#i kind of have more fossils than i know what to do with right now lol

[eviekean]

Fossil Friday! I want to start sharing my fossils to Tumblr, so here's a beautiful horn coral with an encrusting bryozoan. ~385 million years old

[altcvnningham]

needy

adler x f!bell

summary: adler gets up for a morning cigarette. or tries to. read on ao3

tags/cw: established adlerbell, f!bell, she/her pronouns, bell is russian, fluff, light angst, no plot, drabble, smoking mention, kind of domestic i guess, bo6 adler so he's a little soft, pre-bo6 but post-panama, cw references galore, dog imagery as is synonymous w adlerbell atp, author has adhd and goes on prosaic rambles in lieu of an actual plot. this fic could have been an email?? sorry wc: 3.1k

a/n: bwuhhh this was just an excuse to write self indulgent soft morning adlerbell at the rook while i work on my actual pre-bo6 adlerbell rook fic when i have the energy . no plot, lots of rambling, once again kind of just a thinkpiece on their relationship now adler's an old fossil. idk she was doing nothing being left in my notes app ajdkhjkasjk

He reckons she’s needier these days, more than she ever used to be back in Berlin.

Sometimes he wonders if it’s just his age that makes him feel that way; that perhaps she hasn’t changed at all, and instead it’s the dust settling on his bones, rusted shrapnel over the years snagged in the joints and sinews, that makes him feel sluggish in comparison. It’s the first time in his life since Livingstone brought up the CIA’s desire for more sprightly recruits that he wonders- is he struggling to keep up?

Their reunion after all these years was a messy one: a scrap in an indistinct bar, bloodied knuckles split and bruises welted dark blue, the white of his eye burst red, the curve of her jaw swollen for a good week. Fresh after Panama. As soon as she caught wind of what happened she’d picked up his trail barely a week after he arrived in Bulgaria. Had she come to kill him? He doesn’t know. It isn’t as if she’d confess to it even if she had, and maybe he had it coming anyway. It stopped mattering at all the second the fight had descended into the alleyway, wrestled onto their backs against the cobblestone, where hands had found throats and then jaw, waist, hip, and everything else. Punches had calmed to caresses, curses to kisses, and somehow he’d found himself patching her up back at the Rook, his stray dog come home to him, like old times.

She’d eased herself back into his life easily enough then. Simple and unspoken. Or, rather, wedged her foot back in the door well enough that he couldn’t shut her out again, even if he’d wanted to (as if he hadn’t always kept it ajar all these years just to let her in, never closed, never closed). Never a word for what they are, what they have, the routine they’ve slipped almost effortlessly back into again- that hasn’t changed since the old days- and yet he doesn’t find that it robs it of meaning whatsoever.

If anything, it makes it something rare, special, his diamond in the rough, glinting sea glass washed a perfectly chiselled bead upon the shore. Just as she’d crashed along with the tide as time brought her back to him, he picked her up, tucked her gently back into that place she belonged, in between the rib and vertebrae, nestled inside him all to steady the beat of his restless heart. Her alone enough to settle the frantic, ceaseless palpitations he’s suffered nightly, since… Solovetsky? He thinks? The dull gnawing in the back of his mind all those years in between, that wasn’t sure if he was more frightened for her inevitable return or her disappearing forever, slipping through his fingers back to sea again.

He supposes it doesn’t matter anymore. That was then, and now seemed to fare much nicer.

Now, she rolls sweet and placid onto her back against the mattress, limp as a daisy in rain, soft body bowing to his careful manhandling; he’s itching for a smoke, aching for his vice the second he awoke, hours too early for his alarm. He lifts her off him delicately, almost methodical as he starts with her arm, the heavy loll of her head, her shoulder. Like defusing a bomb, he’d joked once, a comparison she’d only proven right by her explosive reaction to it.

It’s an odd feeling, though, the calm where there had once been nothing but war between them, the quiet, the warmth upon his chest now fading where she’d laid her head after he came back last night- back home, back to her- and it’s in moments like these, just mere glimpses of normalcy, that makes him wonder what could have been his life, theirs, had things not happened the way they did. MK Ultra, Berlin, Solovetsky. Perseus. Then again, he supposes, if she hadn’t been shot in Trabzon that night, if she hadn’t been there at all, then he wouldn’t have known she’d even existed. This mundane moment lost to time like everything else.

She murmurs in her sleep, spurred to wakefulness when the mattress lifts and groans at his absence, her eyes squinting through the sliver of morning light bleeding through the gap in the curtains; even when she’s completely out of it, she doesn’t miss a thing. He’s never exactly been the paragon of stealth when he excels at everything else, but even if every factor in the world had worked in his favour- if the beaten mattress wasn’t so rusted, if the ancient floorboards didn’t squeal underfoot when he stood up, if there wasn’t a constant draft on his side of the room that hit her as soon as he moved- nothing would have stopped her from registering his absence, clawing to fight off sleep just so she had an excuse to grouse at him. Ever his stubborn girl.

“Mm… where y’going…?”

Adler smiles to himself, flat but genuine, stifled by the lethargy that hangs over his head heavy as an anvil. Her accent so thick in the early hours it hardly sounds like English at all. He’s half tempted to reply in Russian, just to see if her cottonmouth tongue latches quicker to that instead.

But he doesn’t, just lingers in the doorway leading out to the hall, feeling only a little guilty for letting in the cold. It rather satisfies him instead to see her shiver and pull the blankets further over herself, keeping her right where he wants her. Right where he needs her, so he knows she’ll still be there when he comes back.

“Smoke,” is all he says, rattling the crumpled pack for her to hear.

She’s half coherent when she grumbles, English sandwiched between Russian endearments. Cussing him out.

“Y’can smoke in here… m’don’t mind. Come back to bed.”

Something tugs at his heart, almost foreign, vague. Something he only feels when she digs her claws in him just like that, even if only to graze. It’s the same certainty as when he wraps his finger around a trigger, pulls a pin, wrenches his hand around the hilt of a knife- unspoken, inevitable. The drop of a guillotine, inexorably quick. A certainty that verges on frightening, a promise, which he’s never been good at keeping, but knows she means wholeheartedly, down to her marrow. Possessiveness, he thinks- (is it irony, now, how often he finds her fist wrapped around the leash he doesn’t even notice he’s wearing?)- people not in their line of work, those with nice houses and desk jobs and white picket fences, he’s heard, call that feeling belonging. To be beckoned like that. Home.

It’s her demand that he stays. Hardly a question. And Bell doesn’t beg.

He’s sure that in her spitefulness, if he’d had a trigger phrase just like hers, she’d spit it at him ‘til he turned heel and crawled back on over to her, slid under the sheets like an apology scrawled onto a note and tucked under the door. It’s a near enough thing- the way her bleary eyes fix on him vengefully through matted lashes, searing her betrayal into him. Every morning he gets up before her, it seems to say: you left me. A petulant notion, only half serious, but one cold enough that it almost works. Frigid. Familiar. Arctic air.

It works a little at least- getting soft in your old age- because he lugs himself back over to the bed and just stands by it, refusing to give her the satisfaction of quiet victory if he climbs back inside. She stretches a languid arm flat across the mattress, rolling catlike onto her stomach, splaying her fingers in the hopes that she might somehow pull him back in to her. She manages a knuckle grazing his knee, before she gives up, pulled under by sleep once more. Head slumped against the pillow, she muffles her disdain.

But Adler is nothing if not at least a little amenable. If he’s sweet on anyone, it’s his Bell. His baby. Hard to let a thing like that go, when she was quite literally made for him. Made by him, in his image. Scraped marrow from rib like Adam, caulking the hole Arash shot through her chest and bestowed life upon her once more. He’s happy to have a piece of himself broken off and left inside her, a tithe tossed to the slab of her altar. The fracture of his soul a discarded lamb in sacrifice, sustaining the sick hunger that starves her.

