#creeping lichen
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and here's DHD's local group of iterators! sorted from oldest to youngest.
proper colors, names, and their pronouns/terms are below the cut because this is a lot of lil guys
and… no, i still don't have a lot of details for these guys parsed out… i'm not great at this.
#doodlie!#rain world#my ocs#vigilant grandeur#dancing upon tarns#creeping lichen#fingers in the clouds#grasping storms#nine feathers falling#deep heavenly depths#twelve rivers#from the lynx herself#october 10th#thats a lot of iterators whoooooo#and guess what#thats not even half of em :D
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#nature#british nature#forest#trees#trees and forests#tree#ivy#poison ivy#creeping plants#creeping#dense forest#dense woodland#woodland#woods#wood#moss#mossy#mossy forest#autumn#winter#december#rainy day#rainy#lichen#leaves#green leaves#green#greenery#foliage#green foliage
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forbidden fruit 2



Once upon a time there was a princess and a hunter...
snow white!reader x hunter!rafe
c/w: mentions of violence & murder, one bed (my fav cliche ever!), slightly suggestive, also if it’s not obvious this is *loosely* based on the story of snow white, 18+ mdni!
wc: 2.4k
is he warming up to her? #it’s hard to tell
series masterlist
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
“Have you ever considered a less...um, violent job?” she asks, nausea coiling in her guts at the mere thought of harming— let alone killing an innocent animal.
The inky sky has turned into an even gloomier hue, and if it wasn’t for the luster of the moonlight illuminating their journey, they wouldn’t be able to see a thing. However, it’s still a challenge for them (her) to evade the thick roots hiding underneath the spongy moss and brittle lichen— she thinks her fingers aren’t enough to count the times Rafe has had to prevent her from toppling over onto the soil with a steadying grip on her arm.
At this point, she can’t comprehend how he even knows where they’re going. She thinks that every rock and tree trunk they pass resembles the last but apparently, he’s using them to track the route to his cabin— something he tried to teach her about two hours ago, but gave up the moment her attention was captured by a tiny squirrel hurriedly scampering off into its hiding spot.
“If I’m bein’ honest, I think killin’ is the only thing m’good for at this point,” he murmurs while inspecting a fallen spruce in the middle of their path.
“I’m sure that’s not true,” she argues, rounding the obstacle while he simply steps over it.
“Tha’s cause you don’t know me. Listen, m’not…m’not a good person, I’ve done some, uh, real shitty things, alright?” he looks over to her, gemstone eyes sullen.
She wonders if the real shitty things include other people’s blood on his hands. After all, the queen wouldn’t have asked him to end her life if he’d never done it before. A shiver creeps up her spine when a vivid image of him doing something so remorseless flashes in her mind.
However, it’s soon replaced by him dropping the knife and sparing her life, even if it meant complicating his own.
“I think…a bad person wouldn’t be helping me right now,” her words are honest but he doesn’t offer her a reply, merely flits his eyes over her frame with a furrow in his brow.
They fall into a serene silence, wordlessly treading further and further into the somber forest while she keeps getting distracted by the glittering stars above them; mesmerized by the beauty of something so far away from all the cruelty on this planet.
However, when she goes on to take her next step, the ground (or what she thought was the ground) suddenly cracks underneath her, the partly frozen lid of the pond shattering with a loud crackle— only a surprised squeal leaving her throat when she loses her footing and tumbles right into the frigid water with a splash.
Turns out, it’s not just some small little puddle that’s partly covered by fallen leaves and branches, but a rather deep one; saturating her all the way up to her neck as she gasps for breath when the coldness surrounds her helpless limbs.
“Shit.”
She hears Rafe hiss before humored laughter bubbles from his chest.
“Rafe, this is not funny,” she complains with her teeth chattering when the icy liquid soaks through the fabric of her dress in an instant.
“M’sorry, you jus’ look like a wet kitten right now,” he shakes his head, chuckling as he extends an arm towards her— pulling her up and steadying her with a firm grip on her waist.
“Ow,” she cries out when she leans her weight on her left foot.
“What’s wrong?” he seems almost concerned as he scans her for any visible injuries.
“Think I sprained my ankle, it hurts,” she frowns, reaching for his forearm for balance.
“Of course you did, told you to be careful,” he clicks his tongue, slightly annoyed at the fact that she really is a helpless case. “Can you walk?”
“I don’t know…” she mumbles; face crumpling up when she tries to take a step forward.
“Right, uh, c’mere then,” he huffs out before his hands are on her waist once more and he’s lifting her into his arms like a bag of flour.
“Oh, you don’t have to—”
“There’s no way you’re walkin’ right now,” he scoffs as he shifts her into a better position before he’s continuing their trek. “What would you even do without me, hm?”
“Probably freeze to death like you said,” she pouts, eyes despondent when she leans into his supportive hold.
“Yeah.”
“M’sorry,” she sniffles, the ache in her foot combined with him being mad at her causing her eyes to burn.
“Shouldn’t be that long ’till we’re there, princess. Think you can manage not to cry before we get there?”
“I don’t know…it hurts and m’cold,” she sulks, feeling miserable, even if she knows she should be grateful she’s not dead or alone in the woods right now.
“You’re a big girl, know you can take it. You’ll feel better soon, yeah?” he attempts to provide her some sort of comfort with his limited knowledge of handling something so fragile.
She hums out something incoherent in response, weak arms wrapping around his neck as she takes in a shaky inhale— damp skin prickling under the chilly air that’s making the leafy trees sway back and forth, reminding her of shadowy ghosts.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - -
“Uh, think there should be a dry shirt for you here somewhere…” he trails off as he goes through his closet. “This is probably a little too big but should be fine, yeah?”
The cabin is small and secluded; the darkened walls blending in with the rest of the forest and concealing them from the outside, making her feel strangely secure. However, his taste in decor makes her rather uneasy as she tries to desperately focus on the crackling fireplace beginning to warm up her trembling limbs and not the assortment of dead animals and their fur or other body parts on display.
“Oh, it’s perfect, thank you,” she tears her eyes from the elk antlers presented on the wall, offering him a tense smile when she takes the cottony shirt from him; the material surprisingly soft between her fingertips.
However, before he has the chance to leave the bedroom in order to give her some privacy, she timidly speaks up again, words clumsy and hurried. “Could you— um, could you help me undress? This corset is quite impossible to take off by myself…especially now that it’s wet.”
“Uh, right, yeah,” he clears his throat, gesturing for her to turn around before he’s pulling her closer by a grip on her hips, the wooden floorboards creaking underneath their feet making up for the sudden silence.
She doesn’t know why the gesture feels almost intimate or why it makes her hold her breath when he begins to unfasten the strings holding the corset top together, but a strange shade of suspense colors the air around them nonetheless.
“A tight little thing, huh?” he rasps as his fingers deftly work on the satiny ribbons— a process that feels eternal while she tries not to pay any mind to the way her heart keeps thumping louder and louder by each passing second.
When she finally feels the silky material loosening around her middle, she has to will her erratic breathing to slow down as he unhooks the rest of the dress— the fabric forming a pearly white puddle on the floor.
Then, he’s wordlessly slipping his shirt over her head; the sleeves far too long and the hem fitting her more like a short nightgown.
“Thanks,” she swallows before she’s gingerly turning around, lacking the courage of looking him in the eye for any longer than a glance.
“Right, uh, we should get some sleep. You can take the bed ’n I’ll sleep on the floor, yeah?”
And she’s already nodding before the words register in her disconcerted brain. “Wait, no, it’s your bed. I can sleep on the floor,” she argues immediately, momentarily forgetting why she was so shy in the first place when the weight of being an inconvenience builds up on her shoulders.
“Nah, m’not gonna let a fuckin’ princess sleep on the floor. S’fine, jus’ take the bed, I don’t want it. Need to make sure we weren’t followed anyway,” he grumbles, attempting to leave the room once more.
“Rafe, you need sleep just as much as I do. It’s the middle of the night, my stepmother doesn’t even know what you did yet. She’s expecting you to return tomorrow, right?” she tries to reason, not willing to give in because letting him sleep comfortably is the least she can do to even begin returning the favor.
He lets out a weary sigh before shrugging off his jacket, far too worn out to argue. “Yeah, alright, guess you have a point.”
- - - - - - - - - - - - -
They end up sharing the bed.
And once they’ve both settled into the opposite sides, she’s far too intimidated by Rafe’s disgruntled aura to utter out anything other than a whispered goodnight before it’s quiet once more.
However, as the night stretches on, she begins to grow restless; tossing and turning on the creaky mattress and driving Rafe mad in the process.
She doesn’t mean to, the last thing she wants is to disturb his rest but her thoughts are racing and she can’t seem to close her eyes for more than a few seconds because truthfully, she feels terrible— everything familiar has been turned upside down in the span of a day and the only life she knows has practically ceased to exist. All she wants is to go home but that’s not an option anymore and it’s scary.
“Hey, uh, you good?” Rafe’s sudden drawl makes her flinch.
“Sorry, can’t sleep,” she peeps out, expression apologetic when she twists to face him, causing the sheets to rustle around them.
“Yeah, me neither since you keep movin’ around like a lunatic,” he grumbles, irritation clear in his tone.
“M’sorry. Just can’t stop thinking about everything and I just…I’ve never understood why she hates me so much,” she breathes out, features contorting into something heavy-hearted as she chews on her bottom lip.
He blinks tiredly; movements lethargic when he runs a hand through his hair.
“The queen? Well, in case you haven’t noticed, she’s, uh, not that alright in the head. M’sure you’ve done nothin’ wrong, okay?” he attempts to reassure her, albeit to no avail.
“I just— just feel like...this is all my fault, you know? And now you’re in danger too because of me,” she rambles, not able to let the thought go.
“You don’t need to worry ’bout me, princess. There’s enough people that want me dead already, what’s one more?” he lets out a dry chuckle that makes her frown.
“What do you mean?”
