Reposting For The Tags. #agreement

concept playlists;

you’re lying on mossy forest floors, slowly transforming into a nymph, your fingers are turning into flower vines, your limbs are bleeding honey & growing thick skins of sepia bark, wings sprout in between your shoulder blades. your breath sounds like the wind. fireflies litter the air above you

you’re hold up in an abandoned church, outside there’s a raging storm & a horde of zombies roaming around, pressing up against the entrance doors. you & a small band of survivors are staying inside for the night in hopes to ride the bad weather out. you take first watch & listen to these tunes on an old ipod while everyone else tries to get some rest & the undead crawl outside, awaiting the taste of human flesh.

you’re in your boyfriend’s pickup. he’s asleep in the passenger seat, you’re driving without a destination in mind & you have the window down as you let the cool night air whip against your face in a state of pleasant delirium you’re on a rooftop somewhere, there’s 5 am air on your skin, streetlights glint like coins at the bottom of wishing wells from where you sit. you’re feeling peaceful for the first time all week

you’re lying in the middle of a crop circle forty miles from your grandma’s old house waiting for aliens to come and abduct you

it’s four pm in the afternoon and you’ve got your head in the lap of the only boy you’ve ever loved & you’re reading jane eyre & he’s sipping on tea & it’s the kind of weather where it’s just warm enough for you to pretend it’s summer & it’s drizzling & you’re listening to the rain beat softly against the windowpanes you’re curled up in bed as it pours outside, there’s a citywide blackout and the last candle you had left has finally blown out, but you feel strangely at peace within the warm, all-consuming dark

you’re making out in the bathroom of a house party with someone that makes you feel like you’ve swallowed the sun you’re standing amidst a city you burned to the ground. the apocalypse has come & gone. all that’s left is ashes & mortar & sad bones but you’re feeling empowered. a slow smile creeps up your lips as you realize how you’ve always wanted to watch the world burn you wander into wonderland and now you’re suddenly being crowned fairie queen, apparently there’s a prophecy waiting to be fulfilled  it’s mid morning but it’s dark outside from the rain. you thought the tapping on the window was from the rain but it’s actually a crow that flickers out of sight when you look directly at it you’re sipping on cherry cola by the pool on a lazy sunday & you’re feeling younger than you’ve ever been you’re summoning old ghosts in an abandoned parking lot on a smoggy thursday night

*strums guitar*  I like to call this song  "Terry Pratchett Should Be Required Reading, Jesus Christ He Didn’t Fuck Around"

Another entry from the Stupid Dream Diary.  I saved the dumbest for last: my affordable-healthcare-as-a-self-employed-person nightmare. ————————— Lackadaisy is on Patreon - there’s extra stuff!

Okay heads up for all Americans eligible to vote:

The Supreme Court just issues a ruling allowing Ohio and other states to purge voters from their election registration rolls due to their failure to cast a ballot in previous elections.

This is a major victory for the Trump administration and the GOP, and a direct consequence of the Supreme Court being stacked with more conservative judges (the votes were 5-4). This is also a huge part of what Trump/the GOP were counting on to save them in the 2018 midterm elections, which is where Democrats have been hoping to take back a majority in the House, giving them more power to combat Trump’s abuses of power and Republican legislation.

What this means is YOU CAN NOT ASSUME THAT YOU ARE REGISTERED for the 2018 elections, just because you SHOULD be. Thanks to this decision, red states can purge voters’ registration based on their not having cast a ballot in even just previous federal elections, NOT just the national Presidential elections. Effectively, if you haven’t voted in previous senate races or for congressional representatives in the past few years, that’s all they need now to say you’re no longer registered and need to register again.

They’re deliberately counting on people assuming they’re still registered and so not checking until after registration deadlines have passed, or showing up to vote this November and only then finding out they’re no longer registered, when its too late to do a damn thing about it.

And this is absolutely targeted at marginalized communities, low income voters, disabled voters, and basically anyone who simply can’t always AFFORD to keep on top of every federal election and show up to vote in every senate race, etc. Which not so coincidentally happen to be all the communities and voters who have the most to gain from Democratic victories in the 2018 midterms and are the least likely to cast votes for GOP candidates at this point.