It keeps them inseparable, he thinks. He’d read something somewhere, pretentious shlock about strings of fate and those bound to it- romantic crap shmucks use to justify ugly marriages and affairs, the suffering of co-dependency given some transcendent meaning, a purpose greater than the mundane. The notion that two people, by whatever higher power, are bound to one another no matter what they do to separate themselves of it, tethered from their first breath and suffering an endless togetherness until their last. He’d rolled his eyes the first time he’d heard of it- there wasn’t a world where he’d be enough of a sap to actually buy into that shit. Maybe his ex-wife might’ve been fond of it, maybe it was something she wrote into one of the letters he kept under his bunk back in ‘Nam. He doesn’t know.

But Bell made him understand it. He’d dug a grave in her when he denied her her own on that airstrip in Turkey, and he buried himself in it, over and over again. His memories, his life, his voice ringing like God’s. His favourite things, treasured, secret. His fears and doubts and worries, every little thing that made up the culmination of his being. It was never just Vietnam he put there. It was everything. She’s half himself, a faded mirror image. It only makes sense that they’d find each other again, eventually. She’d walk the earth, stalking like a bloodhound trailing his dried scent until she found him. She’d roam the endless nights, a ghost shivering their old haunts until he meanders his way back to her again, pulled along by a gnawing ache inside himself- a missing piece he’d seek the rest of his life to fill. She could track him blind. And he would feel her coming, like blood in the water. He did. He did.

It’s that tether that makes it impossible not to relent to her, when he kneels down next to the bed, knee joint cracking under his weight, the mottled floorboard doing nothing to steady him. It’s her, when she has enough leverage now to close the distance between her fingers and the collar of his shirt, curled inside the bleached cotton, fist wrenched tight. The seam digs into the back of his neck but he doesn’t let her pull him to her; he waits, making her work for it. The satisfaction that tends to follow when she does is usually worth her ingratiation.

She drags herself across the mattress, using his body as an anchor. Heavy and boneless, she lays right at the edge of the bed where he kneels, her nose nudging at his jaw as she turns, belly up like prey. Too easy a kill, he knows that. She’s gloating. The fact he’d come back at all means she’s got him right where she wants.

“C’mere,” she murmurs gently, saccharine, cloying. He’s surprised it doesn’t make her gag- the pretend domesticity of it all. Dragging her dried lips, smiling, against the underside of his jaw, her fingers sliding idle up the back of his neck, arm slung around his shoulder like she’s expecting to be carried out.

He humours her with a smirk, his blues nearly grey in the dim dark of the room as she mouths at him, vying for his attention. It’s as much a demand as her words had been, sharp as her tone as she nips at his jaw. Adler sighs, as though turning his face to gaze down at her were something laborious, and not the blessing he counts on every finger, every day, seemingly numbered since Panama. He tuts, and it says, what am I going to do with you?

But if his condescension was an attempt to dissuade her advances, it doesn’t work, because she sees right through his playful façade, and the wry smile that unfurls sleepy on her lips betrays her excitement, the sifting of her legs under the sheets audible as she squeezes them together. Needy. She knows he notices.

“Not gonna work, Bell,” he hums dryly. Yet he steals this moment of her surrender, his eyes flitting to every feature of her face. He doesn’t need to commit her to memory, she’s dug in there like a tick. But God, if he doesn’t like to look at her. He brings a rough hand down against her temple, smoothing the baby hairs back, eliciting a satisfied sigh from her as her eyes slip shut. Her head falls back against the pillow, anticipating a kiss he doesn’t give her.

“C’mon. Back to sleep. I’ll be ten minutes.”

“Five.”

“Bell.”

“Five minutes.”

Adler sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose and scrunching his eyes shut.

“C’mon,” she croons, “five minutes… n’then…”

He thinks she’s fallen back asleep, the way her sentence carries off like that into silence. But when he opens his eyes she’s blinking prettily up at him, looking far too satisfied. Just as he opens his mouth to ask why, he feels the warm press of her hand against his knee, sliding up his thigh, fingertips tugged impishly at the sweatpants he’d haphazardly thrown on. He’s lightning quick to catch her, fingers circling her wrist; where the darting action might scare a weaker person it makes Bell’s eyes light up like stars, enamoured with his roughness. Excited. The way only she could be, eager pup biting at his ankles for a reaction.

“Behave,” he scolds, giving her knuckle a cursory smack before releasing her. That must finally be enough to spoil her fun, because she huffs, growling low in her throat, and rolls back over, burrowing herself deeper into the blanket than she’d begun.

It’s always a game to her, one she doesn’t much like losing. He can’t blame her for it. It’s always been that way. Back in Berlin, he’d taught her to play poker the proper way, the American way- whatever that meant- her downfall eternally being the fact she couldn’t bluff for shit around him. And it was just him- she’d caught on quick to the play, and had triumphed a couple times against Sims and Lazar; Park had refused to indulge the game, and Woods wiped the floor with the lot of them, even Adler. But with him, Bell just couldn’t lie. He was carved from marble, impassable- what he’d been trained to do. And she was a piece chipped off his softest part, malleable- of course he’d catch every minute twitch and wince, the flitting of wet lashes, the purse of an uncertain lip. She always told him the truth even with her eyes, her heart bore on her sleeve. It almost always felt like cheating. After all, it was what she was made for, wasn’t it?

And this felt much the same way. Not as strict as the luck of dealt hands and stifled poker faces but she’s never said or done anything to him she doesn’t mean. After he missed the shot in Solovetsky, all cards were strewn on the table. There was no mystery anymore. No joy taken in a good old fashioned backstab when the real damage was done, much too late to rectify. Maybe that’s why she makes it her personal goal to poke and prod and tease him now, chasing her fun in her own way, a decade late. Suppose it’s why she hates when he doesn’t just drop the cool attitude and give in.

He rises from the floor, that same knee joint clicking again. Where she might have mumbled a curt jibe about it, she’s silent, sulking into the pillow.

But just as he goes to leave, Adler stops at the door, a foot out into the hallway, the rest of him still stuck here, stuck on her. He sees a similar image in the back of his mind, of her laid upon the gurney in Die Landebahn, halfway into the back room with a syringe in hand when for one single moment of sobriety it dawned on him, what he’d been doing to her. Nothing like guilt, but it came close. Tinged with the regret of something so shameful as affection, Cupid’s arrow dipped in kerosene, shot straight through his heart; to come out the other side, to let him survive, to let him have this, here, her, now. And it’s a torture to have lived it, to know he doesn’t deserve a lick of it. The soft rise and fall of her breath beneath the blanket. Her hair splayed upon his pillow. She buries her nose deep in the old goose feather to try and keep him where he’s left her. Hold him close even when he’s gone.

The decade’s done much to him. He’d put on a couple pounds, had to start plucking the errant greys flecking his hairline, begun to wake most mornings with a tell-tale crick in his neck. He’s learned to relax that hard line in his brow, drawn too deep to reverse the evidence of age; let himself laugh a little easier, surprised people with his newfound ability to actually smile. He’s lost a lot, gained half as much. He’d been through hell and back, worse maybe than what he did to her- his karma, he supposes. And he supposes the decade’s made him soft, sentimentality creeping in to nestle somewhere he can’t reach, hidden inside himself with all the other things he doesn’t talk about. And he supposes of everything he’s lost, he has Bell again, and all things considered- it’s a fair trade.

He sucks in a breath, a sigh made audible for her to hear. Even as she feigns sleep, he knows she catches it, a flinch of her shoulder- where the shot he missed had landed in lieu of her head. In Solovetsky.

Then, Adler sighs, followed by a promise that feels to her like a confession.

