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bellatrixobsessed1 · 1 year ago

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The Tangled Place (Part 1/Preview Chapter)

Prompt(s): Whumptober Day 8 “it’s all for nothing”

Summary: Zuko tries to prove his strength by summoning a spirit to slay. What he gets instead is a demon that takes the form of a Fire Sage who has taken quite a shine to Azula.

Notes: remember that self-indulgent fic I mentioned a week or so back? It’s late but it is now here; decided that it would fit better with spooky season. It's an Avatar/Conjuring Franchise crossover. Could possibly become a longer fic.

And when all is said and done it is all for nothing. He doesn’t feel stronger or cooler. Father still doesn’t love him. In fact he hates him more than ever.

He had played a stupid game and everyone is paying the price for it. Ozai’s is grief, Mai and TyLee’s is regret, Katara’s and Aang’s is disappointment, Azula’s is…he swallows hard. His own price is a mark on his chest–a big black blight that reminds him of what he has done and that his price hasn’t been fully paid.

He can feel it inside of him.

The blight will only get bigger.

He sees it everywhere now.

This Thing from some world far removed.

This Thing that is neither human nor spirit.

It is in the mirrors, in every darkened corner, at the shadowed backs of cupboards left ajar.

It is entirely his fault.

He has lost the ability to sort out what is real from what is false.

Sometimes when he gazes into those dark places, it isn’t the Thing that he sees. Sometimes it is Azula’s face all twisted in agony a blackness much deeper than the shadows that surround her spews from between her discolored lips.

Sometimes he sees her in the corner, her arms stiff and twitching, her back contorted painfully. He knows that it is painful because her mouth is fixed into a silent, gushing scream.

But it is her eyes….they aren’t right. They aren’t hers. He has seen malice and hatred in them before. He had thought that he had seen evil in them when they were younger. He knows now that he hadn’t seen evil at all–not in its most authentic, simmering form. Because he has looked her right in the eyes many times before and has never seen this.

Three months earlier

The place is overgrown. So much so that the path can no longer be called such. Stones have long since been cracked and dislodged by trekking feet and harsh weather. From the cracks grow tall grasses and creeping ivies. Invasive plants crawl down the throats of old stone fountains and into the tubes of wind chimes with choked voices and water pumps. Vines choke lopsided stone pedestal lanterns that have long since lost their light.

The writing etched into these lanterns has been eroded beyond reading and in places where the etchings are clear the fuzz of moss has grown to obscure it.

The trees have been overtaken by hanging moss and lichen that droops down as if melting off of the branches. A great many things hang in the trees, mingling with the natural overhang of vines; paper talismans mostly, tattered and faded paper lanterns, beaded ropes, dented brass incense burners, and collections of miscellaneous trinkets made of feather, sage, straw, white ash, and egg shells among other things.

Zuko ducks under a tangle of what could be bird and mink bones. He does his best not to touch anything but the trinkets and talismans seem to outnumber the vines and hanging mosses. Something about that makes him queasy.

“This place is so, so…” TyLee wraps her arms around herself and shivers in spite of the muggy, humid air.

“It smells rank.” Mai bunches up her nose. A scent that is stirred awake and amplified when Azula’s foot disturbs one of several mushy puddles. “How did you even find this place?”

Azula shrugs. “Things have been so dull lately.” She says as though that answers the question.

But he can put two and two together. Azula had always loved exploring every nook, cranny, and secret annex in the palace. It was only a matter of time before she ran out of those and started to branch out. He just hadn’t realized just how far she would manage to do so.

There is something charming about it–one facet of Azula’s softer side, the side that she has only just started displaying more openly and more often. She has an almost childlike curiosity about her that juxtaposes most other aspects of her–all of those parts that have grown up far too soon.

She makes her way around a particularly large sculpted boulder and comes to a halt before the dilapidated entrance of a shrine. She stands before it with her hands on her hips, watching a curtain of paper talismans swish in the breeze. It isn’t just a curtain, he decides, it is a wall. A wall of paper with elegant calligraphy. He shudders.

For a place so teeming with unrestrained nature, Zuko had imagined that there would be sound all around. The beating of wings, the guttural crooning of toad-squirrels, the rattle of branches and a stirring of leaves as tiger-monkeys maneuver about.

But the place is quiet.

Quiet save for a distant chime.

“Should we be here?” TyLee frowns.

“Why shouldn’t we be?” Azula asks. “I’ve come here many times and haven’t had an issue.”

“You don’t think that this place is just a little…off?” Mai asks.

“Completely creepy, you mean?” TyLee edges closer to her.

Azula shrugs again. “It suits me just fine.”

“Okay.” Zuko grumbles. “You can be intimidating but you aren’t anything like this.”

She tilts her head and furrows her brows. Parts her lips as if to say something. This is another facet of her softer side–that part of her that truly believes that she is malevolent…a monster through and through. The part of her that seems to hiccup and sputter when someone implies that she is actually not so bad.

Mai chuckles. “Look, if you feel like this place is a kindred spirit, we’ll leave you to it.”

“You wouldn’t be able to stop me if you tried.” Azula waves her hand dismissively. “At any rate, this is the place that I’ve found and I quite like it.”

“But why?” Zuko scans the place, hoping to see whatever good she sees in it.

“It’s intriguing!” She declares. He is still getting used to seeing her more bombastic hand gestures and expressive speech. “It’s so…so…” She hums. “Charged. It has its own energy.”

“Yeah, I’m not sure if that’s a good thing.” Mai confesses.

TyLee nods. “It has a weird aura.”

“That doesn’t mean that it has a bad aura. Weird and sinister are two different things.”

“Okay, but it definitely has a sinister aura too.” Zuko counters.

Azula props herself up against the boulder. “I don’t think so. I think that it’s rather peaceful. It’s no different than any other shrine–just don’t be disrespectful. Leave an offering–” she reaches into her pocket and pulls out a small pouch of crystals, herbs, and gold coins. “Don’t steal offerings that have been left. Don’t break anything…” she trails off.

“Fair enough.” Mai agrees.

He isn’t surprised in the slightest that she is starting to warm up to the place. She has her own ripple of eerie vibes that cling heavily to her.

Azula smiles, cheered to have swayed someone to her side.

“So are we going in there?” TyLee asks with a gesture to the shrine.

Azula shakes her head. “I don’t think that we’re supposed to touch the talismans. I usually leave my offerings on the stairs.”

“So why bring us all the way out here?”

Azula rolls her eyes. “Have a sense of adventure, Zuzu! Haven’t you ever explored something just for the sake of seeing it? Enjoy the view.”

The sentiment is still so strange coming from her. From the girl who had always done things with a clear sense of purpose. Who had never taken a single step without having an end goal, an idea of where that step would lead. He thinks that there must be a newfound sense of appreciation for the world around her, for just living after having been sealed away from it for so long.

His stomach flutters, sometimes he thinks that he dwells upon her confinement more than she does. And maybe that’s a good thing. She has been through a lot and he is happy that she is doing well again. That they are doing well again.

That his family is slowly but surely, changing for the better. Ozai has a long way to go, but he listens to Azula. He indulges her when she proposes ideas to him. Zuko is certain that he just needs to give her time and she’ll be able to get their father to come around. It’ll give him time to decide how he feels and how much he wants to forgive, if anything at all. It might be a matter of acknowledging that some things are unforgivable, choosing to coexist, and moving from there. He thinks that forgiving Azula is plenty enough.

It is more worthwhile than forgiving their father will ever be; for all of those hard edges and cold aspects of her she has a sense of loyalty, a protectiveness. She can be impossible to get along with but she has a good heart. A guarded and distant one but he has learned to work with that. And she has learned to work with him.

“There’s a nice clearing just over that bridge, we can have lunch there. Or, if you’re feeling more formal, there’s a teahouse.”

“Does the teahouse look like it is going to cave in if the wind gusts the wrong way?” Mai asks.

Azula shakes her head. “It’s actually quite new. I’m not sure if it is actually part of the shrine.” She taps her pointer against her chin. “Come on, Zuzu, you’re falling behind.”

He hadn’t even realized.

He finds that he falls behind a lot.

These days she waits for him to catch up.

#whumptober2023 #no.8 #it was all for nothing #avatar the last airbender #the conjuring #Azula #Zuko #Mai #TyLee #Ozai #Valak #Crossover #Fanfiction

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dawn-of-worlds · 2 years ago

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To the ends of the earth

(Haebarik's power is at 2+3+(2d6 -> 4) = 9)

Haebarik watches his creations grow and thrive (ignoring, perhaps willfully, the increasingly popular mutilation cult). He is pleased to see them develop agriculture, construction, and art. He is especially pleased to see them delve into the earth and return bearing the secrets of pottery.

But even so, it is not in the god's nature to stay and watch. And so Haebarik moves again, travelling west past the mountains and into still-barren lands. In imitation of the human farmers, he leaves seeds and saplings from the east in his wake.

(2x shape climate to spread plant life over Incarien's coast, feel free to touch this one up too if needed; 5 points remaining)

Far, far later, having circled Incarien many times, Haebarik once more crosses the seas. Time and time again, the world has astounded him with its vastness, and yet... does it end? The birds have whispered to him that it does, far to the north, and so there the deity travels.

At the end of the journey, what does he gaze upon? What does the world's boundary look like? To mortals, not unlike a lot of frozen water; but gods are different, and see with different eyes.

That what appears to Haebarik is LANETH, the name that is silence, Laneth the endless end, Laneth land of death. He sees the infinite plain and the spire at its center, and he sees it reflected on the world's other side, inescapable, inevitable, all of creation a rounding error between two infinities. He sees the souls of his creations, countless in number, and for a brief but terrible moment, he sees his own among them (for the infinity of immortals, in the end, will succumb to greater things still).

Haebarik screams. His hand claws at his face in a mad frenzy, heedless of the damage caused, desperate to end this terrible vision somehow. Rocky flesh is torn from bone, frothing god-blood colors the icy water. With a desperate lunge, the deity forces himself southward, the horror subsiding as the ice fades with distance.

And yet, even as the god cried and gibbered, he hoped. Hoped that mortals may one day walk this land, may stand fast where he wavered, may understand endings in ways he never will.

Even as he flees, the hope remains.

The hope fuses flesh and ice, bedrock and blood, calls seabirds to carry it lichen and grass. It creates new land, adjoining Laneth but not of it. A land of freezing tundra and snowy hills, connected to the ice above by rocky slopes and perilous tunnels.

The glimmer of hope soon fades, but not before its work is complete. A foothold for explorers, an invitation, a challenge. A realm without a name, but not without a future.

