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trealamh · 2 months

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Albatross

Red sky in the morning, sailor take warning. Red sky at night, sailor's delight.

Arthur is a sailing instructor and Alasdair is a local marine carpenter who likes taking his smoke breaks on the pier. There is an accident.

He doesn’t think twice and wouldn’t have had the chance to change his mind even if he had tried. One hand on the forestay, one foot on the gunwale, only barely; moving so quickly that he loses his sandals and cuts a gash across his knee on something and does not feel it. His life vest is upstairs, dry and hanging from a coat rack in the office. Arthur had left it there this morning, a radio clipped to his hip, and said to their admin, Michelle, that he’d missed the sunrise by an hour, his phone dead and unplugged, silent between his matress and the headboard.

She’d shown him a picture she’d taken on her way to work that morning, the harbour crowned in crimson so deep it looked like dusk.

Arthur has worked at the sailing centre every summer-to- fall for the last three years and in that time, they’ve had a fair share of accidents. Only a handful of major injuries, including three concussions. Arthur has never been involved in any; the worst he’s ever had have been blisters, rope burn, bruises that bled green across his skin and healed over a week. Usually he’s one of a pair playing rescue, confident enough in what they’re doing that they have never had to call in the rescue service. They have two dinghies that they use to herd in their youngest students and chase after their racers, heavy enough that they whip against the waves as they cut through the contrails of the commercial vessels that dock further down the coast, where the strips of piers give way to industrial docking. They can tow students and stranded tourists in no trouble. On slow days, if they have enough gas to spare, Arthur takes the larger of the two on joy rides, packing in his youngest students like sardines and riding waves out to the cove to make them squeal.

The first thing he does most days when he clocks in is pick up the keys from Michelle. Only this morning he was late, so he’d arrived to find he keys gone, and their storage half-cleared of equipment, boats by order of size and the age of their crew lined up on the slipway already. Arthur had waved as they set off, dry and tasked with putting together reams of lesson plans and patching up the hull of their oldest Vaurien instead of shouting orders against the wind. His kids had waved back, smiles wide, and during his lunch break he’d come to see them back into port, letting them recount the hours they’d spent drilling short manoeuvres like while they sorted their lines and pulled their boats up over the tideline for a couple hours, waiting out the worst of the sun and giving them all a chance to rest. The forecast

(Arthur had been mindful, then, of the eyes on him, watching from the railing overlooking the public slipway the centre uses. In the three years Arthur has worked here they have talked properly maybe twice, enough at least that Arthur to know his name. Alasdair.

He works a trade, somewhere on the coastline, and runs a shop right across the street, keeping hours during the height of tourist season and watching over the centre like a disgruntled gull. He smokes sometimes, and the parents complain when they catch him at it, like there is anything the centre can do. Arthur is sure that if it didn’t require him walking up the office to Michelle, Alasdair would file as many complaints about them. It’s not rare that they have an audience and Alasdair is as good as a dock-cleat by now. He greats Arthur with a nod, if at all, eyes dark and set under the seemingly permanent burrow of his brow. He makes Arthur feel clumsy with his silence and hot in the face when he has to walk past him. Last summer Arthur thought he saw him sitting by the bar of his once-favourite pub and was so absurdly, inexplicably shy that he’d walked right out the way he came and spent the rest of the summer sober.)

So, Alasdair had been there at midday, rolling his tobacco with a filter between his lips and catching Arthur’s eyes. Arthur had walked past him on his way back to the office, and had considered (briefly, briefly) stopping on his way up the slipway, right below where Alasdair stood. He almost had, hesitating for a moment before picking up the pace and filling in quickly for another instructor. It’s just that he hadn’t known what to say and had felt in that split second that it would have been worse to trip over his words than walk away. Alasdair would be back tomorrow, or if not then next week. Next month, before the season ended, or next year. Time enough for Arthur to find something clever to say. Alasdair would be there, forearms resting on the railing, his hair whipping in the wind. There would be time.

It is strange, but it’s the last thing Arthur thinks of before he hits the water. Alasdair’s hands and the weight of his attention.

In Alasdair’s opinion, he’s the best they’ve got.

He has lived and worked by the water his entire life, coming and going with the seasons since their small town turned from trade to tourism some twelve years ago, now. In that time, he has watched the marina grow from salt-rot to fresh planks on the boardwalks. Late last spring whoever is in charge of things like gave the iron railways in fresh black coat, glossy and cool to the touch. There is no chipping rust off with his thumb anymore, eyes lost on the horizon. Maybe in a year or two the paint will wear, and the iron will flake again, eroded by the sand and salt that blow into the bay.

The children like the railings that run from the sailing centre down to the promenade leading into town. They hang off them, chasing gulls and waving out the smaller fishing boats when they set out in the morning. Alasdair is not much better, coming down here with a pouch of tobacco he should quit on and a faint excuse.

