lizardlicks:

ciravaesthetic:

ciravaesthetic:

It’s 5 in the morning and I have a FANTASTIC story about how bad I made this one guy rage quit our DnD session tonight, all because he didn’t want to do a character interaction and he just wanted me to HAND HIM THE ANSWERS about my character’s backstory. I was in no way being malevolent about it, all i wanted to do was play a role-playing game by – oh, you know – ROLE-PLAYING – and he got SO UPSET you guys and I’m so fucking salty lmao

but it’s 5 AM so I’m going to tell this story when I wake up tomorrow

So before I get to the climax of this story I think I’m going to break down the escalation and the context into bullet points, because he’s been so fucking annoyed with everything that I do even though it was all legal lmao. It’s a long story so i’ll put it under a read more but it’s worth every second bc this guy can be extremely obnoxious and i’m not sorry at all for what i did.

Keep reading

Please continue trolling this pissbaby, it’s so very cathartic.

fluidityandgiggles:

softestvirgil:

i-will-physically-fight-you:

i-will-physically-fight-you:

I was talking to someone today about writing, and I was surprised by how amazed they were by writers’ ability to create a story. They couldn’t understand how JKR was able to create the world of Harry Potter–how she came up a world so far removed from our reality. 

It made me realize something; not everyone can come up with worlds on a whimsy. Not everyone can create characters that they grow so fond of that they’re like real people in their eyes. Not everyone has gone through the experience of a character derailing their story and swearing it wasn’t them typing those words in that document. Not everyone can just envision a story and then just write it. 

I’ve been making stories since I was a small child–it’s something so ingrained in me that to imagine not being able to write (no matter how much I agonize over writing woes) is such a foreign concept to me. Writers, cherish your ability to create stories. Because not everyone can create stories. Because there isn’t anyone in the world who can write the stories you are writing. Because you don’t know when or where there might be a person in the world who needs to hear your story.

Out of all my posts to hit 5k, I’m glad it was this one. All my fellow writers out there are amazing, and don’t ever be afraid to express yourself through writing! I support every single of you guys ❤

This made me emotional. Sometimes I don’t feel like a good enough writer, but things like this really help put it into perspective. To all my fellow writers, we are amazing!

As someone who is so utterly convinced that everything they write is bad, I needed this so much… yeah. Yeah, we’re awesome.

wetwareproblem:

jewishdragon:

rosymamacita:

gokuma:

12drakon:

redgrieve:

lierdumoa:

greenbryn:

whatthecurtains:

cthullhu:

nonomella:

Coraline is a masterfully made film, an amazing piece of art that i would never ever ever show to a child oh my god are you kidding me

Nothing wrong with a good dose of sheer terror at a young age

“It was a story, I learned when people began to read it, that children experienced as an adventure, but which gave adults nightmares. It’s the strangest book I’ve written”

-Neil Gaiman on Coraline

@nightlovechild

This is a legit psychology phenomenon tho like there’s a stop motion version of Alice and Wonderland that adults find viscerally horrifying, but children think is nbd. It’s like in that ‘toy story’ period of development kids are all kind of high key convinced that their stuffed animals lead secret lives when they’re not looking and that they’re sleeping on top of a child-eating monster every night so they see a movie like Coraline and are just like “Ah, yes. A validation of my normal everyday worldview. Same thing happened to me last Tuesday night. I told mommy and she just smiled and nodded.”

Stephen King had this whole spiel i found really interesting about this phenomenon about how kids have like their own culture and their own literally a different way of viewing and interpreting the world with its own rules that’s like secret and removed from adult culture and that you just kinda forget ever existed as you grow up it’s apparently why he writes about kids so much

An open-ended puzzle often gives parents math anxiety while their kids just happily play with it, explore, and learn. I’ve seen it so many times in math circles. We warn folks about it.

Neil Gaiman also said that the difference in reactions stems from the fact in “Coraline” adults see a child in danger – while children see themselves facing danger and winning

i never saw so much push back from adults towards YA literature as when middle aged women started reading The Hunger Games. They were horrified that kids would be given such harsh stories, and I kept trying to point out the NECESSITY of confronting these hard issues in a safe fictional environment.

Also, in an interview, he said that Coraline was partially based on a story his not yet 6 year old daughter would tell him 

SAGAL: No. I mean, for example, your incredibly successful young adult novel “Coraline” is about a young girl in house in which there’s a hole in the wall that leads to a very mysterious and very evil world. So when you were a kid, is that what you imagined?

GAIMAN: When I was a kid, we actually lived in a house that had been divided in two at one point, which meant that one room in our house opened up onto a brick wall. And I was convinced all I had to do was just open it the right way and it wouldn’t be a brick wall. So I’d sidle over to the door and I’d pull it open.

(SOUNDBITE OF LAUGHTER)

SAGAL: Right.

GAIMAN: And it was always a brick wall.

SAGAL: Right.

GAIMAN: But it was one of those things that as I grew older, I carried it with me and I thought, I want to send somebody through that door. And when I came to write a story for my daughter Holly, at the time she was a 4 or 5-year-old girl. She’d come home from nursery. She’d seen me writing all day. So she’d come and climb on my lap and dictate stories to me. And it’d always be about small girls named Holly.

SAGAL: Right.