“Nothin’ just, uh, listen…the worst thing that’s gonna happen is that she’s gonna have me killed when I don’t return, ’n once she finds out you’re still alive, she’s gonna send her soldiers to bring her your—”
“Rafe, that’s not helping. Why would say that?” she interrupts him and apparently, he finds her scowling face to be the most hilarious thing in the world because next thing she knows he’s laughing, sleepy features scrunching up as he shakes his head.
It’s safe to say she does not understand his humor, whatsoever.
“All m’sayin’ is that we’re gonna have to find someplace good to hide.”
“We have to leave the kingdom?” she asks, worried.
“Yeah, think so,” he says, sounding far too impassive for her liking.
“But I can’t just leave, this is my home.”
“I know, but s’gonna be okay,” he murmurs, mouth stretching around a yawn.
“But what if— what if something happens?” she sounds panicked, all the worst-case scenarios bouncing around her skull because she’s never even been this far from the palace. How on earth is she meant to survive in the real world?
“I’ll keep you safe, yeah? Now can you let me sleep?” he lets out a drowsy exhale, seemingly fed up with the conversation already.
“But what if—”
“Shh, c’mere,” he hushes her before he’s tucking her flush against his chest— a heavy palm resting on her thigh to keep her from moving because he’s exhausted and more than aware that tomorrow is going to be a long day, especially with this overthinking princess who he wishes would just shut up.
It’s something he’d tell her outright if he wasn’t certain that she’d start crying all over again in response— the rest of the hike here with her sobs and hiccups thrumming in his ears more than enough for one day.
And the sudden proximity seems to work because instantly, she stops shifting around; nearly stops breathing altogether when she swallows. “What are you…”
“Just, uh, need you to calm down, yeah?” he pats at her hip before she’s clumsily humming out another apology.
And despite the slight trace of the muddy water, her hair still smells of forest berries and wildflowers, making exasperation worm its way into his veins. He doesn’t understand why she’s trusting her life in his hands so thoughtlessly; it’s like she has no sense of self-preservation with the way she’s blindly following him anywhere, when not even a day ago he attempted to murder her.
He wonders if she’s always been like this; naive and dumb, always seeing the good in people, even when there isn’t any. All it took was a few remotely sweet words and she’s already allowing him to hold her this close— a foolish deer resting peacefully next to a starving wolf and expecting not to get hurt.
Momentarily, he gets the urge to just finish the job right now, wrap his arm around her throat until the flame burns out, leaving her eyes dull, lifeless. After all, it would make his life considerably easier. He can almost feel it— the moment her heart comes to a halt in her ribcage as she turns into nothing more than flesh and bones, freeing him from this burden.
And at the end of the day, it’s part of his nature to kill for his own benefit, muscles nearly stinging with the self-serving temptation because that’s what he’s always been; selfish.
“Rafe, that hurts,” her voice is small, nervous, nonetheless forcing him to resurface to the current; his rough fingertips mindlessly sinking into the bare surface of her thigh, harsh enough to leave a bruise.
Her entire form is tense, breathing shallow and limbs unmoving, resembling a rabbit rigid with fear, only amplifying this ever-growing itch under his skin.
He clears his throat.
“Sorry,” a mutter through his teeth before she can finally feel the pressure dissipating— his thumb smoothing over the sore patch while he tries to decide what the fuck he should do with her.
#hunter!rafe#snow white!reader#rafe cameron#rafe cameron imagine#rafe outer banks#rafe x reader#rafe cameron x reader#outerbanks rafe#rafe obx#rafe imagine#obx fanfiction#rafe smut#obx#outerbanks#rafe fanfiction#rafe cameron au#rafe cameron x female reader#rafe cameron fanfic#rafe cameron outer banks#obx rafe cameron#rafe fic#rafe cameron x y/n#rafe cameron fanfiction#rafe cameron fic#rafe cameron series#snow white#snow white retelling
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”A carcass. Decaying, and grey. The guts of the creature spilled across the landscape, rust eating at the metal pipes, and thickets of grass growing thick between shards of fallen debris. It sat at the centre of a great crater, the impact shifting the earth itself to a great ring of stone. Like a ripple in a pool of water set forever in unmoving rock. At the edge, a stranger looked outwards. Past the crash site, to the lush valley, the dense forests. Deep, rich lakes reflecting the sun, and stoic mountains looming in the distance. They wore a purple robe, tattered and old, and underneath the faded garb the gentle mechanics of their body ticked and whirred. Old machinery, forgotten machinery. The gentle beat of their processor in their chest was the only sound in the still land. Like a heartbeat - slow, steady, each pump pushed hot blood through the intricate web of piping that ran through their system. They shifted slightly, the sound of metal on metal could be heard, of glass vials clinking together from within their robe, and pistons compressing and extending. Even the subtlest of movements made a noise, unseen gears clicking and servos firing within their cold, steel bones, their metal fingers resting so softly in the grass. They looked outwards, and from under their weathered mask, a shaky sigh left the stranger. Such a human expression, they thought. How long had they been sitting there? They looked down to one of their legs, stretched out in front of them. Dandelions knitted themselves in between the intricacies of the sharp metallic shape, and tall grass sprouted from the motionless knee joint. A pale fungus, thin, with button-like caps, poked out of an open compartment. Within, a set of salvo missiles slept, a gentle blanket of spores dusting the warheads and lichen creeping over their ancient casings. Above them, it began to rain. The stranger looked up at the sky as the flecks of rain fell. Fat beads of water trailed down their steel mask, each lit with the brilliant blue light that leaked from the mask's visor and following the sharp geometry down to its chin, where they fell to the eager grass below. With a careful movement of their arm, the figure moved back their cloak to reveal something. Underneath the purple fabric, nestled within the robe, was another machine. The lifeless body of another robot. It was far smaller than the stranger. It had a small, spherical torso, two arms, and two boot-like legs. But, most notably, was its head - it looked just like a flower pot. Within the pot was neatly packed soil, and, softly, the rain fell on the coarse layer of dirt. The two sat, and the rain fell. The clouds churned above them, writhing, worming through the sky. Always moving, dancing, an endless parade across the vast stretch of sky. Far away, an eye opens. A wet, chesty cough, blood flecked phlegm working its way through a strained throat. The same rain falls on its hot, raw skin, and strained eyes gaze at the clouds. Over the distant canopy of trees, the sun dipped below the horizon. Night fell on the quiet carcass, and the stranger enjoyed this moment of silence. Who knows how long this peace might last?”
Watch the trailer for Last Sprout: A Seedling of Hope at this link! 🌱
You can support me on Patreon for £1 and see concept art, assets, and snippets of story for the game!
#🌱#Game#Game dev#Art#game design#indie game#concept art#indie animation#art#artwork#animation#animated#animators on tumblr#artists on tumblr#illustrators on tumblr#digital illustration#illustration#digital painting#digital art#digital#fantasy#fantasy art#fantasy writing#pretty#aesthetic#Last sprout
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Day 2: Dark Spring
Lucien hadn't expected the border of the Spring Court to resist him. The once-welcoming threshold now felt like pushing through a wall of thorns, though nothing visible blocked his path. The magic tasted different, wild and untamed, carrying a cloying scent of roses. He had seen the way the vegetation seemed to extend beyond where the Spring Court's boundaries should be, pushing into Summer.
The twilight forest that greeted him bore little resemblance to the Spring Court he remembered. Shadows stretched long and blue beneath trees that had grown too tall, too twisted. Flowers bloomed in the darkness— orchids with luminous petals, strange fungi that pulsed with a heartbeat rhythm. The air itself seemed heavier, laden with spores and magic that clung to his skin and clothing. Spider silk hung in delicate curtains between branches, catching what little light filtered through the canopy and splitting it into prismatic webs.
Ten years since anyone had seen Tamlin. Ten years since Lucien had last set foot in what had once been home. But Lucien knew that he needed to be the one to come and at least try to find out what was happening, to warn Tamlin.
The familiar rolling hills appeared ahead, but the vibrant colors he remembered had faded to muted tones. Where endless fields of flowers once bloomed, tall grasses now swayed beneath a sky heavy with clouds that never seemed to break. The eternal springtime had darkened into something more like dusk on the edge of a storm.
His horse refused to continue when they reached the deeper forest. Lucien dismounted, tethered the nervous animal to a tree, and continued on foot. The path to the manor house, once clear and welcoming, had disappeared beneath creeping vines and twisted roots that seemed to shift when he wasn't looking directly at them.
The first sign of inhabitants came in the form of eyes watching from the underbrush—not animal, not quite fae. Lucien caught glimpses of creatures that resembled the lesser fae who had once served the court, but… changed. Their limbs were longer, their movements jerky and unpredictable, bark seemed to wrap around some while others appeared more animalistic. They tracked his progress without approaching.
"Hello?" Lucien called. "I'm looking for the High Lord."
Laughter answered him—high and unnatural, echoing from multiple directions.
"The High Lord hunts," a voice finally responded, though Lucien couldn't locate its source. "Deep in the dark. Deep in the green."
"I need to see him," Lucien said firmly. "I'm a friend."
More laughter, then silence.
When there seemed to be no further answers, he continued on. When the manor came into view, Lucien stopped in his tracks. The once-proud building stood partially reclaimed by nature. Vines thicker than his arm wrapped around pillars and balconies and the white stone had darkened with moss and lichen. Several wings had collapsed entirely, leaving gaping wounds in the structure.
A massive oak tree had grown through what had once been the great hall, its branches extending through broken windows and shattered rooftops. Somehow, impossibly, it looked centuries old.
"Tamlin?" he called, stepping through what remained of the front entrance.
Inside, roots cracked through marble floors, and the grand staircase had collapsed. Water trickled somewhere in the darkness. Lucien created a ball of light with a flick of his fingers, illuminating the destruction around him.
Something moved in the shadows—large, four-legged, golden. Lucien's breath caught.
"Tamlin. It's me."
The beast emerged fully into the light and Lucien barely recognized his old friend. The creature before him walked on all fours, but its proportions were wrong; legs too long, shoulders hunched unnaturally. The golden fur was patched with darker growths that resembled moss or lichen. It’s antlers were larger than he remembered and much more twisted and branching like the oak outside, draped with thorn covered vines.