It’s not that Alasdair comes down to see him; he’d been coming down to smoke and watch the boats for longer than he’d care to remember and would continue to do so long after the lad moved on, as he would inevitably. He’s southern and pale and leaves every autumn with some warmth leeched into his skin, stark tan lines on his shoulders from his life vest and the uniform shirt he wears beneath it. The first time Alasdair had seen him had been his first day at the centre; couldn’t have been older than twenty-and-some, tripping over his own feet like he hadn’t expected Alasdair to turn to look at him when he did. Alasdair isn’t sure why he had, truth be told but since then he’s had a hard time looking away.

Alasdair has seen him head out in one of the sleek racers, late in the afternoon. He’s also been around to watch him tow wrecked boats in a few times. What’s more is the children like him; the older ones try to impress him. He’s good with them, the right amount of involved and patient with them. None of them seem to notice how he keeps out of the way with the rest of the instructors, subtly awkward in a way the weans can’t pick up, not like Alasdair has. They look at him with, with poorly-disguised awe and make up in heads who they expect him to be and will remember fondly come autumn. Summer gold and brave.

In this too, Alasdair is not much better.

The old radio he keeps on the counter tunes into the forecast. Around half past, he half-pays attention to talk of a windstorm and resolves to pack up for the day. This time of the summer anyone who needs him already knows where to find him and he has an early start tomorrow working on a luger someone’s towing in from Balliemore. It’s late enough that the fleets will be turning in, clearing the horizon for the larger commercial vessels and making way for the last ferries to dock before dusk. The centre will have gotten word on the windspeed, and he is half expecting that he will walk past to find the slipway cleared already. Turns out he is half right.

From across the street the view is half obscured but Alasdair can see enough to know that something is wrong before he hears shouting and the splitting crash of metal. Arthur is already sprinting from the centre, faster than Alasdair has even seen, and it must be bad, if even from a distance Alasdair can make out the fear in the clench of his jaw.

He is running after him before he even realises he’s made the choice to.

It still happens too fast. Later the girl from the office, Michelle, will tell him it started when two of Arthur’s students, anxious and off-kilter, had lost control of their boat. The instructor in charge of them had left them to it, only realising too late that with the wind coming at the speed it was, and with another three boats, there was no getting the dinghy in between them. They had crashed, first into another Vaurien, mast to mast, and then into the side of the slipway. That’s when Alasdair had spotted Arthur running blind down when one of his students had screamed his name. Alasdair had missed him jumping onto the boat closest to the slipway, line in hand to lock it in place while another instructor and two of the parents waiting rushed to his aid. He had managed to get a hold of the second boat, somehow, and grab onto the forestay to keep it close enough for the kids to climb from one boat to another and into their parents’ waiting arms.

That might have been it; some injuries, Arthur’s bleeding knee and bruises on the weans, and damage to the hulls of both ships. But in the panic and rush to bring the boats in, the instructor on the motor boat had turned in at full speed, missing a turn and ramming into the boats and Arthur, who’d been standing on the gunwale.

Alasdair had watched it happen without slowing his pace, feet slipping on the wet stone of the ramp. The mast had tipped, giving under the strain of Arthur’s weight and the impact of the dinghy on its hull. Arthur had gone under between the boats, silent under the audible fracture of one of the hulls when the boats knocked together again. Alasdair had felt sick, the whole useless lot of them frozen in terror as they all realised that Arthur might have drowned then, knocked unconscious by the impact or killed by the blow outright.

The children had been rushed away, adults crowding near the top of the ramp where Michelle was shouting to make herself heard over the wind, directing people away and screaming someone’s name. No one tries to stop Alasdair when he scrambles onto the dinghy, soaked up to the thighs and reaching shoulder deep into the water while someone holds on to his trousers to keep him in the boat, all in a mad dash to push the boats out of the way as best they could, clearing the space to try and catch sight of Arthur under the surface. The second dinghy wouldn’t dare come close and risk Arthur under the sharp blades of its propeller.

When Alasdair feels skin and then fabric under the surface he makes a strangled sound and pulls up, desperate and hopeful.

Arthur coughs, half limp in Alasdair’s grip once he realises that someone has him and knowing in some dormant way that struggling now would do more harm than good. Already he can feel his shoulders starting to shake, reedy tremors from deep in his muscles which come from the adrenaline crash. He kicks against the side of one of the boats to help Alasdair bring him into the dinghy and only realises then that it’s him who’s got him, broad and panting almost as hard as he is, still trying to catch his breath. Rather than let him go, Alasdair goes from gripping his side to the front of his shirt, letting him settle and spit saltwater while keeping him at arms-length.

His nose and his ears hurt. He’d hit the water so hard he lost half the breath in his lungs and held onto the rest out of instinctual desperation. He had let his body sink out of shock, feeling the temperature drop with every inch he lost to the depths, eyes stinging and set firmly on the last refraction of light under the surface. The crashing boats miss him by a handspan and even then, he does not recall feeling afraid; only a sense of stillness. He remembers thinking that if he’d been wearing his life vest he would have stayed afloat and that would have been it. But he wasn’t, and so he slipped deeper, eyes to the sky, and only started kicking up when a silver of light had come back into view.

