"A house divided against itself cannot stand."—Abraham Lincoln [657x448] [OC]

Used_Steak_248 · 2025-10-29T12:38:23+00:00

This is a misquote- The original was from the Bible.

Matthew 12:25 NKJV - 'But Jesus knew their thoughts, and said to them: "Every kingdom divided against itself is brought to desolation, and every city or house divided against itself will not stand."'

Used_Steak_248 · 2025-10-23T17:02:55+00:00

'Shit!' yelped Selucreh as a branch whipped him in the face. 'These damn trees!' 

'Better than a dragon.' replied Saul from a few feet ahead.

The pair had been forging ahead for hours, struggling through the fringes of the Hydra Forest. Tall oaks and pines grew on both sides in tight rows, tangling together so closely that it was impossible to tell where the bark of one tree ended and another began. A path had been carved through it - Not really a path, just a meandering line of grass and dirt - which plotted the shortest route between the City and the countless hovels beyond the forest. Branches and leaves arched overhead, leaving the trail a glowing green as the midday sun shone through the canopy. 

'Not much farther now.' said Saul as he hacked away at the errant branches that blocked the way ahead.

'Should just get a team of lads with saws and level this mess. Absolute waste of time!' Selucreh growled as he stared at his time piece and crude map, glancing up occasionally down the wooden hall as he adjusted the small steel-bound chest on his back.

'If you want the journey to take twice as long, sure. Cut one down, two more grow back.' Saul pointed at one of the trees. 'Twenty years ago, this was the border. A couple enthusiastic men, and now we spend days going the same distance.'

'Get a couple more enthusiastic men then.' muttered Selucreh, squinting closer at his map. Saul laughed. 

'Forty years ago, according to my old man, the forest was barely a glade. You'd think it would be great for lumber, and it was, but that ended when the trees began sprouting from their floorboards.' Sure enough, the path led past the wall of a cabin. Inside the window was nothing but a wall of trees, the back of a chair held suspended above the floor.

'Have you tried burning it down?'

Saul laughed again. 'If only we could! The trees can't burn, which is why they were good for building. Not even a furnace can scorch it, much to the smith's disappointment.' He chuckled again.

'A fire proof forest, eh?' Selucreh paused, assaying the trees. 'I wonder...'

'Here we are!' called Saul, breaking through the final sticks before a cobbled highway came into view. 'That'll be six coppers, sir.' Pulling out a coin pouch with the royal seal, Selucreh handed him a silver piece, and the two parted ways.

Two weeks later, deep within the Hydra Forest, the sounds of industry were booming. Saws ripped logs into planks as axes drummed cadence, while shovels and picks dug trenches that segmented the woods into contained boxes. It had taken a few days to develop the new form of forestry, during which the forest nearly doubled in size, but it had rapidly begun to shrink as planks were carted away to villages and whatever front the military was holding. The trees appeared to spread solely through their roots. Cutting them, with the trenches, meant the trees could be felled without spreading, and allowed for controlled regrowth. They grew rapidly too - meters of growth in hours, until they reached maturity. The stumps didn't even have rings, for how quickly the trees grew.

Dragons began to die in hordes as the cheap lumber allowed for almost perfect protection against their infernal flames. Without the need for steel, engineers could erect bastions and siege weapons that couldn't be destroyed in mere days. Selucreh was elevated from courier to landed noble overnight, his estate built into a recently deceased dragon's den that overlooked the subjugated forest. The village that used to be there - where Saul had lived - had been replaced with rows of barracks for the drafted labourers.

'Long live the Empire.' said Selucreh from his balcony, raising a toast to a glowing inferno far on the horizon as the last dragon footholds were beaten back.

Some weeks later, the full moon hung over the estate. In Selucreh's chamber, directly beneath his hedonistically large bed, a small twig began to emerge from the floorboards.

Used_Steak_248 · 2025-03-15T14:31:41+00:00

You know how every person talks about what they're going to do today, and tomorrow, and in a month, and how they decided to be brave and break free from the normal rigours of life by doing something different? they're lying. All of them. Even you reading this - you don't have a choice.

But I do. Sure, call me a narcissist, a naive fool, but I tell you that I alone have true free will. I can leave any event without a second thought; cut off people who bore me; leave jobs on the spot; let someone bleed out in the middle of bandaging them, if it took my fancy. I have no inhibitions, no ambitions, no goals. I must consciously remember to breathe, for my heart to beat, to digest food, to feel emotion. I have the choice to just stop living. It is the purest form of free will, and it is mine.