GAIMAN: Who would come home to normally find their mother had been kidnapped by a witch and replaced by evil people who wanted to kill her and she’d have to go off and escape. And I thought, great, what a fun kid.

“Fairy tales do not give the child his first idea of bogey. What fairy tales give the child is his first clear idea of the possible defeat of bogey. The baby has known the dragon intimately ever since he had an imagination. What the fairy tale provides for him is a St. George to kill the dragon.” – G. K. Chesterton

raposinhachan:

weasowl:

weasowl:

weasowl:

20thcenturyvole:

probablybadrpgideas:

If Cthulhu can be summoned by humans who are so far beneath it, why can’t humans be summoned by ants?
The answer is they should be.

Well if a bunch of ants formed a circle in my house I’d certainly notice, try to figure out where they’d all come from, and possibly wreak destruction there.

That’s why knowing and correctly pronouncing the true name is so important to the ritual. Imagine how impossible it would be to not go take a look if the circle of ants started chanting your name.

And they’re like, you can’t leave because we drew a line made of tiny crystals – now you have to do us a favor.

And you’re like, let’s just see where this goes “yup, you got me… what’s the favor?”

and usually the favor is like, “kill this one ant for us” or “give me a pile of sugar” and you’re like… okay? and you do, because why not, it isn’t hard for you and boy is this going to be a fucking story to tell, these fucking ants chanting your name and wanting a spoonful of sugar or whatever.

And SOMEtimes you get asked for things you can’t really do, one of them, she’s like, “I love this ant but she won’t pay any attention to me, make me important to her” and you’re like… um? how? So you just kill every ant in the colony except the two of them, ta-da! problem solved! and the first ant is like *horrified whisper* “what have I done”

for some reason my brain won’t let go of this one, so….

Meanwhile another colony of ants invades your house, and evidently that last ant has gotten some of them to join her in a circle and taught them the ritual because you’re coming out of the bathroom one day and you hear the ants singing your name. Sure enough it’s that ant, but she’s dark and fucked up now, and she’s like, “kill the queen. I will rule this colony” and you’re like, sure, I guess I kinda owe her, and you do it. And she manages to become queen, and they worship you. Which is cool, you’re not, you know, very important in the human world, but to these ants you’re practically all-powerful. You can’t be just, doing everything a bunch of ants tell you to, though, when would you watch netflx? So you tend to only show up for super important ants; you teach them some extra words and when hear them you go see what’s up. Usually. Also just to your name, if you’re bored. And, sometimes some of the ants are like, tell us more human names, and you’re kind of jealous of the idea of some other human diluting your private godhood, so you refuse.

Your roommate Greg is like, yo, that’s fucking awesome, I want ant worshipers! But whenever he approaches any, they run away, because it turns out that the illusion of control from the named summoning is what makes them feel safe around you. That’s great, because Greg is a dick who never does the dishes, and one day you decide to teach Greg a lesson.

So you show up at the colony, and you’re like, “yo, witch queen, did you think there would be no price for all these things? Your colony must do something for me, go to the Room of the Housemate, I will meet you there.” And you go sit on the couch and play Overwatch for a while. You’re like, right there, you can clearly see the ants all marching along the wall to Greg’s room, but to them you’re not even there, you’re so far away they can’t see you. It takes them, like, an ant week to make the journey. They have to figure out ways to get over and around things. Some of them drown, or get stepped on by the dog, or whatever. You win a game, you lose a game, you look over, and they’re trying to get through some cobwebs… looks like they’re mostly going to live, you keep playing, you look over, okay they’re all in there, and you stand up and walk over and by the time they’ve chanted your name once, you’re there. “right, hold on” and you look around and you see a twelve-pack of Greg’s precious fucking soda, that he keeps in his room and refuses to ever share, even though it’s a communal food household and you share your hot chocolate with him all the time. So you gather the ants unto you, and you poke a little hole in each of the sodas and you leave the room to the sound of the ants rejoicing. Greg will suspect of course, but he’ll never be able to prove the ants didn’t chew holes in the plastic and steal his stupid drinks. 

But later, while you’re at work, Greg destroys most of the colony in a rage, and you come home to find the witch queen gasping her last “the Dew of the Mountain, which you had us steal, was cursed – and so I lay my curse on you” and then she dies.

Well first of all, you don’t really believe in curses, but last month you didn’t believe ants could know your name, so that’s unsettling. And second of all, you feel kind of bad. You know, not SUPER bad, cause she’s like, an ant. But still. And most importantly, third of all, Greg must pay.

But Greg has done more than kill a bunch of the colony. As you wait for eggs and pupae to replenish the ant population, you discover he has found some ants that didn’t go on the Mountain Dew raid, and he’s spared them, told them his name, and made himself a good sized cult in YOUR fucking ant queendom.

Greg has started locking his door. So now you NEED the ants. Once again you direct the ants loyal to you to journey to Greg’s room. You meet them at the door. A locked door means nothing to the ants, they don’t even know there is a door, and can barely perceive the difference between it being open and shut – either passing the threshold on the floor regardless, or being on its surface no matter the position. But you need them to get inside. You’re going to put itching powder in his underwear drawer and leave a raw fish under his bed. So you instruct the leading party of ants how to go into the Cave of Keyhole, and position the Magic Megaliths inside just right to enable the opening of the Great Door and allow you to pass into the Realm of Housemate.