On the boat, now, he is barely aware that someone is talking. Speaking to him, harsh and loud and shaking his shoulders. Arthur blinks saltwater away from his eyes and blinks up at Alasdair like he is seeing him for the first time. Looking up like he had earlier, from the slope of the slipway up to where he’d been standing on the gangway.

Alasdair cannot help his anger; the way it hardens his voice and makes him grip Arthur tight. He is vaguely aware of the other instructor in the dinghy, so he turns to him as well, calls him an imbecile worse than Arthur for having caused this god-forsaken mess in the first place. He would have cursed them both out hoarse if it weren’t for Arthur hand just then, reaching to up to grip his forearm where it is still crowding Arthur in close to his body.

“Thank you,” he says, working hard to collapse his breathe and release the tension from his body, eyes falling to half-mast and back coming to rest in the cradle of Alasdair’s body.

Sitting on the floor like he is, he can tip his forehead against his own knee, so he does, feeling for the first time in his life something like motion sickness. Alasdair letting go of his shirt feels like coming unmoored, but it is only for a moment. Alasdair puts his hand on his arm, squeezing gently and murmuring something that gets lost under the wind and the breaking waves but feels reassuring nonetheless. Arthur still has a hold of his forearm and does not even think of letting go. They breathe in tandem with the rocking of the boat beneath them and Arthur shivers. Alasdair presses closer and when Michelle runs down the slipway, a clean, dry fleece jacket in hand he reaches out to grab it and wraps it around Arthur before helping him to his feet and back onto land.

He sticks around. Some of the parents approach them to thank Arthur and shake his hand; a few others have concerns they want addressed and Michelle quickly steps in to lead them away. Some of the children cry, frightened. A handful of the older crew disguise their worry under banter but linger until they see Arthur standing with his freshly bandaged knee and then offer him a ninety-nine from the ice cream truck that rounds the pier every day at five. Arthur accepts, awkward and tired and mindful of the fact that they are watching him. Alasdair doesn’t get any ice cream but does get one more glare in when the second instructor comes to apologise with a few of Arthur’s other colleagues, who slap them both on the back.

When Arthur goes to collect his things Alasdair is still there, standing in his wet boots and his damp jeans. Arthur stays in town and offers his shower and tea. Despite the fact that Alasdair’s home is closer, he accepts, and they walk in silence.

Dusk comes late in the summer and bleeds gold-red. Alasdair’s clothes smell like Arthur’s detergent, and his skin like the bar of soap in his shower. Arthur’s temple smells clean and his hair is softer than Alasdair would have thought. He brushes a kiss there before he goes and can’t place the scent that lingers on his nose after. He sleeps deeply that night and wakes up thinking of something sharp and sweet.

He greets dawn on the deck of the luger, a smattering of clouds in the sky tinged gold in the first hours of the day.

(Lingering by the fenced boardwalk, a figure watches him work, lazy and listless, forecasting mild winds and clear skies; waiting patiently for midday when Alasdair might be tempted to step away and take his Saturday easy and slow. They have time.)

#scoteng week 2024 #scoteng #hws england #hws scotland #based on a true albeit much less romantic story #I'll add a link to AO3 when I cross post it! after some proof-reading

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moriiartist · 1 year

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GIMME SUGAR!

۫ ּ ִֶָ ࣪✦ PAIRING \ C!Grian x GN!Reader, C!Xisumavoid x GN!Reader

۫ ּ ִֶָ ࣪✦ SYNOPSIS \ How a few of our favorite block men would make your Valentine’s Day special.

۫ ּ ִֶָ ࣪✦ WARNINGS \ N/A

۫ ּ ִֶָ ࣪✦ A/N \ I know, I know- I’ve been MIA for a while. However! I have cooked up something short, sweet, and extra fluffy for Valentine’s day, so I hope you all enjoy this rare treat! (I may or may not be dying, but it’s fine :])

GRIAN

Grian doesn’t do anything in half measures, and Valentine’s Day is no exception.

Dresses up so fancy for you.

I’m talking button-up shirt with the cashmere vest, heart-shaped glasses, and the shiniest accessories a pesky bird can get his hands on.

First thing in the morning, he’s knocking on your door- or, if that doesn’t work, your bedroom window- with a basket full of your favorite treats and his very biggest smile :)

It doesn’t matter if you’re a morning person or not, he is determined to spend as much time with you as physically possible; what else would he be doing? Finishing his base, like a loser?

Think: Grian bundling you tight to his chest as he takes you on a sunset flight, weaving through the sky just to laugh at you when you shriek, and feel his heart beat harder in his chest when you smile at him in that half-exasperated half-fond way.

Think: Grian doing anything to earn a smile, from reciting the cheesiest pick-up lines he can think of to blasting your favorite music and singing along with you.

Think: Grian dropping you off at your base, only for you to pull him into a long, slow kiss. When the two of you part, he’s bright red and grinning like an idiot.

He’s your idiot, though, and don’t you forget it.

XISUMAVOID

As the server admin, Xisuma is very busy, but he always makes time for you.