The beast's eyes were still green like Tamlin's, but now wilder, with vertical pupils that dilated in the magical light. They stared at each other for a long moment before Lucien spoke up.
"Can you change? We need to talk," Lucien said quietly.
The beast stared at him, then padded toward a section of the hall where the ceiling had collapsed, allowing some dim light to filter through. It lay down, massive head on enormous paws, and closed its eyes.
For a long time nothing happened. Lucien assumed that he was being ignored when, slowly, the beast's form began to change and it was nothing like Lucien remembered. The process was agonizing to watch—bones shifting and contorting with audible cracks, fur receding in patches, the antlers slowly shrinking but not disappearing entirely. Throughout it all was the high pitched whine of an animal in pain.
When it was done, a male figure knelt where the beast had been, shaking and breathing heavily and covered in sweat.
He was undeniably Tamlin, but changed. Antlers still curved from his head, and patches of golden fur remained on his forearms and chest. His fingers seemed to have extra joints and ended in claws and, when he finally looked up from behind a curtain of tangled matted hair, his eyes remained slitted like a cat’s.
"Lucien," he said, voice rough from disuse. "Why are you here?"
"Ten years without a word," Lucien replied as he approached cautiously and gestured around them. "What happened to you? To this place?"
Tamlin struggled to his feet, moving as if two legs felt wrong. "Spring changed. I changed with it." He walked to what had once been a sitting room, now open to the elements.
"Changed into what?" Lucien followed.
"Whatever it needed to be." Tamlin sank into a moss-covered chair. "No court. No subjects. No purpose. We found a new one."
"We?"
"Spring and I." Tamlin gestured vaguely. "Some stayed. They're becoming something else now."
Lucien sat across from him, on what might once have been a chaise lounge, heart pounding in his chest at what he was hearing. "This isn't right, Tam, this isn't healthy."
"Feels right to me." Tamlin's voice was casual, conversational, as though discussing the weather rather than the unprecedented transformation of the Spring Court into something new. "Haven't had to deal with politics or betrayal in years. Haven't had to wear a mask."
"You're becoming feral,” Lucien snapped.
"I'm becoming real." Tamlin stretched, joints popping unnaturally. "The beast was always there. Now it's just... more.”
Lucien's stomach twisted with unease. He had always known there was a darkness in Tamlin, a shadow that lurked beneath the surface. But now, that shadow seemed to be consuming him, twisting him into something unrecognizable.
A small creature scuttled across the floor between them, something that might once have been a household faerie, now resembling a cross between lizard and plant.
"Your power is warping everything around you," Lucien, trying and failing to keep the horror out of his voice.
"Not warping. Freeing." Tamlin's smile revealed too-sharp teeth. "Why'd you really come back, Lucien, really? Rhysand send you to check if I was finally dead?"
"I came on my own." Lucien leaned forward, choosing his words carefully, "I was worried about you."
"Worried," Tamlin repeated, tasting the word. "Don't be. I'm exactly what I should be."
Lucien's chest tightened. This wasn't the Tamlin he remembered—the proud High Lord who had once saved his life, who had given him sanctuary when he had nowhere else to go. This was something else entirely. A creature caught between worlds, seemingly content to let his court rot around him.
"And what's that?" he asked, trying to keep his voice steady.
"Wild." Tamlin's gaze drifted to the broken ceiling. "Spring needs wild now."
"You can't just walk away from everything! " Lucien said, unable to keep the edge from his voice. Anger and grief tangled inside him.
"Watch me." Tamlin's laugh was sharp. "Stay tonight. See what Spring is becoming. Then go back to your pretty court and forget this place exists."
"I’m not leaving you like this," Lucien’s eyes flashed, the words tumbling out before he could consider them.
Tamlin shrugged as if it didn't matter to him what Lucien decided and then turned away. Before he disappeared into the shadows, his form changed, dropping to all fours in a motion that was much more natural and fluid that the shift to two legs had been.
Outside, something howled, not Tamlin, but perhaps one of the changed denizens. The sound was echoed by others, a chorus of voices neither animal nor fae. Lucien stared out at the wild court, feeling almost sick with the worry knotting his stomach. He had two days, three at most, before the High Lords convened. Before decisions would be made about Spring's fate.
About Tamlin's fate.
….
And here is day 2 for @tamlinweek!! Each day will swap between Tamlin and Lucien’s perspectives. Art is a collab by @winged-freaksometimes! Please make sure to show them all the love!
Honestly, I love the entire concept of Dark Spring. There are very few fae in the ACOTAR series that act like actual fae and I wanted to write something where they get a little dark and a little weird.
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Love You For Infinity
Elrond x adopted daughter reader
summary: you’ve been in a depressive episode for weeks, and your thoughts turn dark - luckily, elrond is there to help guide you
warnings: depression, self harm thoughts, mention of suicide, VERY bad mental health
word count: 3.5k
requests: It’s taken me a year to finish this oneshot due to my mental health. It was a bit difficult to write for reasons I won’t get into, so i apologize for the long wait. If you can relate to the reader in this fic at all, please know that you are not alone, and you are loved <3
IF YOU ARE STRUGGLING WITH THOUGHTS OF SUICIDE AND ARE IN NEED OF HELP PLEASE REACH OUT TO A PROFESSIONAL OR A HOTLINE
DO NOT REPOST ANYWHERE
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You wandered through the gardens, feeling the warm sunlight soak into your skin. It was a beautiful day – the flowers were in full bloom, their scents filling the spring air, countless colours surrounding you as you made your way down the cobblestone path. The aged moss and lichen draped the marble statues and carvings along the gardens, an ancient beauty contrasted with the new growth. But you could not bring yourself to enjoy the scenery, nor stop to smell the flowers you loved so dearly. For all their vibrance, they seemed dull, muted, despite their bright colours. The glowing sunlight that so many other elves basked in felt too hot, too invasive. The sweet spring scents were choking you, stifling their air in your lungs as you tried to breathe.
You had once loved wandering through the gardens of Imladris. Now you felt nothing but indifference, the guilt of losing such a joyous area of your life gnawing at your gut. You used to spend hours in these gardens, soaking in the scenery and revelling in the nature around you, content to simply sit on one of the benches or lay down in the grass and let the sounds and scents of the environment wash over your mind.
Now, you could barely stand to walk through the familiar path. Still, it was an improvement, considering it had taken all of your strength to get out of bed this morning. The task alone was daunting, yet you felt no sense of accomplishment. Most days had been like this lately – sleepless nights tossing and turning, yet no motivation to get out of bed when the sun rose, no drive to get yourself ready for the day. Instead you would simply lay there, sheltered in the confines of your room, closing off the rest of the world.
You hated every minute of it. You hated the fact that you felt so useless, the weight of simply getting up being too much to bear. You loathed that no matter how hard you tried, you could not bring yourself to join your friends for breakfast or pick up a good book and read. You hated feeling so weak, so empty – your brain screamed at you to stop wasting away, to get up and do something, anything. But you just could not.
Hours of pondering and crying into your pillow was not enough to figure out why you felt this way. Nothing bad had happened, no traumatic event to set off this episode of pain and depression that felt neverending. You were simply an elf from the Woodland Realm, who had been sent to and raised in Rivendell after the darkness began to creep into what was once Greenwood the Great. You worked as a scholar in the libraries of Imladris, safe within the House of Elrond. You had not seen some violent war, as some of your peers had, nor had you known anyone close to you who died or suffered tragically. Your life was pretty much perfect, your days amounting to reading, art, and simply wandering the grounds – none of which warranting the pain which now seemed to have spread through your entire chest, threatening to cave it in and shatter every piece of you.
You brushed my finger against a rose carelessly, letting your hand wander down from the soft petals to the thorny stalk. You felt a sting of pain, a thorn snagging your pointer finger. Instead of wiping away the blood, you just stood there and dragged your finger further down the thorn, creating a longer red line, content to let droplets of blood spill onto the marble pavement, deep red contrasting with the white floors. At least I could still feel something, you thought bitterly, relishing in the pain slightly. At least you had not gone completely numb.
“My Lady?”
You turned at the sound of a familiar voice. Lord Elrond was standing a few feet behind you, clad in his regal silver robes. He wore no crown, yet still possessed that regal authority that he was so renowned for. You felt your gut twist as you saw the concern flood over his face as you turned your body to face him.
You could see in his eyes he knew something was wrong, but your body gave you away entirely. You knew your eyes looked hollow, framed by dark circles that sucked the life out of your face. Your dress was slightly too big, evidence of the weight you had lost in the past few weeks as you isolated yourself in your room. A sick part of you delighted in it, always having been insecure of your size. Your hair which was usually well-kept and styled hung loosely around your face, knotted and frizzy in some parts as it cascaded down your back.
To cover your shame, you bowed your head in formality. “My Lord Elrond.” You managed to say, staring at the pavement as you inclined your head, eager to get away from his piercing gaze.
Elrond sighed, visibly attempting to soften his gaze. “My dear, must I remind you again that you may simply call me Elrond?”
“My apologies, my Lord.” You mumbled, straightening up and finally meeting his gaze. He did not correct you. Instead, his eyes travelled down to your hand and the blood that still dripped from it.
“You are hurt.” Elrond stated, his eyebrows furrowing. He stepped forward, a gentle hand reaching out as if to assess the wound, but you found yourself stepping back.
“I am alright,” you said quickly, moving your hand back to your side. The blood smeared your midnight-blue robes, but you did not care. “I simply snagged my finger on a thorn. A careless mistake, that’s all.”