(Shape land, shape climate, 0 points remaining)

(I'll be working on the map for the coming time, should be done in 1-2 days. If any names for the new realm are needed for bookkeeping, I suggest Laerel)

#world 02457 diegesis #love to put this man in a situation

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mediaevalmusereads · 2 years ago

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The Luminous Dead. By Caitlin Starling. Harper, 2019.

Rating: 3/5 stars

Genre: science fiction

Part of a Series? No

Summary: When Gyre Price lied her way into this expedition, she thought she’d be mapping mineral deposits, and that her biggest problems would be cave collapses and gear malfunctions. She also thought that the fat paycheck—enough to get her off-planet and on the trail of her mother—meant she’d get a skilled surface team, monitoring her suit and environment, keeping her safe. Keeping her sane.

Instead, she got Em.

Em sees nothing wrong with controlling Gyre’s body with drugs or withholding critical information to “ensure the smooth operation” of her expedition. Em knows all about Gyre’s falsified credentials, and has no qualms using them as a leash—and a lash. And Em has secrets, too . . .

As Gyre descends, little inconsistencies—missing supplies, unexpected changes in the route, and, worst of all, shifts in Em’s motivations—drive her out of her depths. Lost and disoriented, Gyre finds her sense of control giving way to paranoia and anger. On her own in this mysterious, deadly place, surrounded by darkness and the unknown, Gyre must overcome more than just the dangerous terrain and the Tunneler which calls underground its home if she wants to make it out alive—she must confront the ghosts in her own head.

But how come she can't shake the feeling she’s being followed?

***Full review below.***

Content Warnings: body horror, injury

Overview: I can't quite remember how I first encountered this book, but the premise was intriguing, and I was curious as to how the author would handle a story with just two characters. My curiousity has now been sated, and overall, my middling rating results from being at times delighted by this book and at others being frustrated. While I very much enjoyed the premise and the feeling of claustrophobia brought on by the caving suit, I also think the author could have done more to build the protagonists' relationship over time and instill more dread in the narrative. Thus, this book gets 3 stars from me.

Writing: Starling's prose is fairly straightforward and easy to read, and I think it flows fairly well in that it makes sense how one idea leads to another.

My biggest criticism, however, is that Starling relies a little too much on telling at times. It's not so bad that I felt frustrated the while time, but I did notice several spots where I think Starling could have held back and let the reader work things out for themselves. For example, Starling will often interpret Gyre's emotions for the reader by telling them exactly what Gyre is thinking or feeling, but I think holding back would have created a more eerie story.

Additionally, I think Starling could have done a lot more with tone, particularly when it came to things like the environment/setting. Personally, I would have liked to see more moody depictions of the cave, especially since we're on an alien planet and the cave is supposed to be gloomy and terrifying. But as it stands, there really isn't a sense of atmosphere aside from the occasional reference to some lichen looking like stars or a drop being big. I wanted a greater sense of danger, with the cave almost being portrayed as a character in its own right, and in doing so, I think Starling could have created a much more eerie book.

Plot: The plot of this book follows Gyre Price, a climber/spelunker who is hired to explore an extensive cave system by a mysterious corporation. Gyre lives on an arid desert planet and is desperate to go off-world to look for her mother. To earn the money to do so, she takes a job as a caver for a company that promises a lucrative paycheck if she can complete the mission; however, it isn't long before Gyre discovers that this mission is cursed and dozens of other have died before her. Driven by desperation and her own stubbornness, Gyre ventures deeper and deeper into the cave, but more and more things go wrong and she starts to question the motivations of the only contact she has to the world: her "handler," a woman named Em.

Personally, I thought this plot could have benefited from a bit more shape. As it stands, I didn't get the feeling that the narrative progressed so much as it went through cycles, and some parts felt a little reptitive after a while. Since the only two characters are Gyre and Em, it felt like Starling was unsure of how to handle such a narrow scope; they became more conversational (less professional) way too quickly, and had cycles of bonding then fighting, trusting each other, then being suspicious. I would have much rather seen a slow-burn relationship between the two, with Gyre either becoming more suspicious over time or more trusting - something other than the run-around that is currently present. Of course, their relationship could still go through ups and downs, but personally, I had a hard time getting a handle on what these characters were to each other, especially when Gyre could be trusting one minute then call Em a monster the next.

I also think the narrative could have benefitted from a greater sense of dread. The things that are threatening in the cave are very much dangers to Gyre, but it seems like they aren't quite omnipresent and brushed off too easily. For example, Gyre is constantly worried about "Tunnelers," but the reader has no idea what they are until the last 30 pages or so of the novel, and they always seem to be lurking in the background. If they are a threat, I would have liked to see some close calls, perhaps seeing Gyre change the way she acts in response to prevent another encounter.

Lastly, I couldn't help feeling like some part of the novel was unfinished. As we follow Gyre through the cave, we learn more about the people who had gone before her. While all well and good, I don't quite think Sterling made enough of an emotional connection between them and the reader, and as a result, I didn't quite feel the impact of their deaths as much as Gyre did. I think I would have liked to see either flashes to when these previous cavers were exploring (perhaps even the moment when they met their end?) or more like how Gyre gets attached to Isolde - by watching their interview videos or something.

Characters: Gyre, our protagonist, was a little hard to figure out. While I liked her courage and her ability to stand up for herself, I also couldn't quite grasp some of her reactions and motivations. She seems to go into this job understanding that it is dangerous and may lead to death, but when she finds dead bodies, learns of other deaths, or comes across a cave feature that is particularly dangerous, she is quick to consider giving up. She is particularly flighty in the first 100 pages or so, and it was a little frustrating; I wanted to see way more deliberation, weighing the desperation that caused her to pursue this job and the risks of continuing. I just didn't quite buy that someone who was desperate enough to take this job would consider bolting so easily, especially so early in the journey.

I also found Gyre's attitudes towards Em to be incredibly wishy washy. One minute, Gyre seemed to be dependent on Em, grateful for her expertise and soothed by her presence. The next, she's calling Em a monster and taking her anger out on her. While I understand a relationship going through ups and downs, as well as feelings being complicated, Gyre's mood swings were hard to navigate, especially from a narrative angle.

Em, by contrast, had clear motivations and a clear evolution (or arc). Em starts out as a stuffy professional, but loosens up and grows to care for Gyre as a person, not just a hired subordinate. While we never see Em's perspective (we're stuck with Gyre), I felt like I understood her a lot more and was interested to see how the mission changed her.

TL;DR: The Luminous Dead is a novel with an interesting premise, but ultimately doesn't quite deliver in terms of structure and narrative progression. While I liked the relationship between the two protagonists, this book left a lot of questions unanswered, and I wish a little more had been done to draw me into the cave with Gyre.

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regarding-the-moss · 1 year ago

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The first sip of a perfectly steamy seasonal fall beverage when there's a chill in the air. Soft blankets. New pillows. New babies. Tiny infant faces full of wonder as they take in the sight of all the things for the first time. A bath so warm it relaxes your soul. Meeting an old book as a new friend. Watching your children grow more into themselves every day. Knowing that they have a freedom to do that that you didn't. A bear hug from someone who really loves you. A pet that runs to greet you with affection. Cozy socks. New leaves on plants. Mushrooms that appear from nowhere and push up the moss. Moss. Tiny landscapes of lichen on a stick you gather for a campfire. Dancing shapes in the flames. Toasty sandwiches cut on the diagonal. Children's chalk drawings. The feeling of someone relaxing into you completely as they fall asleep in your arms. Picking up a cool rock and feeling it fit perfectly into your fingers, like holding hands with every long gone ancestor who also picked up the pretty rock and wore it down with their fingers. Paths through the forest. The sound of waves. A perfect tetris packed lunchbox. Hummingbirds and woodpeckers and robins. Piping hot pots of tea. Watching a project grow and stay done as you knit. Lace. Gardens full of blushing tomatoes and secret carrots with feathery leaves lying about how big the carrot has grown. Omelets. Stepping out of the shower, scrubbed and clean and remade. Handmade pottery. Boots that make you feel like an explorer. Twinkling eyes as you silently share a joke with your lover in public. Picking strawberries in the spring. A hand that holds yours like they were made to intertwine. A kiss that stirs so deeply you forget where you are. Your child's fairy like laugh. A love that is solid and strong from the work and maintenance of years, where the growth is like the rings of a tree, sheltering you from the tumult of the world. Windchimes. Full moons. Seeds and sprouts and flowers and fruits. The growth of all things, welcoming you to grow and change as well. Everything.

why should i carry on living?

Birthdays. Setting fires. Holding hands. Making stew on cold nights. Mountain climbing. Sleep. First dates. Vacation. Spending the day in bed. Buying wedding rings. Exploring a forest. Playing peekaboo with a baby. Watching someone smile genuinely. Camping. Stargazing. Counting rings on a tree. Realizing that someone loves you. Returning that love. Getting drunk for the first time. Smell of old books. Looking through black & white photos. Learning your ancestors’ names. Laughter. Hot chocolate. The feeling of getting back up after falling down. First day of college. Last day of college. Acing a job interview. Screwing one up and realizing it’s not the end of the world. Collecting shells. Sunbathing. Listening to someone’s heartbeat. Sound of waves crashing against shore. Rain hitting a tin roof. Heartbreak that turns into heart-healing. Your own house. Decorating that house. Coming home to someone you love. Hearing the sound of their footsteps on the stairs. Honesty of fall leaves. Their colors. Fresh snowfall. Singing favorite songs off-key. Seeing love come into someone’s eyes. Watching your parents look at each other like the very first time. Sunrise. Sunset. The way fire burns into ash. Smell of a campire. Waking up with light spilling over the sheets. Breakfast in bed. Living long enough to watch wounds heal over. Change. Wilderness. Forgiveness. Change some more. More change. Spring. Flowers blooming, opening up like you can. Good memories. Learning how to forget bad ones. Warm feet in a cold bed. Sleeping with the only person you care about. Waking up to their mouth and arms. Smiles that reach all the way to the eyes. Letting go of balloons like dead weight. Floating in water on your back. Skydiving. Risk. Adventure. First C on a test. First A. Favorite teacher. First poem. Last poem. Holidays with family. Roadtrips. Changing the sheets. Your father’s gnarled hands when he grows old. Grandchildren. Children of your own. Their first day of college. Their graduation. Their wedding. Anniversaries. Making daisy chains. Smell of freshly-cut grass. Pride. Feeling good about yourself. Loving what’s in the mirror. Not being afraid anymore. No more heaviness. No more grief. Survival. Picking berries til your fingers are stained dark. Frost on windows. Holding someone without sex. Sex with love. The joy of swearing. Counting the years you’ve lived. Another candle on the birthday cake. Another mark of victory. That bellyache laugh that hurts all over. But hurts so good. Breath freezing in winter. Feeling that breath on your skin. Someone’s eyelashes blinking into your palm. Accomplishment. Self-worth. Love. Triumph. Sitting under willow trees without weeping. Apologies that get accepted. Understanding that comes from forgiveness. First fight. First makeup afterward. Less hurt. More good.