This was absolutely a calculated effort aimed specifically at keeping the GOP in power with a majority control of the government come November, and unfortunately, it has a DAMN good chance of accomplishing just that if it goes by unacknowledged. I’m not looking to alarm or panic anyone, simply to say:

If you are a registered voter in a red state at this point, please please please do not take your registered status as assumed. Check on your registration status, look up all relevant voter registration deadlines for your state and district, CIRCLE THAT SHIT ON YOUR CALENDAR, and check your registration status AGAIN right before those deadlines pass, so you can be sure of it before its too late to do anything about it til the next voting cycle.

Samus Returns is Excellent. I am now hype to showcase the rest of the series.

I promised a few peeps I’d do inktober right this year. I couldn’t decide what prompt to do so I’m just going to go with whatever strikes my fancy.

My SO recently got me into the Metroid series by letting me play the latest game Metroid: Samus Returns.

Magical Dangers

In this world, magical creatures exist alongside human beings. They have been helping us in small ways, more as appeasement than some sort of benevolence.

...

The room bustled with the shifting of chairs and the scribbling of notes. The company had brought in one of the top instructors in the field of magic theory to explain things to the industry leaders. The slides had been packed with information with the audience in different stages of understanding.

"Are there any questions so far?" The instructor said, levitating a glass of water to drift to his hand. He took a sip before adding, "Let's continue."

"Excuse me," an executive said, raising his hand, "So, why is it that humans are not allowed to use magic?"

The instructor turned from his presentation to look at the executive, seated among peers who had already shifted slightly away from him.

"Hmm, a good question. Are you prepared for the answer?" The instructor said. The executive nodded.

"Alright. Then let me begin by asking you a question. Why were you late to this meeting?"

The executive looked taken aback, then cleared his throat, "Uh, sorry about that. Had some trouble finding the meeting room."

The instructor nodded thoughtfully. Then he said, "You are lying."

The executive choked out a laugh and shrugged, "Right. Magic."

"No, not magic," The instructor said. He patted his terminal desktop, "Security cameras. The contents of which I will keep secure." He added to the panicked executive. "I apologize for scaring you, but this leads into my point. Humans can lie."

There came a murmur through the audience. Fae in the crowd gave uneasy glances to human coworkers. For their part, some gave apologetic nods and others gave indignant grumbles, and some stayed perfectly still and silent.

Another member of the audience raised their hand, a Fae woman. The instructor sipped his water again before acknowledging her.

"Does being able to lie make you unable to use magic?" She asked.

The instructor set down his cup and sighed. "Quite the opposite, my child." He turned to his terminal and tapped on the screen to open a new projection.

"Humans and Fae are not terribly different, you see." He clicked through the slides, each a colorful, albeit somewhat childish, depiction of humans and Fae.

"Among the most notable differences will be our lifespan," A new slide showed the young elf and the ghost of a human, "and our Oum," It showed the outline of an elf and a person with something glowing in their bodies. "Which has been loosely translated to the 'soul'."

The elf had a blue color while the human's was red.

A few members of the audience were taking notes, others had checked out and were scrolling through their devices. Still others, mostly humans, were watching and already forming the chip which grows on one's shoulder when they are told they are fundamentally incapable of something.

A young man in the front row wearing a rather irritated look on his face spoke up, "I don't see how being able to lie means we can't use magic."

The instructor became visibly irritated at the interruption.

"Again, it's not that you can't, it is that you are not allowed." The screen clicked off as he faced the audience. "Because it isn't the lies you tell others that makes you dangerous," He gestured to the audience, "It's the lies you tell yourself!"

The room darkened and speckled with flickers of lights, the air became a dazzling display of the night sky.

"Humans try to fathom the impossible. The infinite of space and time and you have made marvelous progress. But how much can you hope to comprehend? You live for barely a century and half of that is spent in diapers!" The lights in the room began to hum and float around, circling the instructor.

"You are like bees. Industrious and fascinating, but dangerous in your numbers. If a single bee were to come to you and ask for the method to nuclear energy, not only would you doubt she would understand, but if she did even by mistake figure it out, you could scarcely trust that she would be responsible with it! It's just not in the nature of these tiny beings to handle things so far beyond their ken." The instructor tapped one of the motes of buzzing light. It turned red and began to spin around faster and faster. "And if just ONE of these little, marvelous beings manages to seduce the secrets from you and the rotten history of your kind repeats itself--" He trailed off as the red buzzing light flickered and exploded, causing a wave of heat and a shower of sparks, and left the room empty of light. The instructor held up his hand, where the manacle on his wrist hummed with a red light, "Well, you have to bear the weight of your decision forever." He dropped his hand. The room was silent.

