Cactusthedragon - Various Book Stuff - Tumblr Blog

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I think I'm a happy flightless bird endemic to New Zealand

@crownamedblue @energylessartist @sir-ramic @theultimatefloorskittle

tag game!

Your last emojis are your gender

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Uh

@erikaskblog @fymo-blogs

y'all ever reach the end of google

In case anyone is having a bad night:

Here is the fudgiest brownie in a mug recipe I’ve found

Here are some fun sites

Here is a master post of Adventure Time episodes and comics

Here is a master post of movies including Disney and Studio Ghibli

Here is a master post of other master posts to TV shows and movies

*tucks you in with fuzzy blanket* *pats your head*

You’ll be okay, friend <3

Hey, hello! I am really sorry for sending this, I just hope I’m not overstepping any boundaries as I’m about to ask for help which is very important right now. Our Sleepy cat requires urgent medical attention from the veterinarian. She is experiencing pain and I don’t have the money to take her to the vet to help her. so, I am asking for help from any well-wisher. Even if you can’t spare some money to help, reposting the link would be of great help. She helps me in taking care of my daughter since they are best friends and she is my only close relation with mom since my mom died last year 2021. If you would be interested to help, I have Pinned the post on my blog, please you can try reply to the ask privately as well because some people like getting creepy over this matter. We are alright, pray for us, please. ♥️🙏

Person seems legit and easier to verify than the multitudes of Gaza requesters. Make your own deductions but at least give them a chance.

I don't think women can be funny. I wouldn't consider myself a misogynist or even transphobe, as so often comes with my ideology (All genders deserve equal pay and voting rights of course.) Transgender people in my eye are a little complicated because there is nonbinary and such, but generally "binaries" in regards to transgender people fall into their cisgender counterparts' categories. This is also a possible way to determine someone's "true gender" (if a man is not funny it is likely she will come out as transgender in the future.) I have seen female comedians and such but they have a different way of carrying themselves that tells me they do not know how to make a joke. Discovering your blog has been interesting to me because you seem to understand comedy much better than other females. Maybe you're not quite to the gold standard that men have achieved and perhaps your prowess is due to the Internet being a different medium but you have merit that many don't. Consider a career in screenwriting.

Heroes

It was a sweltering afternoon when I decided to kill my friends. 

I was waiting for them at the back gate to our school, idly flipping through the news as I lounged against the wall. 

It was the same as usual. The 'Vile Villain', Lord Subjugator, had begun causing chaos in the city, and our resident superhero trio, the Rangers, had to step in and save the day. Lame.

Call me odd, but I'd never liked supers. They were always so self-righteous, pretending to be so morally superior and perfect. They acted as though their vigilante justice was a gift rather than a pain in the ass, and that we all ought to kiss their feet.

Jeannine popped up in the corner of my vision, and I greeted her with a smile. But her normally sunny face was set in a frown. I turned to quiet Cel and broad, athletic Vic, who were equally solemn. "Guys? What's going on?"

Jean sighed. "Perhaps it's best to tell you at your place. I think you're going to need a seat for this," she admitted.

What had happened? Had they been expelled? Had Mrs Leo found out about the chalk incident? Had someone's parents died? "Okay," I said, patting her on the arm reassuringly.

The walk home passed in disturbing silence. Vic twitched at every little move, Cel sulked and Jean strode on with grim determination. 

I had known these guys since we were in diapers. We kept no secrets between ourselves. I knew them like the back of my hand, and I knew of nothing that could have them so spooked.

I led my best friends into the house, only to find my parents staring at me sternly. "Alright, what the hell's going on?" 

My mother, still beautiful in her fifth decade, shook her head sadly. "There's something important you need to know, Mara," she said.

"We're the Rangers!" Cel blurted the words out, and I stared at her in blank shock.

"Is this a joke? You're kidding me, right?" I gave her an incredulous smile and turned back to my mother. "What's the actual news?"

My mother's lips quirked downwards. "We're the Rangers. Well, to be precise, they're the Rangers and your father and I are their auxiliaries."

Misunderstanding my expression, she added, "That means we help out when they need extra manpower."

I didn't move, but I could feel anger bubbling in my chest, thick as molasses. They had to be pulling my leg. My parents, my best friends, were all supers? I waited for them to stop joking.

"Mara," my father said patronisingly, "it was for your own good. If you knew when you were younger, you'd only feel jealous that they had things you didn't. And it would make you a target! We were just trying to keep you safe."

For my own good, I thought. Like I didn't know well enough to decide for myself. Like I was some sort of child or pet, to be coddled and lied to. I could see it now, how my parents always deferred to them, how my friends were always babying me. Had they only befriended me because of my parents? Were they the children my parents always wanted?

I met Jean's gaze and forced a smile. "So, you must be Yellow Ranger, then?" The words practically choked me with their false friendliness. I wanted to scream at them, to curse them out. How long had they known? Had I been nothing but a pet to them this whole time? Was my whole life a lie?

Still I forced a sickeningly sweet smile when Jean nodded enthusiastically. "Cos I'm sunny and cheerful, you know? And Cel's blue cos she's the calm one. And of course that makes Vic the Red, cos he's passionate." She heaved a sigh of relief. 

"I'm so glad you're taking this well," Vic told me. He had the softest heart; how could he have betrayed me like this? Where had his empathy gone? "Your father was afraid you wouldn't be sensible. But we know you. You're so understanding." 

Understanding? Yes, I understood. I understood they had lied to me. Sensible? The only sensible response was to scream my lungs out. But I held my ground. They saw me as a fool, a pet they kept around out of… What, pity? Amusement? To affirm their egos?

And now I supposed they expected me to fawn over them. Even as the rage in my chest built to a steaming, broiling cauldron, I smiled. "So," I said, feigning awe, "Why'd you decide to tell me now?"