Elrond’s eyebrow raised, and dread filled your stomach as you knew he didn’t believe a word you said, or at least he did not buy the too-casual excuse you pulled out of your ass. Your relationship with Elrond had always been relatively close – as close as one can have with an elven Lord of Imladris. When you had arrived in Rivendell as a child, Elrond had ensured you were well cared for. He became involved in your life – often bringing you gifts and trinkets, showing you around the place. Reading to you evolved into him teaching you how to read, sitting at the table with you and his children at dinner. Elrond had taken a special interest in you, always finding a way to make sure you had everything you needed beyond what a normal elven lord would do for their people. Sometimes you wondered if this was due to him losing Celebrían right before you arrived, as if his protective instincts had doubled with wife’s departure to the Undying Lands. He could not spare her from torment, but he could do his best to make sure you never met the same fate. Things changed a bit as you grew older – not wanting to impose on the family he already had before you, you found yourself growing a bit distant. You had no desire to be a burden to him, you were not his blood nor did he raise you, but he still played a paternal role in your life. Even as you began to make a life for yourself in Rivendell, that kindness and care Elrond had shown you as a child prevailed. You and him still had walks in the garden, he still ordered books from other kingdoms he thought may interest you. It was complicated, as he was not your father per say, but he was all you had, and he was important to you. But at the same time, he was still the Lord of the town you had the privilege of residing in and living under.
Guilt clawed away at your gut as you realised how even more distant you had become in these past few weeks. You could not recall the last time you had a conversation with Elrond or sat down for dinner with him. Surely, he noticed your absence but did not want to intrude, trusting you to make your own choices and open up if you were ready.
But you were too far gone for that approach, and deep down you knew that he knew it too.
“That is more than a simple thorn prick, little one,” Elrond said, the concern on his face seeping into his voice. “If you will not tell me what happened, at least let me take care of it for you.”
You opened your mouth to protest, but quickly shut up. You knew from the look in his eyes he was not going to let this go. You gulped down your nausea that was produced by your stomach, which churned knowing where this conversation was headed.
Arwen had made attempts to get you out of your room lately, none successfully executed. You cried even harder as she softly knocked at your door, her gentle voice ushering you to come out and join her for breakfast. You knew it broke her heart when you did not answer, unable to even crawl out of bed and unlock the door. She and her father knew something was wrong but had waited for you to come forward to them about it.
You guess they had waited long enough.
With your non-bloody hand, you accepted Elrond’s outstretched arm and began to walk with him towards his quarters. He did not hold you close to him as he usually did, as if he was afraid getting too close would scare you off. Instead, you walked in silence, which you appreciated. Other elves bowed their heads at him as you passed, but you kept your eyes to the ground.
Five minutes later, Elrond shut the door to his room, grabbing some herbs, water, and bandages to tend to your wound. The silence prevailed, and you sat down on the bed and let him take your hand. He began wiping the blood off, waiting a few seconds before saying softly, “I am glad to see you in the gardens again. It has been a few weeks since I last recall you spending time there.”
You sat quietly, torn. Part of you wanted to break down in ugly sobs and explain the struggles of the past few weeks, to open the floodgates and let go of every horrible and depressing thing you had felt and thought you had over the last while. But the other part of you screamed at yourself to suppress it, to make yourself go numb, a practice you now excelled at. Deep down you knew you wouldn’t have to make that choice – Elrond could see right through you. You knew that one look into those kind eyes and you would crumble, so you looked at the floor.
“Arwen has not seen you lately either,” Elrond continued gently, beginning to wrap up your hand in soft bandages. “Neither have I, in fact. Are you sick, my dear?”
“I…” Your throat went dry as you tried to speak. Say something, come on, say anything, you screamed at yourself. But no words came out.
After tying the final knot, Elrond looked up. “I can tell that you are unwell. I understand that you are grown now, but you are still my little one, and I wish you would know that you can always turn to me in time of need.”
At his comforting voice, you involuntarily looked up and met his gaze. Seeing those kind, concerned eyes that had watched over you all of these years opened that gate inside of you that you had tried desperately to keep sealed for so long. Like a dam bursting, tears spilled down your cheeks and your body shook with sobs. The world around you stopped turning, leaving you enveloped in a flood of your own pain. Your chest hurt, feeling as if it was filled with cement. You felt lightheaded, gasping for air between sobs.
You couldn’t take it anymore. You couldn’t keep living like this. You were in so much pain you couldn’t handle it. You weren’t strong enough, it was going to kill you. Everything you felt raging inside of you was all-consuming, your own thoughts so loud and relentless, screaming at you all day and night to the point where you figured only death would release you from them. You were stuck in your own head, and the fight to swim to the surface was too exhausting to bear.
You felt movement, and the space on the bed beside you shifted as Elrond sat down. He wrapped one arm around you, cradling your head with the other and bringing you close to him. “It’s ok,” He murmured, stroking your hair and holding you as you sobbed uncontrollably. “It’s ok, little one. Let it all out.”
And so you did. You let yourself feel everything – the guilt of neglecting your job, the pain in seeing your friends give up their attempts to see you, the hateful thoughts about yourself that clouded your mind telling you that you were deserving of nothing good, all of it. You clung onto Elrond as you cried, feeling so overwhelmed that you may implode. “I can’t… I can’t, I can’t,” You managed to choke out between sobs. “It hurts so much, please make it stop, please make it stop, Ada.”
Ada.
You had never called Elrond ‘father’ before, always using his name or title. You did not want those around you to think you were getting special treatment, or to seem like you were expecting it. Before you could gather your wits and apologise, you felt him hold you tighter.
“It’s ok,” He repeated. “You are safe. You are strong. You can overcome this, but not if it is burning up inside of you. Let it all out, my dear.”
You nodded into his chest, your relentless chants of I can’t fading out as you slowly regained control over your breathing. The raging sea that was storming inside of you calmed down to a simple rocky surface, the weight of everything lifting off of your chest slightly. You stayed there for a few minutes, letting Elrond hold you close as you calmed down.
He had done so much for you, more than you could ever hope to repay him for. Yet here you were, crying like a child despite the perfect, safe life he had worked so hard to provide you with. What a fucking ungrateful brat, you thought to yourself bitterly, allowing yourself a cruel sob.
You managed to peel yourself away from Elrond, sitting upright. You put your head in your hands, wiping away your tears as you took a shaky breath. His hand remained over your shoulder, rubbing in comforting circles. “I am sorry.” He murmured.
You laughed half-heartedly. “What are you sorry for? I’m the one who should be sorry, not you.”
“You have nothing to apologise for,” Elrond said softly, but firmly. “I am sorry because I should have noticed this sooner. I should have noticed that you were hurting and found a way to help before you suffered this much. I failed you.”
You pried your head from your hands and turned to face him, and your heart nearly broke. The noble elven lord looked so sad, so guilt-ridden at the sight before him. An elf who had seen thousands of years of suffering, who had lived through the most brutal wars in Arda’s history, looked more defeated than ever as he looked at you. That guilt churned inside you again as you realised you had caused this. “You have far from failed me, Elrond.” You said quietly. “You have given me everything, more than I could ever ask for. I have no reason to be this sad or act this way.”
Elrond cocked his head, brushing the hair out of your face. “Is that what you truly think?” He asked gently. “That you need a reason to be sad?”
“Uh…yes?” You said, puzzled. “There is nothing in my life that is going wrong, or even remotely horrible. I have not been traumatised by battle or had to run from a sword. My village was never raided by orcs, I have never known hunger nor harsh winters. I truly have nothing to be sad about.”
Elrond paused for a minute, contemplating your words. “Just because you have not fought in war does not mean you have not suffered,” He said. “You are a young elf; you are allowed to feel whatever your heart feels. Circumstance does not spare you from pain or suffering. Things like this are not always the result of war or hardship. Sometimes we hurt for no reason, and no amount of explanation will reassure us nor will it change what we feel in our hearts.”
You sighed, cheeks damp. “It doesn’t make me feel any less ungrateful. I’ve never even been courted. Nobody has ever looked at me like that. All of my friends have been shown that type of affection, except me. I don’t understand what makes them worthy of it and not me.”
“You are young, little one. You have centuries ahead of you to find whatever love you may wish. You’ve only met a fraction of the people who will come to love you. Give yourself time, allow yourself to be comfortable in your own skin. I know it is easier said than done. If you cannot be at peace with yourself, no soul in this world can fill that void for you.”
You swallowed thickly. He was right – you felt like a stranger in your own body. Like the bones and flesh beneath your skin belonged to another. But sitting here with the elf who had been a pillar in your life for as long as you remembered, you began to feel more at ease within yourself. You sniffled, wiping your tears from your face with the back of your hand. Elrond reached into his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief, dabbing at your cheeks gently.
“Someday,” he said softly. “Someone will love you exactly how you deserve to be loved. I did not meet my wife until I was 1759, and even then, I loved her in secret for many a century.”
Arwen had told you stories of her mother. It always brought a deep sadness to her eyes as she remembered her mother’s grim departure to the Undying Lands. You knew the tale all too well, for talk of the tragedy Elrond had been faced with travelled all the way to the Woodland realm. When you had first arrived in Rivendell, the wound Celebrían’s departure had cut him deep. It took years of you getting to know him before his eyes went from hollow to bright. One day, you had snuck a book from the library on the elves of the First Age. It was then when you stumbled across Elrond’s story, a sad pain in your heart as you read about him and his brother’s early years during the wars and the period that followed.
“I’m sorry,” you said after a few moments. “About your wife. And everything that has happened to you.” You weren’t sure what had prompted you to say that, for you blurted out the words before you could stop and think. Elrond had never discussed his past with you besides the occasional story told in the grand scheme of sharing wisdom and life lessons.
But there was no defensiveness, for Elrond simply put a hand on your shoulder. “Thank you,” was all he said.
The two of you sat in silence for a few minutes, the only sound being your hitched breath as you calmed your breathing down. A slight weight had been lifted off your shoulders, lessening the crushing feeling in your chest. For weeks, you had feared Elrond finding out about your depressive episode and thinking less of you for it. Deep down, you knew that was illogical, but the thought had haunted you nonetheless.
“I want to help you, my dear,” Elrond said, grabbing your hands and looking at you with all the love and care a father would. “But only if you will have it. If you do not wish for my interference, I understand and will be there if you need me. But I urge you not to walk this path alone.”
“I don’t know if there’s anything you can do,” you said quietly.