Eventually, he lifted his head, the light returning to the room.

"May I continue?" He asked. He nodded to the following silence. "Very well." He clicked back to the original presentation and continued.

The Wreckers - Cashing In

Another round of thugly antics. Again, check out Puckarooni for her Pokemon Superhero AU. Cool jams, friendos.

Alolan Joe - Alolan Ratata Leader and self proclaimed mousestache afficianado

Ben - Spearow Brawn of the group of Bachelor of Thuganomics

Zach - Zigzagoon Dunno what he’s doing, but he’s doing it well

Sherman - Sentret Newbie, but he makes up for it with heart

~~~~~

Zach handed the sturdy box to Ben, who nodded and set it in the center of the table in the backroom of the Thrifty. He crammed the edge of the crowbar under the lip of the metal lid.

“Alright, you got it, Sherbet?” Ben said to Sherman, who took hold of the bottom of the box.

“Sherbet?” Sherman said, quirking an eyebrow.

“Yeah,” Said Ben, inclining his head down. “You. Got. It?” He held a stern face.

“Uh,” Sherman adjusted his grip and help tight. “Yeah, I got it, Be–uh. Bu…,” He looked around the thrifty and his eyes settled on a row of candies. “Bu–ttercup?” He looked back to Ben.

Zach snorted from the couch he had plopped down on. Ben shook his head, “You got a lot to learn, rookie.” He squared his shoulders, “Just, hold onto the damn thing.”

“Yes sir,” Said Sherman, his punctured ego dedicating itself to his task.

Ben worked at the crowbar, prying a little more of the lid back and setting the crowbar deeper. Once he was satisfied, he gave the crowbar a swift jerk that popped the edge of the lid off. The shrapnel flew across the room. Joe stepped into the doorway with impeccable timing.

“Gentlemen, I- Gah!” Joe squeaked as he narrowly missed the chunk of metal box that zipped past him.

“Oh, I see now. So it has come to this,” Joe straightened up and put up his fists. “Mutiny. I knew this day would come. But you’ll have to best me in combat, fiends. Come on then, let’s do this!” Joe began to hop around, waving his fists in front of him.

Sherman popped up, “Whoa wait! It was an accident, Boss. We were just trying to–”

“Finally,” Ben said, shouldering his crowbar, “Been waiting for a chance to knock that cheesy smirk off your face.” 

Ben charged at Joe, swinging the crowbar down towards Joe’s head. In a flash, Joe brought up his hands to catch the blow, the two locked eyes and grit their teeth.

“Oh, Heck Yeah!” Sherman said, eyes sparkling. He scurried over to the couch and hopped into the spot next to Zach. “This is gonna be epic. Don’t you think?”

Zach shrugged, “Maybe.”

Joe and Ben tussled for a bit. They wrestled and rolled and tumbled, finishing with Joe having taken the crowbar from Ben.

Joe pointed the crowbar at Ben, who crouched on the ground catching his breath.

“Will you yield?” Joe said.

“Yeah yeah,” Ben said, bruised ego kinda killing the mood. “I will honor the code of the thug and serve your blah blah blah.”

“Perfect,” Joe said and tossed the crowbar back to him. “Whew, almost got me that time.”

Ben caught the crowbar and stood up, “Oh blow me sideways, bristles. You hold back every time.” He scoffed out his nose and went back to the table. “Hey, Sherbet, we opening this thing or what?”

Sherman, stars in his eyes got up from the couch, “You guys are so cool. Like, when you were like, ‘Whapam! Take that’ but then Joe just did that thing where he, you know, just ‘Whoosh, bam!’ and you went flying and…” He flailed his arms. Zach leaned away to allow Sherman room to embellish.

“That’s enough, Sherman.” Joe said, “What are you opening anyway?”

“Dunno, Zach found it in the junkyard and couldn’t open it.” Sherman said “He even did his–” He wiggled his fingers and flip flopped his wrists. “Stuff.”

Zach also wiggled his fingers and then shrugged.

Joe stroked his ‘stache, “A rather tricky treasure trove, it would–” He paused, “t-uh, tantamount to tremendous tantalizing trophies for this team.” He smiled at his cleverness.

Ben scoffed, “You are such a dork.” He glared at Sherman. “Come on, hold this sucker down before I use this crowbar to vent all that hot air in your head.”

Sherman hustled over and gripped the box again. Ben got the edge into the lid again and gave it a adrenaline-fueled push. The lid peeled back like a tuna can and revealed the contents within. Ben tossed the crowbar aside as they all gathered to peek inside the box.