Cel grasped my forearms. Her fingers burned with falsehoods, but I matched her expression like the pet they thought I was. "Because we found the Subjugator's hideout, and we're going to stop him tomorrow. And you know, we were kinda hoping you'd celebrate with us. Bake us a cake, since your food's so good. I just want you to be a part of our festivities, even though you're not a super like us."

A super like them. There it was again, the damn supers thinking themselves superior to me.

Did they think I was a good dog, to run about at their feet, adore them, play fetch and roll over? Well, they were about to find out that this dog was all bite and no bark. 

No, this dog wasn't going to give them a warning bark at all. This dog would play nice until it sunk its teeth into their traitorous super flesh. "Of course! But I'm curious: Where's his hideout? Surely it must have been really well hidden?" 

My mother laughed. "Can you believe it was hidden in plain sight all along? Right in the skyscraper over there. He's listed under Evil Inc. It was like he was waving himself right under our noses." She shook her head. "Honestly, I'm embarrassed that we didn't see it sooner. Even a normie would have been able to catch him."

Normie. The word sent a paroxysm of pure lividity through my veins, like a shot of adrenaline. Of course supers had a degrading nickname for the people they supposedly protected. I let out a hollow laugh, bile rising at the back of my throat. I'll kill you all, I promised myself. I'll make you pay for your lies.

But I went into the kitchen like a good little girl and began taking out the ingredients for a cake. "Why don't you guys go and plan your big event? I'll just be here baking. I'm sure it was a pain to keep everything from me all those years ago," I said casually, even as my hands itched for the knife lying tantalisingly within reach. 

"Oh, it's not all that hard for us supers to hide things, what with our x-ray vision and invisibility powers," my mother said cheerily. "Maybe someday your father can take you flying! Now, wouldn't that be fun?"

Her words hit me like a metal slug to the chest. Of course I couldn't kill a super, let alone five of them. They had super-speed, super-strength, super-whatever. Anything I could do, they could do better. If I wanted to take them down (and gods I did, I wanted them to know they weren't the all powerful nigh-gods they thought they were), I had to be smart.

I took out my sieve and placed it on a metal bowl. In went two hundred grams of flour and a teaspoon of baking powder, a recipe repeated into muscle memory. Preheated the oven to a hundred eighty. Quietly, bitterly, I tapped the sieve. It thwacked satisfyingly but failed to drown out the excited voices just outside my door.

I knew what they thought. I was just a normie, what could I contribute? No, better to simply give me a minor chore to look cute on the news when they discovered me. That was the truth. I was just one little toy dog to trot out for the press to coo over, one more example of the stellar kindness of the supers. I slapped the sieve with renewed fury.

So the press wouldn't help me. They were too busy kissing the ass of my lying traitors. The police? No, they were worse than useless. They were grateful that the supers were doing their job for them. I couldn't do it on my own, of course. So that left just one thing.

Lord Subjugator. He would help me. And I didn't care if he was a genocidal psychopath with a fetish for mass enslavement, so long as he brought those bastards down. They thought I was harmless, that lying to me didn't matter? They thought I was a toy to take out of my box and put back in as they pleased, a little diversion from their 'true' lives. They would be proven wrong.

I pulled two eggs out of the fridge. I knew where he was. I could look for him. I smashed their shells against another bowl, picturing my parents' heads shattering, their selfish super brains leaking out. 

I didn't bother bringing out the electric whisk. I had too much pent up resentment, poured into the whirring of my whisk like it was another ingredient.

No, I didn't care about good or evil, law or chaos. I just hated them for lying to me. I added in the milk, and the butter. The mixture turned a frothy yellow. Melted Yellow Ranger, I thought vindictively, and folded in the flour. 

It was done, and all too fast. I poured the batter into an oiled pan. That went into the oven. 17 minutes.

Outside, I heard them discussing their responses to the press. The idea of introducing me to them. Discussing me within earshot, as though I weren't intelligent enough to understand. I dumped the bowls, whisk and spatula into the basin and began scrubbing them. 

"Smells wonderful," my father said, ruffling my hair. I resisted the urge to snap at him. "We ordered some pizza, come eat with us when you're done." He began to walk out of the room, then turned around. "You know, most kids dream of being friends with the Rangers. I know it's a big shock, but you should be more grateful, Mara sweetie. We're doing a great service to the city."

I didn't want to be friends with the Rangers. I wanted to be friends with Vic, Cel and Jean. I didn't want to be in their shadow, pattering after them and offering up baked treats. I wanted to be their equal. But I didn't say that either, only continued scrubbing the bowl.

There was a veiled warning there, however. I had to be more convincing. I plastered on a grin. As the final bowl was doused in water, I heard the doorbell ring. It was the pizza, of course. The very idea of eating with those traitors made me want to hurl, but I forced myself out of my little kitchen-sanctum. 

Settling down in a corner of my dining room, I had never felt so much like a stranger in my own home. The pizza tasted empty, like soggy cardboard. The buzz of my traitor-friends' voices scratched at my ears. 

Barely forcing down two pieces of pizza, I dashed for the cake when it was done, grateful to be free from the inane lies of those bastards, who persisted in pretending they had not betrayed me. It hurt, a hollow gnawing anger-sorrow that made me feel cold, alone and helpless.

I wanted to grab the cake with my bare hands, to feel the burn, to imagine the pain was theirs and not mine. But I put on my gloves and emptied the tin onto a cooling rack.

"Mum, Dad, guys," I said, the words sour and rotten on my tongue, "I'm gonna take a walk while the cake rests. See y'all later." 

And then I was out the door. The evening gust of wind was cooling on my face. It whipped my clothes, tossed my hair about, and blew away my sorrows. 

I wanted to be picked up and carried away by it, to leave these liars who wore my beloved family's faces and ate at my table. I didn't know what they got out of lying to me my whole life. Now that they were out of sight, the rage in my veins had congealed to loss. 