Everything.

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joshvandervoort · 1 year ago

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Joshua Vandervoort | Eternal Reverie - Devotion Through Nature's Eyes

In the gentle embrace of nature, where the soft caress of the breeze mingles with the soothing melodies of chirping birds, Joshua Vandervoort finds solace and a serene sanctuary. It's an eternal reverie, a timeless communion with the very essence of existence. Amidst the lush, verdant landscapes that stretch as far as the eye can see, where sunlight filters through the canopy of ancient trees, one discovers a path to devotion that transcends the confines of structured worship. Every step taken on this sacred journey reveals whispered secrets of the past, as if the very earth itself holds the wisdom of generations. It is in this harmonious union with the natural world that we can truly connect with the divinity that surrounds us, and experience a profound sense of awe and wonder that ignites the deepest recesses of our souls.

joshua, the wanderer, with each step, cautiously enters the forest, his eyes captivated by the ethereal beauty of nature's cathedral. The verdant canopy above, adorned with the interlocking branches of ancient trees, forms a magnificent vaulted ceiling, embracing him in a sanctuary of tranquility. The towering pillars of the forest, adorned with moss and lichen, exude a sense of grandeur and wisdom, whispering tales of ages past. As he walks, the crunching of fallen leaves beneath his feet joins the symphony of nature's melodies, a harmonious composition that permeates the very essence of his being. Each rustling leaf, carried forth by the gentle breeze, becomes a whispered prayer, amplifying the serenity of this sacred space. Here, in the heart of the forest, the wanderer is immersed in a hymn of existence, where time seems to stand still, and the wonders of nature unfold in breathtaking detail, revealing secrets only known to those who dare to venture into its embrace.

The soft, cushioned earth under his feet feels like an invitation, a gentle whisper enticing him to explore deeper into the heart of this natural temple. He takes each step with purpose, his senses attuned to the symphony of nature surrounding him. The rustling leaves overhead create a soothing melody, harmonizing with the delicate chirping of birds hidden among the branches. The vibrant tapestry of colors, from the fiery reds to the golden yellows, paints a breathtaking panorama that captivates his gaze. Rays of sunlight stream through the canopy, casting intricate patterns of light and shadow upon the forest floor. It is as if this sacred place is alive, pulsating with energy and radiating a sense of divinity that resonates deep within his soul.

As Joshua vandervoort Rochester New York delves deeper into the forest's embrace, the scent of pine fills the air, mingling with the earthy fragrance of damp moss. Sunlight filters through the canopy, casting dappled patterns on the forest floor. The gentle chirping of birds and the distant babbling of a nearby stream create a harmonious symphony that serenades his senses.With each step, he becomes more attuned to the subtle nuances of nature's symphony. The delicate flutter of butterfly wings, the rustle of small creatures scurrying amidst fallen leaves, all weave together in a tapestry of life. The forest becomes a living, breathing entity, welcoming him as one of its own.In the tranquil bosom of a meadow, he finds a haven, where time surrenders to the eternal present. The gentle sway of wildflowers in the breeze seems to narrate tales of resilience, bending gracefully in the face of life's storms. He observes the delicate balance of nature's choreography, where every being, from the tiniest insect to the mightiest oak, plays a part in the grand spectacle of existence.

As Joshua Vandervoort continues further into the wilderness, he observes the subtle signs of life that often go unnoticed – a bird's nest cradled in the nook of a tree, the intricate designs of a spider's web glistening in the morning dew, the soft rustle of leaves as a squirrel scampers by. Each sight and sound further impresses upon him the interconnectedness of all living things. It is this mutual web of existence, this delicate balance, that fuels his passion for preserving these incredible ecosystems for future generations. Every creature, every plant, plays its part in the grand symphony of life, painting a picture of unparalleled beauty and complexity that never ceases to amaze him.

Joshua Vandervoort surrenders himself to the silent wisdom of the mountains. Their stoic presence is a testament to endurance, standing resolute against the passage of time. The peaks touch the heavens, and yet, their roots run deep into the earth, anchoring them to the very essence of being. Here, he finds a reflection of his own aspirations – to stand tall and unwavering amidst life's tumultuous currents.

As the evening sun dips below the horizon, painting the sky with hues of amber and gold, he witnesses the celestial canvas unfold. The stars, like ancient storytellers, reveal tales written in constellations, each narrative a celestial guide through the tapestry of the universe. He gazes upward, feeling both insignificant in the vastness of space and deeply connected to the cosmic symphony. In the darkness of the night, the symphony of nature takes on a different tune. The nocturnal creatures sing their serenades, and the rustling leaves narrate a different chapter in the forest's story. The silence becomes a companion, inviting him to listen to the whispers of the universe.

When Joshua Vandervoort is not tending to his professional duties, he reverts to his truest form – a nature-lover at heart, a steward of the land. His childhood memories are flooded with joyous moments of hiking through the hills of New York's Southern Tier region, an area his family was deeply connected to. The pristine waters of the Finger Lakes, where he spent countless hours fishing and sailing, still hold a special place in his heart. His time spent backpacking across the breathtaking Adirondack and Catskill mountains resonate as vivid reminders of his unyielding love for the great outdoors. His family, instrumental in nurturing his drive to preserve the land, has instilled in him a sense of respect and responsibility towards the environment, a commitment that he carries with him to this day.

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minecraft-sideblog-tm · 2 years ago

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There are so many little details in my solo world that I put like a solid amount of logic into why something looks a certain way that A) just floats around in my head for no one else to see/hear, and B) are all details that like if I just let someone freely explore my builds they would not think twice about. So I just want to ramble about a couple of them for a minute lol

(under the cut, because yeah it’s definitely a ramble. I include pictures though!)

For example: The secret nether lab under ground is full of magma blocks and campfires, because there are a couple rooms meant to labs for studying different nether plants. Nether plants grow in very hot temperatures natively, therefore lab must be very hot in order to grow them. But there’s no way some campfires are going to match the same heat intensity as a literal hell dimension, and therefore the nether trees in the lab are small and stocky.

Because when real life plants grow in inadequate conditions, they tend to grow smaller/slower than they should. A tomato plant that only gets 70% of the light it needs might still make a tomato but it’ll probably be pretty small. A flowering plant might just not make any flowers, etc.

The smaller nether plants are easily placed much closer to open flames than a full tree can be. Therefore, they can grow to their normal sizes a lot easier.

Also in the Nether lab is a room with an excavated fossil. (Don’t think to hard on the logistics of how a single person would excavate an entire nether fossil, get it into the overworld, and build a room for it alone... lol). It’s one of my favorite rooms in my base tbh

I decided it should be covered in lichen and have those roots hanging off it. The logic there was like: if there is any organic matter somehow left in the bones, it was protected by the heat in the Nether preventing any kind of lifeform that could decompose it from being able to survive. But bring it into the Overworld, which is significantly cooler, would have a lot more moisture in the air, and has significantly more life, suddenly that organic matter becomes susceptible to decomposing.

The character brought it to the overworld to study it, very quickly noticed bacteria and lichen starting to grow on it, and then tried to make this room as hot as possible to slow the growth of anything else.

Okay, one more that still kind of involves the secret nether lab™, but this detail lore is a little retroactive. I added the sculk veins to these bushes a while back because I just thought it looked interesting. Now, however, I decided there’s a story reason for it lol. I haven’t built it yet, but I plan to make a closed-off part of the lab that’s like a sculk research lab gone horribly wrong. Basically the character discovered sculk while exploring, brought some back to study, but didn’t realize the speed it would spread under the right conditions.

They create those conditions, the lab starts to get overgrown, and the sculk is spreading much faster than they expected. They eventually cut their loss and try to remove any of the hospitable environment created for the sculk before closing off the lab for good. It’s in a secret, hidden lab that likely no one will ever find anyway, but they still try to put up warnings just in case someone ever does.

Some of it still gets into the ground water through the cave that part of the lab is in (which is also pretty close to being under where these bushes are).

(this pond is directly behind me in the previous screenshot) At some point part of the path outside collapses into this strange pond that seemingly one of the nether plants and the sculk have somehow seeped into and created a weird little ecosystem (there are fish in there too).

I actually didn’t plan that at all when I first decorated the pond like this, I just thought it looked cool. Originally it was a joke that since I used to throw poison potatoes in it all the time to let them despawn, it somehow created an ecosystem. But then I built the nether lab and the blue room ended up being almost directly below this, so I was like hey wait that’s much cooler lol

#minecraft #stuff i built #i really need to make a rambles tag at this point lol #lee speaks

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trashmenofmarvel · 4 years ago

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Branded - Chapter 28

Pairing: Demon!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Bucky settles into his new life in Hell.

(This is a fan AU of Falling’s Just Another Way to Fly by araniaart . Please check out this incredible series for all of your demon Bucky needs.)

AO3

The years were tallied and the rare nights were marked, and Bucky did so, but not alone. He never told the voice to leave again, and it had stayed by his side ever since.

The road back to himself had been a painful one, but the voice never let him down. It told him things about himself he couldn’t remember, and it wasn’t until his mind began to heal and he remembered things for himself that he fully trusted the voice. Everything it had told him was true. His curiosity for the nameless entity only grew over time, made stronger by the fact it was so secretive.

Somedays, they were simply amicable companions. Even friends. It reminded Bucky of the comradery he shared with the Howling Commandos, and it made his chest ache. He thought of Steve, and the pain was nearly unbearable, so he tried not to think of him at all. Maybe he would later, after Bucky escaped this cursed world. If he ever did.

The voice still wouldn’t tell him who it was or even what it was. Bucky was disconcerted by the fact that as he regained his memories, it was possible the voice was not even real. After everything he’d endured, after Zola had robbed him of his humanity and Lukin had shaped him onto a monster, Bucky wouldn’t be surprised if he was as mad as a hatter.

He also decided he didn’t care. He was in Hell—if not the biblical one than very close to it—and he couldn’t survive without an ally. Imaginary or not.

There were other things that lived in this world. Terrible things as large as mountains, roaming in the distance and leaving valleys of sand in their wake. There were also smaller demons, but still considerably larger than Bucky. He avoided them when he could, but it wasn’t always possible. In those moments, he’d either defend himself until they ran, or he killed them with his bare claws.