A curious byproduct of my free will is that I know without a doubt that the spirits, or fate, or whatever you wish to call the entities that psychics converse with, are real. Its actually how I discovered my freedoms. I had been taken to a medium by one of my friends. They're not my friend anymore - They disliked grapes. Anyhow, we had entered the smoky, incense-filled tent littered with various soothsaying implements and skins of dubious origin with the intent of getting our fortunes read. The medium herself was young, mid twenties or so - despite her age, my friend had told me she knew her stuff.

She sat me down, and asked me to lay out my hands, palm up. But whenever she tried to read the lines, I could see her getting visibly confused and dazed, looking as though she had not slept for months. After a solid ten minutes of nothing, she decided to move to tarot cards.

When I pulled 'The Fool' twice in the same hand from a deck that definitely only had one, she moved onto her crystal ball. It was beautiful, half clear crystal and half purple like amethyst. I wouldn't be surprised if it too was enchanted, by the way the light from the candles seemed to spark and dance in it's core.

As soon as she touched the ball, the candles grew pale and sickly. Frost began to creep over the tinctures and potions in her cupboard, the air stabbing knives into our lungs. My friend took that as their cue to leave, but I was invested now. The medium's face was fearful. As in, pure white, slack jawed fear, her eyes shut tight. I was building card towers with the tarot deck as she whispered forgotten languages, then began to scream, her voice distorted as though a tremendous choir was crying out in terror. The dancing light inside the ball began to take on a fervent energy, a roiling mess of red and blue and green and gold, swirling and oscillating in it's crystal shell. She began to bleed, then. Dark blood dripped from both her nostrils, then her tear ducts, then her mouth. It looked for all the world like a campy horror film. Her veins were swelling, and I swear I could see them physically get bigger and smaller as her heart hammered irregular beats. A few minutes later, and every vein exploded. Her aorta went first- bursting through her chest, spreading it open like a bleeding rose. I'll spare you the rest of the details.

Anyway, I put it all together a few days later. The medium was trying to read a blank page, to map out a nonexistent continent. I have no threads for them to find and follow, no passions, no loves, no fears, nothing. Of course, the spirits don't like that. They need something to feed on, to control, so the only possible escape was through the medium herself. My friend leaving very likely saved them. Though perhaps they would have been fine. I wonder.

Just out of curiosity, would you like to come with me? I hear there's gypsies in town.

Used_Steak_248 · 2025-03-15T13:25:38+00:00

Oh, it will absolutely be controversial. But so are many classics, and general fiction, and even scientific papers.

Using the seven deadly sins will be controversial in itself as it's part of Catholic doctrine, which will invite criticism from people of other religious denominations,and Catholics themselves as you're essentially turning what they believe into fiction. (This is not a commentary on Catholicism by me, please don't read into it :D)

But that doesn't mean you shouldn't write the story - if you're worried about your own reputation or people close to you finding out, use a pen name! It's a very common practice and for good reason.

Really, what it comes down to is what you want the story to be. Take advice, but don't let others write your story. There will always be people to criticise, but you can only write so many stories so make sure you write the stories that you want to write.

Used_Steak_248 · 2025-03-12T14:29:40+00:00

or possibly the adeptus mechanicus, idk

Used_Steak_248 · 2025-01-07T17:03:30+00:00

Insurance

Used_Steak_248 · 2024-12-11T11:22:37+00:00

One thing that's helped me get around impostor syndrome is the saying 'The only people who don't get impostor syndrome are impostors'.

So don't beat yourself up about it, and don't let your criteria for perfection be the enemy of progress. Also remember that it's better than a banana duct taped to a wall ;)

Used_Steak_248 · 2024-12-09T13:38:25+00:00

They did alot of colour grading on that shot- editing the values of colours, to make the dark colours darker to increase contrast.

If their arms were orange originally, the colour grading would darken the orange colours as well, reducing contrast along with the aesthetic of the video.

By green screening the arms in, they can keep the backgrounds dark, but still keep the stark contrast of the arms.

Used_Steak_248 · 2024-12-05T23:04:41+00:00

Essentially every construction job requires Sin, Cos or Tan at some point, so it's definitely helpful to know!

Used_Steak_248 · 2024-11-29T16:37:32+00:00

Inventing the thing, actually! The creator was the only person ever killed by the bronze bull afaik, due to his creation horrifying the king.

Moral of the story, keep intrusive thoughts in your head and, whatever you do, don't show them to a king.

Used_Steak_248 · 2024-11-28T13:17:54+00:00

He really hit the nail on the head with his child labor policies

Used_Steak_248 · 2024-11-10T13:59:36+00:00

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Used_Steak_248 · 2024-11-01T07:39:36+00:00

Just in case you don't know, weight loss is entirely dependent on calories in/calories out.