Nonetheless, my grief changed nothing. They, those bastards who thought themselves the arbiters of my life, had to go. I pulled out my bike, a reminder of all the great moments my friends-who-were-never-my-friends had with me. 

Tears welled up in my eyes as I rode down the street, headed for the building where the Subjugator resided. I wanted to run back into the arms of my parents, to confide in my friends. But they were dead to me. "Dead, and six feet under," I told myself, and nearly believed it.

I mean, what was I supposed to do? Roll over like a good dog and spend the rest of my days at their heels, forever lesser than them? No, I wasn't that sort. I was the star student, the winner of competitions, the perfect kid. I was better than them. I was the best, and if I wasn't, I would be. The idea of everyone around me being supers; the idea of them being better than I could ever be; I couldn't deal with it. I just could not.

So I pedalled faster, pumping my legs, swerving around curbs, ignoring red lights and cars with reckless abandon. A part of me wondered if I could just die here, flying down the streets to betray those who betrayed me. I couldn't close my eyes and pretend nothing had changed, but perhaps I could close my eyes permanently. 

I didn't, in case you were wondering. I made it all the way to the home of Evil Inc. and parked my bike with a sense of resignation. 

The skyscraper hung ominously above me as I walked into the lobby. A bored receptionist raised an eyebrow as I went by, but said nothing. Apparently she wasn't paid enough to stop suspicious teenagers in their school uniforms. 

I stared at the directory, scrolling until I found Evil Inc on the list. #66-6. Of course it was, I thought, stifling a laugh. 

The lifts were arranged neatly, and opened with sleek smoothness. Their innards were lined with mirrors, creating a dozen clones of me still in a greying school uniform. We stood together in silent solidarity as the lift glid up, arms crossed, ever so slightly hunched in anxiety.

When the doors opened, I reluctantly left my mirror images behind. It had been comforting to see them by my side, the friends I never had, the ones who wouldn't leave me. But they did, as all friends were wont to do.

As I stood in the lobby of Evil Inc., looking at the glossy signs, I realised my mother was right on one account: How the hell had anyone missed this?

It screamed evil genius with an temerity that almost amounted to insanity. The jet black linoleum floor, with its streaks of blood red, was by far the worst offender, though the metal inventions, often spiky and threatening, gave it a run for its money. I would have been scared, or at least intimidated, but the overall effect was too frivolous.

"Hello? Anybody in here? I've got some information that-"

"Shut!" The Subjugator walked out, waving a long finger at me. He looked exactly like a stereotypical villain, with slicked back dark hair and a monocle. The overall effect was surprisingly handsome, in a lanky, well dressed way. "I know what you're here for, Mara, daughter of the Ranger Auxiliaries. You understand, don't you?"

I paused, thinking through all that I knew of him. Then it occurred to me. "Yes," I said, "I think I understand. This- This whole evil thing, it's just a facade. You're like me. You hate the supers." The curling smile on his lips told me all I needed. "Was it the press who made up all the crap about you, or the supers?"

He shrugged. "Whoever made it up, they made sure to make me as vile as possible. They'll make one out of you too, when they find out you've defected." He gestured. "Come in, child of the supers. Come in and leave your sadness behind. This is a place of revenge, not regret."

I followed right on his heels. The inner rooms of Evil Inc abandoned all pretence at villainy, adopting a bland, beige palette. "What made you do this?" I meant: Who betrayed you?

"Your father did, of course," the Subjugator said. "I was trying to analyse the genetics of the supers, work out what made them different. So I took his samples, us being the best of friends, and mine, as controls." He snorted. "Some controls they were. It took a while to realise that my machine was working just fine, and your father had ruined my experiment with his faulty super genes! Of course, he and his precious hero friends silenced me and threw my life's work away in the name of 'the greater good', to protect their identities. Truth is, they think a super's life is worth more than a normal person's."

Thinking back to their treatment of me, I nodded. "We're just dogs to them. Roll over, sit and beg for them. That's all they think us capable of doing."

The Subjugator smiled again. "You truly are a kindred spirit. Let me show you around. Perhaps I shall find myself in need of an assistant." 

I gave him a hopeful grin in return. "I was wondering something. If you knew who the Rangers were all along, why haven't you stopped them yet?"

He paused just before the door, turning around with a confused expression. "I don't know who the Rangers truly are. Why would you say that- Unless?" He raised an eyebrow at me.

I nodded. "My closest friends, believe it or not. Celia Naretza, Jeannine Vera, and Victor Lee. Blue, Yellow and Red respectively."

The look of sympathy that came over his face told me that I had chosen the right confidante. "So those closest to your heart are supers, then? I can only imagine how much it must sting, to be trapped in their shadow." He rested a hand on my shoulder. "I bet they told you because they thought you insignificant. We'll prove them wrong. Completely, utterly wrong."

The sudden ferocity in his gaze startled me, but it kindled a kindred fury within my chest, rewarming the sluggish loathing that had settled on my ride out. "Bet," I said, and grabbed his other hand to shake it.

The Subjugator nodded. "In that case, call me Dale," he told me. "That's my true name."

"You already know who I am, Dale," I said, mostly just to try the name out. Its plainess sounded odd on such an audacious man. "So are we going in there?" I put my hand on the door handle that led even deeper into Evil Inc.

"Of course," he said, opening the door to reveal yet another bland hallway. "I'll bring you straight to my invention room. You can tell me about the Rangers there."

The invention room turned out to be dominated by a laser, with various tools scattered about. It was huge, practically the size of my school gym, but possessed only a single chair. I perched on it while Dale made us tea with a small, well used boiler in the corner of the room. "I know coffee is more typical, but I've never gotten accustomed to the bitterness," he confided, sliding a chipped cup over to me. "So, tell me, little Mara, who are the Rangers?"