“Five minutes.”

And when the door clicks shut, Bell steals herself a little victory smile.

[jyoongim]

Hello! This is my first time doing something like this but it’s kind of like another request you had done? It’s an alastor x reader

It might be odd but I saw a tiktok bout this trope and now it’s stuck in my head, what if vox had a sister just a year or two younger than him and instead of technology she was more based around recording stuff- and since he doesn’t let her meddle in his affairs Valentino and the other chick make her go undercover at the Hazbin hotel.

I think it would be funny :) it would be hilarious if maybe she had a phone that her brother contacted her from at the same time every day and when he drops in he either hears al flirting with him or literally making out with his sister.

Just a thought tho :)

“Just get whatever dirt you can on the devil’s princessa babe. Vox already has a phone for you to stay in contact. You go in, snoop, and bam! Leak any information that we can use to tear that shitty place down”

You had been at the hotel for a few weeks. Charlie had happily took you in and you quickly had grown use to all the antics of the hotel.

Alastor was rather intrigued as to why Vox’s little sister had decided to come to the hotel, but he let you be as you happily provided your services to the hotel.

Surprisingly, you and Alastor got along. He wasn’t as bad as your brother had made out.

You found yourself quickly enamored by the red demon.

You didn’t have to tell your brother everything…

———————————————————————————

It was rather late when you heard a knock at your door.

You opened it and there stood Alastor.

You smiled as you welcomed him in. “Alastor! What do I owe the pleasure?”

He made himself comfortable on your bed as you apologized for the state of your room.

Since you had took on the role of advertisement for the hotel, you had scattered ideas tossed everywhere. 

“Oh nothing serious my dear. I just wanted to pay you a visit”

You crawled on your bed and to his side, happily leaning against his side. You nudged him playfully “yea right. Youre always up to no good”

He hummed, curling an arm around you “true, but I hadn’t meant to actually come to you, but you see you have somehow clouded my attention”

You tilted your head “How so?”

The red demon curled his claw under your chin and lifted your head to his. His eyes were lidded and his smile was soft

”It seems I have grown some affections for you”

Your eyes widened and a blush rose in your cheeks

”R-really?” You had a hopeful tone in your voice.

He chuckled and lowered his face to yours, his lips pressing against yours.

He pulled away to see you glitching, sparks flying from you.

Before he could raise his concern, you lunged and wrapped your arms around his neck, knocking him on his back as you sought his lips again.

————————————————————————————

“She should have called by now” Vox growled as he paced around his video room.

Valentino and Velvette tried to soothe him, “Im sure she’s just sleeping. Who knows what boring exercise she had to endure today”

Vox’s screen glitched and he finally dialed you.

The soft buzzing of your phone made you groan as you pulled away from Alastor. You grabbed it and saw it was your brother

”Gonna answer it cher?” The deer asked as he rubbed your hips. You shook your head, hitting the power button “No. it can wait” you tossed the phone and bursted in a fit of giggled as he pulled your face back to his.

You thought you ended the call…

————————————————————————————

“WHAT THE FUCK?!” Vox glitched as the sound of giggles and soft moaning from your line.

”Alastor…” your soft voice said before a gasp was heard.

Vox was sparking. There was no way. No way you, his sister was canoodling with that fossil!?

He heard rustling and a squeal from you before the line went dead

”Papito why don’t you-are you okay?” Val asked the television, who started glitching out.

The lights went out and Vox’s screen was static

Uh Oh…

[celestialholz]

Today in Gay People: Hassel.

There's something I've noticed about our resident art teacher, and that's... well, Flapple. I mean, we all know how gay the whole Applin deal is, but... well, it's where it is that's particularly interesting.

This is Steven Stone's team.

This is Cynthia's team...

This is Wallace's team...

I could go on. (And yes, I'm using champions because, like Hassel, they're important, powerful NPCs with a proper team, and let's be real here, Hassel is five minutes, that Tournament Dragonite and a fuck to give away from kicking Geeta out of his office.)

But the point here is... well, that penultimate slot. The fifth slot in a champion's team - or fourth, in Hassel's case - is reserved for the vice-captain role. It's the Pokemon hardest to take down before the ace, meant to weaken you up - the secondary signature mon. We see here with Milotic - defence for days, Marvel Scale, offensive too. And we see it with Armaldo - excellent attack, difficult type. And then we see it with Gyrados - Dragon Dance, Earthquake, power. Utility. That second-to-last slot is designed to weaken you up for the finale, the real powerhouse of the squad. Leon does it too - his fifth slot is the starter strong against yours, the one you may not have a counter to if your team-building isn't on point.

... And then we have Hassel.

... Now, there's a few things to note here.

Flapple shares the same quad weakness as Noivern, which leads. That's, er... different.

Flapple, statistically, is the weakest Pokemon here. Not by a lot - Dragalge is only ten points or so better, but it's a defensive Pokemon. It's meant to fill that role, as well as being a counter to Fairies.

Flapple isn't the utility mon most penultimate-slot mons are.

... And yet, here it is. Now, I could draw upon Hassel's six-mon Tournament team here, which adds Dragonite into this slot instead, but the Tournament is Hassel fucking about. He's been chilling in the staffroom and someone's gone "oh, that champion-rank kid's up, get out here." The Elite Test line-up is him at work. He's specifically chosen to leave a pseudo-legendary at home... for Flapple.

And why would he do that? @edgeanescence pointed out on the EphemeralArt Discord that the penultimate slot is meant to represent the trainer; the personality and the heart of them, as well as acting as vice-captain. And, well...

Cynthia's is a Milotic. Grace, beauty, the defence of Sinnoh against Cyrus.

Steven's is an Armaldo. A fossil, a Rock-type, the strongest of all fossils at the time - perfect sentiments for him.

Wallace's is a Gyrados. Power, controlled by a former eighth gym slot; ferocity in water.

... And Hassel's is a Flapple. Like him, she has power, but what she represents as a Grass/Dragon is much more important to him than raw offence or defence. She is his softness; she is his tears, and pride in his students; she is part-Brassius. Whether Brassius gave him the Flapple or not is irrelevant, though it's pretty compelling that he did - this man takes a representation of his heart and of his love into battle over the Dragonite, who has 120 more points of stats. By rights, even if he's leaving the Dragonite at home, Haxorus should be here if this is about power, not Flapple.

And you can tell me that it's about game balance as much as you like, but oh look:

Brassius's rematch team, everyone, and look at that penultimate slot.

Look at that Arboliva sculpture, with Brass's own spikiness and Dragon-type purple-tinged blue.

Brassius is not like Appletun, the obvious counterpoint here. Brassius is drama; Brassius is a man formerly weak, much like Smoliv; Brassius is not home comforts, apple pies, yet he's surprisingly kind and encouraging. Reminding you of anything?

... Ah, yes. Arboliva, depending on mood. And, if you're not already convinced...

That's Flapple, in the Violet dex. Strong, and covered in clay. Like a fucking artist, or a man who loves a sculptor.

When the chips are down, when they show up to work, when they have important, key battles, Hassel and Brassius don't just take their Pokemon to the arena.

They take themselves, and they take each other.

[greenerteacups]

Hey GT, glad to see you're back! I'm still halfway thru Lionheart (just read the world cup chapter, what a delight) and your notes got me wondering.

I'm sure you've probably answered this before but how do you manage to make the world feel so rich? I'm not that into the fandom so I don't know If there are some things fanon agreed upon or if it is your own musings about the magic world. Like Draco explaining to Hermione about portkeys or how many languages Krum speaks.

How do you decide what's important enough to get a mention? Where do you go when you need answers and Canon is not enough to provide it?