He never ate the flesh. One, he didn’t know if it was edible, and two, it felt… cannibalistic. A large part of Bucky was from this place, as evidenced by the fact he never needed to feed the demon side of him. Thank Christ for that. If it was between dying and getting fucked by one of those creatures out there, he would have gladly offed himself.

But he never had to. Why would he, when all the demonic energy he needed was right here, beaming down from the never-ending sunlight. It was harsh, and the human part of him wanted to seek shelter from it, but the demon was more than happy to bask in its warmth. Sated in a way it had rarely been back on Earth.

As he grew bolder and explored his “territory,” Bucky came upon curious artifacts. Things that looked too manmade to be a coincidence, but it was always ancient and cracked stone. Designs that looked Greek or Roman.

On an especially productive exploration, he came across what looked like a rudimentary camp. Broken pottery, busted wooden furniture, and even some ancient books that crumbled in his hands when he picked them up. There was a hefty tome that had somehow survived, and Bucky took it back to his cave, hoping to explore it later, but he was disappointed to find the ink too faded to read.

Bored and with way too much time on his hands, Bucky managed to fashion a writing utensil made of a “bamboo” shoot, honed to an edge, along with some ink made of lichen and moss. The relief of being able to do something as human such as journaling made Bucky laugh for the first time in… a long time. He began to document his daily excursions. It made him feel less like a prisoner and more like an explorer, but even then he couldn’t drop the habit of marking ticks on a wall to count the days. And there were many, many ticks.

There was evidence that humans had been on this world in other ways. For the few creatures that seemed to speak a language, they always spoke in Latin. Bucky couldn’t fathom it until he remembered the red book, the one that had controlled him. It had been inscribed in Latin, and his so-called masters had made sure to teach him to speak and read it. HYDRA couldn’t have been the first to summon demonic entities, and perhaps Latin had been their way of communicating with the demons they summoned?

Bucky didn’t know. He didn’t think it was important either, but the voice always got excited when he stumbled across a new ruin or found a new item of manmade design. That alone was enough to make him go out of his way to find more. He liked when the voice was happy, even if he didn’t quite know why.

And the voice was happiest when Bucky flew. The first time he realized it was when he was doing it simply for the exercise, not having anywhere he wanted to explore. Letting his mind go calm and quiet, he found he was able to pay better attention to the entity in his head. He could sense its awe and wonder as they flew high above the hellscape.

Bucky could understand. When his wings had first appeared, he hadn’t hated them. The boy who’d loved comic books and super hero pictures had been fascinated with them, and getting to fly was one of the few times he’d felt free while in HYDRA’s control.

He sensed a little bit of sadness from the voice too, and a physical longing for something. It didn’t hit Bucky until that moment the possibility that the voice might once have had a body, one it had lost, and now it was trapped here with Bucky.

His suspicions were founded when its “presence” grew, expanded within his body, until it was filling him up to the fingertips. Bucky gladly pulled back, allowing the voice to take temporary control.

It wasn’t expecting that, apparently, because Bucky’s wings slanted at an angle and they almost dropped from the sky. The voice took control of his wings and flapped in a panic, like a baby bird fallen from the nest.

“Calm down,” he said, still having control of his voice but he sounded far away to his own ears. “Just do it the way I do it and you’ll be fine.”

I-I shouldn’t-this isn’t right—

Bucky sighed but took control of his body when he sensed the voice pulling back, its presence tinged with horror. He hadn’t wanted to upset it, but at least it was calming down now that he had control again. Poor thing probably hadn’t meant to reach so far into Bucky’s body to begin with.

“If you ever change your mind and want a turn at the wheel, just say the word. I trust you, sweetheart.”

Bucky blinked. Why had he said that? He didn’t know, but by the way the voice went suddenly dead silent, he wondered if he’d gone too far. Been too familiar. Probably had. He’d have to be more careful in the future. It would be just his luck to scare away the one person he had left.

He couldn’t tell if it was human, but it spoke like one. He couldn’t tell its gender, either. Age, race, nationality? Hadn’t a clue. He wasn’t even entirely sure what language it spoke and if the words he heard in his head were literal or some kind of mental translation.

One thing Bucky knew, even if it was the most confusing fact of all: The voice cared about him.

After everything he’d done, Bucky knew it was undeserved. It didn’t stop him from being selfish and clinging to the voice like a lifeline, though.

When Bucky woke from nightmares, shaking and gasping in terror, the voice was there, wrapping warmth and comfort around him. In those moments, he felt especially weak, because he wished more than anything the voice was real. Tangible. Something he could hold and touch.

He didn’t even have a name to call it by. It wouldn’t tell him, so Bucky had said fuck it and tried to come up with one on his own, but they all felt… wrong.

He wished he knew. The one thing Bucky wanted more than to escape this world was to finally meet the owner of that voice.

That urge had never been stronger than the day they found the corpse.

It had been a day like any other, without end under the relentless pale red starry sky, and Bucky had been exploring more of the ancient ruins. He came across a structure that looked different from the rest, almost handmade and clearly thrown together in a hurry. The occupant was still inside, and by the looks of it, had been for many years.

Bucky had come across many corpses in this world, all of the demonic variety, but this one was clearly human. The body was desiccated, mummified and preserved by the hot, dry air. Bits of tattered faded clothing covered its chest and hips, not enough to discern what nation or era they came from. How they’d gotten there, Bucky didn’t have a clue. They came along with the rest of the human ruins, he supposed, but it was strange this was the first actual human body he’d come across.

He’d been about to turn away, leaving the bones undisturbed, when something caught his eye. On the mummified shoulder, stretched but not beyond recognition, was a pentagram carved into the skin.

Bucky’s eyes widened. Another demon that had once been human like him? That had been his initial thought… until the voice reacted so violently that Bucky could actually feel the anxiety shooting through his limbs.

“What?” he insisted. “What is it?”

I…

The voice seemed to be at a loss for words, fear that was not his own seeping into Bucky’s mind.

“Hey, come one. Tell me what’s got you so riled up. Do you know this guy?” Bucky didn’t see how, but that’s almost how it felt. As if the voice had recognized the corpse.

N… no, it finally said. It’s… it’s nothing.

No matter how much Bucky tried to pry for the truth, he couldn’t get a straight answer, and it only seemed to agitate the voice to the point where it couldn’t speak, fear pulsing from it like a living thing.

Bucky left the corpse where it was, doing his best to project calmness toward the entity sharing his mind. But the voice didn’t speak again until he returned to what he thought as “our cave,” and it took several days for it to return to its usual outgoing self.

They didn’t talk about it again, but Bucky never forgot how the voice reacted to that corpse with the pentagram scar. And some days, when the voice was quiet and sad, he knew it hadn’t forgotten either.

The next time Bucky decided to venture outside of his territory, he waited until the voice was in good spirits. Bucky smiled at his own pun.

Penny for your thoughts?

Bucky snorted. Maybe the voice had pulled phrases like that from his head to make him feel more comfortable, but he didn’t think so. He was sure the damn thing was human, or was at least from Earth. By paying attention to how it said things, rather than what it said, Bucky found he learned a lot more than by asking it straight-on personal questions.

For one, it seemed to appreciate sarcastic humor, and Bucky was never in short supply.

“It would be a penny more than I have,” he said, poking at a suspicious mound of dirt. This area had been promising; he’d even found a couple of dusty robes at one point. Bucky hadn’t been able to tell how old they were, but they’d definitely been the right shape and size for a human.

I suppose you are destitute. What would buy, right now, if you could?

“A blueberry slushy,” Bucky lamented. “And new boots.”

He stared mournfully at what was left of his old pair, torn apart by his expanding, clawed feet. HYDRA had told him his transition had been complete after they’d done an especially horrible ritual on him, but apparently, they’d lied. Big shocker there.

“Do you miss slushies?” Bucky kept his tone carefully neutral.

Sure, it answered, just as vaguely, as it always did. Bucky heaved a sigh.

“Come on, give me something,” he grumbled as he trekked over the deep sand. “We’ve been here… how long?”

Forty-eight years and thirty-two days.

Had it really been that long? It seemed… shorter, somehow. And also infinitely longer.

“Exactly. Almost five decades, and I don’t know anything about you!”

That’s not true, it said, going soft. Sometimes it did that, as if thinking fondly of some far away past. You know me better than anyone.

“Yeah. Right.”

It’s true!

“I don’t even know your name.” Bucky kicked over a large rock, finding nothing but a bright red reptile underneath. It scurried away, hissing indignantly.

“What, is it a witch thing? If I know your name, your sinister powers won’t work on me?”

Don’t be dumb.

“I’m not dumb. You’re dumb. Witch.”

Oh, my God, I’m not a witch.

“Well, unless you’re the figment of a shattered psyche, then you’re something. Witch is as good a guess as any.”

The voice gave a huff. Bucky could imagine it pouting like a child, and he grinned.

How is it that no matter what planet you’re on, you’re still the same smartass that I—

The voice stopped and Bucky’s head snapped up, his body reacting before his mind could catch up. Something had shifted in the air, and a second later, the ground rumbled under his feet.

At first, he thought it was one of the mountain-beasts, but this felt… different. Sharper. Every nerve ending was tingling and he leaned forward, hungrily. Not the demonic part of him. The part that was human.

He could smell it. Earth.

That’s it! the voice shouted. Over there!

He could see it in the distance—a glowing oval that looked as if it was bordered with blue fire.

Bucky didn’t move.

What are you doing! The voice screamed at him. You have to go! Now!

“I…” He swallowed thickly, his heart pounding as he couldn’t seem to get enough air. His legs wouldn’t move and his tail stuck out at an upward angle like a frightened cat’s.

Bucky didn’t know what he was doing. More importantly, he didn’t know what was beyond that portal. What if the world he went back to wasn’t like the one he left? What if he returned just to be caught by HYDRA? What if he had to feed again?

And the most terrifying question of all: what would happen to his little ghost?

There were too many unknowns, too many variables. This place may be actual Hell, but at least he’d carved out a place that was his own. He knew what each day would be like and what to expect. He had no such information about what lay on the other side of that ring of fire.

Bucky, please, it pleaded. I know you’re scared, but you have to trust me. You have to go through that portal. You’re meant to go through!

He stared at the object, no larger than a pebble from this distance, but nothing had filled him with so much fear. Not even the things he could hear crawling around his cave during the rare nights.

“I can’t,” he croaked out. He was cowardly, and he hated himself for it, but he still couldn’t budge.

Yes, you can. You can and you have to!

Several emotions flickered through Bucky’s mind, all coming entirely from the voice, too strong for it to hide from him. Sorrow, yearning, grief.