Crouched by the door, you can hear when your ants are met by a party of Greg Cultists, who insist that if the Great Door is opened, the colony will be doomed. There is fighting. Your ants prevail, the lock tumblers are moved into place, and you swing the door open…

To find Greg! In his room all along! It’s a trap! His cultists attack you! I mean, they can’t do much real harm, but it kind of hurts and it’s super annoying. You order your ants to attack him, and they do, but he storms over and pours bleach down the colony entrance.

Now you and Greg are at war, and you both understand the unspoken rules to your fight. You can’t do things directly to each other, why, that would be assault. But anything you can get your ants to do is fine, because “she told the ants to do it to me” isn’t going to get very far with any authority figures that get involved. 

Later, nursing your anger, you confer with your few remaining ants and stare moodily at your new prize, the ant farm that came in the mail. Bullet ants don’t usually get along with sugar ants, but you’re betting they will if a god tells them to. Meanwhile, you’ve got a laptop schematic to go over with your high priestess. It’s finals week, and if you time it right, he’ll lose everything…

Feel free to add your own stories paralleling human/otherworldly with insect/human interactions!

I’m going to have this repost a few times because I want to see which of my mutuals are into this kind of thing because I’m preparing to test drive a fiction share and writing prompt project

The Idea of the old gods obeying us not because of supernatural reason, but because they think it’s funny to watch the tiny animals fight IS the answer to everything

Fox Sister

shanastoryteller:

there is a farmer who has a beautiful and strong wife, and
she bears him three beautiful and strong sons. the eldest is of soft voice and
hard temper, and his name is jae-shin. the second is quick to anger and yells
too much, but is quick to forgive, and his name is ki-tae. the third is of even
temper and soft voice, and his name is min-woo.

the farmer loves his family very much, but he feels as if
it’s incomplete. he loves his sons, but he desperately wants a little girl to
call his own. he prays and prays, asking for a little girl. he doesn’t care if
she’s not like his other children, if she is weak or ugly, he vows to love her
just the same no matter what.

his prayers are answered, and nine months later his wife
gives birth to a baby girl. but she’s not weak, and she’s not ugly. she’s every
bit as strong and beautiful as her brothers.

they call her yeon-saeng.

~

yeon-saeng is smarter and stronger than her brothers, than
her parents, but she doesn’t say anything, never points it out, because she
loves them dearly and would never want to hurt them.

yeon-saeng is ten years old when the hunger grows to be too
much to ignore. she’s hungry constantly, and they are not a rich family, but
her mother gives her all the food she asks for with a smile, pats her hands and
kisses her cheeks and says nothing of the strain her eternal appetite puts on
their household.

but no matter how much she eats, she’s never full. it’s not
what she craves.

she is ten years old, and it’s the night of the full moon
when she sneaks into the barn. she knows what she wants, what she needs, but
she hesitates even now. she wishes there was another way, but she knows if she
doesn’t eat, then she’ll die. she doesn’t’ want to die.

she kills the cow, and eats its liver, bites into its heart,
and her hunger is sated.

the next morning, the cow is found, and her father says it
looks like a fox did it.

yeon-saeng burns with shame, and says nothing.

~

she doesn’t have to eat every night, if she did then they
would run out of cows and her family would go hungry. she doesn’t want them to
go hungry, and she does not want to die, so she waits. she waits until her
stomach is bloated with hunger and she feels ravenous with it, half mad with
it, then sneaks out under the night of the full moon to kill another cow. for
now, she does not need too many, can go months between feeding so long as she
pushed herself.

she’s changing. her nails are sharper, more pointed, and her
hair gleams red in sunlight. she doesn’t think she’s a little girl. she doesn’t
even think she’s truly her parents’ daughter.

but the thought is too heartbreaking to contemplate, so she
doesn’t.

~

the father worries after his livestock, and the fox he can’t
seem to catch. he sends jae-shin to hide in the barn and keep a look out, to
kill whatever is killing their cows.

jae-shin waits, and he hides, and he watches his sister kill
the cow and eat its liver and heart. her hands become claws, her hair turns
red, and fangs sprout from her mouth. she’s a fox demon forced to into human
shape, an abomination to humans and demons alike. he’s horrified, and afraid,
but he can’t bring himself to kill her.

she is his sister.

the next day, he tells his father everything. he says they
have to do something, that she’s a monster, that soon she’ll hurt them.

jae-shin could not bring himself to kill her. but he still
believes she should be killed.

the farmer is furious that his son could say such horrible
things about his beloved daughter. he says that jae-shin must have fallen
asleep, and had a bad dream, that he speaks of madness. but jae-shin will not
back down, and eventually the farmer throws his son from the house, saying
never to darken their doorstep again, that any son that could speak of killing
family is no son of his.

yeon-saeng pleads on her brother’s behalf. she can’t risk
telling them the truth, she should be happy it is jae-shin who is tossed aside
and not her. but she loves her brother. he is mean and surly, quiet in his
misery, but he let her ride on his shoulder when she was little and taught her
to tame a horse and let her huddle into his side when she became frightened by
thunder storms. she does not want him to go.

but father will not listen, and jae-shin is forced to go.

a few months, and another dead cow later, he sends ki-tae to
the barn, to find what is killing the cows and to kill whatever animal it is.
ki-tae is terrified of falling asleep and being thrown out like his elder
brother, so he stays wide awake and vigilant the whole night.