"They're my classmates," I began, not willing to call those traitors friends, "and are all in the 10th Grade of Bleugarde Secondary. Victor is on the basketball team, Celia plays the flute in the school band, and Jeannine is a member of the theatre club. They do decently in school, but I've always gotten higher than them. We met when I was 4 years old. My family had just moved into the house in between Jeannine's and Vic's, with Celia's just across the street. We all started 1st grade together." I caught myself abbreviating Victor's name and swallowed. I had been closest to him, after all. His betrayal stung the most.

"Their parents? Pets? Anything we could use against them?" Dale scribbled a few notes on a scrap of paper and looked up. "Personal information is good and all, but I'm going to need their weaknesses."

I paused, thinking. "Victor's dad lost his job recently, and Celia's mother cheated on her husband a couple years back, so they're divorced. Apart from that? Nothing. They're a pretty normal bunch, if you don't know about their powers. In any case, I doubt you've got enough time to stop them before they attack tomorrow."

He froze. "They're attacking tomorrow? And you didn't see fit to tell me earlier?" His voice cracked, though with horror or rage, I was not sure.

"I- I thought you already knew," I said, instantly defensive. "You said you knew why I came, so I thought you knew about it all." Was I already going to lose him, so soon? 

He sighed. "I suppose that was my mistake. At least we found out now, rather than tomorrow morning. As it stands, our timeline has just been shortened significantly. I hope you're as smart as you claim, because this stuff isn't for fools." He didn't sound particularly angry with me, only resigned. "If they're attacking first thing tomorrow, there's no time to recall my staff, not without alerting them. Which leaves just you and me. Never thought I'd be leading an attack on the Rangers alongside a fifteen year old."

I coughed awkwardly. "I'm only 13. I skipped two years, took the placement test early. My mother always said it was good of the others to look after me. I had thought it was because they were older, but I suppose it was truly because they were supers and I wasn't." I hated them for that too. I would have rather been mercilessly picked on than be sheltered by those who thought less of me.

Dale shook his head ruefully. "This is a disaster. An absolute disaster, but we shall make the best of it." He put his cup down and walked over to the laser. "This is honestly all you'll need to know about. It's my second best work— The first, of course, being the one I was never allowed to publish." We shared a moment of bitter silence in the name of everything the supers had destroyed. "I call her Athena. She's quite simple, honestly. An honest-to-badness disintegration ray. Voice activated. Just say 'execute', wait a minute for it to power up, then say b-e-g-i-n. Works best if you yell, of course." 

I watched, fascinated, as the laser slowly whirred to life. It was so subtle, I would hardly have realised it was activated had he not told me of it. "That's one quiet machine," I told him. "It's amazing."

Dale grinned at me, the expression handsome enough to make me blush. "I know," he said, sighing in delight. "I thought about flashiness, but there's just style in having it this way. It autotargets supers, too!"

He regarded his inventions with the pride of a father. "In my earlier prototypes, it heated up a great deal. A little liquid cooling, piped to the air conditioning vents outside, fixed that. My secretary always said she knew when I power it up, because we end up paying a fortune in electrical fees." 

"Wait, how did you get the money to fund all this?" It did not appear as though a poor inventor could possibly finance such hefty equipment and an office in the central business district. "Are you rich?"

"Rich? Heavens, no. I'm afraid the truth is rather more dreary. I sell my inventions to munitions companies. This darling is one of the few I kept for myself. It would have made a fortune, but I cannot bear to part with it. Perhaps, when I invent something greater, I will find it within me to sell my precious away." He rested his hand on my shoulder. "So, Mara, what do you make of this? Of the scourge of Metropolis?"

I shrugged. "You're cool. Cooler than I thought some crusty old dude holed up in his office making lasers would be." I giggled at his feigned outrage. "And it's nice to have a friend who I know isn't a super."

"It is, isn't it? I can't stand how well they blend in with us proper folk. That's why I kept my genetics test around. All of my employees take it, so I can root out all the supers," he told me. 

I nodded my approval. "Thank goodness for that. I can't imagine-" My words were cut off as the door slammed open, revealing my traitor family and friends, accompanied by a horde of armed police. Dale thrust me behind him, as though he wanted to protect me from them.

"Ladies. Gentlemen. Supers," Dale said, reverting to his facade of the over-the-top villain. "How can I help you?"

"You can start by returning my daughter, you bastard. Don't drag her into our feud," my father snarled. 

"I came here of my own will! I'm not some dog for you to control, and I won't spend the rest of my life waiting on you and the Rangers!" The words escaped my mouth in a yell, far more whiny than I would have liked. "You'll have to drag my cold, dead corpse home."

"Why?" Victor still looked bewildered. "What did we do wrong?"

"Wrong?" I practically shrieked the words. "You're supers! You lied to me, this whole time. Was any of it ever real? Was I just some fucking pet to you? Did you even care about me?"

Celia wept. "No, Mars, we never meant to hurt you. Mum told me I had to keep everything under wraps, and your parents said not to tell you. Please, come back to us."

For a moment, I almost believed them. "Don't ever call me Mars again. You aren't my friends. You aren't anything except a bunch of traitorous supers. Dale's my friend now." I grabbed his hand and stepped shoulder to shoulder with him. Well, it was more shoulder to chest, but the thought was what counted.

"Are you insane? Kid, get back! What if they shoot?" Dale pulled me in closer, trying to get me behind him.

"Then we die, together. I'm done being their pet. I am my own person, and I will not cow to them," I told him. "Kill me or leave me be!"

The police deferred to my parents, who looked increasingly distraught. Of course they did. The PR fallout from this would be terrible. My father shook his head sadly. "Mara, did we not pay you enough attention? Is that what this is? A cry for help? We've tolerated enough selfishness from you. Come home, now." The force put into his voice made me flinch, but I stood my ground.

"No. You heard me. I'd rather die." I lifted my chin. "Kill me or leave me be."

"This is all your fault, Dale. You corrupted her," my mother snarled, her mascara streaking down her face. "You let me daughter go, this instant."