…Love?

“What’s on the other side?” he asked, suddenly desperate. “What will I find when I cross?”

Through their connection raced an ache so powerful it nearly knocked the wind out of him.

Me.

The fear keeping him immobilized shattered, and he spread his wings and took to the air. He raced to the portal, narrowing his eyes against the heated wind as he zeroed in on his target.

There were other demons below, drawn by the otherworldly energy flowing through the fiery blue portal. A dark green humanoid demon slipped through, a slithering, worm-like creature following after. Bucky ignored them, ignored everything except the portal.

The last thing he remembered was the voice telling him to land and run.

Bucky slammed into the ground in front of the portal. A demon that looked half-bull, half-bear was to his right, and it gave a roar and swung its claws when it realized he was there.

Bucky ducked under its outstretched arm—stupid beast wouldn’t even be able to fit through the portal—and he slipped around the larger demon. He pushed off from the ground, claws digging into the sand, and he leapt through…

…to land on a child’s bedroom floor.

Next Chapter

#demon!bucky barnes #demon!bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #my writing #my fanfiction #branded

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reversemoon255 · 3 years ago

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(From September 2020 to February 2021, I worked on a Pokémon themed Dungeons and Dragons campaign for a few friends. We didn’t get very far, but I put a significant amount of work into the world, story, and several Pokémon that would appear throughout, including an original set of starters. I want to to leave some record of my work, so I thought I’d write a few summary posts. And while I designed these Pokémon, their fantastic art was done by @extyrannomon on Twitter. I highly recommend you check them out.)

Dungeons 'n' Dragonites - Phase 1: Hello Stelopy City

Our story starts in Stelopy City, located in the Wellou Region. We get a brief introduction from DJ Tomomitsu, a radio host, before each player got their own brief story segments. Our first player was Ethan, as aspiring chef, who lived on campus at his high school. Ethan was approached by one of his dorm mates with a favor (to get him out of the building), as well as having an attractive girl meandering around the kitchen (if he wished to try flaunting his culinary skills). He would then get to choose to either finish up his side-quest or go to the local fisher's market, with him transitioning between those locations taking him to the area where he would meet his starter Pokémon:

"As you enter the alleyway, the walls are covered floor-to-ceiling in moss that seem to appear as soon as the shadows overtake the sunlight. The farther you walk, the more weeds you see popping through the cracks. Once you reach the half-way point, you come to a small open space. With the sunlight now flickering down through the plants brave enough to venture off the verdant walls, the entire area shines a bright, emerald green. In the center of this area is a decently sized fountain. It's no longer flowing, but there's a decent amount of rain water filling it up close to the brim. As you approach it, even through the murky iridescent waters, you can see a thick, fuzzy amount of lichen growing all throughout the inside of the basin. As you pass by the fountain, you hear an audible sploosh. Do you turn around? (Y/N)"

There he would meet the first of our new Starter, the Grass-Type Flymph. I kept it secret that I was doing original Starters. Part of my personal excitement in planning everything was the eventual reveal of these designs I had created. Kept me going when things started feeling like a grind.

Our second player, Johnny, started off at home, woken by his father asking him to run an errand. After being able to talk to his family a bit, he proceeded to a somewhat beaten-up house on the edge of the Pokémon-overrun abandoned district where he would receive some boat parts before leaving and the sidewalk underneath him collapses. Stumbling around the abandoned subway tunnels for a bit, he would run into our second Starter, the Fire-Type Calfyre.

Johnny's player wanted to become an entertainer, which didn't give me a lot to work session one, so a lot of his opener was focused on expanding the world and giving everyone an idea of areas they would be exploring later.

Third was Orion who had a quiet morning at home before being provoked via text messages from his siblings to chase down a mysterious "Wailord in a Top Hat." This pursuit would also lead him to the fisher's market and the nearby docks, where, after just catching sight of his quarry, he would encounter the Water-Starter Squisque.

Orion's player wanted a lot of his story to be based on his relationship with his father, so most of his opening was based on reinforcing his family dynamic. Not home, everyone’s busy, focus on work. This particular Saturday was strange in that Orion didn’t have anything going on.

Our last player was Arthur, who also lived on campus. While our other three players started their segments in bed, Arthur was playing lacrosse. After having an opportunity to show off (or fail), he would be told by a friend that he had upset his girlfriend that morning (kitchen girl from Ethan's story), and needed Arthur to pick up her favorite dessert while he attempted to woo her for the rest of the day. After doing so (while being given a chance to explore some of the local stores) he encountered a hungry Houndoom who proceeds to chase him up a fire escape. Once up there he encountered our final Starter, the Fairy-Type Utaw.

After each player met their Starters, they would have a brief tutorial battle against three Pokémon they were advantageous against before running into each other, and were subsequently arrested for "stealing" Pokémon, which would cap session one.

=====

Let's talk design. Stelopy City is loosely based on Chicago, is a portmanteau of "Steel Canopy," and Wellou is a joke on Illinois. The vast majority of the campaign was to take place in this location. Most of my players had very busy schedules (so busy it took us three sessions to get through the above opener), so DJ Tomomitsu was a way for me to easily start each session with a list of things to do (side-quests), and they as a group could decide which they were the most interested in based on time. Tomomitsu himself was based on DJ Sagara from Kamen Rider Gaim, with Tomomitsu being the name of the actor who played him.

As for the starters, I tried to stick to the reoccurring themes we’ve seen over the past 8 Generations. Flymph's name is a portmanteau of Dragonfly, Errol Flynn, and Nymph (the larval form of a Dragonfly). He's meant to be a special attacker, but, like an early DND Wizard, doesn't have access to a lot of them so he brandishes his sword-like arms to intimidate his foes instead. His diet consists entirely of lichens, algae, and similar flora, storing them in his transparent stomach pouches, and can be seen sunbathing in the water, belly up, feeding the plant matter the sunlight they need to grow. He also does not like Bug-Types, and isn’t Bug himself because of Grass/Bug’s myriad of weaknesses (for balancing), plus he changes Types after his first evolution. The theme of Grass Starters is extinction, which won’t become clear until his final evolution, but you may be able to guess how he relates.

Fire Starters are themed after the Chinese Zodiac, and of the remaining four yet to be used (including Snake, Ram, and Horse), I went with Ox. Calfyre's name is a play on Calf and Fire, and is meant to play like a Barbarian. When it comes to personality he's very timid and unsure of himself like a first-time DND player might be acting in a group. Unlike most Fire-Types, Calfyre lacks a Flame Sac. Instead, his spiral horns are filled with a freon-like liquid that, when swirled, rapidly absorbs energy from the air, which he uses for attacks. This chills the air around him, and makes him one of the few Fire-Types that are cold to the touch. Which sucks, because he’s a snugly sleeper.

Water Starters are usually themed after a weapon or character class. This usually shows in the later evolutions, but it's pretty obvious Squisque (a portmanteau of Squirt, Squire, and Bisque) is themed off a lance and shield. He's a paladin in both role and personality, charging in at the slightest sign of trouble, even if there isn't any real danger. It's the typical non-nuanced idea of what people think when they hear "Paladin." He was to a degree supposed to play a catalyst role, charging into situations the players may not want to in order to force them into helping people or combat if need be. He was also the first design I settled on, being based on an old Kaijin idea I had of a lobster-knight using its asymmetrical claws as different medieval weapons.

Utaw is unique, not just in that he was a fourth or Fairy Starter, but in conception. I was only supposed to have three players, but ended up with four. As such, his design is responsive to the others. Why a dinosaur? Because I had a mammal, crustacean, and bug, was unsure if I wanted a bird or reptile, and decided to meet half-way. Why is he Fairy? Because it has very little interaction with Fire, Water, and Grass, while still having defined weaknesses and resistances to certain types. (Also, this player wanted a Dragon-Type.) He’s based on a Utahraptor, hence the name, and is misspelled to include “Claw” or “Caw.” He’s meant to play team Bard, and uses sound moves. As for personality, he's a bit of a birdbrain who enjoys fighting. Not maliciously; it’s just fun, again acting like a new DND player who’s more interested in combat than role playing.

The idea with the personalities was that each Pokémon was supposed to start out like a rookie DND player on their first campaign. Not knowing how to play their class, being uncomfortable acting in front of a group, leaning too hard into your role without bending, or just fighting everything you see without diplomacy. It felt like a fun extra layer to each of these Pokémon that tied them just as much into the DND side of things as the Pokémon.

=====

Back to our story, after being briefly detained (mostly as an excuse to give the players time to introduce themselves to each other, something my DMs have struggled with), they meet Professor(-in-training) Bianca. The four Pokémon had been found by Silph Co., and had decided to donate them to the Unovan Pokémon Research Lab. However, after seeing the Pokémon interacting with these people, Bianca decides to give them up instead. "Pokémon should be with people," after all.

I had three side quests set up following this (after they all go to the DMV to get their Trainer's licenses). The first was a general "there's wild Pokémon here" quest where they could train and catch things. There was a sale at the mall where they could get some cheap held items and have their first trainer battle, and an event at the fisher's market where they could win some free items and would lead into their first dungeon.

The dungeon was what I was hoping they would pick, and would have them chase a group of Poipole through a warehouse, with them having different battles if they chose to enter from the front or the back. After defeating them, the Poipole would be sucked through a spontaneously generating Ultra Wormhole, with a high enough perception check revealing a strange laugh, or on a 20 have them catch a glimpse of a grey Charizard O_O

From there it was a matter of coming up with (or possibly recycling unused) side-quests until we reached the point where the Starters were about to evolve. I had a few things planned; introductions to a few reoccurring NPCs, a field trip to the local museum where they would be able to catch a Yamask (and possibly learn something about the origins of their Starters), and a raid battle against a group of Onix who would recur through the campaign.

The end of Phase 1 would come about with another dungeon. In the middle of the night, Ethan and Arthur would be awoken by their Pokémon to a group of Durant having busted through the floor of the dorm and raiding their kitchen. Easily driving them off, their Pokémon would encourage them to pursue. Later, full party in toe, the four of them would explore the Duranthill. There would be a number of possible encounters, but only one mandatory fight before reaching the depths. In said encounter, while being surrounded by a group of Durant, they would receive unexpected help from this Pokémon:

With some interpretation, they would discover that this Princess Durant was afraid for the sake of her colony. A new queen had taken up residence there, and was commanding the Durant to attack the surface and steal food for her. With additional party member in toe, they would descend further with better direction, eventually discovering the lair of the Queen Durant...

#Pokemon #Dungeons and Dragons #DND #DND Homebrew #durant

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shadoedseptmbr · 4 years ago

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Odd OC asks: 13, 18, 27, 34, and 43 for Shepard.