Thanks for the kind words, and for the question! It's a matter of personal taste, like anything. Some writers prefer an athletic, streamlined plot, with only as much worldbuilding as you absolutely need (how does Panem run a command economy of 4.5 million people primarily on fossil fuels when its coal district has a population of less than 10,000? fuck off! who cares! they're Y/A dystopias about a TV show where teens beat each other to death!). Some writers, on the other hand, won't bother to start the story until they know the pH of the soil in every region of the world they're writing about. I'm somewhere on the second half of the scale, in that I'll give details that aren't strictly necessary to the plot, just because I like to feel like I'm writing about a world where real, extraneous things can happen. Some details are foreshadowing; some details are Special Mouseketools that will Help Us Later; and sometimes, you just get to know a cool fact about portkeys.

I guess part of the fun of building out a world is getting to think about Everything, which is what my brain normally does. I have a pretty broad body of literature as a starting gate, so there's plenty of room to play. E.g., when I started writing Krum, I thought about how he's not super fluent in English in canon, and that naturally made me ask why, because he clearly has taken English, so either he only started lessons recently or it hasn't been a priority for him; and then I went "wait, what's his first language? Bulgarian, right? But Durmstrang isn't — hang on—" and then I pulled up an actual map of Europe, which led me to realize that he wouldn't likely be speaking his first language at Durmstrang, which means he already had to become bilingual just to start his wizarding education, and that explains part of why he doesn't have a ton of time/effort to spare for a third language, plus he'd probably have a translator available whenever he traveled with a team because he's a B.F.D. — etc., etc. And then you keep thinking about that until you remember that you're supposed to be writing a fic, and you scramble to get back to doing that. Only now, you have worldbuilding! Congrats.

To try for an even halfway useful answer to your question: worldbuilding becomes most important when it creates limitations, because limitations define your characters and give them chances to develop/reveal themselves. So the details of portkeys become important because they explain the limitations of magical travel, which is a big nebulous ??? in the original series, since the introduction of teleportation via Apparating means that all other forms of transportation become inefficient by comparison. It also means the limitations introduced by travel — that is, not all characters can be in all places at once — also go away, because anyone can be anywhere immediately. From a narrative perspective, this sucks massive horse ass. Hence: I dumped a shit ton of limitations on Apparation (i.e., (1) it requires a ton of energy, (2) it's really fucking hard, (3) it's really fucking dangerous, (4) it's more of both the farther away you're going, (5) it's more of both the more people you take with you, (6) you can't Apparate without a clear destination in mind which means (7) you need to have been there already, and so (8) some people prefer not to do it). Hence, I also put limitations on portkeys (i.e., they have to be set up well in advance, you need to identify out both destinations precisely beforehand, and the calculations are difficult to do). Those limitations, and the Watsonian explanations you create for them, are your worldbuilding. They're what make the world feel real, because they give it grit and character. They give you a more complete sense of what you can and cannot do.

The rest of it is taste and preference, really; it's what interests you, and what parts of the world you want to explore. That's going to be unique to every author, and that's the beauty of worldbuilding — it reflects the parts of the world that you like to think about.

[weirdmarioenemies]

Name: Dilophosaurus wetherilli

Debut: Real Life, Circa The Early Jurassic (roughly 280 million years ago)

Hi I'm gonna talk about my favorite dinosaur now and you're gonna like it! Or maybe you won't, I don't know you! But y'know what I do know? Dilophosaurus!!! It's my best friend. They named it after the fact that it's got two (di) crests (lopho) on its head and also it's a reptile (saurus). A big reptile at that! In fact, it was the largest known animal of its time to walk the land in North America, and was almost certainly the apex predator of its environment, the Kayenta Formation (located across several of what are now the South-Western United States).

As you can see, this size chart demonstrates that the largest specimen discovered was about 7 meters (23 feet) long; no Tyrannosaurus rex, mind you, but still far larger than... some popular depictions might lead you to believe.

Also contrary to what some popular depictions might lead you to believe, Dilophosaurus would not have required the use of various biological mechanisms such as, for instance, retractable neck frills or venom-spitting to take down its prey; mechanisms which, mind you, are exclusively seen in animals as methods of self-defense, and would therefore only serve to scare away potential prey items.

Speaking of prey items, this stunning piece by Chase Stone depicts a pair of Dilophosaurus as having just brought down a prosauropod (a name for early sauropod relatives). Dilophosaurus did in fact live alongside at least one prosauropod, Sarahsaurus, the Holotype specimen of which bears tooth marks very likely left by a certain two-crested culprit! On that note I want to address another prevalent misconception in regards to life reconstructions of this animal...

On the left we have a (frankly hilariously sock-puppet-like) restoration by a sadly unknown artist, and on the right is another absolutely breathtaking rendering by Chase Stone. As you can pretty clearly see, the way the crests (among other things) are restored is very different between the two! For a long time, the crests were restored as seen on the left: very thin, and with a little protrusion jutting out of the back. This is due to something called shrink-wrapping, a trend in paleoart exemplified by the omission of tissues such as muscle or fat when reconstructing the animal, leading to much of the skeleton being visible through the skin, particularly in the case of the skull.

Stone's restoration, on the other hand, wraps the skull in a much more naturalistic-looking amount of soft tissue, and completely envelops both crests in a keratinous structure, much like the casque of a cassowary or a hornbill (in fact I believe the coloration is actually referenced specifically from a knobbed hornbill's beak).

This is due to the fact that the crests were likely a kind of bony core which would have supported a larger keratinous structure as is to be expected of... sigh... horny structures such as this. Stop smiling. Don't you know there's no fun allowed when you're learning about things? That's what school taught me, anyway. Ahem. As I was saying, the original shape of the crest was extrapolated from incomplete remains, which you can see a restored illustration of above.

Also worth noting is the inclusion of a thin, fluffy covering of feathers along the head, neck, and back of Stone's restoration. This is entirely plausible, as the current consensus is that dinosaurs and their close relatives, pterosaurs, were descended from a fluffy common ancestor due to the fluffy-feathery coverings seen in both groups being found to be basically the same stuff!

I could go on about so many things, like how tremendously fucked up and addled with tumors and infections the Holotype specimen was, or how we have a trace fossil which seems to preserve a Dilophosaurus sitting down in the mud like a big dumb bird, complete with an impression of its butt, but I trust that if these things pique your interest enough, you'll seek them out on your own time. Just remember not to have fun, because as we all know, fun is the one thing learning should never be.

[seramilla]

Looking at the poll I haven't really thought of Emily and Velvette but I do like the idea. I am imagining that in a AU where Sera and Carmilla are already together and Carmilla already See's Emily as a daughter. I wonder which of them would be more upset upon learning they are dating

(I am easing back into answering asks. Please be kind to my inbox.)

Sera doesn't know Velvette like Carmilla does. Sure, she's one of those annoying Vees Carmilla comes home and complains about after every Overlord meeting, but she's never really met the woman. She's never witnessed how manipulative and calculating the Vees and Velvette can be. And Emily is just so new to Hell and innocent to the ways and wiles of Sinners. She never stood a chance. Especially not when Velvette uses one of her patented love potions on her to...help Emily along.

The first time Sera sees Velvette so much as touch Emily's arm, putting her face close to Emily's and working that spell on her, Sera's instinct is to freeze, brain not quite understanding what she's seeing. Emily...with a powerful Overlord...who is hanging off the smaller angel's arm like an accessory. Like she is so obviously up to something. Velvette doesn't quite have the reputation of Valentino...but she can sure romance with the best of them. Even if most of the time it's artificial and manufactured in a lab. Sera is as rigid as a statue, unsure how to react or process what she's seeing.

How had she...how had Velvette even gotten close to Emily?? She and Carmilla were in the gardens of the Carmine estate that afternoon, just enjoying one of the least hot and humid days that Hell has seen in a while, and suddenly, Emily waltzes right through the gate with Velvette in tow, smiling like one of Carmilla's mortal enemies isn't holding her hand delicately in her grasp.