he sees what jae-shin saw – his little sister half
transforming into a fox demon, and killing and eating a cow’s heart and liver.
he’s not afraid. he’s furious. he is quick to anger over small things, but this
is not a small thing. yeon-saeng allowed their father to kick out their
brother, even what he told the truth. she said nothing as he left them, when
she could have saved him. she did nothing.

he sneaks back to the house and wakes his father, bidding
him to come to the barn quickly. but when he returns, yeon-saeng is gone. the
cow is there dead, it’s liver and heart gone, but his sister is nowhere to be
found. he runs back into the house, his father at his heels, and finds
yeon-saeng fast asleep in bed. he pulls her from her bed onto the floor. she
cries out in pain, and his father pushes him against the wall, furious. ki-tae
yells at her, says to tell father what she did, calls her a monster with all
the disgust he can muster.

yeon-saeng pulls her knees to her chest, crying, and for a
single moment ki-tae feels a stab or remorse. but she is a monster, and his father must know. they all have to know. how
long before she kills one of them?

father is just as furious with him as he was with jae-shin.
again, yeon-saeng pleads for brother, begging her father to let him stay. no
matter his temper, ki-tae is always kind in those small moments, in the quiet
lulls between his anger he has bandaged her scraped knees and braided her hair,
and he would roll her rice into the shape of a snake when she was little and would
grow stubborn and refuse to eat. she loves him, and she doesn’t want him to go.

but father will not listen, and ki-tae is forced to go.

a few more months, and another dead cow later, father sends
min-woo to spend the night in the barn, to find out what is killing the cows,
and to kill whatever it is. he sits, and waits, and sees what his brothers saw.
he sees yeon-saeng kill the cow, and eat its heart and liver.

he does nothing at all.

the next morning, he tells his father that he didn’t see
anything. whatever is killing the cows was too quick for him. father wants to
be angry that min-woo failed, but he’s secretly relieved that at least his
youngest son, so calm and even tempered, hasn’t been affected by the madness that
had taken his eldest sons, and resigns himself to the lost livestock.

it is not ideal, but it’s not crippling them, not killing
them.

~

yeon-saeng loves min-woo, but misses her eldest brothers
terribly. on the surface, min-woo is nicer, he’s never made fun of her or
gotten mud on her clothes, never yelled that she was too young to play with
him. he never seeks her out, but always welcomes her when she comes to him.

he’s not as mean as their elder brothers, but he’s not as
nice either.  

yeon-saeng is thirteen the first time she eats a cow’s liver
and heart, and still feels the gnawing pains of hunger. she keeps eating,
desperate, because this is her only option. she eats the rest of the internal
organs, the muscle, all of it. she keeps eating until the red of dawn beats
against the barn doors. she’s covered in blood, more fox than girl, and there’s
nothing left of the cow but bones.

she’s still hungry.

~

she hopes it’s a fluke, a mistake. she waits, to see if time
will make her full, but it’s just the opposite. her whole body aches with
hunger, her limbs grow sluggish and heavy. she sleeps the day away, hoping it
will help, that she’ll wake up feeling normal, but it doesn’t work.

her parents fret over her, and her brother watches her with
calm, even eyes that give away nothing at all. the days pass, and she seems to
flip, instead of becoming weaker, she becomes stronger. her body fills with a
frantic, desperate energy to feed, and she huddles under the blankets, afraid
to let her family see her. she can’t get her claws or teeth to go away, her
hair is bright red. she looks like a fox, and nothing she does makes it go
away.

late at night, her hunger becomes too much, and she snaps.
she’s outside her parent’s door when she realizes what she was about to do, her
hand just about to slide open their door.

she’s so certain that a single human heart could sate her
hunger.

yeon-saeng runs. it’s painful to walk away, she can smell
them, smell her brother down the hall, and her mouth waters. she’s so hungry. but
she forces herself to walk away and runs to the barn.

she kills half their heard that night, gobbling up hearts
and livers in a frenzy. she slaughters the next cow while the previous one’s
warm, wet heart is still in her hand.

it’s not quite daybreak, and she’s not hungry anymore. she’s
not quite satisfied, but the ravenous
yearning deep in her gut is gone.

it’s a devastating loss. her father will struggle to survive
now that half his cows are dead. and what’s worse is this – she cannot stay.
she will either eat the other half, and leave them penniless to starve, or she
will give in to her urges, and kill them herself. she’s selfish, but not that
selfish. she loves her family too much to do this to them.

when the sun rises into the sky, she’s gone.

~

her hair never goes back to black. it’s a permanent dark
orange, and her nails are too sharp, and her teeth a little too long. but she
almost looks like a person, as long as no one looks too closely.

the first few years are the hardest. she wanders through towns,
too young to do any real work, but sometimes a kind innkeep would let her clean
tables in exchange for a room. other times, she sneaks into barns and sleeps
among the warm, dry hay.

she has to eat, and she has to eat often. small animals
don’t satisfy her, she tries chickens and rabbits, even sheep don’t sate her
hunger. cows and boars will do, and horses probably would too, but she’s
reluctant to test her theory. partially because killing a horse will certainly
garner more attention than she wants. but also because, well, she likes horses. she thinks they have kind
eyes, and she’ll sooner eat a horse than she will a human, but would prefer to
have neither, honestly.

she misses rice cakes. they were her favorite as a child,
but now they taste like ashes in her mouth.

when possible, she hunts for he own food in the forest,
searching out wild board to feed herself with. but sometimes that’s not
possible, and when that happens she sneaks away to a pasture and kills a cow.
they always say it looks like a fox attack.

she doesn’t want people to go hungry because of her, to
suffer because of her, so she doesn’t stay in one town for long. she moves
around constantly, killing and stealing the livestock of farmers she needs to
live, trying to keep her head down and not cause trouble.

she still craves human hearts more than anything else. but
as long as she keeps herself well fed it’s … well, not easy to ignore it, but manageable.

she’s managing.