For Aedan Shepard, then, since I’m in her head these days!

13. Are they easily insulted? Not anymore. There was a time in her Red days that she couldn’t afford an insult to go unanswered but it passed once she developed a reputation and um...skills, but now it’s all water off a duck’s back. She owns her faults if someone is using them to dig and she doesn’t really care about the rest.

18. Do they daydream? Of what? She *can* be distracted, especially if she’s not eating or sleeping but as far as letting her mind wander on pleasant things? Not really. She is very much an in the moment personality, beyond battlefield tactics. That might change a little post war but it hasn’t shown up yet.

27. Do they find it difficult to try new foods? Not at ALL. She doesn’t have any allergies or sensitivities and exploring new cultures is one of the perks of her job, as far as she’s concerned. She’ll try anything once, and as long as it doesn’t put her in medical it gets to stay on the menu. She’s scraped lichen off a rock. She’s eaten cold rat. She’s eaten soy based “stew” mre. She can deal with Liara going, “ooh try this it’s a delicacy!”

34. Do they enjoy climbing trees? Not a lot of trees to climb where she grew up, mostly fire escapes, but once she got the experience on a colony world during training, she thinks it’s great fun and she’s done it scouting a few times. Kaidan is actually using trees and his old treehouse as bait to get her to the orchard at some point in the future.

43. Do they hide objects? What and where? Hm. She did have a few stashes of credit chits, the occasional pistol, maaaaybe some sketchy paperwork before she died on the SR1. Most of those are compromised by the time she gets back. She doesn’t *own* a lot, so it’s not something she ever really gets in the habit of doing. She’s got a few weapons duct taped under tables in the apartment, just in case. She always keeps snacks squirrelled in her armor, but those aren’t a secret, she’s just the mom friend in that aspect, especially once her friends are biotics. There’s a small compartment in her antique sniper rifle case and she *does* sometimes have some special item stashed there, but that’s a pretty new development.

Thank you for asking! I always come across a thing I haven’t fully considered and it’s fun to flesh out these sorts of details!

#aedan shepard #theoriginalladya

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anonbeadraws · 5 years ago

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The world seemed to be made of so many broken pieces. From the twisted and so easily bought government, to the shattered pieces of Moreau’s own family, pulled and plucked apart by their fathers’ arguments and abandoned by their siblings when old enough to put foot to far away path. It was understandable that Moreau would leave too. They had to. It was difficult to live in a home of sharp edges and tounges, of snapping and snarling, certainly, but to live where words and rules meant nothing? Where promises would be sworn and broken from one moment to the next, on the whim of the dominant parent? That was Chaos. And it could not be borne. As soon as they hit their majority, Moreau left the little village that was embarrassed (arguing in the street? bruises on the little ones? Shameful!!) to hold their family in its walls. They took little, only enough family trinkets (at least the ones left behind by their siblings) to barter armour and weapons and a tutor in the next town along. Certainly not a tutor their parents would approve of, being a mumbling old firbolg who seemed not to notice the mushrooms and moss growing deep into their fur- (how crass!)

But one who seemed to understand the needs of their student, who so eagerly learned how to recognise edible lichen and berries, how to bed down for the night amongst the trees. Desperate to explore or to perhaps just be elsewhere. To be alone. Desperate to be without the shards of someone else’s being piercing into their heart and head. Somewhere quiet. It was partly that, and after learning all they could from the old firbolg, Moreau certainly took a few months to be the hermit they had dreamed. The Quiet was perfect. The World around them whole and existing without interference. Creatures intertwined with their home, giving and taking between themselves. The broken promises and piercing blows dealt by their parents that had buried themselves within Moreau’s head became distant, soft scars that bled no more. But sadly, quiet minds don’t eat well and as much as Moreau tried, the sweet berries and flesh of the beasts around them did not satisfy their cultivated need for more refined fare. They missed coffee the most. So they would drudge back every couple of months or so, back to civilisation and do a couple of jobs. Hunting for sure, but also guiding people through woods and forests, their known landscape, sometimes fetching things from town to town, the odd culling of a local woodland menace. Little jobs, short and sweet, with enough gold to fill up their pack with brie and bread and teas from far off countries, then back to the woods. Back to where the world was whole. The archaeologist changed that. It was just another job, take a stuffy old elf researcher to some ruins in the deeper woods. A longer job, a bit more dangerous, but Moreau had been on their own for years now, and the more dangerous the job, the more they could charge, so. They didn’t complain. They were used to quieter jobs though. Many seemed to understand or were at least forced to understand, Moreau’s preference for quiet. No interaction, just getting from A to B, maybe a meal thrown in but no dinner conversation. This one. This one wouldn’t. shut. up. On and on about their research, about how it had taken all those years to find this place, how they had been tracking down the shards of the ‘great moonlith’ for years, what it meant to start finally piecing it together. So as someone who relished the silence of a quiet job, It surprised Moreau more than anything that the words of this old Coot, grabbed their attention. It was rare that the words of others did, the firbolg’s teachings had only set in because it was what Moreau needed, what they had paid to hear, to learn, but this? This was interesting. The first trip yielded no fruit, at least for the elf, their research had either been wrong or their prized pilfered already, but for Moreau, it felt like a revelation. Discovering things that had already been set in stone, time and actions that had already been fossilised in the world, and settled, whole and complete.

There was something… good in that. And the monolith? Though Moreau did not quite understand wholly what the Elf meant by doing so or even what it was, the goal to repair it and see it returned to glory seemed…very Good. Moreau was determined to see it through, to see it themselves and the Elf was happy to find an intent listener and quick learner and hired them as their permanent guide. Though Moreau didn’t charge him any less. That would be stupid. The more they explored, the more pieces they found. Small ivory scraps and pebbles.

Someone had split the pieces up, said the elf, kept the pieces far from each other.

For what reason, he did not explain. He also did not let Moreau touch anything, despite teaching them the tricks of the trade as they went, not the ruins, not the recovered pieces that he would squirrel away in places unknown. You wouldn’t understand, he said. Sneered. Moreau was fairly sure now that he sneered. Anyway, the Elf’s attitude was getting more and more conceited and irreverent to Moreau’s aid, despite the fact that they were now leading and guiding them towards each next new dungeon and their hidden pieces. That they had discovered more information, gleaned from townsfolk and other rangers. That they obviously cared more about getting the monolith complete. Whole. The elf had stopped sharing information, had stopped leaning forward excitedly to share the legends and stories over the dinner Moreau had hunted and caught. His words became shorter, to the point, reminding Moreau of their role often. Guide. Not recoverer. That once it was done, they’d have their money and that would be it. They would be done. Moreau was bitter over the reminder. Not only of their lack of importance in a task that had become their life, that they had learned so much of and were now being denied. But was reminded of others who had broken promises, not yielded to their own words.

Scars were being prodded, enough to break tissue. But it was fine. They could wait. The monolith would be whole again and the world would be still. It was only a few nights after a larger piece had been recovered

(an Eye! The monolith had an eye!? Moreaus mind had chattered long after the elf had slept, unable to think of anything else)

that it changed. The elf had seemed grimmer of late, the more they had recovered, the more tired he seemed, more gaunt. His eyes were dim that night as he told Moreau of his plan to stop the excavations Stop? to burn the maps and guides burn? and split the pieces again. NO.

The elf had only a minute to start pontificating (gods why hadn’t Moreau noticed how boring the old fool sounded, how dry and dull, even when talking of the monolith?) about what would happen if the pieces came together, what evil would occur, how it would doom the world- (Blah blah blah.) before Moreau split his head with their pick. Seemed only fitting, the old fool had bought it as a gift for them after all. There was a moment of guilt. A flash of it, small but ready to swell but it was soon assuaged by the touch of the monolith piece, pulled hastily from a ‘secret’ sewn pocket in the elf’s coat. Ahh. Better. And when they found the remaining pieces, hidden and secreted away by the idiot, it would be even better still. Perhaps better than the woods in the quiet of the day! Perhaps. Anyway. Things were not made to be broken, Moreau thought as they methodically packed their gear away, carefully packing the maps they had worked on with the old (dead) fool, taking the remains of their pay from his wallet. They were made to be fixed, they thought as they rubbed their thumb against cold (so strangely cold in the warm night) ivory eye, now deep in their pocket. And Moreau would see it done. Random roll for @boocio

commissions!|kofi

#anonbeadraws #randomroll #commission #commissions #halfing #ranger #archaeologist #digital commission #dnd #Dungeons and Dragons #digital art

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3rdgymbros · 5 years ago

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— pairing; lemiel silvamillion clover x elf! reader

— summary; you fall in love with a human boy, but your story is doomed to end in tragedy

Your favorite dress is bright vermillion, with no sleeves, and very little back. Your people have always favored the loose, simple chiton styles, as opposed to the structured heavy velvets and silks that the humans wear. It makes you look almost like a princess, complete with the fresh flowers woven through your hair, though your mother would pinch at your cheeks and claim otherwise, with the way that your face is currently twisted up into an expression of wide-eyed wonder.

It’s not directed at Licht; rather, it’s directed at the two humans with him. You’re not alone in your reaction; many other elves are watching the humans with wary eyes, giving them a wide berth as they venture through the village.

“They’re humans,” Your elder sister Lenna murmurs, and something dark flickers across her expression as she takes your hands in hers and turns away. You’re forced to turn away with her, and you’re left with an abrupt sense of loss as you’re no longer able to see the boy with the golden crown glittering in his hair. “( Your Name ), let’s go.”

Ironically, it’s a human who ends up saving you.

Your parents, wary of the humans who keep coming back to the village, have forbade you from leaving the house. Restless, looking for diversion, you turn to exploring the gardens of Bougainvillea House. The place is half-wild with papaya trees, mango, wild orchids, spider lilies, and an abundance of bougainvillea after which your house has been named. At the back of the house is a small lake, its grassy banks ending in coarse lallang upon which monitor lizards sometimes sun themselves. You’ve seen minnows, and crabs and crayfish stalking about the weeds.

One second of misplaced footing is all it takes, and you slide right off the banks and into the water with a shriek.

Before you even hit the surface, you feel its chill and see your skin turn an icy blue. As the water erupts around you, it pours into your still shrieking mouth. You cough and splutter, gulping down even more. Your legs flail as you search for the bottom, more resembling an octopus than a human being. Your lungs begin to burn and scream for air, and right as you’re sure that you’re going to die, a gentle grip yanks you out of the water.

Your dazed mind thinks that he’s an angel at first.

“Are you alright?” He speaks slowly, so that your still-reeling mind can have a chance to understand him.