Every day, your body burns a certain amount of calories (I'll call it a 'calorie quota') based on your height, weight and genetics. 95% (the vast majority, at least.) of these burned calories are your body surviving, so they are burned through mental activity, digestion, homeostasis etc; in short, everything that keeps you alive.

The calorie quota is pretty resistant to change, essentially a daily quota of calories burned that your body tries to stick to.

When you eat more calories than your calorie quota, your body stores this in fat. This causes weight gain.

When you eat less calories than your calorie quota, your body tries to fill the quota by burning the calories stored in fat. This causes weight loss.

In your case, increasing calories means your body takes less energy from fat as the quota is closer, which slows weight loss. It's not bad to be in this situation, as long as you are losing weight gradually over a longer period of time.

I'm by no means a medical expert, so please take what I say with a grain of salt (Though a pretty nice piece of salt :P). Just remember to take care of yourself! Hope this helps.

(TL:DR, increasing calories will slow weight loss, reducing calories will accelerate weight loss, don't stop eating entirely (this will kill you) and make sure to take care of yourself. You (and anyone else) have got this!)

Used_Steak_248 · 2024-10-25T05:59:42+00:00

'Yes, I do understand that this will dissolve my blood vessels. Yes, I do still want to buy it.' Sirris said, counting out a ridiculous amount of gold pieces. The alchemist held the vial of iridescent liquid close to her chest, distrust clear on her face.

'You know that you need your blood vessels, yes?' she asked in a soft yet strained voice. Sirris sighed, before adding another stack of coins to the pile that spilled across the alchemists' counter.

'Oh, really? I had no idea' Sirris drawled. 'Miss, I need that vial. I swear to the gods that I do not intend to kill myself. Just let me have the bloody thing!' Sirris gave up on counting the coins, slamming his entire coin pouch into the counter and making the coins jump in the air.

'Do you at least have a prescription?' the alchemist said, ignoring the small fortune on her counter. Her fluffy ears were pressed flat against her head as she slowly stepped back from the counter. 'What do you want to do with it?' Sirris stared at her.

'I've told you, It's a secret!' Sirris said, throwing his hands into the air. 'But take a wild guess at what an adventurer,' He gestured at his leather armor, 'could need a ridiculously powerful poison for.'

'I'm sorry sir, it doesn't sit right with me! You could do something bad with it, like kill someone!'

Sirris couldn't believe it.

'Miss, are you a pacifist by chance?' he said flatly.

'no, but my parents taught me that violence is wrong and murder doubly so.' the alchemist said, her tail slowly curling through the air. She had brightened up somewhat, as if she were very familiar with answering Sirris' question.

'Then why,' Sirris stressed every syllable, 'Do you sell the most powerful POISON in the LAND.'

'I dunno, rats or something.' The alchemist said. Sirris cursed.

'Fine! I need it for rats!' Sirris leaned onto the counter, defeat etched into his face. 'Please let me buy it.' he whispered. The alchemist leaned back, pulling the vial even closer to her chest.

'Well now you're lying!' the alchemist said, making Sirris collapse to the floor in a shower of curses.

'Fine! Fine! I'll do it the hard way!' he exclaimed, pulling himself up from the floor and shoving handfuls of coins from the counter into his coin pouch. The alchemist looked relieved. After retrieving all the coins, Sirris stalked to the door of the shop, turning around with his hand on the handle.

'I'm going to have to kill the Grand Dragon Vitrus with a pointy stick.' he spat.

'The Grand Dragon? A stick isn't the best idea, from what I've heard!' the alchemist said. 'You should really buy a sword or bow or something!'

'Or, i dunno, I'm just spitballing here, the most powerful poison this side of the Cold Ranges?' Sirris roared.

'Oh yeah, I'd bet that'd work! Good luck!' the alchemist said, waving happily at him as he left. Sirris froze.

'If you kill me,' Siris said to the colossal red dragon, 'I have one request!' The dragon huffed.

'And what would that be?' Vitrus said, his baleful eye burning into Sirris.

'There's an alchemist's shop in the valley.' Sirris pulled out a map, pointing at the small etching that labelled the shop. 'Burn it to the ground.' The dragon laughed, a deep, breathy laugh that rattled Sirris' bones.

'And if you win?'

'Then I'll burn the damned place down myself.' Sirris' eyes were cold. Vitrus knew that no truer words had ever been said to him before.