~

yeon-saeng is sixteen, and it’s much easier. people hire her
to serve drinks in restaurants now, will hire her to smile at customers now.

she still doesn’t look quiet human, but people never seem to
notice that.

she’s beautiful. they don’t know what she is, they don’t
care, all they care for is her pretty face. she always smiles with her mouth
closed so they don’t see her teeth, but that’s okay. things are easier now.

she is sixteen when she makes a friend.

it’s not one she expected to make, if she ever thought she’d
have one. she keeps everyone way, women are nice to her and men want her, but
she rejects them all, keeping to herself and offering them nothing more than
her close-lipped smile.

she’s a monster. those around her risk one day being eaten
by her, and the pain of that potential loss stops her whenever she fees the
urge to reach out to someone. she thinks of her parents often, of her brothers.
she hopes they’re happy. sometimes she hopes they’ve forgotten her, but she’s
still a selfish girl, and the thought that not one person cares for her cuts
like a knife.

but one person does come to care for her.

his name is bou, and he’s a monk. he is plain, and
nondescript, but there are not many buddhist monks, and he stands out, somehow,
with his calm face and plain grey robes. he follows her from town to town, and at
first she thinks it is a coincidence, that maybe they are simply traveling in
the same direction. but soon it’s too much to be a coincidence, and she can
only think of one reason a monk would have for following her. he must know what
she is, and be here to kill her.

she does not want to die.

yeon-saeng corners him, nails and claws out, eyes blazing
red, and says she will not die easily, says that she does not want to kill him,
but she will to preserve her own life.

she’s already thinking that if she does kill him, she’ll
have to tear out his heart and liver and grind it into the dirt so she does not
eat them. once she starts eating humans, she doesn’t know if she could stop,
and to leave them whole would be a temptation she would be unable to refuse.

he looks at her, unflinching, and tells her a story. he happened
upon two brothers not long ago, with very strange histories. born into
near-poverty, they were separated as teenagers and led remarkable lives. the
eldest was adopted into a noble family and became one of the hwarang, the
refined and cultured warriors who live on the edges of the country. the younger
became the assistant to a yangban, the high level civil servants of the
country. both now had prestigious positions rarely achieved by nobility. they
happened to pass each other on the street one day just a few short months ago,
both visiting a city they were not from, and recognized each other instantly.

they cried to find each other again, and it is here when bou
overheard them talking while at a tavern. they spoke of their sister, who killed
their cows and devoured their hearts and livers, and was the reason they’d been
thrown from their homes. they spoke of their sister, who was not their sister
by blood, but a demon sent from the heavens, for some misdeed none of them knew
of. they spoke of their sister, who they knew to be a monster, and who they
could not face. they spoke of their sister, who they loved in spite of everything,
to this very day.  

bou intended to find her, and kill her, to rid the world of
her evil. but he finds her, and finds that she is not evil. that she is kind,
and hurting, and alone, and trying so desperately to do no harm, to be a good
person in a world that does not have enough good people.

a demon she may be, but a monster she is not.

yeon-saeng is sobbing by the end of this, stepping away from
him. bou has decided that she is the best kind of person, and that he would
like to follow her, to travel with her, if she will allow it. she tries to refuse,
says she will put him in danger, but bou does not listen.

she doesn’t have to let him be her friend. but he will
follow her wherever she goes, so she might as well make this easier on both of
them. she does not give in until he makes her a promise – if she ever does
become a monster, he’ll kill her himself. when she cannot trust herself, she
can trust him.

bou and yeon-saeng travel together, and although she worries
constantly, yeon-saeng never harms him. years pass, and she grows stronger, she
leans even further into her demon powers.

she is at least part kumiho, part nine tailed demon, and there
are certain skills that come with that. with bou and his holy powers by her
side, she feels comfortable exploring them for the first time. if she ever goes
too far, bou will stop her.

she is a young woman when bou convinces her to seek out her
family, to try and make amends with them. she cannot yet face her eldest
brothers, whose lives she forced off course so dramatically, but agrees to try
and visit her parents and youngest elder brother at home.

when she arrives, there are no cows in the pasture, and she
worries. the house looks worn, and it feels empty. she knocks on the door, fear
and worry making her shake, and it is only bou’s presence at her back that
steadies her.

but the door opens, and it’s her brother, min-woo. he’s
older, of course, but he looks healthy, looks fine. he’s startled to see her,
but welcomes her inside like nothing has changed, like she hasn’t been missing
for a decade. he doesn’t move to embrace her, and she holds herself back,
uncertain. he tells her she has good timing, because he has invited their elder
brothers home.