You can’t form words, only cough, but he rubs circles on your back reassuringly, and sheds his damp cloak to drape over your form. Later, you would look back on this gesture and blush; it’s tradition for husbands to drape fabrics over their newly-wed spouses during the wedding ceremony, and you can’t fault him for doing so unknowingly, since he isn’t aware of your customs.

“Do you need anything?”

As the spots clear from your vision and your mind comes back to the earth, you realise that it’s no angel. The man standing in front of you is a human. The male human, hanging around Licht. Up close, he has pale skin and small, delicate features. His eyes are the blue of the warm summer sky, and his thick blond hair is plastered wetly to his face. His strange clothes are soaked through, though it’s nothing compared to how sheer your dress has become, but he still manages to smile brightly at you, asking once again if you’re unhurt.

As you catch your breath, trying to ignore the flush on your cheeks, and the traitorous thumping of your heart, he tells you his name and proclaims that the both of you are friends, as if it’s as simple as that.

Lemiel makes an effort to seek you out when he visits, sometimes accompanied by his smiling sister and Licht, sometimes without. His smiles are freely given, and each time, his presence sweeps through you, filling you with amazement that, although for so many years he had been so near, you’ve had no knowledge of his existence.

You grow daring enough to slip out of the grounds, careful to remain unseen as you hurry to meet him.

You should have known that no secret ever remains a secret in the village, and soon, your parents find out and bar your way one evening, as you prepare to make your escape.

Your mother is incensed in a way that you’ve never seen her before, shaking a finger at you. “He isn’t the same! He isn’t one of us! He could be dangerous!”

“He’s my friend,” You say. In the face of her fury, you falter for the briefest of moments, but then the thought of Lemiel waiting for you overriding every other emotion. One way or another, you’ll see him; you’ll have your way, and you tilt your chin up in determination. “He’s my friend, and I’m going to see him.”

His dream of coexisting seems so far away, you think that night, as you meet him in your secret clearing under the gazebo, but you don’t say anything. You’re unusually quiet, and your famed sharp tongue is weighing heavily inside your mouth. Instead, you lean your head against his shoulder and let his voice wash over you, a cool silk shawl that drapes over you and lulls you into a feeling of peace and serenity.

You’ve been getting used to having two humans in the village, but never before have you spoken to Tetia alone; she and Licht have become close, and they’re often seen wandering about hand-in-hand, wrapped up in their own little world. Tetia takes the teasing that comes her way in stride, with a good-natured smile and retort for everyone who stops to chat.

The smell of roses tickles your nose; blue silk skirts and silver slippers fill your vision as footsteps approach, lighter and slower than you’ve been expecting. You know instinctively that it’s not Lemiel, and even though your heart sinks in disappointment, the expectation is clear in your eyes when you look up from weaving a crown of flowers, placing a spell on them so that they’ll stay fresh for longer.

Tetia’s hair seems lit from within by tawny light and frames a slim face of high cheekbones. Her eyes are hazel and slanted, cat-like against her light olive skin. She appears radiant and impossibly beautiful as she gifts you with a smile, and motions to the empty patch of grass next to you.

“May I sit?” She asks, her voice a musical lilt.

You shrug your shoulders non-committedly, to which Tetia takes as a yes, and it’s without a word that you continue weaving your crown of flowers. You’ve amassed quite a number of them in your wicker basket to hand out to your friends, and, if you’re being honest with yourself, you’re hoping to see Lemiel, to pass the best one to him. He may have a crown of gold, but you think that the softness of the flowers brings out the roses in his cheeks.

“Is –”

A small smile plays at her lips, but this one seems slyer somehow, even as she shakes her head and gazes at you out of the corner of her eye. She hugs her knees to her chest. “He isn’t coming today. Father wished to see him, I’m afraid. He’ll be stuck in meetings all day.”

The realization twists your gut because it’s a reminder of how close the two of you have become in just a short span of time. The blunt reminder of Lemiel being royalty makes you feel as though you’ve been dunked in cold water; again, it’s made apparent that the two of you come from two different worlds. Tetia must see how your eyes widen, how the color drains out of your face under the heat of the blinding sun, and she hurries to apologize, tripping over her words in her haste to make things right.

You sigh. “It’s not your fault. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

She nods, but you can tell that she doesn’t believe you. She opens her mouth to say something, but quickly shuts it again.

“You’ve been spending a lot of time with Licht.” You say instead, your mouth twisting up as you change the subject abruptly.

Tetia counters instantly. “You’ve been spending a lot of time with –”

“He’s nice.” You say, cutting her off before she can apologize again, for bringing up her brother. “I like him.”

“He likes you too,” She replies, and the knowing glint in her eyes only darkens.

Your hours together are filled with a strange expansion you know he also feels, your emotions growing every time you see him.

Sometimes, Lemiel brings an instrument made of wood and strings, a contraption he calls a ‘violin’, and plays for you, plucking hesitantly at the strings, his tongue poking out in concentration. The music, although sometimes broken by a bout of laughter or a squawking trail of notes, curls through you both. If you’re in a particularly good mood, or if Lemiel has his way, you’ll twirl about, barefoot on the grass, your skirts fluttering about your knees. You’re the best dancer in the village, and the music speaks to you, lives in you, and you heed its call with gleeful abandon, losing yourself in it.

He tells you interesting, irrelevant things, about magic, about his latest inventions, the magic tools he’s tinkering with in his room. He always carries a book, is always reading. Sometimes, he’ll read out passages from the dusty tomes as you press your cheek to his neck and look at the faded, yellowing pages. You sit close to him on the bench, your legs touching as you talk.

Sometimes, you’ll take him to the lake at the back of your house. The two of you kick off your shoes and wade into the shallow waters. Tucking your dress into your undergarments, unashamed – though Lemiel averts his eyes, the tips of his ears turning red – you splash water at him, amongst the weeds and slippery lichen. The two of you always take care to keep to that part of the canal that’s tucked away from Bougainvillea House by the overhanging trees.

Only away from him do you realize that this is happiness.

At night, you remember his face, and sleep.

“I saw you at that wedding a few days ago,” Lemiel says, after a long stretch of comfortable silence. You let out a hum of acknowledgement, but focus on planting more flowers in your garden, burying your hands deep into the earth and sprinkling water atop the mound. You could use your magic to command the flowers to grow instantly, as you do with the crops in the village, but you love seeing how the seeds slowly grow into the fragrant blooms. “You were dancing with some other girls.”

The compliment surprises you. You hadn’t thought that he’d been watching, and the knowledge makes your cheeks warm, sends a shiver dancing down your spine and has gooseflesh pimpling your arms. “You should have come over. We could have danced together.”

“I’m not much for dancing, I’m afraid.”

Silence falls again. The soft sounds of people and commerce drift down to you, but the two of you are wrapped safely in the green embrace of the trees above.

“Tetia’s pregnant.”

“I heard,” A smile lights up your face, tinged with secrecy and mischief as you remember the surprise party that everyone’s planning for the newly engaged couple. Everyone’s had to keep Fhana away, knowing that her contagious giggles would give the game away almost instantly. “I’ve been roped into helping to plan the wedding. She wants a spring wedding.”

For some unknown reason, Tetia had wanted you specifically as a bridesmaid, and you’d found yourself unable to turn her down, even if that means having to spend hours upon hours at the dressmaker for your fittings. You bear it good-naturedly, the hours made slightly more bearable with Tetia chattering away by your side.

“What about you?”

You eye him. His smile seems perfectly innocent, but you can’t help but wonder if he’s offering to put a ring on your finger, and his cloak around your shoulders once again. You don’t tell Lemiel that you wouldn’t mind spending the rest of your life with him; you’re far too proud for that, and there’s a small part of you that’s actively conscious of the fragility of what you both have. You don’t want to be the one to break the spell. “I don’t want a spring wedding.”

A smile turns up the edges of his lips, and it’s with his next words that you feel something shift inside of you. “What about an autumn wedding?”

“Are you offering?”

“Do you want me to?”

Yes.

You stare incredulously, but have to try to smother the giddiness his words bring out in you. It’s a heady feeling, like you’ve swallowed down a mouthful of liquid sunshine, and even as you try to hide it, an exquisite smile blooms across your face; Lemiel’s own smile widens in response.

We’re technically already married, you think, but what you say is, “No, of course not. We’re not getting married until you put a ring on my finger and a donkey in my father’s yard.”

The party is in full swing by the time Lemiel arrives.

The village square is lit up in the dark of night with lamps and the fullest moon you’ve ever been under. Everywhere around you people laugh, dance, and play. The musicians strike up a tune that has everyone tapping toes and dancing.

You smile, the joy contagious. “Dance with me.”

You’re dressed in saffron yellow silk today, the fabric draping over both your shoulders in wide swaths and a neckline high enough to cover your clavicles. The bodice is pinned tighter around your torso, so that it highlights the curve of your waist.

You hold out a hand to Lemiel, and he takes it, as easily as breathing, as if he’s done it a thousand times before. He has, but never in public, as openly as he has now, and you don’t miss the way everyone is staring at your intertwined fingers, his calloused palm pressing against your own as you pull him after you, onto the dance floor.

Lemiel’s hands come to rest on your waist; for once, he looks unsure of himself, almost resembling a deer caught by surprise in the light. His steps are clumsy, hesitant, and his foot comes down hard on yours, eliciting a wince from you, followed hard on the heels of a breathy laugh. The warmth of his touch seeps through the silk of your dress; laughing, drunk on the sheer atmosphere and a touch too much wine, you press closer, your cheek against his neck.

Lemiel lets you guide him into something resembling the complex steps of the dance. You almost blend into the twirl of the other dancers around you, but you’re not foolish enough to believe that people aren’t watching you and the human prince. Tetia swirls by, her blonde eyebrows arching so high that they nearly disappear into her hair, but her mouth is smiling as she takes in the two of you, far too close for comfort.

“You can’t dance,” You say lightly, teasingly. Your heart is hammering so loudly it feels like everyone present can hear it, even over the flutes and the drums. “Is there anything else you can’t do?”

“He can’t cook, he forgets to eat half the time, and you have to force him out of his room sometimes,” Tetia chips in on a laugh, right before Rhya cuts in and steals her from Licht.

Roses bloom upon his cheeks. “Tetia!”

“Well,” You say wryly, “It’s a good thing I know how to cook.”

Lemiel stares. His shoulder muscle tightens under your hand and his skin almost feels warmer. “What?”

“I know how to cook,” You repeat, your footsteps slowing to a halt. You have to tilt your head back to stare at him, and his eyes are so blue that you could almost drown in them. “And I know how to bake, too.”