“I cannot change what you feel in your heart and soul. But there are little changes, perhaps, we can make to get you on the right path. If you would like, I shall have our breakfasts delivered to your room, and I may join you for breakfast and then we can go on a walk. It does not have to be long, nor strenuous. Simply something to get you up and moving at the beginning of the day. Once you climb that step, you may find things become much easier.”
Emotion clogged your throat. “You would do that for me?”
Elrond gave you a gentle smile. “For you, anything. I may not have fathered you, but you are my family. And I will move heaven and earth just to make you closer to the stars if that’s what would make you happy.”
#elrond#elrond x reader#elrond peredhel#the silmarillion x reader#the silmarillion fic#lord of the rings#lotr#the hobbit#middle earth#rings of power#jrr tolkien#tolkien#rivendell#imladris#celebrian#lotr fluff
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The Creaking (Minecraft) ID Pack
[PT: The Creaking (Minecraft) ID Pack].
[ID: A purple thin line divider shaded at the bottom. End ID].
Names
[PT: Names].
Arbor, Bark, Blight, Bloom, Bramble, Crowley, Dread, Drift, Duskwood, Ebon, Elowen, Fern, Fog, Glade, Gloom, Grimwood, Grove, Hallow, Hollow, Lament, Lichen, Mirk, Morgana, Moss, Murk, Pine, Raven, Root, Ruin, Shade, Shadow, Silence, Somber, Sylvan, Tempest, Thistle, Thorn, Vine, Whisper, Willow, Wisp, Wood, Wraith, Wren
Pronouns
[PT: Pronouns].
Bark / Bar / Barks, Creak / Creaks / Creaks, Cree / Creep / Creeps, Da / Dar / Dark, De / Dec / Decay, Ga / Gar / Garden, Gloom / Glooms / Glooms, Lurk / Lurks / Lurks, Mo / Moss / Moss, Ni / Nigh / Night, Pale / Pales / Pales, Ro / Rot / Rots, Sta / Stals / Stalk, Still / Stills / Stills, Timb / Ber / Bers [Timber], Twi / Twig / Twigs, Wood / Woods / Woods
Titles
[PT: Titles].
[Pronoun] Who Lurks Unseen, [Pronoun] Who Moves When Not Watched, The Echo Crackling in the Darkness, The Entity of the Pale Woods, The Haunting Presence, The Mystery of the Pale Garden, The One Bound to the Heart, The One Guarding the Creaking Heart, The One Who Spawns at Night, The Silent Stalker, The Wraith of the Woods
[ID: A purple thin line divider shaded at the bottom, End ID].
Requested by anon!
Also tagging: @id-pack-archive
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Anywhere You Go | Read on Ao3
My piece for the @boatemvillagezine! The zine turned out spectacular, be sure to give it a read <3
—☾—
The sun is shining, the birds are singing, and the air is fresh in Pearl’s lungs as she slides open the van door and steps out into the small parking lot, gravel crunching beneath her boots. Turning around, she offers a hand to Mumbo, who still looks queasy from the bout of carsickness that’d struck him earlier on the road.
“Grian is trying to kill me personally, I think,” Mumbo mutters, holding Pearl’s arm for stability.
“If I wanted you dead, I would’ve been rid of you by now,” Grian comes around the front of the van saying, offering Mumbo a sympathetic pat on the shoulder.
Mumbo harrumphs, “You took that last turn faster than you had to and you know it. Why did we let you drive, anyway?”
“I’m a perfectly adequate driver, I’ll have you know! In my defense, I did not see that bend coming up—”
Scar climbs out of the backseat next, adjusting the tiny version of his scarlet top hat he’d insisted on bringing along, though his Swaggon attire had been swapped out for a more practical shirt and shorts combo of the same color scheme. Pearl admires the dedication to the theme, really.
Hooking an arm around Grian’s shoulders, Scar says, “Now, now, gentleman! Let the worries of our travels fall away as you admire the magnificent view all around us.”
Still sitting in the passenger seat, maps spilling out upon the dashboard in front of him, Impulse snorts, “You make it sound like you’re trying to sell them the forest, Scar.”
“Well, you know what they say, there’s profit to be had everywhere you look!” Scar hums, getting that all-too-familiar gleam in his eye.
“As your CEO, I appreciate the mindset, but you can’t sell us public land,” Mumbo points out with a laugh, straightening up looking significantly less ill. Scar shrugs, a cheeky smile on his face.
Adjusting the bandanna she’d tied around her braided hair, Pearl bounces on her feet. “Profits aside, we’re finally here! Let’s get going already!”
Earlier in the week, Impulse had proposed an overnight hiking trip, following a trail through the scenic foothills of the closest real mountain range, ending the day out by camping around the lake found in one of the higher-up valleys, to give the Boatem crew a break from building. The idea was met with enthusiasm, and just a couple days later, Pearl found herself crammed between Scar and everyone’s luggage in the backseat of Mumbo’s van as Grian drove and Impulse directed, Mumbo clutching the front of his pineapple-patterned shirt next to Scar for dear life.
After hours being stuck in the same uncomfortable position, Pearl’s more than ready to start up the trail. The others are quick to agree, and after packs are assembled, shoelaces are tied, and the van is locked, they’re off.
The woods feel like an entirely different world than the lot they parked in. Tall, thin trees with fluffy foliage form a lush canopy high above Pearl’s head, and between the trunks the ground is alive with brush, pocket-marked with fallen logs and framed by the soft brown pine needles of the forest floor. Lichen creeps up the boulders scattered throughout, and steep rock faces contrast beautifully with the greens of the plant life.
Mumbo’s the first to break the hush that had fallen over the group. “Wow,” he breathes, “just, wow.”
Impulse nudges Mumbo and points to a tree with a thicker trunk and hole in the center that, paired with the bits of bark surrounding it, almost resembles a mouth of sharp teeth. “Hey, look, it’s Treesa!”
Following his gaze, Mumbo laughs. “I see it! Could be Treesa’s cousin, maybe—it doesn’t quite have her eyes.”
“I knew it was going to be pretty, but I didn’t expect it to be this amazing! Would you just look at the shape of those trees!” Scar walks in front of the group and waves vaguely to the left, grinning.
“Uh, Scar, we’re surrounded by trees,” Grian teases in a deadpan.
“And they’re all beautiful,” Scar agrees, stretching out the syllables of “beautiful” with a studious nod.
“Oh, I completely get you. Look at this terrain! I’m getting so much inspiration for my mountain already.” Pearl wishes she’d brought her sketchbook with her. Such beautiful shapes! She’s determined to commit everything to memory to recount on paper later.
Scar and Pearl fall into step together as they walk, the path beneath their feet nothing more than a line of dirt trodden enough to be distinguishable from the undergrowth, laughter from Grian, Mumbo, and Impulse echoing all around them. Sunlight filters through the trees, dappling against the gorgeous landscape, and the conversation between Pearl and Scar is nothing short of gushing about every detail.
—☾—
The first three forks in the trail are marked with signs, and it’s easy to follow the arrow pointing towards the lake. The forth fork’s signpost, however, must’ve succumbed to the elements at some point, and now lays half buried in the mud puddle gathered on the side of the path.
“I can’t make out what any of it says, can anyone else?” Grian squints at the muddied sign, whose lettering has weathered away almost completely. After a chorus of no’s in response, he asks, “Impulse, would you be able to find the route on the map?”
“I sure can!” Impulse sticks a hand in his shorts pocket, only to frown. Checking the other pockets, his expression grows more worried, until he pulls off his backpack to root around its compartments. “I must have it here somewhere.”
Remembering the stack of maps piled on the dashboard of the van, Pearl sucks in a breath through her teeth and asks, “Did you actually grab it from the car? Before we left?”
Freezing mid-action, Impulse’s eyes go wide. “Now that you mention it… no, I didn’t. Do we go back for it?”
Grian shakes his head. “We’ve already been hiking for hours. If we go back now we’ll be trying to find the campsite in the dark. Should we just… follow the path and hope for the best?”
“It’s a terrible idea, but it might be our best option, and if that doesn’t sum up our group as a whole, I don’t know what does,” Mumbo agrees.
“Then it’s settled! Onwards!” Scar marches forward, before seemingly remembering that they haven’t decided which route to take. “Actually, which way are we going?”
Impulse points to the right, where the slope they stand on continues uphill. “The lake’s in a higher valley, it’d make sense to keep going up until we find it, right?”
With a shrug, Grian says, “Seems like a reasonable plan to me.”
From there, of course, it doesn’t take very long for things to go wrong.
Right over the crest of the hill they’ve been hiking over is a pool of sticky, deceptively shallow-looking mud that spans too far on either side to be avoided without getting tangled in dense vegetation. In their attempt to cross, Scar missteps and ends up in mud up to his ankle, his boot completely trapped underneath. Mumbo and Impulse manage to free Scar, but his shoe is lost forever, and the spare pair Impulse loans out to Scar is a size too tight.
On the other side of the puddle, the trail is notably not nearly as worn down as the rest of it has been so far, and after a while it fades entirely, leaving the group stranded.
“I can’t see anything!” Mumbo throws his hands up in defeat. “Isn’t a lake supposed to be big? Surely it should’ve been visible by this point?”
The part of the forest they’ve found themselves in is densely wooded, the trees close enough together that it’s near-impossible to see anything beyond the small clearing they’ve stopped to rest in. Paired with the slowly setting sun, Pearl’s suddenly struck by the feeling that she does not want to be here past dark, thank you very much.
Shrugging her pack from her shoulders, Pearl suggests, “I could climb a tree? See if I could spot anything from up there?”
The idea is met with mixed responses. “It’s definitely illegal, and stupid, and dangerous,” Impulse starts, “but… it would be good to reach a higher vantage point.”
“Oh, super illegal,” Grian agrees. “I’ll go with you, Pearl. We’ll make sure not to litter or destroy the tree. I’m sure the forest will understand.”
After leaving their bags with the rest of the group, Pearl and Grian set off to find a good climbing tree. The forest is predominantly made up of tall trees with narrow trunks, with their shorter, bushier counterparts dotted in between—nothing ideal for climbing.
“Oh, this one is pretty good!” Pearl says, as they come across a tree suitably large, with branches low enough down to act as footholds.