Sera becomes rigid, too stunned to speak. Carmilla has no such qualms. Immediately, she clocks what Velvette is doing. Carmilla bolts across the yard, faster than the time it takes Sera to blink, and slams Velvette against the hard angelic steel rungs of the fence erected around her home. Carmilla holds her large claws to Velvette's neck, threatening to squeeze the life out of her if the shorter woman even dares twitch in her grasp.

"Emily," Carmilla says, voice so full of mirth and rage, it barely even registers as Carmilla's. She doesn't once take her eyes off Velvette. "Go to Sera. Right now!"

"But Carmilla..."

"Do what I fucking said! I won't ask you again! Now!"

Emily doesn't question her further. Just looks on in concern as the natural disaster that is Carmilla Carmine in a bad mood turns back to face Velvette, presenting her with the full force of a mother whose child is being threatened. That's what Emily is now. Hers and Sera's responsibility. Not Velvette's, or anyone else's. HERS.

"I don't know what kind of game you're trying to play, you insolent little brat," Carmilla grows, shoving Velvette up against the fence again for good measure, until she practically pushes Velvette's head between two of the slats. "You're lucky I don't tear your face off and shove it up your ass for using that girl to break in here."

Velvette cries out at the feel of angelic steel beginning to burn through her clothing, but despite the pain, she grins up at Carmilla, knowing she'd very nearly gotten the better of her.

"Then why don't you, you old fossil?" Velvette chortles, squeezing Carmilla's hand around her neck with her own claws, very nearly breaking the skin. "Maybe I actually like her. Would that be so hard to believe?"

Carmilla snarls and shoves Velvette even harder into the fence, until she can practically smell smoke coming off the younger woman's skin. Velvette tries to maintain her cold demeanor, but can't hide the whimper of pain, and then the scream as the steel burns through her dress around her shoulder blades.

"Because I don't want a fucking civil war on my hands, you petulant child!"

""All right!" Velvette shouts, squirming and writhing fruitlessly to get out of Carmilla's grasp. "Carmilla, please! Fine! You win! I fucking give! Just let me down!"

Carmilla drops Velvette on the ground with a thud, the smaller overlord landing hard on her knees and having to catch herself before she falls over on her side. The back of her dress is burned through, and there is a charcoal-like scorch mark on the fence where Carmilla had been holding her up. Velvette staggers to her feet. She winces, trying to reach around to her back to soothe the pain, but unable to reach it.

"You can walk out of here with just that injury today," Carmilla warns, never once taking her eyes off Velvette, as the fashionista limps her way pathetically back toward the gate. "But if I ever catch you near Emily again with one of your potions, I will murder you. There will be nothing left for your comrades to find. Truce, be damned. Do you understand me?"

Velvette ignores her, opening the gate, and squeezing herself weakly through the barely open slats.

"Velvette! Answer me! Do you understand?!" Carmilla shouts again.

"I'm not promising you anything, windbag," Velvette responds, even though there is no energy behind it. Carmilla has taken all the fight out of her. She slams the gate closed behind her, pathetically weak, and Carmilla keeps an eye on her as she disappears down the street, back toward the Vee's tower.

[ilovecoelacanths]

This is a story about a book that changed my life.

It's also about how amazing libraries and authors and people who care about sharing cool things with curious kids are. Also, fish (especially fish). It's kind of different than what I usually post but it's been bouncing around in my head basically since I started this blog so here you go, I hope you like it. This is the reason I love coelacanths so much, and why I think everyone should know about how amazing they are.

When I was little, I loved going to the library. My little brother and I would pick out way too many books and the librarians always had to come over to override the 30 book limit at the checkout stand (they pretty much knew us on sight and were ready to override it as soon as we started heading over to check out). After we finished getting our library books, our mom also let us look through the free pile that was in the foyer on the way out. It was mostly old library books that the librarians just needed to clean out, but there were a lot of books that people brought when they cleaned out their personal collections too (especially teachers, and there were a bunch of books with old school library stamps inside). The free pile didn't usually have a lot of things that interested me, but one day when I was poking through it I found a book called Fossil Fish Found Alive: Discovering the Coelacanth, by Sally M. Walker.

I loved it. I had never even heard of coelacanths before, but this book fascinated me. It told the story of an incredible animal, long thought to be extinct, that had somehow survived for millions of years! It was nothing like any fish I had ever learned about before. I already had a casual interest in marine biology that I can thank PBS Kids and Wild Kratts for (particularly their episode on sperm whales and giant squid, I loved that episode), but this book took it to a new level. I wanted to be a marine biologist so I could learn more about coelacanths.

Like a lot of things when you're 7, that was a phase. Unlike a lot of phases, this one I came back to. After taking a break from my dreams of being a marine biologist to experience the hell that is middle school, one day I pulled a book off my shelf. I hadn't read it in a while. When I picked it up again, I remembered how incredible this animal was, and how much it had inspired me when I was younger, and those thoughts of becoming a marine biologist started to return. I'm in college now studying marine science, and I brought the book with me to school, where it sits next to two other science books that have inspired me (My Friends the Wild Chimpanzees by Jane Goodall and The Sea Around Us by Rachel Carson).

Earlier this year, I was thinking about how much this one book had changed my life and I wondered if I could find Ms. Walker and thank her. I knew she had many other science books for younger audiences, and even another book about coelacanths, so I was sure she had a website of some kind, and I was right. So I found her contact page and wrote her an email explaining the impact her book had had on my life, and thanking her for it. And to my surprise, she responded! She was very kind and we sent a few emails back and forth. She gave me some excellent advice and even told me about some of the people she contacted while researching her book, including Marjorie Courtenay-Latimer herself, the person who rediscovered the coelacanth when it was thought to be extinct! I'll never forget how she took the time to respond to me and how encouraging she was.

But Ms. Walker isn't the only one I have to thank for pointing me toward the path I'm on right now. If I hadn't already loved reading, if I hadn't seen any show or video to make me interested in marine biology, if the library didn't have a pile of books for anyone to take home, if I had lost that book during one of our many moves as a kid, I don't know what I'd be doing right now. There were a lot of things that happened to make it so that I found this book, but I'm glad for every single one of them. They led to me learning about an incredible animal and changed the course of my life. And now, I love coelacanths.

[bomberqueen17]

what is up froods

lol i keep forgetting to like. actually write updates in my personal journal. i'm using this tumblr too much like a tumblr.

i went down a rabbit hole the other night in that i just opened my own archives and went back to 2013 and then realized i started this in 2011. i didn't say a lot, back then i definitely was still using my LJ for Big Personal Updates and Tumblr was exclusively for snappy shitposts, and then I abandoned the LJ and only blogged in snappy shitposts for a while, and I did some vagueblogging that I genuinely have no idea what it was about, and that's fun.

But there's some. Boy there's some real fossils in there. God everything stays the same but everything happens so much.

I know I've backed up this blog but IDK how much you can make it make sense, offline. Anyway. That's how it goes. I'm not in any kind of existential panic about the site I'm just reacting to the zeigeist here, it made me think of old times.

I go back to the farm in a couple of weeks-- just for a couple of weeks, but the Season is Starting. My physical therapist keeps giving me more exercises. She's right, my core strength is wretched, but when I said I'd tried to do crunches now and then, tried to stay a tiny bit fit but-- she was like omg no you can't do crunches, with that hip cartilage as it is, so I felt a little better. So she's teaching me what I *can* do, and the important thing is that she's like you cannot do this more than every other day or three times a week, you cannot rush this kind of thing, and it's wonderful advice contrary to all the other advice I've ever had in my life which was like every moment you're not doing more work you're being a lazy shit. So, that's nice. I'll cut because nothing else here is going to be interesting.