Dale, bless his heart, shook his head. "She's not some toy. She's a person, and people belong together, not surrounded by your kind."

My mother's eyes went wide, as though she had been shot. I could see the murder in her eyes, and threw myself in front of Dale as she grabbed the nearest gun. But I had forgotten: Supers had super speed and super aim.

He never stood a chance, toppling to the floor like a ragdoll, with me clutching him in my arms. "You killed him," I whispered, staring at the hole in his forehead in disbelief. "You killed him. He was my friend!" All friends left me, I had thought earlier, and Dale was no different. We had a million futures together, as friends, as student and mentor, as partners, and it was all gone in the blink of an eyes. 

"You." I stumbled to my feet, the last pieces of my plan falling into place. "This is all your fault. You supers are a blight on humanity. All of you." My lips quirked into a smile. "Begin."

"What?" Jeannine shook her head. "You've gone bonkers, Mara. We're people just like yo-" Athena's laser sliced through her, swift, silent and deadly. Her severed head fell like a stone, and the laser instantly moved on the Victor. He had no time to register his death either, the only mercy I was willing to give him. 

It came as a pleasant shock to watch Athena decimate the bastards who had turned my life upside down. One by one, they fell, with only my mother seeing her death come at her. She died looking as betrayed as I felt. I took two steps forward, until I stared at the police. "Scram, before I decide to point my laser at your lot."

They didn't wait a second, fleeing like the cowards they were. "Good," I murmured, once they had left. "I didn't know how to train it on them anyways." I turned to Dale and smoothed back a stray hair. "I'm sorry, my friend. You don't deserve to die alongside super scum. I'll make it up to you, I promise."

I took a deep breath. "The world will come to rue the day it angered The Bitterness, and the supers will quake in their lycra suits. For I will exact my revenge, and it shall be long and agonizing."

I strode out to the glass window. It had a wonderful view of Metropolis, the sprawling city of the supers. I opened the window, letting the wind run through my messy, bloodsoaked hair. I inhaled the breeze. Then I screamed.

"Down with the supers!"

One worldbuilding thing that's always fun to do is take something you've encountered in the real world, and apply something similar with the same logic into your own. Like those sayings that have two halves, but people usually only know the first half and misunderstand the saying - like "birds of a feather flock together (until the cat comes)" or "great minds think alike (but fools rarely differ)." So I came up with a few for The Book I'm Not Writing:

Hungry dogs are loyal dogs (until someone else feeds them) - neglecting and mistreating your underlings may work as a short-term tactic for making them obey, but it's also a guarantees that they'll betray you at first chance.

The mouth of an idiot is as loose as the strings of their purse (so be there when gold may drop out) - just because nine out of ten things that someone says are completely useless doesn't mean you should dismiss them altogether. They might still know useful things, even if they can't tell it's useful.

Blood makes a foul dye (it stains, but it won't last) - here "foul" is often interpreted as "brutal" or "gruesome", when it's meant as "of low quality". Using violence as your way to establish dominance and maintain authority because it's easier than building networks of mutual trust and respect is as stupid and short-sighted as using blood to dye clothes because it's cheaper than proper pigment.

A fool will starve to death while waiting for grain to grow (but it is also a fool who'll slaughter an ewe an hour before it lambs) - Immediate problems require immediate solutions, but you'd better make sure that your drastic emergency solution is the right one.

A blind horse will go as you guide where a half-blind one dare not (both through the darkness and down a cliff) - an agent who doesn't know the purpose of their task will obey blindly, where one that knows some part of it might disobey out of distrust, but neither is as reliable as one that does see the big picture, can draw their own conclusions from the information they gather, and adjust their plans accordingly.

I am, quite simply, a dragon. Named Cactus.

reblog if you are your url

Remember: Suicide is cowardice. Outlive your enemies.

Satan, probably

Also. Murder is against the law. Don't murder yourself or you'll get arrested.

@sir-ramic @energylessartist @theultimatefloorskittle @twoarrsandonesea @stargazer-luna @stonerwizardsandwitch @queermarzipan @crownamedblue

sigh. i cant believe im doing this.

if this gets 8k notes by the first week of october ill promise to stay alive one more year.

Every day, I make the hike.

Over the river of poisonous fish and deadly waters. Through the maze of thorns. Past the lair of something too ominous to describe.

Only to push a button.

And then I go back. I retrace my steps, hoping to get home before the fog sets in. Nobody wants to be near the fog without protection in the form of magical shields and a very, very sharp greatsword.

No wonder the job pays so well. I come within a hair's breadth of death every single day. If it's not the river, it's the monsters, and if it's not the monsters, it's the fog.

Only twice, I asked what happened to the last guy. I'd been here for two weeks by that point. The first time, my employer sighed and evaded the question. The second time, he told me.

"He died of old age."

No wonder he said I wouldn't believe him. The mere possibility is ludicrous. To go through this gauntlet for years upon end, and die of something so common as natural causes?

I enquired further - perhaps the person was one of the magical races that suddenly drop dead for seemingly no reason? But no, the man explained. It was something very different.

"You know the route you take. Over the river, through the thorns, through the jungle with the lairs. And you know exactly what lies at the end."

I nod. The clearing with harmless creatures and the button.

"Our second-last guy trained one of the pokipoks to do her job. It was amazing. I'd never seen anybody get close enough to feed them, let alone train them. But then the pokipok - which, if I remember correctly, she called Ball - died of old age."

That... made sense, but for a few questions (why treat the pokipok like it was human? Why call it an employee and yet not pay it?), only one of which I decided to ask. "Why didn't you get the girl to come back and train another?"

"She's in the army. We can't just up and steal any of their recruits."

Ah, the army. This success at getting answered made me ask another question. "What does the button do?"

My employer gained a devilish grin. "You aren't on the internet, right? So you haven't seen the latest trend."