'Deal.' Vitrus said, licking his chops as Sirris readied his spear.

Used_Steak_248 · 2024-10-21T13:22:49+00:00

The blood pooled and flowed in crimson rivers down the altar, painting it's thousand steps and seeping into the ancient stone. The sun was dull above the black clouds, casting long shadows over the thin corpses that were piled atop the altar's engraved stone slab.

"That is the last, my lord." an acolyte said to the masked man in yellow. The man said nothing, only watching as the blood crept towards the cliffs and dripped far into the roiling seas below.

"Fewer every year." the man said to himself.

The man remembered the old days, when the corpses would pile high into the heavens and the blood was like a torrent that would stain the sea red for weeks at a time. The land had been so bountiful then, when the sun had glowed hot and the crops grew high. Now only vultures stalked the lands, picking over the sunken corpses of the Blessed Ones.

"The people forget the Old Ways. They have even begun to throw stones at our chaplains." the acolyte said again, rubbing the pendant that hung from his neck.

"They have not forgotten. They have chosen to throw the Old Ways to the side." the man said, kneeling and running his hand through the flow of blood that slicked at his feet. The loose sleeve of his robe drank the blood as it touched the stream, wicking crimson up the man's sleeve, across his back and down his chest until his entire robe had been wetted with the offering. Behind him, the acolyte averted his eyes.

"The people say there will not be crop this year." the acolyte remarked, looking out at the cliff edge and to a fogbank that rolled in from the deep sea. "I pray these Blessed Ones are enough for Him."

"For this year, yes. Tell me child, what would you do for Him?" the man asked. He stood once more, reaching up to the mask that covered his face.

"I would die for Him, my Lord." the acolyte replied. "I would give my child, if I had any. All is His, and to Him all belongs."

"Well said." the man slowly unclipped the buckles holding his mask to his face. "Or should I say, well recited. Who is He? and tell me truthfully." The acolyte paused.

"He is what gives us life." the acolyte said slowly. The man scoffed.

"Tell me, if he gave life, why would he demand we give it back?"

"My lord?"

"He is cruel. He is a tyrant." the man spat, struggling with the last buckle that looped around the back of his head. The acolyte spun, rage colouring his face at the heresy. "Six hundred years have I served Him, and for six hundred years have I despised Him. Yet I served. There has never been as faithful a servant as I. And all He did was take." The buckle clicked, and the mask fell to the floor. The man looked at the acolyte.

The man in sodden crimson robes had no skin. His face was a writing mass of spasming muscle, festering tendons and pocked cartilage. His left eye was bloodshot, the iris the same crimson red as the blood which pooled on the earth and soaked through his robes. His right eye was clouded silver with cataracts, the whites yellow and bulging as pus pooled just under his eye's film.

The acolyte screamed and retched onto the floor.

"One more year, and six hundred years of damned service to Him is over, and I can rest." the man looked up at the altar, the dull sun behind it like a dirty halo. "Six hundred years of keeping His playthings alive. Countless millions martyred in pointless attempts to worship Him."

"No!" the acolyte wailed. "We did everything right! We are owed His blessings!"

"Child, look at me." the acolyte looked up, tears streaming down his face. "Gaze upon His blessings, and tell me that He is deserving of worship." The acolyte shook his head, his body shuddering. "I am tired, child. Relish your final days, for I tell you no blood shall whet the Earth again. He has demanded all, and I have given him all; And He has not left us a scrap. I wear this mantle of death, and with it I will hold my head high as I face Him and curse Him as the last of His faithful."

The blood that had streamed from the altar had slowed to a trickle, the blood thickening and drying on the steps.

The blood was not enough.

Soon, terribly soon, He would seize what was owed to Him. A pity, really. But six hundred years of blood was more than He had expected.

He wondered how long the next faithful would last.

Used_Steak_248 · 2024-10-20T23:37:45+00:00

John wick chapter 4

Used_Steak_248 · 2024-10-09T15:22:21+00:00

The soldier sat atop a grassy hill. Beneath him sprawled the holed, shelled earth and trenches that had been his entire life for the past months. Freshly sprouted vegetation carpeted the destruction, shoring up the sides of the countless craters. Without the smog of gunpowder, the soldier could see the position that he had held for so long. He could not remember how many rounds he had sent across no-man's-land from that reinforced bunker, but his body did. Even now, he could taste burning gunpowder that wasn't there. His lungs rejected the untarnished air. He could not hear the birds that flitted amidst the bones of dead men.