I'm not the youngest person at physical therapy but there's a lot of old people there. I haven't been masking, I've been being lazy and just using xylitol nose spray before I go, and it's been fine, but I know that's just luck. (I see no one but Dude, who sees almost no one but me, so the consequences of fucking up would be minor.) with a trip to the farm coming up, I'm going to go back to masking, at least in the lead-up to the trip-- because last time I had COVID I had almost no symptoms, and nowadays apparently the rapid tests aren't super useful. The way I'm coping is, I know, a logical fallacy-- since COVID wasn't bad the one time I had it, I'm just telling myself I'm resistant naturally and it won't hurt me, and I know this is not the truth at all but it helps me cope-- but I cannot stand the thought of spreading it to someone who would be more hurt by it, so I have convinced myself not to fear catching it but to fear spreading it. I figure it's effectively the same and lets me not just be fucking terrified all the time.

I also discovered that a former employee of the farm who's out here going to college is interested in carpooling, and we've already got a tentative date for him to ride back with me on my way back from the farm at the end of March, and this has lightened my spirits a great deal. It's such a long drive and it feels like such a waste of gas, and he does have a car but it's not actually that safe to drive on the Thruway. (He swears up and down it's perfectly safe but just not at sustained speeds over 60. I was like omg kid do NOT, I will drive, my car is brand fkn new. He's taking the train home and will ride back with me.)

Let's see. Oh I don't think I've kept up with posting about the kitchen painting. It's down to the last tiny fiddly details, and what I've got to do is do a half-stencil in the corner above the door, and I did one half yesterday and will finish the rest today. I had to custom cut out a copy of part of the stencil to make it work, and it's sort of janky and I am going to have to hand-paint it with a lot of masking tape, but it's such a small area that like, why not, I can be that fussy. It's fine.

Once I finish that, which if I do part in the morning and part in the afternoon I can do today, then I can FINALLY CLEAN UP AND PUT AWAY all the painting detritus. I can't tell you how excited I am to do that.

I've also been doing fabric dyeing, finally. I collected several of the muslin garments I'd finished and meant to do something with, and got out my dyes. I did a batch of ice dye solely because I forgot which ones I'd intended to use for that; now I have a pair of slightly ill-fitting homemade leggings that look like a clown threw up on them, and a cheerful sweatshirt to match. i then used the runoff to dye the cream-colored canvas work smock-- I sort of tie-dyed it because I pasted up a little bit of two of the component colors and poured that on a couple areas that I then rubberbanded, because I wanted tie-dye but did not want any white areas left. So it's a blue/purple/red smock now, and the rainbow stitching I constructed it with was polyester so it's still rainbow, huzzah. Subtle and understated and also I can smear it with filth and maybe it will still look intentional.

[image description: a canvas work smock with big pockets, hanging to dry, mostly a mucky dark purple but with some brighter splotches of red and dark blue, and some bits of paler purple.]

[image description: assorted garments draped over drying racks in a sunporch, in blotchy shades of red, orange, yellow, green, blue, purple, all kind of run together but not murky.]

And then I did another batch of ice dye, this time with the dyes I had bought that are supposed to work well for this because they split. That dress is still in the wash so I don't have pictures of how it turned out, but mostly it just looks splotchy green. LOL oh well. The point was, I made all these test garments in undyed fabric, but I don't have a lifestyle where I can wear a white dress, so now I have some non-white dresses I don't have to be precious about. Some of them I should now probably hem and like actually finish..........

I have one dress and one shirt left, and a pair of light-wash jeans I don't like wearing, and I'm thinking about trying like. Ombre or something. We'll see if I get around to that.

My sewing area is still a fuckin disaster and I don't want to think about it. But I'm cutting out a vest from scrap denim, I want a quilted abrasion-resistant washable work vest for farm work next week and I gotta get a move on. All I need now is to cut out the batting and get to it. So hopefully today.

I took photos, I might try writing up how-tos on the dyeing and on the repurposed denim stuff, but I also might not. If I was doing this again I would probably not bother with the ice, for the rainbow one. We'll see once the properly ice dyed dress comes out of this wash, I can hear the washer spinning but I'm trapped under Chita at the moment.

I missed this week's fic update because I'm progressing so slowly on both current active WIPs. I have a bunch written ahead in both, but each one has the back half of the current chapter just held up waiting for me to write them; I've overcome the structural decisions that delayed me, but I have to just sit and write them. And both of them are complicated scenes I've been waiting to write a long time, so I'm looking forward to writing them, and so like, paradoxically, can't make myself do it. Because once I've done it I'll have done it, see... anyway. Silly but there it is. I'll get through it once I decide I deserve that treat. I know! I know.

[ochrearia]

More RGBFverse shenanigans

I wanted to write a one-on-one with Beefer (cs!BF) and Yourself. cs!BF is one of my versions of BF, from my Fossil Fighters AU that I'm totally NOT neglecting rn. It's okay. Also Peacock (SFA!BF) is mentioned like once and he belongs to Shed!!! yeah

Caeru jumpscare.

Coming into his room to find he was not alone was the last thing Yourself had originally been expecting. But he supposed when he’d made the choice to tell his other selves they were allowed around whenever they needed, paired with their better versions of mirror-walking, there were going to be times where he came home to find obnoxious intruders. Beefer was the only one here this time, so at least it wasn’t everyone at once. YS would rather be notified ahead of time if everyone was going to show up. He didn’t mind one or two.

“Most people would, you know, send a text telling me that they’re coming to visit. I’m not prone to experiencing heart attacks when I’m surprised and find something that wasn’t here when I left.” YS snarked lightly, falling into the usual banter that would normally go on. Though when he crossed the room, he could tell something wasn’t right. “You okay?”

Beefer was curled rather pathetically around himself on YS’s bed, eyes half-lidded and sad. “Slipped away, for a little bit. Things are still… bad, with my situation. Feels like it never ends, like one day stretching out over months and months and I don’t know how to fix it.”

“It’s not your job to fix something you didn’t cause.” YS said slowly, moving to sit next to him on the bed. “Has nothing really changed? Haven’t you gotten to talk to your Pico and Cherry by now?”

“Hah. As if. Living on the run now, I have to be jumping through puddles to mirror-walk. At least any reflection works… They don’t know I’m gone. Maybe that’s for the best anyway. I don’t know how to talk to Pico right now, and Cherry… I messed up, she saw. My Alectro convinced me to vent to them and I didn’t originally mean to fall asleep after, but I did. They told her everything. I didn’t want to give her more guilt, she already has enough. I can’t talk to them.”

Making a face, YS extended his hand out and let it rest gently on the top of Beefer’s head. “Venting is good, you know. I told you not to bottle shit up. It’s not healthy. You clearly need someone to talk to but you’re not letting yourself have that. Someone that isn’t one of your dinosaurs. Vivosaurs? Is that what they’re called?”

“Yeah.” Beefer sighed, shifting slightly. “Vivosaurs. They’re better listeners than you might think. I know you can’t understand them, only Dinaurians can. But… that’s kind of why I came here. I’m pretending to be okay with being changed into something completely alien. Pretending. But I don’t really have anyone else who’d understand that. Pico is… complicated. I don’t know if I can trust him right now. So that leaves you.”

“Me, huh?” YS chuckled softly. “Well, I’ll do my best to understand then.”

“You do understand.” Beefer looked him in the eyes with an almost unnerving look. “Takes one to know one, YS. I’m not human anymore. And you never were.”

The taller one stiffened. “How…?”