“Oh,” Said Zach with a neutral voice.

“Whoa,” Said Sherman with a hint of wonder.

“Hmm,” Murmured Joe, contemplating.

“Oh, goodie. More junk.” Ben said, his shoulders slumping down.

“What? This isn’t junk,” Sherman reached inside and pulled out a handful of the contents. Play cards. A bunch of them, haphazardly scattered inside the box. They had colorful pictures of monsters on one side and a big logo plastered on the other. “Don’t you remember Pouch Gremlins? For the Game Lad?”

Joe snapped his fingers, “Ha, I knew they looked familiar.” He took a few of the cards out of the box. “I used to play a shared copy of Powgrem with my brothers and sisters way back when.” He started flipping through the cards. Zach also began to dig through the contents of the box.

“Feh,” Ben said looking over the couple that Sherman had fished out, “That baby game about little kids making friends with super powered monsters and battling them. All the designs looked so lame.” His sharp eyes landed on a shiny card in Sherman’s hand, he snatched it and nodded. “Except this guy. He was awesome.”

Joe and Sherman looked at the card. Sherman smiled, “Oh yeah, Psycat. The legendary survivor of psychic experiments. The lore said that he was a loner Powgrem who killed off his old master. Pretty dark stuff.”

“Yeah, super edgy and took no shit. I liked him.” Ben said.

“My favorite was the one you could start out with, Grassasaurus Rex!” Sherman said, pulling out the relevant card, “His solar cannon attack was unbeatable!” He looked to Joe, “Oh, who was your favorite, Joe?”

Joe dug into the box and nodded, pulling out another shiny card, “This one.” He held it up, “The trickmaster, Ghostgar.” He laughed, “When I would play against my siblings, they would actually ban me from using him cause he was too good.”

“How about you, Zach?” Sherman asked, “Did you have a favorite?”

Zach was organizing the cards by color and rarity. Without looking up from his work, he muttered, “Yup.”

Joe chuckled. Sherman pressed on, “Such as…?”

Zach paused, looked over the stacks of cards before grabbing out a fairly common looking card and holding it up. “This guy.”

“Oh,” Sherman said, a little disappointed, “I guess Joltling is pretty popular.” He looked back to Joe, “I mean, it was the mascot of the series.”

Joe nodded and regarded the box again. “Hmm…what do you suppose these were doing in such a secure box?”

Ben scoffed, “Loser probably wanted to hide his shame when he moved on to something better.” He was gathering up all the copies of Psycat and silently judging the edginess of each one.

Sherman looked at the box, “Maybe they were special and he wanted to keep them safe?”

Zach finished sorting and stacking and said, “Resale.”

Joe, Ben and Sherman all looked up, struck by the idea.

Joe caught it first. “How much do you think these cards are worth?”

Ben smirked, “I hear things get more valuable over time, if you collect enough.”

“And look at all of these shinies.” Said Sherman, “They’ve gotta be worth a fortune.”

“Zach, gather up those little treasures,” Joe said, stroking his mouse-stache, “We’re headed to town!”

Ben and Sherman cheered, Zach packed the cards away.

“Gentlemen,” Joe said, “Let’s go make some money.”

…

“50 bucks?” Ben said incredulously. “Are you serious?”

He leaned over the counter of the hobby shop, making the cashier back away slightly. From behind the counter, he gave his big, friendly, Snorlax smile, “Yup, 100 even. Pretty—impressive collection, though.” He said through a yawn. “So, will that be cash or store credit?”

Joe managed to pry Ben away from the counter. “Uh, excuse my friend here. I am pretty certain there were quite a number of rare cards in there. Surely they would fetch a handsome price?”

The cashier shrugged, “Maybe a bit ago, but not anymore.” He turned in his swivel chair and grabbed another box of cards. “Everyone’s moved on to Data Goblins.” He showed them the box. Though the designs were slightly different, it seemed like the exact same game. “People just aren’t buying Powgrem anymore.” He set the box back, “So, 50.” He smiled again.