min-woo tells her that their parents have died, and she’s
nearly bowled over in her grief. but he implores her to stay, says that now
they can be a family once more. yeon-saeng agrees because she doesn’t know what
else to do, her kind mother and father who loved her so very much are dead, and
even though she hasn’t seen them in years their loss is just as devastating.
min-woo comforts her, tells her they were simply old, and these things happen.
she doesn’t think they were that old, but what does she know, she hasn’t been
there for years.

she agrees, and min-woo tells her he has nothing to feed her
and her companion, but she doesn’t mind. pretending to enjoy rice that tastes
like dirt is a waste on both of them, and bou has endured much worse than a
night’s sleep on an empty stomach. min-woo does offer them water, which they
accept. it doesn’t taste clean, but both are too polite to say anything about
it.

so they settle down, and bou falls asleep at her back, like
he always does, and she eventually falls into a fitful sleep, thoughts of her
dead parents and her living brothers chasing around her head.

when she awakes, everything has somehow gotten even worse.

she’s tied up, and she twists to see bou is as well,
wide-eyed and with a gag in his mouth. min-woo sits in front of them, a cruel
twist to his mouth she’s never seen before. her head is foggy, and it takes her
a moment to process everything. the water must have been drugged.

he tells them their timing is perfect. he’d nearly run out
of their parents’ flesh to eat, and so had invited their elder brothers home,
intent on killing them and eating them. but eating her flesh, consuming the
heart of a kumiho, will sustain him so much longer than mere humans would.

she looks at him in horror, not understanding. she asks if
he was born a demon too, if he’s like her, but he laughs at her. he is just a
human, but if he eats her maybe he will be something more.

min-woo takes a hunk of something folded in butcher paper
and unwraps it, and in the center is a heart. the scent hits her nose all at
once, and she knows it’s a human heart.

that it’s her father’s heart.

he’s been saving this for himself, but the stronger she is
when he kills and eats her, the stronger she will make him. he holds it to her
mouth, and parts of her wants it, it’s not fresh but it hasn’t gone bad, has
been kept frozen and recently defrosted by the smell, and her mouth is already
watering. she lives with a constant low-level hunger, but now it’s out in full
force, begging her to bite into the heart her brother is holding to her lips.

she closes her mouth and shakes her head, turning away from
it. this isn’t right. it’s not fair. she asks why, asks if it was because they
ran out of food, was there truly nothing else for him to eat?

he says business was fine. they had plenty to eat. he just
wanted to eat them, he just wanted to
kill and eat human flesh, says he wanted to become stronger, and this seemed
like the easiest way to do it.

this is incomprehensible to yeon-saeng, who has struggled
against the gnawing in her stomach her whole life. she could break the ropes,
could break min-woo. she’s a kumiho. her power is so far beyond min-woo’s that
it’s laughable.

but guilt and grief swallow her. maybe the true reason she
was born into her family was not divine punishment, maybe she was meant to
protect them, to keep them safe. maybe her true purpose was to protect her
beloved parents from min-woo, and she has failed. her parents are dead, her
brother is a monster, and she has failed at the one thing she supposed to do.

she has no reason to live. once min-woo eats her, he will
have no need of bou, her friend will be fine. she won’t eat her father’s heart,
even now, at the end, but she can’t seem to muster the will to defend herself.

bou is screaming through his gag, surely begging her to do
something, but she can’t move, too numb to do anything at all. min-woo gets
tired of trying to force her to eat the heart, and lifts up a knife, moving to
slit her throat.

before he gets the chance, a blade is shoved through his
chest and out his mouth, killing him instantly. yeon-saeng looks up, wide eyed.

min-woo slides off the blade, revealing the man holding it.
it is her eldest brother, jae-shin. her second eldest brother ki-tae is at his
side. they’re older too, more steady, firmer than she remembers them being. she
bows her head, waiting for her own death blow, but it doesn’t come.

instead ki-tae throws his arms around her, her eldest
brother doing the same. they heard everything, they know everything. they cry
as they hold her, apologies falling from their lips. she is their sister, and
they love her, and they’re sorry they ever doubted her.

they could never bring themselves to hurt her, but did not
hesitate to cut down min-woo. maybe deep down they’d always known who the true
monster was.

jae-shin cuts her free, and does the same for bou. yeon-saeng
is shaking in ki-tae’s arms still, but jae-shin pulls her forward and cups her
face in his hands, kisses her forehead and tells her he’s sorry, that if he
hadn’t acted so rashly so long ago maybe none of this would have happened.

yeon-saeng won’t accept their apologies, instead offering
her own for letting their father throw them out when they only spoke the truth,
for remaining silent in the face of their banishment.

their parents are dead, killed by their brother, who has
been killed by jae-shin. they are as broken as ever, but the three of them are
together once more, are willing and eager to rebuild their relationship. they
all made mistakes, but all are willing to forgive.

bou is furious with yeon-saeng for freezing, for doing
nothing to save herself. but he’s pulled between his anger and his worry that
now she has her brothers back, she won’t need him anymore. but she knows him
just as well as he knows her, so she assuages his worries and apologizes for
freezing, says she won’t do it again. she tells bou that he’s her best friend,
and she never wants him to leave.

so now this incredibly strange group is traveling together,
roaming the country – a short tempered yangban’s assistant, a charming hwarang
warrior, a buddhist monk, and a kumiho.