He picks you up from your latest project at dusk, his armor polished and elytra gleaming in the waking starlight; every inch a knight straight from the pages of a fairy-tale.

Xisuma greets you like one, too, pressing a featherlight kiss to your palm before he sweeps you away with a flicker of code.

Valentine’s Day is a moment where everything pauses, for the both of you. There are no obligations, no worries, nothing beyond the two of you.

Together.

Think: Xisuma tangling his legs with yours under the dinner table, attentive even though you’ve been talking for thirty minutes, and the food he’d prepared for you long gone.

Think: Xisuma allowing you to play with his hair as you make your way through a rom-com marathon, dryly critiquing the plots and characters until you’re a giggly mess.

Think: Xisuma watching you slowly fall asleep in his arms, still as a statue even though his legs have fallen asleep and you’re drooling a little bit onto his shirt.

He’ll take his time, if it’s for you.

#a meal for the children #hermitcraft x reader #hermitcraft x y/n #hermitcraft x you #mcyt x reader #mcyt x you #mcyt x y/n #grian x reader #grian x you #grian x y/n #c!grian #xisumavoid x reader #xisumavoid x you #xisumavoid x y/n #c!xisumavoid

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tumblertown-headcanons · 3 months

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Team Belle Edition!

Ivan: Trainer Class- “Belle Team Co-Leader”

Metagross

Golem

Roaring Moon

Empoleon (Starter, the main water typing reminds him of Misra)

Lycanrock (Dusk) (Rockruff are super affectionate but the stones in their collars are painful when they rub against their trainers skin…you get it)

…Galarian Rapidash? (he loves Our Small Horses)

Misra: Trainer Class- “Belle Team Co- Leader”

Feraligatr “Richie” (Starter, its toughness reminds her of Ivan)

Tentacruel “Squidward”

Ludicolo “Lily” (she’s pretty cheerful)

Carracosta “Crush” (rock-water, perfect for the sibs)

Lapras “Lapis” (idk it just feels right)

Masquerain “Eyes” (reminds her of Anne)

Anne: Trainer Class- “Team Belle Admin”

(but is very nice to the player and would heal your team win or lose)

Parasect

(A stupidly strong) Vivillon (was her starter, she couldn’t get a standard one)

Accelgor

Orbeetle

Kleavor

Pheromosa “Elena” (she let Misra name it)

Caden: Trainer Class- “Team Belle Admin”

Skeledirge (death, afterlife, hell, yada yada that’s his starter)

Shiny Kantonian Rapidash (he thinks it’s cool, even cooler now that he knows Ivan likes it)

Umbreon (related to the moon)

Crabrawler (Cancer is the crab Constellation)

Trevanant (reminds him of his mom)

Darkrai (duh)

Bennet: Trainer Class- “Plucky Kid”

Torchick “Fluffy” (starter, reference to that one incorrect quote)

Pikachu “Charlie” (for reasons)

Zorua “Rascal” (he found it in the woods, it reminds him of Noir)

(Lil baby don’t have a full team yet)

Memiri: Trainer Class- “Windy Defector”

Dragapult (Can become invisible)

Gyrados (Mega Stone attached) (flying, affects the weather)

Castform (weather based again)

Staraptor (wimdy)

Crobat (evolves with friendship)

Corviknight (flying, she thinks they’re neat)

YOOOO!!! You cooked again

Memiri: @memiri-belle / @vaporeon2010317

Bennett, Ivan, Misra: @the-belle-siblings

Anne: @sagehyperfixates

#Tumblrtown Pokémon au

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dailyhonakana · 25 days

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HI admin 🎼 here for day 4!! almost forgot to post this today, but i wrote it yesterday while having thoughts about them in the kitchen. this card image isnt entirely accurate, but i couldnt find any other images of them in the kitchen together, so it works i guess! heres a drabble (which turned out slightly longer than id wanted it to!) about kanade being a lesbian

—

Tapping her pen against the table, Kanade can’t concentrate. She can’t think at all, even when she knows the rest of her group is already full of ideas for their next song. She could blame it on the sunlight streaming in through the kitchen window, which she normally doesn’t open the blinds of, but that’s not bothering her all that much, and Honami seems to like it better that way (especially with how lovely the tone of the sky’s light becomes at dusk — Honami had pointed that out to her, and she can’t believe she hadn’t noticed it before). She could blame it on the fact she’s outside at all and not holed up in her bedroom, but Honami (ever-politely) insisted she come outside to do her work, and she doesn’t mind it; she does like making Honami happy, too. Maybe she’s not meant to be writing her ideas down on a notepad? No, probably not — that was Honami’s idea as well. Kanade’s been using the pen and the notepad since Honami gave them to her two months ago. They’ve served her well so far. So has everything else Honami has suggested, or gently pushed her to do, or brought to her home with a shy smile and a reminder that if she doesn’t like it it’s okay and she can give it back, even though she never does.