“Do I know that?” The Dinaurian finished the question. “Maybe it’s a Dinaurian thing. They spend so much time disguising themselves to look human, using technology to create physical lies. Something about that makes it second nature to see through fake humans. Instinct, maybe. You look human but you’re not. You’re supernatural. Not necessarily in the same category as an alien, but still not human. Peacock is too, but he’s new to this whole fucked up family thing. You’re a better choice.”

“I… don’t follow on how I would understand your predicament the way you’re implying.”

“You’ve lost your wings, haven’t you?” Beefer asked bluntly. “I’ve seen the way the muscles on your back move sometimes. Like an old habit. Trying to move something that’s no longer there. Where I have gained, you have lost. Both changed in an instant to be something unfamiliar.”

Well that was… uncomfortable to say the least. YS hadn’t really been planning to tell any of the others about his whole fallen angel thing, and realistically he didn’t want to talk about the way he lost his wings to begin with. Secrets weren’t the greatest things to keep, especially from yourself, but it was a traumatic event and he was more than within his rights to choose not to reopen that wound. Didn’t seem like he could avoid it anymore, not with this self at least.

Beefer took his silence as a go-ahead to keep talking, though. “Maybe it’s not the same really, but… I don’t have anyone else. I really can’t justify saying I have Pico right now and Cherry doesn’t get it. Is- does it get any better? You seem to be more or less tolerating the fact you’ve lost something important to your body. You know you’re not the same anymore but you seem to handle it way better than I do, and- please tell me it gets better. I feel so fucking alien and it’s like… yeah, I literally am an alien now. God, I don’t really know how to word this. I don’t feel like myself.I feel like I’m a spectator in my own body. It’s probably dysphoria and I really didn’t think I would ever experience that, and it’s weird because sometimes I look at myself and I don’t mind. I don’t mind because I know I did this to myself, deciding to be a fucking idiot and almost get myself killed. And sometimes the features really are cool. But then I think again, and suddenly everything is so fucking suffocating. You know it still hurts?”

YS blinked, trying to process everything. “Hurts? What hurts?”

Beefer sighed, grabbing onto his shoulder and pulling up the sleeve of his Dinaurian suit. The suit was designed to camo as the skin underneath, always throwing the rest of them for a loop, and it was weird to see it peeled back like a second skin. It seemed like even the suit had its limits on what to mimic as, though, because rolling the sleeve back revealed a nasty patch of a scar in the shape of a dinosaur’s fang. He looked between YS and his arm as he continued speaking. “It wasn’t exactly painless. Kind of like a vaccine booster but 100 times worse. I didn’t have to focus on it for long because I was busy throwing up all the poison that was literally killing me, but… sometimes it still hurts. And it reminds me every time it does. Cherry offered to let me use the human disguise device, but that feels awful in my head too. Because it’s a disguise. It’s not me anymore.”

This… was a first. Yourself had tried to get the alien to open up more about how this had happened, he only really knew bits and pieces. Knowing how gruesome and traumatic it actually was, he was surprised how well he was pretending to hold it all together really.

“Please just- tell me it gets better. I know you don’t know the future, and you don’t know everything. But you’ve had extreme changes to your body too. Just tell me it gets better. Tell me that with time I’m not going to constantly flip between being numb and accepting of this and violently hating myself the next second. I don’t know what I’m doing-”

Having heard more than enough, YS shook his head and pulled Beefer in for a tight hug. “Shit, man, you have it so much worse than I thought. Sorry. I- I don’t think I know how to really help you. That’s… a first.” He paused. Of course he didn’t know how to help. He didn’t have an experience like this. Having your wings torn off was one thing, but he still at least looked like himself in every other aspect. Beefer had gone through an entire body transformation just to keep himself alive. “It… it can get better. I’ve never really gotten over losing my wings, and I don’t think lying and saying I have will do any good. Not for you. Losing a part of yourself is never not going to be tough. And you feel like you’ve lost all of yourself, not just a part. Am I correct?”

Beefer nodded into the taller’s shoulder. His arms were curling around his back, funnily enough right below where YS knew his long healed scars were. Nails were bunching up parts of his shirt, but he didn’t care.

“I can’t pretend to know what that’s like physically. But I think it can get better. This is all still very recent for you and a lot more traumatic than you’re letting yourself think about. And the way you talk about your Pico and Cherry, you’re not letting yourself have a support network either. Because, what? You think they’ll only feel more guilt? Push you away more? I’m still pissed at your Pico to be honest but that’s not really my place or relevant right now. What I’m saying is let yourself have some time. Time to process. Mourn what you’ve lost and then work on going forward.” YS sighed, worrying his lip. “The rest of us BFs are normally just… shitters, really, because that’s just how we are. But I know all of them have the capacity to care and want to care. If you really need someone to talk to I think asking any of them would be successful. And yeah, none of us are going to know fully what to say. You’re the only instance so far that is a dinosaur alien. Dunno if there’s gonna be any more but. I would say hopefully not, but maybe I should say hopefully so. At least that way you’d have someone who knows exactly what you need.”

The two fell into silence, and for a moment YS wondered if he was really at all helping. But he could feel the smaller start to melt against him, mainly out of exhaustion. He was clearly tired, holding in a lot more than he was letting on. Having been cut off from any sort of comfort when he desperately needed it.

“It’s funny.” Beefer said after a while, not moving his face away from where he buried it into the crook of YS’s arm. “You really remind me of my brother, the more that I think about it. He’d probably say the same thing.”

Never has his blood felt like it froze faster than it had done now. Yourself’s grip tightened, seemingly unnoticed by Beefer- or he just didn’t care. His jaw clenched. “Brother…?”

“Yeah.” Beefer said, finally pulling away a little. “My brother. Shit, I didn’t mention him before did I? Oh… I haven’t seen him since everything happened either. He’ll be worried sick about me I think… But yeah. I have an actual adopted older brother. Caeru, that’s what he insists on being called. You remind me of him so much. He kind of looks like you too, honestly. Just like, way cleaner and put together.”

Caeru. Does this idiot think I’m fucking stupid? Latin for blue? YS thought bitterly. Well, maybe ‘idiot’ was rude, but he wasn’t talking about Beefer. He was talking about ‘Caeru’. BFs don’t have brothers aside from Ritz in some cases. Not a single world I’ve looked into has ever mentioned having a brother named Caeru. That’s not a brother. That’s another BF, and that’s not just any other BF. That’s a fucking ME, isn’t it? Using Latin?

“You alright? You’ve gone silent.” Beefer asked. “Something wrong?”

YS startled quickly, burying his thoughts and lying once again. “No, nothing. It’s fine. Just… thinking. Look, take as much time as you need here for now. I don’t mind.” Fucking stay out of your world when another one of me is fucking running around and apparently pretending to be your brother. Jesus christ.

He’d hoped there weren’t other versions of him that aligned with him specifically. So there really was more than one universe where something happens, something so devastating they became a Yourself kind of BF, huh? And Beefer clearly didn’t know. So that one was lying more egregiously. That was dangerous. Protect Beefer. Oh, what am I saying, Beefer can handle himself. I just don’t trust another instance of me that’s like me. Guess there’s another I have to keep tabs on without alerting this one of his brother being a liar.

[fallenangelofsalt]

I realized I messed up the timeline in Purple Gold

This is what I get for not checking the dates first

Canonically, Purple had already been in Minecraft in 2018, and Gold died in 2020 according to the wiki. I'm not changing it though so now Gold gets to die(?) way earlier :)

(Not a lot of lore here, this is mostly just me straightening out the timeline and getting my thoughts in order since its easier for me to do that while writing and I might as well post it yk)

@styck-figure @whirld-of-color in case you guys are interested on the nitpicky stuff.