The internet was a cesspool of people all clamoring to make their voices heard. I might hate it for that reason alone, if there weren't so many other things wrong with it. I had an email for contact purposes and that was it.

"No," I responded.

My employer chuckled. "There's something 'bout the pokipoks that make people smile. They're round and fluffy, and their fur squishes into the ground in this adorable way. Their legs are tiny and stubby and their tail is half the size they are. And their head has the most adorable ears paired with the biggest little eyes."

I nod, not sure where this is going.

"So we installed a few cameras to watch them. They're harmless, and yet, have no natural predators. And have you seen what they get up to all day? They bounce around on their tail and bump into each other. It's amazing!"

"What does the button do?" I repeated.

"Right, right! The button sends the last 24 hours of footage to us. Then we watch it, clip it, and release it online for people to watch and enjoy."

So I was somehow being paid off of ad or subscription revenue, which generated enough income for them to pay me $4000 per day on average.

Good lord.

"Why pay me so much then?" I asked, fairly certain I knew the answer.

"Buddy," my employer's smile fell off his face, "you put your life in danger for the cute animal videos. I'm not paying you any less when we have such a money surplus."

I rearranged my facial muscles into a smile. I'm not sure if I did it right, but it felt good to be wanted.

"Now, you wanna see our recent footage?" asked my employer, and his smile seemed so genuine that I agreed.

“Alright. You’re paid $1000 an hour, full benefits, full international accommodations of all types, and more. All you have to do is push 1 button, at a specific time, once a day.” “What happened to the last person?” The man sighed and started shaking “Um… you wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

I can hug you! And I WILL!

@crownamedblue @toastedpotatoes @stargazer-luna

Making a chain cause why not!? Hdisiwisjs

Put your name/nickname in the Character Headcanon Generator and see what you get!

Link!

Erm...so-

@starsinthenigth @mxnaceo @duckp0t + Anyone who wants to do it! (No pressure)

the notes are broken 😂

You never knew your birth parents, growing up across the country in orphanages. While alone you learned to cook and shared your meals across the world, eventually owning your own business. One day you suddenly find out what your parents were. They were Fae… you’ve fed thousands Fae Food.

(CW: Assault, discussion of blood, discussion of harm of a minor)

I give the standard introductory speech, ending it with the number of people who made it out. I nearly fumble on the second line - I haven't been on this job for long - but push through it.

The human wages a silent war in their head before jumping directly in the first test, their first worst sin (they're in chronological order). An astonishing percentage of people have gotten stuck on this one and not gotten out.

They were fifteen. They had figured out they were non-binary, and told their parents. Their parents didn't like it, using incorrect pronouns, belittling them, and refusing to use the gender neutral name (Kel) they decided on. It all came to a head when their father used a slur.

They snapped.

They ran straight at their father and kicked him in the balls. He doubled over. Their mother tried to restrain them, but they were not having it and punched her in the face. A fight ensued. Stuff was thrown. Kel broke the TV and tipped over a bookshelf, nearly taking their father with it. They pushed over the sofa onto their mother's leg, which surprisingly didn't break. Kel was thrown out of the house and told to never come back, but they snuck back inside.

Kel didn't help clean up the mess, instead grabbing everything they could and staying at a friend's house. They didn't go back there for years.

But now they're here, and they just stepped into the test. The official designation of it is THE TEST OF WRATH.

Kel opens the door and leap inside, but their face falls the moment their feet land.

Their parents are in there, surrounded by a mansion of broken cabinets, shattered glass, and tumbled furniture. Kel stares at them.

"Clean this up," their father barks. "Clean it up, or you'll never set foot in this house again."

They turn to the door, but it has vanished. They cannot leave.

"Clean it up," their father repeats.

They start crying, reaching for a tissue on the floor.

"Clean it up, why don't you," shouts their mother this time. She talks towards them and starts shouting, slurs and insults and threats, and all the while they sit there, crying.

Then their father joins in.

The house that was once as still as a lake before dawn was now filled with all the shouts and screams of the three warring family members.

Their parents are here, but they're in a different test. They are currently dealing with an apparition the shape of an arsonist, if I recall correctly. The people whom Kel's dealing with are only apparitions.

Kel picks themselves up and starts running away. They are still sobbing, but in an effort to disrupt their parents, they grab one of the fallen curtains and throw it over their father.

"What is this? What have you put on me?" their father shouts. He stumbles towards the sound of Kel's quiet gasps and footsteps.

Kel darts back and forth, wincing at every step they make. The floor is covered in glass, after all. And Kel was given no shoes.

Their father walks towards Kel, dragging the curtain with him. The curtain collects the glass and debris as he walks, sweeping a path clear of any sharp objects.

Kel gets an idea, I can see their head perk up.

But before they can put it into action, their mother comes up behind them and kicks them in the knees, causing Kel to fall to the floor. They scream as their body falls hard onto the sharp, sharp debris.

And then their mother starts kicking them. She attacks everywhere she can get to without moving the foot she's standing on. Their father starts wriggling out of the curtain.

"Clean it up," their mother screams. "Look at what you did! Look at the mess you made! Look!"

Kel cries, half unintelligible words tumbling out of their mouth. "Mommy, I'm sorry. I'll clean- I'll clean!" They start screaming as their father gets the curtain off and starts kicking them as well.

The cycle repeats. Kel screams, their parents repeat the instructions, they kick them. And yet there's no blood.

It's a quirk of the test, we can manipulate body parts and functions as we wish. Kel's blood will show on their body, the cuts will be red and they will scab over, and it'll smear if they rub a cut against something. But it won't pour out. It won't form a puddle. It won't stick their clothes to their body.

Finally, Kel gains the strength to move. They roll away from their parents, their back and legs covered in shards, and shakily get to their knees. They start running, looking frantically for something.

There are no brooms in the house. I made sure of that. There's straw, there's handles, there's a pit to the void disguised as a garbage can, but no full brooms. Kel will have to make their own.