She glances at the pretty set of plates, neatly laid out on the table, that she’d found in her cupboard months before; the new towel that always smells faintly like apple pie, from Honami’s home, where it was no longer in use; the open blinds in front of Honami. Kanade stares at her, and briefly, she wonders how Honami must look to someone not tragically forced to only stare at her back. Strands of light shining on her softly smiling face as she hums, chopping something, as though it’s the only thing in the world she needs to do…

Kanade blinks, and quickly looks down at her blank notepad. The stray, traitorous thought that her one distraction is right in front of her passes through her mind. She shoves it down with the nagging thought that she needs to do her work. Then, she looks back up at her housekeeper, wondering how strong her arms must be. Stronger than hers, strong enough to chop carrots, although that probably wasn’t a high bar. But they were certainly strong from years of playing the drums-

Honami suddenly turns to face her, brows furrowed in worry, and Kanade flinches a little. She doesn’t notice. “Ms. Yoisaki,” she says hurriedly, “you do like carrots, right? I’m sorry, I only just remembered to ask you if you did, I know I should have beforehand, but I’ve already chopped almost all these…”

Oddly, Kanade feels a smile trying to make its way onto her face. She tries her best to force it away. “No,” she says. “I like them.”

“Oh.” Honami smiles in relief. “I’m glad,” she says, before turning around again to chop the last carrot. Kanade rests her head on her palm and just watches her for the little time she has before she’s done cooking.

#admin 🎼#project sekai #prsk #daily honakana !!#honakana #hnkn library #mobile post editor is being an ass to me and im tired 🙏 sorry if the image is a little low quality!#+ the carrot thing wasnt a reference to the card story for she who brings me warmth! i hadnt read it until now it was unintentional i swear #i didnt get to revise this much before posting it so sorry if it sucks also!! nobody let me post drabbles on the hnkn acc ill lose it over #can you tell i talk too much. and i like hnkn too much. and i write too much 😞#Anyway i like writing mundane things and hnkn being hopelessly in love a lot lmao

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oym-a-wii-deleted-you-au · 4 months

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So how's your version on Nathan and Will?

(Sorry I couldn’t understand whether you meant the blog’s AU or the admin’s lore, plus I’ve yet to make a design for OyM!Nathan, so imma just assume the OG for this one)

Forgive me for my awful grammar, I’m not that good at English-

About Nathan:

•Basic infos, he’s 17, about Kyle’s age— just a month or two older than him.

•Of Brazilian descent but has Chilean blood in him.

•Full name is Nathaniel Frederick Bernadez.

•Has undiagnosed ADHD.

•He has an older sister Lucille (basically Luna from OnC but she’s more normal about CJ than her canon counterpart). They both fan about On Command together.

•Transgender FtM and biromantic with a preferable lean for guys. (Pronouns He/they/dusk)

•Was scared of EteleD shitless, so much that he basically cut ties with Kyle for taking it for a prank, and told everyone on school about it, which lead to them getting bullied for 9 years straight.

Kyle forgives him for it but they’ve made it clear they don’t want anything to do with him for the timebeing. The closest they get to interact is just small talk and hello’s.

Kyle did promise he’d open up to him in the future, he is just not ready to see him as of current.

•Has a crush on Will but is kinda scared to ask him out because of his own insecurities and also since Will’s already seeing someone else at the moment.

•Keeps a heart-shaped locket at all times on himself— a gift from his grandmother, before she passed.

The locket contains a photo of her holding a newborn Nathan, with Kyle’s mom beside them. That’s how he and Kyle knew each other since their birth.

•He is the man that drinks milk before cereal and then eats the cereal dry /j

•Has that friendship-rivalry-thing with Sam as a joke because they used to hate each other in the past, but now are getting along pretty well.

•Basically the cool dad of the group. Also he’s the second tallest after Dan.

About Will:

•He’s 16— only 25 days younger than Sam.

•Of Belgian origin.

•Has three siblings and a cousin— basically the same people Rudolph (OyM) is related to

•Has never been close with their parents for unknown reasons, which means he and his younger sister was practically raised by their 2 older siblings in their absence.

•Their real name is actually Rudolph Forgers, but for confidentiality reasons had to psuedofy himself, so he currently goes by William Roberts.

•Currently figuring out their gender identity but knows they’re omnisexual. (Pronouns they/ey/he/she/rex)

•Does have a big crush on Nathan, but is scared they’d get rejected so they instead tone themselves and pretend he’s crushing on Cooper.

•He used to be jealous of Sam since Middle School because she was better than him in almost everything, and even had a loving mom. It never went beyond taunting and small shoving, though.

They’ve since sorted themselves out and are cool buddies.

•Looks abrasive and brash, but is a sweetheart who’d give their life to protect anybody dear to him.

•Only a tad bit shorter than Dan and Nathan, but taller than Sam, Cooper and and Kyle combined.

•Small fact: They’ve got little fangs. It’s a birth gene.

•No kidding, this dude looks like he’d kill you, but is actually a cinnamon roll.