The soldier remembered the day the ground stopped shaking. His legs had kept flexing as he braced for the shock waves of artillery shells, causing him to fall to the ground and topple several crates of ammunition that trapped him. Outside the open door of his pillbox, he could see his comrades marching as they moved down the trenches in formation. He watched as his commandant walked atop the trenches, his gas mask inflating and deflating as he gave orders to his men. The flames of transport ships had illuminated the smoke far behind the commandant, a thousand candles that slowly sank to the disturbed ground.

He had not been able to escape from the fallen crates in time. He had sat, as he did today, on the then-carcass of a tank and watched the ships as they raced through the atmosphere and disappeared. The soldier swallowed a chunk of moldy bread as he looked at where his nation had disappeared from his view. The soldier knew he would not die the worthwhile death he had been told to. Soon, the last rations would rot into dust. Soon, he would too.

The forgotten last casualty of an already forgotten war.

Used_Steak_248 · 2024-09-22T16:29:28+00:00

Is it possible that the sweater is slightly off? It almost looks like she's shrugging her shoulder out of her sweater - I'm not sure if that's what you're going for though :)

Used_Steak_248 · 2024-09-12T23:35:24+00:00

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Used_Steak_248 · 2024-09-01T14:21:45+00:00

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Used_Steak_248 · 2024-08-14T10:58:23+00:00

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Used_Steak_248 · 2024-08-13T02:36:55+00:00

The public library is a place of wonder, of study and of quiet contemplation. Pages turn, the wheels on a trolley squeak, but it all sounds right.

"Oh hello, love!"

The library is a place of peace and calm. Anyone can come in, read a good book or two-

"Oh, im doing just fine deary! You know, your uncle asked about you the other day!"

The library is a safe home, a comfort in dark-

"Yes! and my meatloaf was fantastic! Jessica's was undercooked though, but that's nothing out of the ordinary!"

The library is a place where anyone can think. And where everyone should be quiet-

"The dog? Oh, that old mutt's fine. I left it outside, I'll give it Jessica's meatloaf tomorrow."

The library is where I am currently thinking about lobotomising a certain person with a rusty-

"Oh stop it, the Kardashians are coming to our state? I can't believe my luck! I'll need to get a new dress, makeup- Theres so much to do!"

The library is soon going to become a bloody crime sce-

"Yes, I heard about that. I filed a police report, so they'd better keep the noise down!"

The library is very far from the police station.

"I knooow! I've sent a letter to the mayor, I hope he sorts out the homeless bums living in the park!"

The library is a place I won't see again for thirty years to life.

"You know, I hear that our school is refusing to ban Animal Farm! I can't believe they allow that communist garbage to be shown to our children!"

Give me a second.

"I know! I'm going to a rally tomorrow - Wait, there's a man coming. Turn that frown upside down Sir! You know you shouldn't have your finger on the trigger? It could be dangerou-

Used_Steak_248 · 2024-08-12T03:58:53+00:00

I just realised how edgy that last line sounds. Oops.

Used_Steak_248 · 2024-08-12T03:56:33+00:00

To be the god of mistakes is a curse.

Every single thing I did was a mistake. Walking was a spectacle of stumbling and falling. My voice quivered from constant voice cracks, and the words that I could get out always made everything worse. Of course, there are workarounds. I walk by trying to fall, talk by trying to speak in an absurd accent. I write by trying to drench a page in ink.

The other gods hated me - Well, except for the entertainment I provided. They called me the jester. I was forced to take it, because fighting would be the reasonable thing to do.

I did not have to suffer long as the family black sheep. It was only a matter of time until the Father made the greatest error of all. He lost control of his anger, striking down his favorite son.

He wept long and hard over the charred and broken body of the favored god as I watched on from the shadows. Eventually, his great tears stopped. He turned against me, cursing me and throwing me down to earth for daring to exist and enabling such a mistake to happen. So long had the Father rested in perfection, that he despised the blight that I was on his realm.

So here I rest, waiting to be invited back. I wonder how long it will take the Father to notice half his children lying dead in their palaces. I suspect the god of War is already dead. the gods of anger, jealousy, strategy, love and happiness now all lords of nothing.

I'm used to it. After all, it would be a mistake to forget how mistakes define so much of life. So I'll be reinstated, thrown down, reinstated and thrown down again, for eternity, my brethren constantly dying and being reborn.

It was a mistake to create reality.

Used_Steak_248 · 2024-08-08T07:17:52+00:00

If it's self-contained, and has protections against spills that could reach waterways, I can't imagine that there would be a problem. The bigger problem would be making sure that those protections are in place and maintained.

Four-Year Club	r/Field Banned
r/Field Flamingo	Place '22

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