I watch them find the handles and attach straw to them. I watch them start sweeping, and when no dustpan is found, they make one. They're a lot more resourceful than I thought, when they were alive they didn't like crafting.

They become better, overtime. As their parents destroy the items they make, Kel remakes them. They try to tie their parents up, but it's no use - the apparitions are as strong as they need to be to continue hounding Kel.

The parents, however, won't make any of the mess worse than it is. Oh, they can knock the dustpan out of their hands, and scatter anything in it to the floor, but they can't make more mess than there already is. There's simply nothing to break.

The rooms get swept clean. One grand ballroom here, one bedroom there. One bathroom here, one kitchen there. One stairwell here, one hallway there.

It takes years for Kel to clean it all. Six of them, to be precise. Six years where they don't sleep or eat or drink or get a rest from the people trying to harm them. Six years of constant sweeping and looking for the next room to clean.

But when it's done, the exit door doesn't appear. I know why, of course. Kel hasn't completed all of the test yet. But they don't know that, so they spend the next week looking in every room, every nook and cranny. And then they get lost in half of the hallways, so they have to spend some more time finding their way back. All of this takes two weeks.

Finally, they accept that the house is clean. It really is. There's no dust in any corner or shards of glass in any room.

But the test isn't over.

They still have to finish it. Their parents are saying more ominous things now, forcing them to contemplate their options.

"Repent," their parents chant. "Repent to those you have hurt."

They don't make a move against Kel now, only walking towards them and telling them to repent.

It takes three months before Kel finally satisfies this request.

"Dad, I'm sorry," they say one day, and based off the chemical reactions coming off of their body right now, they mean it.

"For what?" He mumbles gruffly.

"For... for destroying your house. All that time ago," Kel answers. They turn to their mother. "And I'm sorry to you, too. For the same thing."

The opposite of wrath is patience, and it seems Kel has finally found it.

They all hug. They wander around the house, saying nice things that don't mean much. Kel accidently walks into the exit door, and seems sad when their parents evaporate as they step over the threshold.

"Human, age 78 at time of death, favourite scent lemon verbena, favourite music genre classical turned electronica, mortal designation Kel?" I ask.

"Yes," they answer.

"You have passed the first test," I inform them. "Time for round two."

(Let me know if I should continue this!)

“Welcome to Hell. To leave, all you must do is finish seven impossible tasks decided by your seven greatest sins. Four people have made it out so far. Will you be the fifth?”

Watching the debate now. Kamala's face is really amusing when she responds to Trump's ridiculous claims. He just described the state of future America as "Venezuela on steroids".

The duck has come around again lads. Time for me to set the required sacrifices.

(Tw: assault, mentions of sexual assault, blood)

I stare at her. Sure, I grew up with overprotective siblings too. But why would she think that would work? The building is in the middle of nowhere, and nobody tracked her. No one is coming to save her.

"You will all fall," she intones ominously.

My comrade slaps her across the face. "Stop that, little girl," he hisses. "No one is coming to save you."

She blinks. We caught her off guard. "Why do you think that?"

"Girlie." My brother-in-arms spreads his arms, gesturing to the small room with boarded-up windows. "Where do you think you are? Surely someone with as much intelligence as you must have noticed we drove for an unusually long time. We're in," here his voice nearly reaches a scream, "the middle of nowhere."

She simply smiles, staring at him with a knowing smirk.

"No one is coming to save you," he hisses again, and makes to kick her. I stop him by tugging him out of the way.

"Boss wants a girl without interrogation marks," I remind him quietly. "Kicking her won't do anything until we can get back to base."

He huffs.

"There's a reason why I'm higher rank than you are," I remind him again.

He glares at me but stays silent.

"Start watches," I order. "Standard pattern, standard rotation. I don't want to see a mark on this girl when we move again, visible or otherwise."

One person grumbles, muttering something about how nice she would look on his-

I walk towards him and punch him in the gut before he can get the sentence out.

He doubles over, mouth moving but no air intake.

"What did I say?" I snap, tilting have a head towards mine.

It takes him a moment to recover his breath, but when he does, he chokes out "No... marks."

"Good." I release him and storm out of the room to fortify it.

- - - -

I'm on watch behind a piece of fallen concrete when I hear noises.

Scuffling. Grunts. The whine of something electrical.

I was on watch. Nobody got in to save the girl. That leaves only two options, and I'm really hoping it's the first.

The first is that two or three of my men are fighting about something and it got worse than they intended.

The second is that the girl is free, and she's fighting her way out.

I swear in my thoughts as I run inside, gun at the ready.

I'm not expecting for a foot to kick it out.

I take in the scene - two men unconscious, blood on the floor, a knife sticking out of one of the two standing men. The girl has a pistol, only sparing her left hand for it, and a taser that she must have gotten from one of the fallen men.

My gun is on the floor. She's starting to kick it away.

I grab my taser and flick it on, diving for her.

She isn't fast enough, and she crumples to the ground, her body contracting painfully.

I hold the taser against her side, and get her weapons out of her hands. When she shoves me away, she's still recovering. I start restraining her, but she manages to land a well placed kick to my knee.

It buckles, and I stumble, taking her weapons with her and falling on top of her.

I toss the weapons away and grab her hands, forcing her face down onto the ground. When she starts kicking, I sit on her.

I tell one of my men to wake the others and get medical attention for the unconscious ones. I'm not leaving this girl until she has no weapons and plenty of rope around her wrists.

She futilely twists against me.

Someone brings me rope. I secure her wrists as tight as possible before dragging her back inside the room and tying her to the support pillar she was tied to before.

Given that my men have all medical issues covered, I assign myself to watch the girl.

- - - -

We drive out with the girl tied to the door. She couldn't escape without a knife, which we've made sure she doesn't have. There's two other people in the same row.

She won't get out, and nobody will come to save her.