Wait fuck that’s the same thing as the other point help-

#wii deleted you #wii deleted you ask blog #wdy will #wdy #wdy nathan #wii deleted you fanart #fanart #wdy fanart #wii deleted you nathan #wii deleted you Will #I’m screaming wtf are these HCs why can’t I be consistent-#Apologies for rambling I’ve got plain ass headcannons lmaoo #*sob*#this took me time to draw my bad!!#yea there’s a Vibingleaf reference here #their version of WDY is so cool holy shit #answered ask

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audriandae · 8 months

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*ahem* have you heard about the life smp mafia 2: electric boogaloo lately?

let me share

it started off as a silly little mafia game. as you do. 23 players and a handful of watchers, plus our lovely admin Hydro. it was going to be just like the first one, little bit of roleplay, a lot of confusion, silly little mafia game. right? wrong.

now you see, it went sort of like this. (everything is paraphrased btw this a summary)

The players (Bdubs, BigB, Cleo, Cub, Etho, False, Gem, Grian, Impulse, Jimmy, Joel, Katherine, Lizzie, Martyn, Pearl, Pix, Ren, Sausage, Scar, Scott, Shubble, Skizz, and Tango) entered the Rift. (normal timeline, the Hermitcrafters were meant to go into Empires. they ended up in a different world. Skizz made it in through a nether portal in one of his survival worlds.) On the other side of the portal was a world familiar to some, unknown to others. The ruins of Third Life. At night.

Night 0 We arrive! in the land known as the Ruins of Third Life most people have come through the rift that crossed hermits over to empires the empires folks also entered the portal tho- there's a handful of people who've been in third life, and a handful who've never seen it before twenty three players some people remember it all some people remember nothing at all memories are a'jumbled but the majority of players remember where they came from. empires or hermitcraft. no one seems to remember both the night is silent. peaceful. relaxing

Day 1 … alliances are formed, marriages occur No one dies No one is voted out No one has any reason to vote anyone out Until the very next day …

Day 2: Dawn … MythicalSausage was doomed to fall by ℸ ̣ ⍑ᒷ リᔑ∷∷ᔑℸ ̣ ╎⍊ᒷ … . . . … > MythicalSausage was aligned with the Town … . . . … The players gathered at spawn The sun was just beginning to rise in the east On a perfectly clear day, lightning struck down from the sky … SolidarityGaming was struck by lightning … Next to the crater where Jimmy once stood, Scott grasped at his chest He fell to his knees … Smajor1995 died of heartbreak … . . . … > SolidarityGaming was aligned with the Town > Smajor1995 was aligned with the Town … . . . … The players dispersed, making graves for the fallen They grieved They tried to figure out who could’ve killed these three players houses were built, alliances strengthened ... something was found out important information was spread around … > Grian voted for Ren > Scar voted for Ren … those who went to learn straight from the source got a special crystal those who didnt just had to trust the words of the others … > Lizzie voted for Ren > Cleo voted for Ren > Pix voted for Ren > Shelby voted for Ren > False voted for Ren > Pearl voted for Ren > Martyn voted for Ren > Gem voted for Ren > Tango voted for Ren … A majority was reached. …

Day 2: Dusk … Ren stood at spawn, surrounded by other players He warned them of the others who would harm them . “You’re not safe after this. They’re still out there, the Hands.” . When given the chance, he tried to defend himself, lies spilling from sharpened teeth . “I’m just helping you." . “Ren… did you kill Sausage?” “HE WANTED TO GO HOME” “He was home” “you’re all being eaten alive by this server! The only way off is death!” … "I’M SAVING YOU ALL, CAN’T YOU SEE??!" "If death is our saving grace… do me a favour, Ren, and save yourself." … Renthedog was slain by GeminiTay … . . . … Renthedog was aligned with the Hands … [19 players remaining] …

Day 3: Dawn … The dawn is glowing a bright amber. … Ethoslab was struck by falling stalactite … InTheLittleWood didn't want to live in the same world as ᓭ𝙹∷∷| ╎ ↸𝙹リℸ ̣ ᔑᓵℸ ̣ ⚍ᔑꖎꖎ|| ꖌリ𝙹∴ ∴⍑𝙹 ╎ℸ ̣ ╎ᓭ … Dogwarts burnt down … . . . > Ethoslab was aligned with the Town > InTheLittleWood was aligned with the Town . . . … a search went out for the bodies of the fallen both were found in the ruins of Dogwarts neither of them touched by the flames … those with the crystals got a new message … Another hand had been found … > Tango voted Joel > False voted Joel > Pearl voted Joel > Scar voted Joel > Lizzie voted Joel … A game was built. Specifically, rebuilt A new model of Dare to Flare stood at spawn The walls were glass The entrance was from the top The lava was the same … Lizzie spoke to Joel, confronting him with the truth she knew He didn’t deny the statement Her vote against him had sealed his fate … “You didn't ask me.” “Asking would make it real.” … Joel said his goodbyes to Lizzie … “It's the Red Winter, Lizzie. The Red King fell, the Red Winter is upon us. I wanted to make it to the spring.” … > Shelby voted Joel > Katherine voted Joel > Grian voted Joel > Cleo voted Joel … A majority was reached. …

