at first, but overtime you get used to them. Two good examples are Bilbo and Smaug. The amount of details on Bilbo's face can come across as creepy at first, but Bean's performance really helps sell the character's sincerity. Smaug, on the other hand, looks more like a cat than a dragon. Maybe I'm just too used to the design made famous by WETA and Benedict Cumberbatch, but every time I saw Smaug in this I kept expecting him to ask me for lasagna before shoving Odie off the table.

Meow.

Joking aside, the movie is a perfectly serviceable adaptation of this fairy tale treasure hunt, though not without a few problems. The songs sprinkled throughout the feature are catchy but ultimately forgettable, there's some wonky animation every now and again, you could've cut out a few dwarves and lost nothing, it was super disappointing how they didn't help defeat Smaug near the end, and the battle of the five armies lacked the epic scope we'd later see in the Jackson movies. Still, if one were to forget the Tolkien retellings we've received since then, the Rankin and Bass take on The Hobbit is as good as gold! I just hope a cat-faced dragon doesn't come along and take my copy...

Assuming one won't, our next feature ironically comes to us from a company founded by the animators

Fun fact about this movie that my friend Alec brought up; it was animated by Topcraft, a studio that sadly went bankrupt in 1985 before three of its members reformed what remained into the company that gave us our next picture...

GIF by daughter-of-the-king-bc

CURIOUS WHAT HAPPENS NEXT? CLICK HERE FOR MY THOUGHTS ON 1997'S PRINCESS MONONOKE! MAY THE GLASSES BE WITH YOU!

#tolkien #giraffes eye view #giraffe #review #The Hobbit #The Hobbit 1977 #Hobbit #hobbit 1977 #rankin and bass #animation

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