My scribbles cover a wide range of topics, and some of those topics are fetishes or paraphilia related. I don't plan to post anything explicit here, but some of the pictures could still be considered NSFW or at least risqué.
So if you're a minor, I will soft-block you if you follow me. It's nothing personal, I promise! You're probably a neat and valid individual and totally worthy of friendship and love. It's just that you're also less than half my age, and I worry that there can be legal issues if little Johnny develops a thing for pregnant guys after seeing one of my pictures.
(I recognize that it's a bit out of my control once a picture has been reblogged, but I can at least do my best at the source.)
I need Christians, non-Christians (never practiced a Christian religion), and ex-Christians, to all HAND WRITE the word
Troubleshoot
just like that, uppercase first letter, naturally as you can. Just let it fly. Write it on paper, on the desk, on the wall, on whatever you can legibly scrawl it, take a picture, and post it to this thread, tagging whether you're C, NC, or XC.
Again, this is for scientific curiosity, please do not interact with each other here. No denominational fights. This is just to see something I think might be interesting.
This poll is to remind me to check this thread in a week
One of the sapient species of the world of Aïn, where Justin's story is set. Created by the Healer of Waves, the Yrchène are orcs who thrive in warm coastal wetlands.
Feel free to ask questions; I'll do my best to either answer them or make up something that works.
12 to the calends, Zoyouran, 368 AP. Vespers: Discussed natural philosophy with colaborers during midday meal. During a lull in conversation, Tremola conjectured that there may be other worlds like ours, perhaps far beyond the Void, or even behind the Curtains of What May Be. She says she dreamt last night of worlds like tapestries hanging on either side of a wall; breach the wall, and the tapestries may touch. For all that we scoffed and told her to check her grain stores for mold, I confess that the image now haunts my mind as well.
==
"To think a place like this would be hidden under the Temple of Shadow," Tyrus muttered, staring down the dim hallway as Justin held up a globe of light. The air was stale and damp, but there was a surprising lack of mold or moss. Much of the paint had flaked off of the walls, leaving mostly bare concrete, but a few surfaces had words carved into them.
"Ey, Justin," said Zeppy, "Aren't those the same kinds of symbols as the ones on your hand?"
"Ouranic runes?" Justin stepped in for a closer look. "... I think they are, yes ..."
"Can you read 'em?"
"I'm not fluent ... but I did study a bit of the old tongue at Saint Obregon's." He ignored Sarinda's quiet scoffing and narrowed his eyes to make out the words. "Er ... thalamos ... katharismu ... Purifying chamber?"
==
3 to the nones, Rasporo, 375 AP. Half forenoon: Exciting news. The Crafter (all honored) has agreed to review my designs - and if they are approved, to lend divine aid in bringing them into being. What an honor, that my years of research and drafting should attract even the attention of one of the Eight! I can hardly put stylus to tablet, my hands shake so.
I say "my research," but none of this would have been possible without Tremola working by my side. Her tireless calculations, and indeed her dream in the first place, are the only reason these designs exist at all. Perhaps the true honor is that she considers me a worthy collaborator in this effort. When this new facility is complete, if the auspices be aligned, I shall steel my nerve and ask if I may court her. ... I shall try, at least.
==
The "purifying chamber" had room for one person at a time to stand inside as a magical cleansing field swept over them. It wasn't much help, considering the house-sized breach in the wall next to it, leading deeper into the ruins. Dust lay thick on the ground, undisturbed for centuries. Beneath it, there were a few remnants of carpeting that had yet to rot completely. There was a distinct feeling that time occasionally forgot to flow in this place.
There were other areas to explore: a "calculation room" lined with desks and benches, a "record store" whose every shelf was crammed with metal scrolls that crumbled to rust at a touch ... Justin couldn't recall what chalarosis meant, but the remains of tables and couches suggested a place to rest.
"Something's missing," Beni mused, peering at a jar that must have once been brightly lacquered. "This all feels too ... uh ... everyday? ... for a hidden ruin under an elemental temple, don't you think?"
Zeppy nodded slowly, arms crossed. "You're right, now you mention it. These rooms feel like a bursar's office, not a forbidden crypt. Why go to all this trouble to keep 'em concealed?"
Ailura remained pointedly silent.
==
5 to the ides, Fylachro, 385 AP. First candles: At last, a breakthrough after years of fruitless testing. The Builder (all honored) and the Wonderer (all honored) spent days crafting sufficient amounts of unaligned thaumalite for the experiment to finally succeed. I cannot begin to express how indebted I am to their efforts - at last, we opened a portal to another realm!
Preliminary forays indicate that it is a world overflowing with divine energies, and the Harvester (all honored) suggested that the Eight might find refreshment in such a realm, to rest there without wearing the shrouds that keep mere mortals like myself from withering in their presence. The committee swiftly approved of such a use, and the rest of the day was given to celebrate our success.
Would that I could so succeed in my efforts to court Tremola! She so often buries herself in her calculations, showing such devotion to the labors of this facility that I hardly feel worthy to suggest a meal together, much less a life. Sometimes we greet each other in the corridor, and she looks sad for a moment. Perhaps she wonders what I'm even doing here. I can only similarly devote myself to my research, so that one day I might feel ready to stand alone in her presence.
==
They stood in a grand chamber, staring at the massive chunks of thaumalite crystal scattered pell-mell across the floor, stabbed into the walls, smashed through interior windows. They seemed to originate from the remains of a central pillar, surrounded by stone barriers. Near the barriers, there was a large metal counter with slabs of darkened crystal embedded in the top. Every few seconds, the slabs would flicker and glow with text in Ouranic.
"Pretty sure we found what they were trying to hide," Zeppy said drily. "... think you can read what's on that cabinet?"