“Sure is,” Grian says, bending down to tie his shoe. As he straightens up, he tosses Pearl a grin. “Race you to the top!”
“Oi!” Pearl exclaims, grabbing at the first branch and hoisting herself up. The limb creaks, but holds fast, and Pearl reaches for the next. Partway up the tree, Pearl and Grian are neck and neck, and Grian sticks his tongue out at Pearl around the trunk, Pearl wrinkling her nose in response.
In the highest boughs that’ll support her weight, Pearl gives a whoop of victory, holding her hand out to Grian to help him up the last bit of the way. There’s no real place to sit, so instead Pearl takes to crouching on her branch with an arm around the trunk, Grian standing, holding a hand up to shield his eyes from the sun.
“See anything?” Grian asks, after a quiet moment of taking in the view.
Scanning the land around them, Pearl sighs. “No. It is quite lovely from up here, though.”
From so high up, the mountains are visible through blue-tinged fog, ringing the horizon like a crown. Rolling hills stretch out as far as the eye can see, and Pearl can just make out the rocks that break up the woods below. The cool spring breeze rustles the treetops around them as it does the loose hair around Pearl’s face, and when she inhales, Pearl’s surrounded by the scent of sweet, refreshing pine.
“Well, this was a bust, then.” Grian lowers himself, readying for the climb back down.
Carefully shifting her grip to join him, Pearl takes one final sweeping glance, when something shiny catches her eye. Turning fully towards it, she gasps, “Wait! Grian! I see the lake!”
“You do?”
“Yeah! Over there!” Pearl points to where the last remnants of the sunset sparkle over the water of the lake, mostly obscured by trees and uphill to their current position. “It’s not too far! We’ve been running parallel to it, looks like.”
Grian laughs, full of incredulous relief. “Sounds about right for us. Let’s grab the gang and get going!”
Feeling rejuvenated in their discovery, Pearl and Grian sprint to where the others are waiting in a small clearing, seemingly focused on the ground at their feet.
“Please do not destroy my shoes,” Impulse is saying as Pearl and Grian come into earshot. Scar, wearing said shoes, pouts in response, and Mumbo looks to be weighing the merits of the option.
“We found the lake!” Grian shouts in excitement. “It’s just beyond that hill over there!”
The trio looks up from the shoe debacle in almost perfect sync, which Pearl can’t help but snicker at. “You did? We’ve been this close the whole time?” Mumbo passes a hand over his hair. “I thought we’d have to camp out right here!”
“Don’t be dramatic, my good sir, have some faith in us! We would’ve been fine,” Scar assures. “Though, having an exact location streamlines the process, I will admit.”
“You were just planning to cut Impulse’s trainers into sandals!” Mumbo retorts. “You have no standing to be calling me dramatic.”
“My toes are all cramped! I see where Impulse is coming from, unreasonable as it is, but it would’ve been worth—”
“Fellas!” Grian interrupts. “We can keep arguing about shoes all you want later, but for now it’s getting dark and we still have a couple hundred blocks to go. Let’s get a move on.”
“Fair point,” Mumbo concedes, holding a hand out to help Scar to his feet. After Scar’s up, they’re moving, anxious to get to the campsite.
The woods beyond the clearing are far darker than Pearl expected them to be, and the torches are broken out almost immediately. The birdsong that had accompanied the daylight is quiet, save for a few stray chirps here and there. Even amidst the shadow, while surrounded by the glow of the torchlight and soft chatter of her friends, tired from a long day of hiking, Pearl feels safe.
Nighttime has settled over the land entirely once they reach the lake. Stumbling through thick brush, Pearl breaks through to the water’s edge—only to find herself looking at the campsite, tiny from so far away, on the other side of the lake.
“…Well, at least we found the lake?” Impulse winces.
Mumbo sighs, picking loose a few thorns stuck in his shorts. “There’s no way we can walk all the way around, is there?”
“We could take boats across?” Scar suggests.
“That’s a great idea, actually! I packed a few extra, just in case.” Pearl pulls the boats’ compacted versions from her backpack, setting three down in the water and watching them grow to full size.
“You’re a lifesaver, Pearl,” Grian thanks, climbing into one of the boats. Scar settles in behind him, and Mumbo and Impulse get into the next one together, leaving Pearl with her own.
Grian’s boat leads the way, and as Pearl rows behind it, she catches sight of the stars, reflected against the water, disrupted by the ripple of her oars. Slowing to a stop, Pearl lets her boat drift as she looks up to admire the scene, filled with more galaxies than she could count, the moon hung high above. Stars all around her, in the water and night sky, Pearl feels like she’s floating through the void beneath the Boatem hole, untouched by the chaos of the world above.
Apparently noticing Pearl’s inaction, Impulse’s rowing peters out, and she waves to let him know she’s alright. After a moment, Mumbo calls out for Grian and Scar to stop, and the soft lapping of the water against Pearl’s boat and rustles from the surrounding forest are the only noises to break the silence as they all take in the view.
They soon start for the site once more, docking against the sandy bank. Five tents are arranged in a semicircle around a campfire, and dinner is shared over it. S’mores are an irreplaceable classic to any good camping trip, and after a proper mess of sticky marshmallow and gooey chocolate is made, Pearl bids her goodnight, and heads for her tent, exhausted in the best way.
In the morning, the hike back is easier than the one the day earlier, and they make it back to the van in the early afternoon. The drive back home is filled with blasted music and recounts of their adventures, and towards the end of it, Pearl isn’t the only person to catch a quick nap on the final stretch of road.
Returning to Boatem, Pearl sets down her bag and immediately goes for her sketchbook, stored by her bed in her little starter boat. She has so many ideas for her megabase.
(Reblogs do more than likes!)
#hermitcraft#pearlescentmoon#grian#mumbo jumbo#goodtimeswithscar#impulsesv#boatem#sky duo#boatem village zine#hermitfic#my writing#zines#YEAHHH BOATEM ZINE#i adore everything about how this project came out
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weirdcore / dream core ID pack for ...
a discord user
NAMES
ANIMALS : Chev (Short for chevrotain), Moss (or Mo), mothy, hare, fawnly, birdee, beetle, buggy, bugby, sparrow, sprite, frog, froggy, froge, foxy, larkling, pup, kit, snak, snake, snek, fisshu, fish, PLANTS & LOCATIONS : Oceana, mossy, twilight, rainy, rain, stormy, storm, meadow, meddy, thunder, thunderly, frost, hoarfrost, lichen, lichy, frosty, snowy, icey, tide, ocina, sky, ripple, rippel, stream, lily, rose, mushy, mush EMOTIONS N ITEMS : dreamy, achey, teeth, velvet, yearn, glitchy, pulse, heartbeat, heartbreak, haunt, fady, fading, faid, shivver, doubt, worry, love, oddling, drift, phantom, faint, liminal, nostal, Key, static, Compass, silver, spoon, Forky, locket, echo, phone, post, cardee, ghosty, ghost, spooks, pin, murmur, mug, vinyl, ticket, pale, mirror, thread
PRONOUNS
Weird/weirdself, odd/oddself, key/keyself, nos/nosself, nox/noxself, stat/statself, static/staticself, ap/apself, fru/fruself, mush/mushself, Moss/moss-self, pop/popself, shrooms/shroomself, ghost/ghostself, echo/echoself, strange/strangeself, winde/windeself, clock/clock self, stone/stone self, creep/creep self, liminal/liminalself, lim/limself, ina/inaself, film/filmself, noir/noirself, mist/mist self, mystery/mysteryself.
GENDERS N IDENTITIES
MascTVthing -- 4 of the listica type -- dreamcoredollic & Weirdcoredollic -- blendreamic -- Liminalspacestalgic -- Snowyroadic -- Oddcoric (Fandom wiki) -- Emptic -- fishteleveisic -- Oldreamsgender (Pinterest) -- Parantoboy/girl (PInterest) -- Nyctobscurthing (PINTEREST) -- Stickerdecorated (Pinterest) --ghostvitic (Pinterest) -- Spiaircea (Pinterest) -- Flowieeamic (pinterest) -- Staticgender (Pinterest) -- Scribblegender (Pinterest) -- dollcorpsic (Pinterest) -- Gremlingender (Pinterest) -- Marainotroic (Pinterest) -- existinaut (Pinterest) --
#Id packs#id pack#name ideas#genders#gender stuff#fictigenders#aesthetigenders#please DNI if you're against these things#pronouns#neopronouns#xenopronouns#identity#name suggestions#gender suggestions#pronoun suggestion#pronoun sets#pronoun suggestions
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Take My Hand again actually we're gonna go on a walk through Night Raven College campus real quick while I lose my mind
First off look at the front gate. People have definitely brought up the birds and the keys and those ARE both very important symbols, BUT. What about the thorns sprawled across the top of the gate? And the repeat use of 4-pointed stars in the lettering gives an especially prickly quality, overall.
Also of note are the decorations on the main pillars and the very specific aesthetic choice for the shape of the wrought-iron fence—by which I mean both reflect designs found in Draconimom's appearance.
The carvings on the gate pillars feature an ankh-like shape that matches up eerily well with the central decor of Draconimom's belt, as well as two curves that mimic the main body of the belt. The three-leaf/bud-like shape above that is reflected in the lace pattern and dangling decoration of the Mirror Chamber's chandelier. The two swooping S-shapes mimic the Draconia family's iconic horns, and the little decorations on either side of the carving match with the shape of Draconimom's pauldrons.
As for the fence…it's That Shape again. Each post also bears resemblance to the upper portion of Draconimom's staff.
Considering the focus on thorned vines in relation to Diasomnia/the Draconias, the way that vines are slowly creeping up both the fenceposts and gate pillars feels relevant.
(Please recall: The coffins by which students are summoned into NRC are also referred to as "Gates.")
Next stop is the botanical garden. As I mentioned in a previous post, the building's overall shape is notably similar to the chandelier found in the Mirror Chamber. The large beams surrounding the building, with their spear-like support pillars, give the impression of the building being held in place by thorned vines.