Ben wrestled out of Joe’s grip and got uncomfortably close to the cashier. “Listen, tubby, how about you grease these pockets before I grease up your face?”

The cashier held his smile and opened one of his eyes just enough to glare at Ben. The sight sent a chill down the young thug’s spine. “Fifty. Dollars. Even.”

…

Ben and Joe shuffled out of the hobby shop.

“Hey guys,” Sherman said, hustling up to them. “How’d it go?”

Joe looked at Ben, who scoffed, “Waste of time.” He looked away and folded his arms.

Zach and Sherman looked at Joe. Joe pulled the 50 dollars out of his pocket.

“Oh,” Said Sherman. Zach gave a resigned shake of the head.

“Well, you win some, you lose some.” Joe said. “But I still think 50 dollars for free is a win.” He smiled.

Sherman nodded, “Still, it would have been nice to at least keep–”

Zach zipped around in front of him and held up the Grassasaurus Rex card. “Here.”

Sherman lit up and took the card, “No way, you held onto my favorite. You’re the best.”

Zach shrugged and walked around to the other two members and held up their favorite cards.

“You sly devil,” Joe said, taking the card and slipping it into his pocket. “Should have known.”

Ben snatched his card, “What the heck? Isn’t this thing super rare? We might have gotten more cash for this.” He glared at Zach, who returned with an indifferent quirk of the eyebrow.

Joe nudged him, “You’re welcome to head back inside to trade it in.”

Ben looked back at the shop, then down to his Psycat. “Yeah, never mind. Psycat is too cool for that.” He also tucked the card into his pocket.

Zach also tucked a card into his pocket. The picture looked like a Joltling, but was a little off. It appeared as though it was merely wearing a Joltling costume…

More of my wonderous work! Gaze in awe as Baron Von Blight sets about his joyous work. #inktober2016 #doodles

Grondel of Irvasker

I never planned on this turning into a scene. It just sort of tumbled out. So I had no way of knowing how to end it. So, forgive the meme conclusion. Enjoy?

...

The Irvasker tribe of the wintery north always held honor among warriors as guiding doctrine. Every man, woman, and child was expected to show this level of reverence and respect to strength and especially overcoming obstacles, be they from the world or within. This left Yorgen Irvasker, son of the mighty Tusk Irvasker, in a difficult position. The great beast Grondel’s head lay at his feet. The same beast that Yorgen had failed to hunt for months. Indeed, such a feat would yield, by their tribe’s most honored traditions, the seat beside the Chief. Yorgen was conflicted giving such a regal position to an outsider, especially a Bobkin. He clenched and unclenched his fist several times around the pommel of his great sword, debating if he could talk his way out of lopping the sly grin off the Bobkin’s face. The Chief cleared his throat again, motioning to Yorgen.

“Ah yes,” Yorgen said, knocked from his internal monologues of bloodshed, “You have done well, Bobkin.”

“The name’th Withper.” The Bobkin named Whisper said with a painfully comical lisp. He leaned his small frame against the beast’s head, his elbow digging into its ear. “And I think, you got more to thay than that.”

Yorgen stifled a grumble with a cough, “Yes of course. As the customs and traditions of our tribe dictate, you are to receive a title and position worthy of your deed.”

Whisper gave a revoltingly self-satisfying smile and patted the head, “Tho, what will thith get me?”

The Chief stood from his throne of furs, leather and bone and made a wide gesture that made his mammoth-skin cape flutter around him. “For your deeds you shall become a Yar-Vasker.” 

Whisper looked from the Chief to Yorgen. Yorgen sighed and wiped a hand over his face and down his beard, “He means you will become like a brother to the Chief.” 

The minute warrior cheered, “About time you meatheads recognized my might.”

The Chief smiled. Yorgen grumbled, but then noticed a shifting of movement on the beast’s head. Not a sign of life, more like a sudden change in color before quickly shifting back. 

“But before that,” Yorgen said, approaching the head, “We shall make ceremony of this great and impressive victory!” He raised his mighty great sword into the air. The masses cheered at the glinting steel of his blade. “Oh Whisper, the great hunter, the honor shall be yours.” He extended his arm, offering the huge weapon to the small Bobkin.