together, they do their best to figure out the extent of
yeon-saeng’s powers, and try to leave everywhere they go a little better, a
little less broken.

they succeed.

read more retold fairytales here

jumpingjacktrash:

akaltyn:

swanjolras:

man this has been said before by cleverer folks than me, but sometimes you have to sit down and let the sheer size and age of the storytelling tradition just completely overwhelm you, ja feel?

like– think for a second about how mind-bogglingly incredible it is that we know who osiris is? that somebody just made him up one day, and told stories about him to their kids, and literally thousands and thousands of years later we are still able to go “there was a god whose brother cut him into pieces”, it’s so arbitrary, it’s so incredible

that in talking about scheherazade and her husband, you are doing something that someone in every single generation has done since it was written– you are telling stories that have lasted an impossible amount of time 

can you conceive of telling a story, and then traveling into the future and hearing that same story told– with alterations, and through media that you could not possibly conceive of, but your story– in the year 3214?

the fact that we! as a species! have been telling the same damn stories for so long– the fact that we’ve seen homer’s troy and chaucer’s troy and shakespeare’s troy and troy with fucking brad pitt because we never fucking stop telling stories! never ever ever!

we never stop caring about stories, or returning to the same stories, or putting our own spins on stories. we never stop talking about the characters as if they were real, or asking what happened next, or asking to hear it again.

generation after generation, they never ever ever stop mattering to us.

The Osiris one is interesting because it was dead or very heavily mutated until we started translating hieroglyphs and it was reborn. Like those seed vaults in Norway written language has a way of preserving stories which then reemerge and spread virulently across the population again. 

being a storyteller is both a sacred trust, and the wildest, freest rebellion. it’s as ancient as language, as ancient as thought, but it’s also as fresh as drunken improv comedy and the latest meme. everyone tells stories instinctively and easily, but to be a master takes decades of practice. we learn about the human condition and the real world through stories, but they also let us speculate about impossible places and alien people.

it is possibly the only abstraction more universal than religion. i’m not sure humanity could survive without it.

jumpingjacktrash:

not-so-terrible:

jupiterjames:

friendlytroll:

cat–77:

toloveviceforitself:

onewit-torulethem-all:

prokopetz:

toloveviceforitself:

prokopetz:

andersonsallpurpose:

prokopetz:

moonbelowsea:

prokopetz:

If you ever feel like you must be the most unobservant person in the world, remember: I once spent half a year failing to notice that my new favourite restaurant was a money-laundering front for the Ukrainian mafia.

(I didn’t think anything of it at the time, but in retrospect, the fact that it was always dead no matter the time of day – I think the busiest I ever saw it was five people, myself included – well, that should have been a tipoff. Also, the waitstaff kept calling me “Mr. Prokopetz”, which I had assumed was just part of the restaurant’s gimmick, but given that “Prokopetz” is a Ukrainian surname, I’m now force to wonder whether they’d thought I was, you know, in the business. I just liked the pierogi!)

What I need to know is how on earth did OP finally realize his favorite restaurant was a money-laundering front for the mafia.

I’d like to say I put together the clues, but in reality, I just showed up one day to find that the place had been indefinitely shut down, and later learned it was because the managers had all been arrested.

What I really want to know is how good the food was?

Excellent, if your tastes run to the “heavy cream and too much garlic” end of the spectrum.

Every crime front I’ve ever eaten at has had completely amazing food, honestly. I am pretty convinced that if you want to open a front, you don’t choose “restaurant” as your front-business unless you have a relative who loves to cook.

It tickles me that this is evidently a sufficiently common experience that people find it relatable. (Seriously, check the notes!) We should write reviews or something.

did I just read the line “every crime front I’ve ever eaten at” with my own two eyes

Look, I went to college and lived my early adulthood in a town whose entire thing was import/export, and we had a lot of restaurants that were suspiciously empty except when they were closed and filled with very serious men in nice clothes.

They were usually run by someone who was about the right age to be some adult’s parents or grandparents, and in the case of the two Korean restaurants matching this description, they didn’t speak English. Universally though, they were very pleased to see customers, very proud of their cooking, and very very interested in keeping us far away from the aforementioned serious men in nice clothes. And despite having huge dining rooms and never having more than a couple customers, they never went out of business.

Also, because I am very, very stupid and sometimes don’t think before I talk, I once said loudly, over the phone, while sitting in one of these places, “Hey! Yeah if you want to meet us, we’re eating at [place]. You know…[place]? You totally know it. The Front, on Warwick st!”

The looks I got from every single employee were amazing and then I left.

We had a corner store/deli-place near our apartment in college. Everyone knew they were in on something and no one cared because they looked out for their customers and their neighborhood as a whole.

They started stocking my favorites because I mentioned them within hearing range once, would tell their “vendors” to move out of the way if we stopped in. I walked a different route home and got harassed one night and they asked after me. When they found out what happened, they declared “Consider it taken care of, you should never be afraid around here.” Never happened again.

Everyone needs their friendly neighborhood crime lord.

This is both my favorite and makes me fondly remember home. Less of the  eateries, more of the mysterious retail joints that never seem to close despite no one ever buying anything, though. Well. Aside from the juice bar. Didnt last, though. 