The inside of the garden doesn't yield much in the way of analysis, unfortunately. The most stand-out feature is the crumbling structure in the subtropical zone, but that arguably could've been intentionally allowed to decay as a way of cultivating the various mosses and lichens we see growing on it.
(Please recall: at the beginning of the game, before you choose a student, Crowley has a monologue in which he appears to refer to the Dark Mirror as "a lovely and noble flower of evil.")
And now the Hall of Mirrors. This one has subtler details than the others, but still just enough for the pattern recognition part of my brain to start making noises.
Again, the outside of the hall bears a passing resemblance to the chandelier in the Mirror Chamber, though much less so than the botanical garden. More important to this analysis is the inside of the building.
Listen. Not all lace is related to overblots. But the majority of lace in Twisted Wonderland HAS appeared in relation to overblots. The presence of an unmistakably lace-y pattern on the beams under each ceiling arch feels worth pointing out. After all, as of Book 7, at least one student per dorm linked to the Hall of Mirrors has overblotted.
There are also small floral decorations on each arch: two buds in the lower corners, and a bloom at the top. Again, Crowley's "flower of evil" comment comes into play; each dorm, again, features a major antagonist who is visually and textually placed parallel to their respective member of the Great Seven (OG Disney villains).
There's also. Y'know. The horn-like design on the pillars.
(Please recall: each dorm linked to the Hall of Mirrors is, apparently, contained within a pocket dimension with somewhat strict borders.)
Okay now we're at the coliseum and I need you to bear with me for this first point. Look at the entrance. It's too ostentatious to not be important somehow, right? It's too overdone. It's the Dark Mirror's mask, kinda? Don't ask how long I've been staring at this thing
Aside from that, the coliseum has thorns lining the rim of the structure twofold. One set of thorns exists as spears jutting out along the rim, while the other set exists as the long, simple, repeating pattern on the wall just under those spikes. On the outside of the building, this pattern repeats for every floor, effectively giving a sense that the structure is "wrapped" in thorns.

There are also thorns visible in the support beams of the stage; they're especially noticeable after Malleus fixes the stage, as they're lit up a bright pink (as opposed to the gold they were prior).
Upon the stage sits an odd, crumbling structure. It's clearly made of a different type of stone than the rest of the coliseum, being a dark gray instead of subdued purple, but that's not all—the architecture doesn't match up, either. The two main columns don't resemble any others found in the coliseum, notably. The arch-and-a-half visible both distinctly feature three-pointed arches, unlike the round arches consistently found throughout the rest of the building.
The fact this structure has been allowed to remain in such a deteriorated state is also worth questioning, especially since it's obviously been modified at some point fairly recently; the LCD screen it's been fitted with seems to work like a normal electronic device w/ no magical component to it. Even if you were to argue that the structure is supposed to have a distinct aesthetic from the rest of the coliseum to better draw attention to the stage it rests on, its condition renders the argument null. I love its decrepit vibe as much as Malleus might, but very few people would see this as an acceptable "centerpiece" for such an important location. With how Crowley squawks about maintaining the school's reputation, why does this pass by without comment from him…?
At least the chains frame the stage nicely. Though, they could serve a symbolic purpose as well…

(Please recall: according to Rook, the school staff claims that the coliseum is "imbued with a special field that makes it harder for damage to spill out." We can assume that this is the truth, as no one outside of the coliseum seemed to notice Vil's overblot—just the traces of excessive magical energy leftover afterwards.)
And finally, we come to the Mirror Chamber. Keeping in mind that the Dark Mirror can teleport people (both for enrollment and in general), the most notable visual qualities of this room are as follows:
Gates (coffins, the Dark Mirror)
Plants (chandelier, rose arches, standing lamps, windowpanes)
Mirrors (the Dark Mirror)
Containment (chains, coffins, the Dark Mirror)
It is very, very interesting that the four primary structures on NRC campus with a direct relationship to the items on this list also feature aesthetic similarities to the Mirror Chamber. Also of note is that although each structure chiefly embodies one item on the list, they all incorporate aspects of the other items:
Front Gate–
Plants: As previously noted, there are vines steadily attempting to overtake the fence and pillars + thorns sprawling across the top of the sign.
Mirrors: Structural design is mirrored across the vertical axis, carvings are mirrored across both horizontal and vertical axes.
Containment: Although open in this view, the front gate as a whole embodies the concept of NRC campus as an area that is closed off to the rest of the world.
Botanical Garden–
Gates: The entire building signifies a departure from the surrounding campus into a space especially designed for the housing and growing of plants.
Mirrors: Look at that thing. You can't have a building made mostly out of tempered glass and not have it be reflective as fuck.
Containment: Aside from the appearance of being held down by thorned vines, the building does, again, exist for the purpose of containing plants.
Hall of Mirrors–
Gates: Each mirror acts as gate leading to each of the seven dorms.
Plants: Previously-detailed floral decorations.
Containment: Again, each mirror contains a dorm. This, in turn, means that this building technically contains…nearly the entire student body.
Coliseum–
Gates: It's got one right out front lmao. But yeah, like the botanical garden, the building signifies a departure from the surrounding environment.
Plants: As mentioned earlier, the entire building has the appearance of being wreathed in thorned vines + further incorporation of thorns in the stage.
Mirrors: Previously-shown Dark Mirror comparison. Also, like the front gate, the structural design is mirrored across the vertical axis.
What does this all mean? NO fuckin clue. But if we consider how the very first battle of the game seems to take place in the Mirror Chamber, at least two of these locations have been (or will be) the setting for a major overblot battle.
(I will say…it's very funny that, despite Pomefiore being the first established dorm from a lore perspective, a lot of the campus has much more Diasomnia-esque aesthetics.)
#twst#twisted wonderland#twst meta#meleanor draconia#night raven college#design analysis#twisted rambling#nearly 1.5k words and i'm tired of looking at this thing. change da world. my final message. goodb ye
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In the early ages the Forests and Woods were imbued with a certain degree of mystery, intensified, no doubt, by the deep and solemn shadows which lay hidden within their depths. They were believed to be peopled with crowds of strange beings endowed with superhuman powers and characters, although partaking of human form. These beings were known under various names, and were of different varieties and with different natures. Some possessed benevolent qualities, seeking to do good to mankind, while others were of a malevolent disposition, ever trying to work harm. Among the former may be mentioned the Fairies and other genial spirits, and the latter class comprised Demons of every description. There were also Elves, both good and evil, and Witches, generally malignant. In Scandinavian countries the belief was held that when Lucifer and his angels fell from Heaven those who fell into the woods and forests remained there, becoming known as Wood-Spirits or Wood-Trolls. The Geni, or Spirit of the Forest, is supposed to exist in many different forests throughout the world, where his voice is heard in the rustle of the leaves or the murmur of the breeze. He usually lives in a tree, particularly if it be old and gnarled. In many of the northern countries of Europe an old Pine tree is his favourite abode, and many legends have been grafted upon such trees. The tree which he inhabits is known as the King of the Forest, and he strongly objects to his tree being cut down, invariably begging to be permitted to live. He is always depicted as bearing an uprooted Fir tree. Many tales and legends connected with these denizens of the woods seem to have had their origin in the workings of nature, and the phenomena attendant upon these, and many now well-known diseases of trees, were once attributed to the evil influences which the mythical denizens of the forests exercised upon them. Any tree of curious and abnormal appearance, an old trunk shattered with age or storm, moss-grown or hoary with lichen, would, to the primitive wanderer in the forest, assume a supernatural aspect, especially if seen when the shades of night were falling, or blurred by mists; and even wreaths of mist, creeping noiselessly along, often assumed shapes which to the eye of fancy took human form. In the forest of Rugaard in Denmark there is said to be a leafless tree which, although it resembles other trees, is nevertheless an Elf who strolls about the forest by night. Dire results would follow any injury to this tree.
Alexander Porteous - The Forest in Folklore and Mythology
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Merry Whumpmas! Day 2: 'Broken Bone'
Hurtcember Day 2: 'Breakdown'
Whumpcember Day 2: 'This is your fault'
Medcember Day 2: 'Septic Shock'
Rise of the Guardians
For the Merry Whumpmas 2024 Day 2 prompt "Broken Bone"!
For @medcember's Day 2 prompt "Septic Shock"
For @whumpcember's Day 2 prompt "This is your fault"
For @hurtcember's Day 2 prompt "Breakdown"
Type: Fanfiction | Fandom: Rise of the Guardians (2012) | Characters: E. Aster Bunnymund, Sophie Bennett, Jamie Bennett, Jack Frost, Other Rise of the Guardians Character(s) | Ships: None.
Warnings & Triggers: Major Character Injury, Illness, Near Death.
---
During the very next spring, Bunnymund watches the river moss and sedum and green flowering lichen creep and cover the oasis's stones.
He always welcomes down the two kids: Jack Frost's first believer and The Last Light, Jamie Bennett, and... Jamie's sister, Sophie. Out of all the Guardians there ever were, Bunnymund's her favorite.
Sophie often runs around the Warren, chasing the unpainted eggs, laughing at the brooks bubbling and ancient-carved stone heads dancing. Sophie jumps at Bunnymund's feet to dance along, eagerly tugging his paw, batting her eyes up at Bunnymund without saying a word and getting whatever she wants. As if princess to Bunnymund's own domain. She may as well be. No other kid was ever so loved.
"No, Sophie! Don't jump off those!" Jamie yells, waving over to his little sister taking tumbles off the stone heads flailing to catch her.
One of them misses, and Sophie lands with a thud. But she's smiling.
Reassured by it, Bunnymund waves off a frowning Jamie instead. "No more fussing! It's an Easter picnic, mate!" he announces. Jamie's shoulders slowly go tense. "We got jellybeans! We got ham and we got carrot cake and we got pepper deviled eggs and we got--!"
At another high-pitched holler, Sophie leaping again, Jamie gets up. He marches to the nearby pond she plays at, calling out again.
"What are ya gonna do when Sophie's all grown up?" Jack mumbles, glancing between her and Bunnymund's eyes entirely focused on her. "The day's coming, y'know. She's turning nine in December this year."