“Exthcuthe me?” Whisper said, head tilting to the side.

“Drive the blade into the beast’s head, such is the ceremony before honoring you as Yar-Vasker.” Yorgen said with an ice-cold smile. 

Whisper looked at the greatsword, the handle of which was larger than his forearm. “I don’t think--”

“Oh but great hunter Whisper,” Yorgen said, his voice booming, “After defeating this beast, surely this small task is nothing for you.”

“Yes,” The Chief said, his smile was warm and brotherly, “Show us the might that slew the powerful beast.”

Cheers lifted from the crowd, followed by chanting for their new hero. Yorgen beamed, eyes wide and full of malice, down at the small Bobkin. The handle of the weapon aimed at his head like the bolt of a crossbow.

“Uh,” He looked between the weapon and the beast’s head. “Ith thith really nethethary?”

“Oh?” Yorgen said, a brow arching with the hope of mimicking the expression of one who is surprised. “Could it be you do not have the strength?”

Whisper sneered and matched glares with Yorgen, “Well, it was quite a mighty battle,” He let his grin show more of his sharp teeth, “Not that you would really know.”

The chanting of the crowd masked their interaction, but enough people noticed the change in Yorgen, from his usual calm and dominant presence, to the tense presence of a coiled predator. A second chant was called out, probably by one of the younger fools in attendance, that called for more bloodshed.

Whisper and Yorgen held each other at a glare until the burly, bearded man broke first. He turned to the Chief.

“My Chief. The battle with Grondel has left our savior weary indeed and unable to initiate the ceremony.” Yorgen said, his face wearing a worried look that ill matched the giddy sound in his voice.

Whisper let out a breath he didn’t realize he had been holding.

“So instead” Yorgen continued, “Mightn’t I do the honors?” He turned and lifted the blade over his head, eyes locked on the head of the beast.

“STOP!” Whisper said, his lisp vanishing. 

Yorgen brought the blade down. 

The head bounced out of the way and tumbled behind Whisper.

“Are you crazy?” The head burbled before twitching and shifting into a different creature. A mix between a shaggy dog and a dragon. The Farceling tried to hunker its large body behind the small Bobkin. 

The crowd went wild, confusion, anger and a couple of people laughing nervously.

“I knew it!” Yorgen cried, “Naught but lies and trickery!” Yorgen strode over to them, blade held tight in his fist. “You dare--”

“Now,” Whisper held up his hands, “Let’s be reasonable about this.” 

“We need to escape,” the Farceling muttered from behind his friend.

“What do you think I am trying to do, Hush?” Whisper said in a panicked voice.

“No, not from him,” Hush said.

Yorgen loomed over them. “I have had enough of you both.” He was shouting over the cacophony of the crowd. “You shall be put to death for your deceit.”

“Silence!” The Chief cried, raising his hands.

A rather tiny Pixum poked its head out of Whisper’s pocket for a second, “Did they figure me out too?” Whisper quickly pushed Silence back into his pocket.

The din of noise in the hall fell away. 

“Where are the guardsmen?” The Chief said, scanning the crowd. Five hands went up.

“Here, Chief!”

Yorgen’s eyes went wide, “Then who is standing guard?”

The five men looked at one another.

“You said you were going to stay behind.”

“I told Bristle to stand watch for me.”

“Then why is HE here?”

“But Grondel is dead, so why would I need to stand guard?”

The crowd turned their eyes on the cowering Farceling. A hush fell over the room. 

Then a quaking wail, the sound of souls being shred and the dead writhing in their graves, came thundering through the hall. Followed soon was the sound of barricades splintering under the force of powerful, unstoppable limbs. 

The Chief went pale, “Grondel.”

Yorgen furrowed his brow, “It's here.”

“Oh shit,” Whisper whispered

Roll initiative…

I feel this is terribly important to keep in mind if your world building includes a substantial time skip. Unless a given reason has stagnated the world, "100 years later" should show a drastically different world.

We went from horse and buggy to space in less then 100 years