We enter the city where we'll stock up on supplies. It only barely passed the population count a year ago to be called a city, so there's enough stores without too many roads.

One person gets out at a grocery store. We wait for them to pick up canned goods and non-perishables. It only takes 31 minutes before they're out.

Another man gets ammo and electrical wires. Yet another gets fuel for the vehicle.

On our last stop, one to get small amounts of regulated liquor, the girl attempts to unlock her door.

At first, I'm amused. Then I realise that she's got both hands free.

I tell one of my brethren to retie her again. Rope is passed down, but just as it gets to him, she unlocks the door and sprints.

We aren't far behind her, and she's deprived of food and water. We'll catch her.

But then a foot sticks into my path, and I trip, cursing myself for falling for such an obvious trick. I roll to get up, but a shock from a taser hits me in the side and I am stunned for a moment.

Only a moment, as I am trained to avoid these things. Tasers don't stun if you get out of the way quickly enough. I did so this time.

Who hit me? The girl is 30 meters away and only losing distance as I catch up.

And then a bullet hits me - inexplicably - in the foot, and I go down screaming.

I can't even do the calculations now, it hurts so much. Bullets go everywhere, but I've never taken one in the foot before. You'd think that after previous shots I would know how to withstand the pain, and I can, but not yet, not yet, it hurts-

I fall, only barely managing to put out my hands.

Someone is dragging me away. Someone shot another comrade, and he's down too. Someone caught up to the girl, only to fall down dead in the next instant.

And I watch, horrified, as half of my brethren turn on me.

I don't know how it happened. I don't know how there are so many. I don't know why the girl isn't captured yet or why my foot hurts-

Calm down. You know what is going on.

Half of us turned on me.

The girl is getting away.

I still have a gun.

I find the grip, then the trigger, and I don't know how I manage to shoot, but I do.

It misses. My gun is taken away.

Another shot, this one in the arm. I might die of blood loss here.

My vision blurs. I squint, but that only makes things worse.

The girl comes up to me. She makes a face - baring her teeth? Smiling? and she says, the words clearl despite the roaring in my head, "I told you I had fifteen brothers. You fucked around. Now you found out."

The abductors looked at their young captive, astonished at their calm, almost pitying, expression. “I have 15 siblings. I am the youngest, and the only girl. You have absolutely no concept of how fucked you are.”

Swords according to my friend

So me, my friend, and I were talking over dinner with a few other friends around. Sometime during the meal we entered the topic of how every country has their own murder stick (yes I am taking that from that other tumblr post)

This was where I learned my friend has an alarming amount of knowledge on this topic. We started naming countries and he gave an example of their region's murder stick. Enclosed are a few excerpts from the conversation, with all words after the country as exact a quote as I remember.

The US: The country known for having loads of guns and you think they don't have a murder stick?

Argentina: Long ones. That's all I remember.

France: (general shout around the table) Rapier!

Saudi Arabia: Oh god. We're talking about the country that likes to go around conquering other countries. With scimitars. (Laughter abounds) No, no, people! Just imagine, a group of these people running across the sands with scary curved swords would be enough to make you fall down!

The UK: Do you remember the British Empire? You know, the thing that literally conquered half the world? Now do you remember?! They had murder sticks!

Mongolia: That was a place you couldn't turn your head without encountering a pointy object.

Italy: Okay. So, the Roman Empire. Familiar with it? They conquered a fairly huge chunk of Europe! And Africa! Oh, and they loved their short swords. They really loved their short swords.

Egypt: They had- (Massive giggle, someone yells "Khopesh!") I was going to say sickles but that works too.

Estonia: Oh. God. Okay, so I'm pretty proud of my ancestry, so I was looking up stuff about Estonia. And guess what they have? They're known for being very, very distructive. They actually have a plan in place so if anywhere invades, they bomb themselves and the place that invaded. You can get it but you certainly won't get out. And they'll take you with them. They were also very, very fond of two-handed weapons. So we've got these incredibly big people in full plate armor, absolutely covered in metal, and they're wielding giant sticks of steel. And guess what? The steel can cut. Nobody's invading Estonia anytime soon.

tumblr: on languages

my advice to you is to never waste your time trying to fit into a club or hobby or any community who makes you beg for acceptance and approval just to participate when you could do the alternative—get involved in a niche and endangered hobby run primarily by old people.

i wanted to learn how to hunt ruffed grouse and train bird dogs so i sent an email to my local chapter of the ruffed grouse society explaining that getting into wildlife groups is intimidating to me because I’m trans

and all they saw was that someone under 60 wanted to learn to hunt grouse & several months into my mentorship I was told that like 7 old guys argued over me until they had to pick a number between 1 and 100 to decide who got to personally mentor me.

imagine vying for the acceptance of some gatekeeping weirdos when your mere interest could be inciting verbal combat among retirees

And then it comes back later. Like, if the moss is slippery, you find yourself unable to climb that stalagmite. If your sword is broken, you get some small metal chips to throw at enemies. People speedrun this game choosing the hardest options possible.

Ooh I just got an idea. It's not text-based, as I initially assumed, but more like an RPG. When you enter an area or talk to someone, a text box pops up, and you can see the area or your character change as you choose the options.

The moss becomes green after you choose the option. The old man's smile loses his sincerity as you choose the option.

This could be really good.

game idea where you choose and influence your own narrative by picking adjectives

"An old man walks up to you. His smile is [Toothy]/[Wide]/[Forced]."

"Your sword is [Sheathed]/[Drawn]/[Broken]."

"[Green]/[Luminescent]/[Slippery] moss clings to the side of gray rock."

PICK YOURSELF OFF THE GROUND, I SAID, YOUNG MA-

it’s fun to stay at the Y

I think you should draw turtle from wings of fire. He's. Chubby dragon.

no i wont do that. i've decided to quit drawing forever and ever bcus of this. HEEHEE LITTLE GUY

[reblogs > likes!!]