I found these places everywhere I lived. My favorite was an omurice place near my home in Japan, and a mother/son officially ran it. The food was incredible, and one night I was there and there was a boisterous crowd of BLATANTLY yakuza men eating and drinking. They started talking to me, and were super nice. Said they wanted to “practice their English,” and paid for my food and drinks and then said they wanted to take me to karaoke. That was a little alarming, but the mother/son, who seriously looked after me as the only foreigner in the area, said I should go, and the son came along. So we piled into a white landboat Cadillac and partied until dawn.

One of the older men at the party took me to my neighborhood and dropped me off out front (the car was literally too big to fit down the small neighborhood streets) and said that I had his blessing.

Which was confusing, but I was drunk, so whatever. Then I went back to the restaurant about a week later and the mother said, “the family approves of you. You may marry our son if you wish and be welcomed.”

I did not marry him, but wow. There were no hard feelings, either. They still helped out if I got harassed by the cops (which happened a lot in these smaller towns with no foreigners) or anything like that.

And to this day, no omurice has ever compared.

@temari-i-i

i’ve never heard for sure one way or the other about mai village in st. paul, but i have long had my suspicions. frogtown is not a wealthy neighborhood, and there are more vietnamese restaurants than gas stations, yet this particular one can afford embroidered menu covers, vast amounts of intricately carved wood, and an indoor pond with koi the size of a grown man’s arm? plus the light rail line being built shut them down for like a year but they bounced right back.

and like the other restaurants mentioned in this thread, the food is outrageously good, and the staff is extremely friendly and responsive to repeat customers. though it’s not usually empty. there’s a party room you can, in theory, rent, but it’s always booked up, even when the grandiose hand-carved double doors are standing open and you can see there’s no one in there. 😀

as far as i know for sure, though, the only crime they’re 100% associated with is the crime of ruining me for any other restaurant’s spring rolls.

jumpingjacktrash:

kgaele:

jumpingjacktrash:

ariaste:

ariaste:

IDK if you guys are following the current trashfire over on twitter, but there’s this new group who are trying to “encourage” authors to stop focusing on “political messages” or “complaining about world events” and “steer the sci-fi/fantasy community of creators away from the bickering and fighting over non- sci-fi/fantasy issues and back to just creating wonderful new stories”. They’re explicitly aspiring to form a space where “all viewpoints are welcome and valued” (translation: “You know, I think we should hear out the Nazis, maybe they have some good arguments”).

Also they’re sympathetic to the Sad Puppies. Also they called my agent a cancer on SFF.
:DDDDDDDDD ENJOY THE THREAD.

Yo, fun facts –

So “dreamtime” was originally (1899) a mistranslation by a white ethnographer of an ATSI (Indigenous Australian) term “Alcheringa”. It was promptly criticized in the community of ethnographers for being a mistranslation/misunderstanding and usage in the academic community dropped out until the term was revived in the 1970s for a more broaaaaad definition, the mythological phenomenon described in the thread above.

What I was not aware of is that the mistranslation persisted in English-speaking communities to refer to those ATSl cultural belief sets! (When I was taking mythology classes in college, we used ATSI terms for ATSI concepts). Some very kind people on twitter gave me some sources and gently corrected me.

So let’s just all agree in the future to use the alternate term “strongtime” instead of “dreamtime” when we’re talking about the stuff that my thread concerned, y/y? It’s just less fraught with shitty colonialism and it costs zero dollars to not be an asshole, u get me?

SO NOW WE KNOW THAT

ok this is a REALLY GREAT THREAD but no, i’m not giving up ‘dreamtime’ as a term of art for narrative space. @ariaste you just underwent the process described in the thread – with regards to the word ‘dreamtime’. it was a lovely, evocative word, and then you found out it was politically tainted, and now you want to avoid it.

plus, it just makes more sense. if ‘strongtime’ is the correct term for australian mythology, then of course we should use it for that. but it doesn’t describe narrative space in general nearly as well as ‘dreamtime’.

aboriginal australians have reclaimed ‘dreamtime’ to mean that specific thing in their culture, in the town I lived in in central queensland there was a wonderful building that sadly closed before I could ever visit called the ‘dreamtime cultural center’ which had the history of the aboriginee peoples that live in the area. Reading about the dreamtime is really interesting and educational!

Using the same word to describe the narrative thing seems fine from what I know through my prior interactions with aborginee cultural practices. The thing that’s a Please Don’t from what I researched and asked about is using the actual dreamtime as a spice for fantasy/sci-fi stories and such if you aren’t yourself aboriginal australian, because it’s part of a living culture that holds stories and history as sacred.

also after rambling in the tags i just want to share a really lovely thing i learned at the retreat:

this is migaloo! migaloo is a white humpback whale that migrates past the island regularly and is sacred to the woppaburra people who live on what is now known as north keppel island, but the traditional name is konomie. His name means “white fella”. The woppaburra are part of a wider whale dreaming indigenous community around australia, and the spiritual salt water totem for them is mugga mugga, (the humpback whale).

i’ve blathered on a bit mainly because aboriginal mythology is really cool and there are so many distinct cultural groups and i just wanted to share what i know about the people who were kind enough to welcome me to their home and tell me their stories. I checked to be sure I wasn’t mangling anything c:
https://australianmuseum.net.au/woppaburra-people-of-the-keppel-islands (in case anyone wants to read more about the history! cw for some very sad stuff though)

thank you for adding this, knowing about this sacred whale friend added to my life’s happiness ❤