He catches his breath. “You're sure?”

“About my cooking skills? Yes, I'm sure.”

A slow smile blooms across his face, spreading up into his eyes, making them smolder. You feel your pulse quicken and smile back.

Nothing else needs to be said.

Wrapped up in the sky blue silk of his cloak, your nose crinkles on a tired yawn as you lean over and kiss the small patch of exposed skin on his shoulder, just above his shirt collar. “Will you be coming to the wedding tomorrow?”

“I’ll be late,” Lemiel says. His fingers are tangled in your hair, combing through the strands idly. “My father wants to see me.”

“Late to your own sister’s wedding,” You tease, propping yourself up on your arm. “I’m shocked.”

Lemiel laughs and rolls you over so that he’s looming over you, shoulder-length gold hair tickling your cheeks as he presses another lazy, lingering kiss to your mouth. When he pulls back, you follow him a couple of inches before breaking the kiss.

“I’ll be the one in blue,” You’re looking forward to wearing your dress tomorrow, the silk cool against your skin, with aquamarine pieces sewn into the hem and neckline. You’d specifically requested the color, noting how it matches his eyes perfectly. “I’ll even save you a dance. As many dances as you want.”

It hurts so much, you think. Lemiel, Lemiel, everyone’s dead . . . Please, please, Lemiel, please make it stop hurting.

Your whole body feels on fire, your limbs are leaden, and your mouth seems to be clogged with warm mud. Blood runs hot over your fingers, staining the skirts of your gown.

And you think, I wanted Lemiel to see me in blue, I wanted to dance with him forever, for as long as I lived.

Then something sharp pierces through your body, and its bite is cold and red.

#lemiel silvamillion clover #lemiel silvamillion clover x reader #black clover #black clover imagines #black clover x reader #black clover imagine #black clover scenarios #black clover scenario #black clover reader insert #black clover reader inserts #❋ M I N E ❋#ｐａｉｎｔａｐｉｃｔｕｒｅｆｏｒｍｅ | my reader inserts

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gravemaker · 4 years ago

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avatar + spiral.

silly boy ate one too many moldy mushrooms, didn’t he? thought he’d find enlightenment in the fungus but really it was the call to escape that hummed through his veins.

always the least hedonistic of his siblings. some might say the most deprived, others the most repressed. that is, until he went away to university and his friends promised answers to the secrets of the universe, and he ate it all up, every color in the psychedelic rainbow: psilocybin, fly agaric, peyote, salvia, even the artificial compounds like dmt and lsd.

caduceus fancies himself a psychonaut, an explorer of different realms of consciousness. maybe that’s what drew him to philosophy, always asking questions. questioning reality. who is he to say what’s real or what isn’t? who defines the realm of possibility?

it started off small-- sometimes he would blink, and his eyes would turn a different color. then he’d catch glimpses in the mirror while getting dressed: flowers in his hair; lichen clinging to his skin like headstones; clusters of fungus growing in the bony crevices of his figure; his ribs, peeking through rotting flesh and covered in wet moss. he chalked it up to the acid stuck in his spiral column making a nasty comeback.

after all, how could he turn his back on this new world where the flowers breathe and the trees have veins snaking up their trunks, thrumming with the lifeblood of the universe? how can he deny the call of the leaves and breeze that whisper to him? who is he to resist?

#in which spiral avatar cad is just a walking acid trip #he also sells psychedelics and feeds on ppl's trips #empirefire

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sp4c3-0ddity · 6 years ago

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25 & 100 Plance please.

(25) Fairy Tale AU

(100) Accidentally Saving the Day

muahaha time to debut my very first plance AU…the one i will probably never write despite it being very near and dear to my heart…but anyway:

Lance is your average everyday country boy that thirsts for adventure. He grew up on stories of distant wars where a common man could be a hero and myths of the fallen Altea. His favorite was of Altea’s last princess, a beautiful woman rumored to have slept for the last thousand years awaiting a kiss from her true love to wake her

so when the call to adventure arrives, who is he to refuse?

it comes in the form of a boy traveling alone. he passes through Lance’s village of farmers, begging for directions to an unknown location rumored to be somewhere in the fertile river valley the farmers call home. Most villagers turn the desperate boy away, suspicious of the outsider (why would someone so young travel alone? he must be a fairy, bearing secret knowledge that no man should have), but Lance explored every corner of the valley as a child and knows the landmark the boy speaks of

The boy’s name is Pidge, and Hunk has a bad feeling about it so tags along to make sure Lance doesn’t do anything stupid…and to make sure they make it home

(They won’t)

The crumbling stones Pidge finds are nothing like the magnificent structure the artist that rendered it in a manuscript from her father’s library. Lichen sticks to what remains, and the trees and their shadows hide it from the view of anyone that wouldn’t know where to look for it…or who stumbles across it by accident. But the flowers that grow along the riverbank - flowers that grow nowhere else in the valley - are just like the illustrations…

Lance weaves a flower crown from them for lack of anything better to do while Pidge and Hunk comb the ruins, so he’s the one to sound the alarm when a hunter finds them. But they’re three unarmed teenagers, at the mercy of a man that has dark magic at his disposal…

They hide in the ruins, but the shelter won’t last them. Pidge recites a rhyme - “Hidden lands, hidden heart; give of thyself to find the start” - and at first Lance thinks it’s an incantation (”oh no he is a fairy!”). Pidge presses “his” hands to cut stone and admits to being a girl, but before Lance or Hunk can react to that their surroundings and the hunter’s attack dissolve…

“What happened?” are the first words out of Hunk’s mouth.

“You’re a girl?!” are the first words out of Lance’s

Cue a journey through the remains of lost Altea, a land now lawless, dodging bandits and druids and roving bands of Galra hellbent on resurrecting Zarkon, their lost king, at the behest of the “immortal” witch Haggar

Lance realizes he’s stepped into a world of myth, Hunk really wants to go back home, and Pidge just wants to find her family (taken captive by evil forces when her father uncovered some mysterious truth)…so naturally Lance pushes them on towards the ruined castle where the last princess of Altea is rumored to sleep in the hopes of waking her and putting a stop to the evil already spreading over the world

And why else would he be here if not to wake the princess with his kiss? It’s not like he has burgeoning feelings for Pidge or anything…

(Fated to wake the princess is actually the rogue half-Galra warrior seeking his missing guardian…and his destiny.)

#plance #pidgance #lidge #flirtyrobot #with a tiny bit of kallura lol #huh i originally meant for lance to be a fraudulent knight but alas #this had ideas of its own #...and then they accidentally saved the whole world lol #high fantasy is the best #this evolved as i wrote it lol #maybe i *will* write it one day...#qna #voltron #inspiration #Anonymous

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thema-sal-shiral · 6 years ago

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Gratitude

This was originally written for another Inquisitor I had but I decided to redo it for an intimate moment with Thema and Solas.

It was a small piece of paradise they had stumbled upon between Haven and the Storm Coast: a little niche of emerald and diamond framed by walls of gray granite and ribbons of obsidian. The only entrance to it was a short passage with rough walls and a floor of bare earth. Stepping into the cove was like stepping into another world, one of serene beauty away from the horrors of the world. It made the Breach, the war between Templars and Mages, fade away.

Water flowed from a carved shute, sliding like little sighs over a series of ledges into a crystalline pool. The jagged earth edges of the pond were softened by thick reeds and grass, vibrant purple flowers dotted throughout, a carpet of jade and amethyst. Vivid moss and lichen crept along hidden stone and shadow, silent watchers of secret beauty. It was a small space, barely big enough for three yet cozy enough for two.

It was a serene, almost supernatural place, untouched by man.

They had camped away from it, the additional members of the Bull’s Chargers called for a larger ground to camp. The Iron Bull and his men, Cassandra and Sera, seemed to ignore the presence of the cove in favor of wood fire and talk. Slipping away from the boisterous voices and scent of smoke had been easy.

Thema had stretched out on the bank, fingers combing through her hair after taking it down. She watched the ripples distort stars on the cool water’s surface around her legs. Her companion sat just a few inches away, encompassed by the reeds and tall grass, cross-legged and holding a carved flute to his lips. Eyelashes fluttered against his arched cheekbones, a surprisingly dark brown at their base and fading to red at their tips.

A deep breath was taken and released like a pray, slender fingers moving over the polished platinum wood. Soft notes resonated with their surroundings, dancing with the waterfall and over the earth like something ethereal. After traveling and speaking with Solas for so long now she was not surprised that he could play something so sweetly as he was. A painter, a mage, philosopher, a virtuoso…

The woman was entranced by every new side she saw of her closest friend. Friend… was it just friendship she felt or was it something more? Ever since that day in Val Royeaux when she sobbed her panic out into his chest her body fluttered when near him. Touch was no stranger to her… but his touch was different. Whether in the safety of Haven, the battlefield or navigating unfamiliar wilds when he touched her skin felt hot, nerves primed. The Anchor seemed to coo at the sensation, nestling like a warm feline into the sinew and bone of her body, and sometimes reached for him like a lover.

It was comforting that the unfamiliar magic responded so to the elvhen man yet she did not give it much thought. Solas had explored the Fade, was a mage of great talent and stemmed the pain when it flared up in her arm. The Anchor was just as attached to him as she was becoming.

Thema watched him weave his aria, a sense of dreamy contentment washing over her. It was little times like these she treasured most. Where Sera was loud and nosy, Cassandra like a mother, here by Solas’ side she didn’t have to say anything or do anything that she didn’t want to. Silence suited her more than words tonight and for once she was comfortable in his presence. Albeit a very attractive man that could make her heart race if he so chose. Just the right kind of smirk or innuendo made her flush, usually walking into a wall soon after. She had a feeling he enjoyed doing that to her.

He was nothing like the men of her world.

As the reminiscing came to an end so did the music. Solas lowered the flute to his lap and a nostalgic, sweetly sorrowful, smile on his lips. Something tightened in her chest at the look. It was almost lonely, the look, even though he had those back at the camp. Even though he had her. How long had he ventured alone? Had no one at all ever stood by his side?

Without thought, she reached out for his hand. Fingers slipped into his palm, thumb rubbing over his digits. “Solas…” Even this little touch made her skin tingle, the red on her cheeks reaching to her ears. “I’m here.”

His face was startled, eyes wide and mouth slightly open. The shock faded with her words. Solas’ eyes softened and the corners of his lips turned up in an almost shy smile. “I know. Thank you.”

They stayed that way until the firey colors of sunrise threaded the sky.

#thema lavellan #solas #fen'harel #thema x solas #solas romance #dragon age inquisition #originally written for Selune but given new life for Thema

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