Day 3: Dusk … They walked arm in arm to spawn A crowd had already gathered there Something twitched in Joel when he saw the looming structure of Dare to Flare He’d lost his first life in 3rd Life to the game that was meant to be in the swamp He was marching himself to his execution – his last death– to the very same game … Joel said his goodbyes He asked that Lizzie would be taken care of He also asked that his dog Geraldine would be taken care of … the watchers are of the belief that Geraldine cannot be hurt. they would smite anyone who tried. Lizzie on the other hand… well, that’s a story for another time … “The Red King's going to rise again, and none of you know it, but- You do not stand a chance.” … “Rest assured, people don’t respawn in this world. I won't, Sausage won't, Jimmy– Jimmy won't. But the Red King fell, and he will rise again.” … Joel climbed down the ladder into the death chamber Lizzie knelt on the glass ceiling, hand reaching out for him Joel didn't move It must've hurt … Smallishbeans swam in lava … ╎ ⊣⚍ᒷᓭᓭ ∴ᒷ'ꖎꖎ リᒷ⍊ᒷ∷ ᒲᔑꖌᒷ ╎ℸ ̣ ℸ ̣ 𝙹 ℸ ̣ ⍑ᒷ ᓭ!¡∷╎リ⊣ (It is not for you) … . . . > Smallishbeans was aligned with the Hands . . . … [16 players remaining] …

~~~~~

will update with days 4-6 later on!

#lifesmpmafia #mafia peeps #mafia fellas #traffic life series #but different #lifesmpmafia game summary

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betweenlands · 1 year

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some real and epic and totally definitely canon source dude just trust me headcanons about create!viking:

is not a ghost, exactly -- he popped into existence as he currently is and is still in the process of Becoming more and more real with each machine he makes. you could almost call him a spirit of industrialization if you're feeling poetic, but he's not really that powerful... yet.

not strictly fair folk, but he's a little fae-adjacent, or maybe more demonic-adjacent in nature? he likes contracts, he likes guidelines, and he likes just kind of. pushing them. nudging them. pulling at the loose strings of loopholes just for the hell of it.

can do dark magic (well, probably magic in general, but "dark magic" here refers more to admin commands effects and costs exacted by sheer force of will instead of being codified by some sort of magic mod) but is only capable of doing so when he's in a "threshold" of some sort -- doing things at dusk and dawn tends to be the easiest way of ensuring this requirement is satisfied.

occasionally confuses himself with other (multiversal) vikings -- he isn't them, but occasionally he'll just get some of their memories and act according to that new information. other than the initial disorientation this causes, his sense of self is pretty solid!

if he had a theme song it would be Birdhouse In Your Soul by They Might Be Giants and if you asked me for a second TMBG song to associate with him but like from an outside point of view from someone meeting him i'd say that's a really specific and clearly contrived request and also it'd be Unpronounceable

in general there's just something a little off about him in a different way than dominion viking. he's very sane but you almost wish he wasn't because it makes the occasional offhand ominous comment that much more concerning. he's a creature that is just close enough to human that it's really easy to convince yourself he's just a ghost

this is a mistake that you probably will live to regret. like it or not. all vikings like their contracts and deals, y'know? :)

#vikingpilot #txt #orig #misc #yt #dominioners

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infinitethree · 2 months

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Lucid sits at the island in Day's kitchen, catching him up on the latest developments.

“Delayed messages, huh? That's…mmh. Probably the doing of the big guy.” Day's wings flick with concern, though he hasn't paused his prep for dinner at all.

When further explanation doesn't come, Lucid asks, “Big guy?” “Theo and I got some…upsetting messages. Felt different– felt powerful. I wouldn't be shocked if they’re the one messing with the timing. I'll have to tell Theo, Vio, Helio, and probably Aster about it.”

The older him seems uneasy, and, in better circumstances, Lucid might have held off on bringing this up until he wasn’t in a bad mood.

But that was important info, and he can’t really wait for the other thing.

“And…Daz showed up the other night, just before dusk.” Day's eyes flick upwards, then right back down again. “...Okay? I'm not sure why you're telling me.”

This may or may not go over like a lead balloon. “He, uh…he wants to be trained, too. In being an admin, I mean.”

The knife is set down, and Day stares at him. “He wants to be an admin?” “Weirdly enough, no. The impression I got is that he wants to understand more about himself, and…he wants to help Lee. That was the big thing he talked about; how he's good at explaining, and might be able to help where we fall short.”

Day considers that, drumming his fingers on the counter. “...I'm worried he's trying to be useful. Even with three others on the team, the Welcome Wagon is a lot to deal with. We literally can't afford for him to push himself into a mental breakdown. I'm pretty sure an angry mob would show up at our doorsteps if that happened.”

He grimaces. It's not a pretty picture, but at the same time…is it really right to refuse him?

“Would probably help to talk to him, figure out where his head's at? Because, I mean…if he is good, if he does have a knack for it…? Nobody else would really be able to do that instead of him. If Lee, for whatever reason, doesn't become an admin…at the very least, having another competent mod would be irreplaceable. Best case scenario is that both of them thrive with it, obviously. But we need to think about the scenario of Lee not being suited.”