"You should ask yourself that question instead, mate," Bunnymund sharply points out, and Jack makes a bit of a face, nibbling on one of the deviled eggs and ignoring Jamie's back. "He'll be out of middle school soon enough. That's usually when they stop believing..."
"Hm, no." Jack shakes his head, insisting, and Bunnymund huffs, "No. I'm not worried about Jamie. You guys have had adult believers."
"But they never remember to look... and to SEE us, Jack."
Unconvinced, Jack still shakes his head, frowning now like Jamie.
"JACK! JACK, HELP!"
Jamie's panicking scream echoes through the Warren, and a fierce-looking Jack's running off even before Bunnymund gets himself up.
At the pond's edge, water ripples. Where's Sophie?
He manages to get it out between breathes, Jack's hands protectively clasping Jamie's face--"Sophie fell in! I think she's hurt!"
Bunnymund doesn't wait, diving in, searching her out underwater. His rabbit-heart thrums fast. Something must be wrong. Very, very wrong. Because Sophie knows how to swim... and if she can't swim...
When Bunnymund pulls her out, his fur soaked, Sophie gasps for air and trembling and cries in Bunnymund's paws, holding her left arm.
It looks distorted to Bunnymund, swelling red. And unnaturally warm.
"Oh, no..."
---
He was the fastest out of everyone. Bunnymund whispered to Sophie cry-hiccupping Bunnymund's name into his dripping wet bunny fur, unsure of how to make her better, heaving them above ground.
Unfortunately, Sophie's arm didn't get any better. The skin purpled. Bunnymund thought he caught a whiff of a fever on Sophie building.
Mr. and Mrs. Bennett took her away, frantic.
They were mad at Jamie at first, scolding him for not watching Sophie and letting her get into trouble, then... they weren't. Sophie got worse. From an infected bone fracture, Bunnymund learns.
For a while, Sophie slept while being taken care of doctors. And slept. And slept past the time Sophie was meant to wake after her surgery.
Before she woke up in that morning, nearly a month after Easter, Jamie confronted a devastated-looking in Jamie's own bedroom. "This is your fault!" Jamie yelled, tearfully ramming little fists against Bunnymund's chest. "I hate you! I hate you, Ihateyou!"
He finally broke, angrily sobbing. Jack, watching them solemnly from the door, nodded. Bunnymund lowered his ears and hugged onto Jamie sobbing louder and hugging Bunnymund back reluctantly.
(Jamie didn't hate him... he didn't hate anyone, Jack mumbles to Bunnymund when it's late in the night. That wouldn't ever be Jamie.)
"It is my fault, Jamie... I thought she would always be safe with me..."
---
Bunnymund sneaks to Sophie's window as soon as she's home.
Sophie notices him, grinning, trying to open her window. Instead of having her struggle with it, Bunnymund opens it and climbs in.
"Hi!"
Bunnymund's nose-whiskers twitch. She smells like herself again. "Hi, Soph," he says, eyeing Jamie wheel up Sophie's oxygen tank.
"Did you have something to say, Sophie?" Jamie mentions.
She flattens her lips, glaring a moment at her brother.
"I... I promise I won't practice hopping anymore."
"That's what happened in the Warren?" Bunnymund mumbles, awed. "You were trying to practice to be... a rabbit like me... and hop high?"
When Sophie looks down, a little more ashamed, Jamie seems satisfied and pats her uninjured arm. Bunnymund minds her little hot pink cast, hugging Sophie, cupping the back of her blonde head.
"You need to all better first, okay... that's the most important thing," Bunnymund reminds her, letting an eager-eyed Sophie rest on his huge and furred knee. "Then... I'm gonna teach you even more secret rabbit tricks. Not even the other Guardians know about them."
It's worth hearing a giggle. Because one day, Sophie will grow up. And Sophie will understand how truly, deeply loved she really is.
#glove23#rise of the guardians#bunnymund#e aster bunnymund#sophie bennett#jaime bennett#jack frost#rotg fanfiction#merry whumpmas#merry whumpmas 2024#medcember2024#whumpcember24#hurtcember2024
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lichen so nice I photographed it twice


ID: two photos of lichens and mosses growing on the side of a tree. species include but aren't limited to: green encrusting lichen, gold dust lichen, oakmoss, old man's beard, and a bright green moss ressembling creeping feather moss or a similar species.
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Methodist Cemetery - Truro, MA
The Outer Cape has some truly beautiful cemeteries, but what stands out the most to me about them as a whole is the gorgeous orange lichen that creeps across many of the graves. You'll find me repeatedly returning to it as I slowly travel across the Cape photographing.
With bonus lilacs and a bone (?).
#art#photography#cemetery#cemetery photography#Cape Cod#Methodist Cemetery#Truro MA#mass monumetnalist
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To Kallamar, whats with Heket's temple??
How ahout your other siblings
Oh I can go ON.
Heket's temple is constantly damp from the swamp water that seeps in. And that isn't a bad thing by itself but with the humidity of Anura? There's mold everywhere. And it does not look good. Not to mention all the lichen that's destroying the integrity of the foundation. And with food allowed, there's always some kind of pest or brand new species of mold creeping around and it is awful to walk around in.
Shamura and Lehsy both have the same issue with their temples. Nobody ever maintains them. Shamura's is covered in dust and cobwebs that makes it impossible to navigate if you're not a spider, and Leshy lets roots and weeds run wild like they own the place, and they can't even think.
Narinder's temple is basically a crypt. It looks all nice and dressed up from the outside but you go in and it's abandoned and drafty. You'd think it's fitting, but in actuality it's just eerie.
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As noted in past kitten memes, the abyssal plain is the largest biome on earth. The abyssal plain is the true "bottom" of the ocean (beaten only by the hadal zone, the deep ocean trenches that cut beyond the depths of the plain), the areas where the water is so still, so dark, that erosion and shaping of sediment doesn't happen short term or long term. The plain is covered in a fine layer of silt, settling in an even, flat layer. The abyssal plain is also the most topologically flat and consistent surface on our planet.
Long ago, it was thought that the depths of the ocean beyond where light reached had sparse, incidental life. Islands exist- hydrothermal vents with chemotaxic bacteria, seamounts with deep reefs that collect particles from the rest of the ocean- but the abyssal plain, for the most part, lacks producers, anything that is able to make energy-containing biomolecules from non-biological components.
But surrounding them.... fine sediment. flat layers. A rain of detritus from the layers above. And most of all... blackness.
There are wanderers here. Animals scouring the sand and drifting through the deepest layers of the ocean, sifting through the rain of marine snow, never knowing the light.
They search, scouring the depths for something more than the usual scraps. Whether it is as small as one measly fish carcass, or as huge an event as whalefall, most dead animals that dies in the ocean will ultimately be lain out for these wanderers, providing the mass and energy that once composed them to the undercurrent of our planet.
The largest of these wanderers are the sleeper sharks, and similar sharks that occupy their same niche (such as sixgill sharks). Not only are they the largest wanderers of the abyssal plain (excluding some squid, depending on how you count their habitat and their size), they are among the largest sharks in the world. They rival great whites in size, and it is likely only a lack of sampling that means we haven't found a sleeper shark larger than the largest great whites. When death brings animals to the plains, the sharks greet them, and bring their bodies into this black, serene food web.
Scavengers, of course, are not unique. Vultures fight over carcasses, fungi grow on logs and carcasses, even starfish in shallower waters scour fish bones clean. Yet the abyssal plain stands out for several reasons. At first glance, it seems like a biome that is seemingly sustained by death occurring in other habitats, allowing the discarded dead matter of other ecosystems to creep back upwards through various organisms ever so slowly.
Yet that's not quite why the abyssal plain feels the way it does. Other instances of scavenging feel so... transient. Watching fungal fuzz grow and die, watching vultures circle and dissipate, watching a fruit decompose on the ground. And then that energy is immediately returned to the web it came from- vultures live and die quickly, insects scour the lichens and fuzzes, rotting flesh becomes soil and dead matter for all sorts of organisms.
The abyssal plain is often slower, and more permanent. Purely soft tissue scavenging of whalefalls can last over a year, tissue attached to the bone is scoured for up to several years after that, and the bones themselves are gradually digested over the course of decades after that. The sediments of the plain itself barely move, undisturbed by shallower currents or the comings and goings of fast moving fish. Geologic forces slowly consume the plain into trenches, and slowly form it at ridges, but this process operates on inconceivably long timescales.
The abyssal plain of today was the abyssal plain of yesterday, and will be the abyssal plain of tomorrow.
This same invariance is represented in the sleeper sharks themselves. Greenland sharks, one of the best studied sleeper sharks (although that isn't saying much) have been aged at at the very least 250 years old. Potentially, these individuals have actually been 500 years old. Genetically over generations, there is little incentive to change either- the invariance of the abyssal plain means that there is little evolutionary selection pressure. In fact, fossil species in the same genus as modern sleeper sharks have been found in rocks nearly 30 million years old, and many older species and individuals are likely undiscovered.
When mammoths walked the land, these sharks fed on their carcasses. When megalodon prowled the seas above them, they finished the scraps it left behind. And who knows? Maybe when mosasaurs patrolled the seas, they were there to recycle their bodies as well. And when our children live and die, when whatever creatures come next to patrol the seas, their bodies will be returned to the plain as well.
The seeming omnipresence and consistency of this slow rhythm makes this the undercurrent of life. The constant in our earth's ecosystems. More than anything else, this relation to death is what defines existence for so much of life on earth, when considered as a sum of earth's history.
I enjoy the ocean. A lot. I enjoy the open ocean- looking over the continental shelf, peering over the reef wall, pelagic diving (when I can), freediving beyond what's visible from the surface. For many people, thallasophobia is a major fear, and that's valid. For me, there's always been an odd comfort associated with the ocean. A comfort knowing that at the bottom of it all, there is a different world. A world that could use the matter that makes me to slowly integrate into their own web of life before scattering to wander the seafloor again.
And that world is ruled by the eldritch giants that are the sleeper sharks.
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