Justin hesitated, until Tyrus stepped in to guard him. "Permit me, my liege."
Cheeks burning as Sarinda snickered, Justin walked to the central area and tried to read the scattered flashes of text. "... efthy ... grammis ... menos? ... something ... light ... tessera ... ... ... 'light crystal in cabinet four aligned badly'?"
"A technical problem, eh?" Zeppy's face lit up, and she doffed her greatcoat as she strode to join him. "Keep reading what shows up on that slab," she directed, grinning eagerly and pulling her goggles down over her eyes. "We might be able to get this running again."
"Is that wise, uh --" Justin paled as he realized that the other three were now hiding behind a concrete barrier on the far side of the chamber.
"Don't fight it," called Beni from the other side of the wall. "Just keep the damage to a minimum."
==
Post-nones, Khionopt, 385 AP. Third watch: ... may the Eight unmake me.
==
After an hour or two of careful tinkering, a few of the scattered chunks of thaumalite rose from the floor and hovered where the original pillar must have been, glowing softly. The occasional spark of magical energy traveled between them. It was as beautiful as an oncoming avalanche.
"Perhaps ... perhaps we should stop and rest awhile?" Justin chose his words carefully. "Just a half-hour to sit and take a meal. Translation is easier on a full stomach ..."
"Hm?" Zeppy looked up at him as though reviving from a trance. "Oh, of course. I think I'd have to craft some custom tools to make any more progress, anyhow." With the nonchalance of a lady at her toilette, she grabbed a cloth and wiped the grease from her hands.
Justin groaned in surprised pain. He'd been tensing his stomach the whole time. Just as he leaned on the counter for a moment, another of the crystal slabs lit up.
"Hm? What's this ..."
==
Date uncertain. Sunset: I have buried Tremola. There are many others yet to bury. I cannot grieve until I have atoned. We opened more portals after the divine realm. Some beautiful worlds, some dangerous, one ... Demons fill the world, monsters from that realm. Because of them, Tremola breathes no more. ... because of me. Because of me, the world is under siege and the gods are wounded and Tremola is dead. A curse on my name, a curse on my curiosity, a curse on that dream. I can only pray that the world survives my folly.
==
Justin looked up from the slab once more. "On second thought, Commander ... perhaps it's best we end this project."
He didn't expect Ailura, of all people, to sigh so loudly in relief.
Born from the coalescing regrets of a woman who died lost in the mountains, a Froslass is a tragic creature ... and a dangerous one. When a Froslass sees beauty in a man, she ensures that nothing will tarnish his perfection. After killing him with a blast of air supercooled to -50 degrees Celsius, she extracts and devours his soul, then takes his preserved body back to her frozen lair to adore it along with the others.
As the battle commenced, Kumanosuke rushed into the fray, thick brown fur spreading over his arms and chest and face. He drew the ancient sword from its sheath once more, and his blood began to rush ...
A young retainer to the Yamamoto clan, his life had been upended when the worlds began to overlap and the spirit of a werebear berserker had fused with his own. This duality of supreme discipline and wrathful frenzy had only been drawn into sharper contrast on his travels, when he came into possession of his family's long lost blade: Orochi no Zanmatou. And "possession" was certainly the word for it. Two warring spirits had long inhabited the blade: a vicious oni, and the warrior who gave his life to seal it away. Every time Kumanosuke entered the rage of battle, these spirits fought for brief dominion over his body. Sometimes the warrior took charge, and he defended his companions with a cold fury that was dancelike in its grace.
But this time, the oni was victorious in their little game. Kumanosuke felt a wild laugh peal from his mouth, and his swordplay lost any semblance of grace or mercy. Every stroke hit its mark, sending sprays of blood this way and that as Orochi no Zanmatou sliced through flesh and armor alike. The demon spirit drank in the carnage with a wild glee that only grew with each new slash of the cursed blade.
"More ... more!" It was Kumanosuke's voice, but tinged with a manic cruelty that was alien to the taciturn bodyguard. "Your blood is delicious, but it will never be enough to slake my thirst!"
The children are learning about the US Civil War. I can’t say it’s going well. (On the bright side, they’re very clear about slavery. We’re solid on that front. It’s the actual war we’re having trouble with.)
“Ms. T, why would his parents name him that?”
I frantically flip through the possible Civil War leaders they could be referencing. “… Well, you know how Stonewall got his nickname, and we’ve talked about Tecumseh, so there’s Sherman, and -”
“No, not them.” They roll their eyes at my ignorance, then pivot back to the point at hand. “That other guy. Useless.” As this describes a number of Civil War leaders, I blink uncomprehendingly at her. “You know, Ms. T, Useless. Useless Grant.”
“Um. … Well -”
Another child raises their hand. “Ms. T, I don’t understand number three.”
Number three is a question about the Battle of Bull Run, asking for explanations about a Confederate victory despite Union advantages. “What paragraph are you looking in?” I ask in a monotone, because I’ve been fielding this question all day.
The student points at the correct paragraph, even focuses in on the quote about Jackson holding off a Union advance. “It says Jackson and the men ‘screamed like furries,’ Ms. T, but why would that help?”
I cough. I cover my mouth with both hands. “That’s ‘furies,’ sweetie,” I inform them, still wheezing. “Like they’re insane with anger,” I elaborate, deciding to skip describing actual furies at this point in time. “Not … not like furries.”
So, here’s how the war is going, one week in: Useless Grant has been made general of the Union forces, but a bunch of furries are preventing him from gaining much ground.
hi i just wanted to tell u that my drifloon really loves it when i (very very gently) bat him around like a beachball and sometimes he ties himself around my wrist so he comes right back
he demands this activity at least twice a day
youre doing this to your drifloon on a twice daily basis and that's the funniest shit ive ever heard