His older self glares at him. “Are you trying to cut my son out of the picture?” Ignoring the lemongrass and pine of San's concern, Lucid scoffs, “No, fuck no! One, I'm not stupid enough to do it that blatantly. Two, I still think Lee is the stronger choice. But if he hates it, or struggles…” his words falter, and then he sighs.

“I don't want him to feel like he's trapped. I couldn't live with myself if I thought I was basically forcing the kid to take that path. I mean, fuck– it's a huge deal! He's not just choosing for himself, but choosing for your entire family. But his heart is too big for him to easily choose to walk away if there’s nobody else. And that holds true for Daz, too! Both of them will be in a better place if we at least see. I wouldn't have brought Daz into it, but he asked.”

A long, tired sigh escapes from Day. “...I hate that you're right. But Daz is just…”

Reluctantly, Lucid adds, “He thinks being an admin is why he wound up here. If his Dream needed another admin, one completely under his control…”

Day looks vaguely ill. “He was violent and possessive. It– it wasn't about hurting him, I think. When I triggered the enchantment and Daz screamed, he forgot about Theo and I. He hesitated when he saw Theo, too. I've…I'm pretty sure Daz is right. That Dream needed him for something. Nothing good, obviously– you remember his code.”

A violent shudder goes down Lucid's spine. He’s seen a lot of fucked up code, but that…?

It was a miracle he survived it being added, a second miracle that the broken program didn't kill him, and a third miracle that the T3 showed up when they did.

By all rights, Daz should be deader than dead.

He says, “But that's another reason to bring him in. If anyone understands how serious fucking around with code is, it's him. He also…deserves to actually be taught, you know? By people who want to support him, instead of just using him. If he ultimately decides it's not what he wants, that's fine. But don't we owe him the chance to find out?”

A groan escapes Day. “Fuck…fine, fine. He'll have to cut back on his Welcome Wagon hours, though. I won't set him up for failure and burnout.”

Holy fucking Prime, for a minute he didn't think Day would actually agree. The man is infamously stubborn, after all; just as much bullheadedness as any Tommy.

…Probably why he gets along so well with Theo, actually.

“Agreed,” he says, “that's one of my biggest concerns. We might have to ask Raine to keep an eye out, warn us if he seems to be getting too overwhelmed.”

Day nods. “Alright, then. At least that's settled.”

Day's wings jolt when he gets the message. Lucid looks confused, but he can wait until the entire thing goes through.

…What a weird hypothetical.

“Got a question,” he says, mulling it over.

He picks up his knife again on autopilot and resumes dicing.

Another indicator that the messages are being filtered in some way, which is…worryingly on-topic.

A coincidence? Or is someone making sure they line up…?

The main point is weird, though.

Who the fuck would be forced to answer? More worryingly– is this really a hypothetical, or a secret being kept by someone?

It's impossible to tell. Sometimes the Observers seem to delight in making them, usually Day, suffer. Other times, they seem to actually care about them.

He sighs. “Depends on who it is and why they're in that position. I don’t like the idea, but…I don't know. Maybe they'd have an upside to it.”

Day ignores Lucid's curiosity. The entire conversation has been a lot already, and adding something that could just be Observers being assholes on top of that doesn’t interest him.

Lucid's frown grows more pronounced as he hears the lengthy message.

“...That sounds wrong, but…” he sighs, and tells Day, “One of the newer Observers is adamant that born admins have instincts. There’s something weird about a 'claim', and–”

“No, no, I heard it,” Day says, unease visibly growing. “I've never noticed anything…? Can you clarify what exactly you mean, and more importantly, explain who you're talking about? Because we don’t know.”

Of course, if they mean someone inside Sanctuary, then there are only really three possible answers. Or, well, two, considering that Lucid and Day were once the same person.

It’s either them, or it’s Daz. If it’s Lucid and Day, then the Observer might be able to bring some sort of clarity to past events.

If it’s Daz, though…the situation becomes much trickier. Do they get permission from him to learn about potentially distressing parts of his past? Do they ask him to convey whatever information the Observer has– and risk him being triggered or traumatized?

Or do they just leave it, and hope that whatever insights they might have gleaned don’t matter much?

At least they have confirmation that messages are, in fact, being delayed. That’s…great. Things only ever seem to get more complicated, never easier. As if he didn’t have enough on his plate as it is, just with traveling and training two admins.

He sighs softly and tells the Observer, “And my favorite animals are cats. I technically own one, though Patches pretty much does whatever she wants. She goes between all the Summer Hills houses as she pleases, though rarely goes any farther than that.”

#chronotag #asked&answered #long post #daydreamer #luciddreamer #sanctuarytheworld #what's wild is that they have no idea that TECHNICALLY?#Daz is never NOT working #add that to the list; Daz is a workaholic

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