#*dying of heat exhuastion*

[the--quotifyer--innit]

john: I think we should kiss. sherlock: And I think you should die but we don’t always get what we want.

[ravenw1ngs]

WIP Wednesday

The thing about Purgatory is that, at its core, it is all about surviving the extreme. The mobs are deadlier, the terrain is unforgivingly rugged, and the weather is terrible at best and terrifying at worst. Every new natural disaster catches them off guard, often at the cost of their lives, and even when they outlast it, they still lose something. 

It goes like this:

The morning sun is normally just warm enough to chase off the chill that had settled into their skin overnight; today, they’re in the midst of their usual start-of-day preperations when the gentle rays sharpen into something scorching. Their M.D.R.s chirp, the sound a little too cheerful for the warning it carries, and they scramble to get under cover before the blazing heat becomes painful. It’s still unbearable, even in the shelter of the normally-cool cave, and within minutes they’re all drenched in sweat. 

Their tea farm is even more unlucky.

“Have I mentioned how much I hate this island?” Tina huffs. It’s hard to tell if she’s more angry or upset as they stand there, watching her crops burn. There’s nothing they can do to save them; there’s never enough time to do anything but keep themselves alive. 

“I know. We’ll help you salvage and replant when this is over,” Tubbo says, swiping his sleeve across his forehead. Their communicators chime, then, marking another death. Someone on the red team, clearly, since his M.D.R.’s display immediatly beeps as the point display shifts. Once, Tubbo would have checked who it was, maybe typed a sympathetic message in chat. Instead, the number just filters into his ever-constant calculations of their scores.

(Sometimes he wishes he could turn off that part of his brain. Other times—most of the time—he knows that it’s a skill that’s keeping them going, keeping them alive, because if they know the odds they have a better chance at beating them.)

“Well, a little bit longer and you won’t have to worry about your farm so much,” Pac calls. He’s halfway in a chest a few blocks behind them, digging through their meager supplies for anything that could be useful in their latest project. Tubbo sees a brief flash of moss as his friend shoves it into his inventory. 

“It’ll be so great, Tina,” Bad adds, grinning from where he’s repairing a diamond pickaxe, which reminds Tubbo that he needs to go mining as soon as the sun stops trying to kill them. “Just think: no more people trampling or stealing your crops, and they’ll be totally safe from disasters like this.”

Tina hums, still staring out at her dying farm, but Tubbo sees a bit of the tension ease from her shoulders at the thought of the new base.

As soon as they had decided to mostly ignore the event, Soulfire had turned their collective focus to more productive ventures. In between fulfilling quests and scrambling to claim the missions at the Global Hub, they’d began preperations to move to a better, more hidden base. The beach just wasn’t protected enough—not from the disasters, or the mobs, and especially not from the other teams—and the more respawns they could avoid, the better. It was simple logic: they don’t have enough skilled fighters to protect their existing base, therefore they need a base that doesn’t have to be protected.

Pac had been the one to put the idea forward; it had definitely been a fleeting thought in everyone’s minds these past few days as their supplies got stolen and their team got killed, but he’d rolled out of bed that morning with a plan in mind and a location picked out. Tubbo is more than happy to delegate this task, staying focused on his usual excursions for resources and treks to the Global Hub. It’s an exhuasting, never-ending job, but he’ll do it for as long as it takes. 

Eventually, the sun stops burning. The glare reflecting off the ice loses its intensity, and the temperature rapidly drops. They exit their shelter slowly, just to be sure, and survey the destruction. Only a few of the plants survive, so they arm themselves with hoes and help Tina turn over the dry dirt so that she can start over. They have enough tea to keep them going through the rest of the day, but they’ll be feeling this setback tomorrow morning, Tubbo knows. 

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Some bits of Visions of Violet definitely don't follow the exact details of Purgatory (sometimes for plot reasons...sometimes because I don't feel like scrubbing through hundreds of vod hours lol), but the exhaustive repetition of rebuilding, replanting, and replacing resources needs no real exaggeration. Tina has more patience than me, I fear.

Anyways, this is from the start of chapter three; I'm hoping to get most of the way through chapter four by next Wednesday, but we'll see. Pacing is putting up a fight.

[venomgender]

4 different fans blowing on me from different directions and im still dying of heat exhuastion yayyyy yayyyy yayyyy i love summerrrrr

[darksct]

“ terrified of my love for you? ”  /  @keenforjoaquin​

“ you are gravely mistaken, emperor, ” she speaks cautiously, hidden as she sits upon her throne with loose fabrics around her body. the queen has fallen ill, too weak to find herself walking out of the doors of her palace. these rumors have reached the ears of the ambitious commodus, prompting him to visit. but she does not imagine that he has been graced with the knowledge of why exactly why she has fallen ill — why her claim to the throne is weaker than it has ever been. for willow herself, the last living heir of this throne would be sure to die within the next few months. she wonders whether he had rejoiced upon hearing such news, or whether it was received with some dismay. 

and she has not seen him for weeks, months after discovering that she is with child. a child created of their dancing flames in heated passion. a child with a claim to a throne that would absorb her small empire into that of the romans. and now she sits unable to stand on her own, for everytime she attempts such a thing, she falls ill. it was not her intention to allow this news to reach the ears of the emperor but she imagines someone had an incentive to ensure that this would reach rome. perhaps james himself, who has seen his queen and betrothed delay their wedding several times. “ it is not love you feel for me. your lust has become a sickly obsession that you cannot seem to relinquish. ” there is pain in her eyes as she speaks, knowing she will die before knowing what it is to feel the kiss of his lips upon her own one last time. and perhaps this will be her final request, for even the birth of her child has become uncertain. 

she waves a hand, motioning for the guards to leave her be and they do but only after some hesitance. before her stands only ten of her most trusted men, james excluded. “ there is something you are to know. ” she is pale with the exception of her cheeks that burn pink with exhuastion. and she sighs, watching as the men stride towards the next room. “ it is true what they speak of me, commodus. ” willow is to perish one day sooner than she had even hoped, for as much as a part of her wishes to join her family, she cannot help but feel as though she will leave the earth with unfinished business. “ i am a dying a woman but i will not yet allow you to take, ” she pauses, ragged huffs slipping past her lips. “ my land. ” her head is spinning, but her hands extend over the rests of her throne as she forces herself up. “ i am with child. ” with child. one she could conceal to be that of james. of her husband to be. “ allow me to spare the energy to bring my child into this world. do not cause me more stress, ” she pleads softly. 

she allows her hands to fall to her sides and the fabrics, once able to obscure her swollen stomach now expose the curve of it where an innocent soul grows. “ upon my death the empire will be yours. ”