I thought about the accident being before the OG AvM but I think that would have been way too early, and it was mostly because then I could give Herobrine some fun implications, but in the end I think it fits better to place him in the time between OG and ep1, so I also get to play with how the updates affect Purple's world. I think that the experience of being inside of a game while it updates is a very underrated sort of horror when it comes to sentient videogame characters, and I'm looking foward to making Purple experience it :) though the fact they know its a game, and probably also how updates work, takes off some of the horror.

Purple's first appearance is in ep9 and I can't find any frames where the date is shown(the only full screens we get are in Purple's mac and it only says it's a wednesday), but in ep8 the date is 5/18/2018 and... none of the next episodes in season1 have a date. Or the first ep in s2. Ok, time to ask the wiki and they only have the airing date but whatever. 6/18/2018.

Anyways, that means the only updates that would have happened before he meets the others are Combat, Frostburn, Exploration and Color. That's kind of disappointing since I was looking foward to having Drowned play a major role in Purple's second death but I can make it work without it. Just needs some tweaking.

The Combat Update is overall just way too subtle to effectively work as horror, the main changes are just mechanics and added end stuff. Basically just not a lot of stuff Purple would notice or pay attention to, especially since the End isn't going to be somewhere they would visit right off the bat. At most they would notice some new enchantments.

The Frostburn Update is already a bit more interesting, it adds 3 mobs (polar bears, Strays and Husks), adds magma blocks, fossils, increases Magma Cube spawn rates and lets Enderman spawn in the Nether. Overall enough changes to be a bit jarring, but I'm honestly just not vibing with it.

Exploration adds the Woodland Mansion and all the fun stuff that comes with it, but its so rare that its sudden appearence isn't going to be all that shocking because Purple probably never went wherever it is before it showed up.

World of color adds some new blocks but none of them naturally generated. The most horror potential it has are the parrots. ...Actually, they have a lot of horror potential with their sound copying. I might use that.

I'll probably have to wait a while for any update-related horror.

So, the accident happens midway through the Combat Update, and maybe that's why it happens in the first place. Gold gets unlucky enough to be playing right when the update gets released, and since stickfigures interact with our programs differently, it makes sense their tech would too. Instead of waiting for the player to close the game before updating, it decides to update with Gold still inside. :)

Purple shows up a while after the Frostburn Update is done since it happens so soon after Combat and I want Gold to have some time to get used to his new existence and learn about players.

All the while, King is having a lot more roadblocks than he's supposed to have. I'll have to throw some stuff at him to justify how long it takes for him to reach his canon position, considering in canon it takes like 18 months AT MOST. It probably is somewhere closer to one year.

Here Gold dies in early 2016, so that means King needs to be five times slower than in canon. ...He's going to need a lot of roadblocks.

One of those roadblocks is pretty much just taking that video off the internet also mostly because how the frick did it even get there??? THEYRE IN THE FREAKING NETHER THEY MINED OUT OF THE SCREEN HOW IS ANYTHING RECORDING THEM RIGHT NOW????

[myragewillendworlds]

A lot of racists and misogynists, and a lot of people mad that eggs are more expensive than they were 4 years ago, and most no other strong political views besides these.

Eh, that's not the whole story, though. While Trump is insane and I just have no words for how baffling it is that such a massive amount of people is willing to vote for a pathologically lying, narcissistic, sociopathic, hateful, demented, criminal lunatic – there's also a reason why even the people he openly hates turned around to vote for him.

The left-wing (in much of Europe as well) has completely lost touch with their traditional working class following, having become too elitist or too expensive (attempting to revert climate change at this point comes with high costs, as scientists always predicted and warned for) for the working class to be able to identify themselves with anymore. Years of neoliberalism fucked us all over and the long-term solutions the left proposes cost too much money for the working class to be willing to bear in the short term. Meanwhile, right-wing populism promises quick, easy fixes, promises them their jobs back in dead industries, promises to make climate change go away by ignoring it, promises to lower taxes by burning some more fossil fuels, and manipulatively redirects their growing anger and frustration in the direction of whatever blameless group of people they happen to hate most at the time. Something very obvious that we've very obviously seen before, and people still run with it.

What's most hilarious about this though (or would be if it didn't come with such consequences) is that in turning away from the elitism of the left-wing, the working class decided that the non-elitist side to vote for was the born-rich, "small loan of a million dollars", wealthy business magnate and his good buddy, the literal richest man of the entire planet. Truly the side that understands and cares for your financial struggles.

What's also aggravating, because fuck it this is an essay now, is that people are too goddamn dumb to understand how anything works. Bush fucks over the economy, sends tons of people to their death, creates global chaos that will last for decades after, and Obama gets to inherit his mess. Trump fucks over the economy, lets god knows how many people die carelessly, sabotages international relations and collaborations, and Biden gets to inherit his mess. You can't turn that much destruction around and make it all okay in just a few years time. People expect the easy answers, think new leadership can just magically make it all better and if it's not immediately better, welp, time for the next populist asshole to give it a go! People blame Biden's presidency for their situations as if Trump had nothing to do with it, as if the whole world isn't currently dealing with high prices and lack of housing, and then turn around and vote for the one who created and will gladly worsen that mess in the first place. We'll never know how much worse people's situations would've been if these kind of morons had continued on their rampage, without the left-wing breaks in between that allowed for at least some normalcy to return.

TL;DR too bad that bullet missed its target.

[thelindenpapers]

I actually wound up liking "The Woman King" as a movie way, WAY better than 300.

It is beautiful cinematically, it touches on some things and addresses some things that are good…

But please don't get it twisted, because that was NOT a historical movie. ^^;;; We know that.

The sunrises were beautiful, but I do not perceive it as a society that I wish to return to.

Because it does envision a world in which most of the hierarchies that plague us now, are still in place.

If you pay attention to the beginning, they're pretty adamant about showing this.

A lot of what is depicted seems like an attempt to say, "Look! This society in Africa was just as good as white people's, because, see: we had money, and patriarchy, and rich people, and kings, and war, too! That's what makes a civilization!"

For me, that whole attempt misses the plot on what it means to be a human.

There's a fundamental thing that I think that we miss when folks say, "Well, but look: white people are right, because they have all the money and all the power. They're "winning"!"

…Sure, that's winning….

If you enjoy being hated by your kids and having to down twelve Zoloft and two bottles of wine and step on the necks of fifty different people before breakfast, just to be able to stand being yourself for five fucking minutes… :/

Let's not pretend that these "winning" rich people and monarchs and oligarchs have healthy relationships with themselves, much less their families, much less anyone else.

The image of happiness that they project is often just that: a very carefully (and desperately) maintained IMAGE.

Even more basic than that: It's winning if you're a virus.

If you are an unselfaware gorilla, who lives in a troupe rather than a society, and your only idea of a "good" life is about domination and control. About who can you manipulate, who can you threaten, who can you hit over the head with a stick and gain power, for the sole purpose of just having power.

That is an ape troupe's idea of winning.

The kind of "winning" where scientists start to study you to try and figure out what's wrong with you.

We are apes, and descended from apes -- but we're not in an ape troupe...or really, we're not supposed to be.

We are HUMANS.

Humans are a KIND of ape, but we became different for a reason.

The fossil record shows a point, hundreds of thousands of years back in history, where the strongest apes -- the ones who were using violence and strength and threats to control and lord it over the other members of their community -- started dropping like flies.

Because one of the weaker apes had invented the blow gun.

And one of the other weaker apes knew how to make poison.

And all the other weaker apes agreed, "yeah, you know what, this guy is a fucking asshole, he needs to go!"

This happened multiple times across the populations of our ape ancestors, at roughly the same time frame in human evolution.

…And afterwards?

After our ancestors ended these strongest apes?

That's when our ape ancestors began to evolve at an EXPONENTIAL rate.

That's when we started to live by collaboration, consent, community, and trying to continually make conditions better for each other; instead of constantly trying to hoard and compete and get over on one another…that's when we started to have each other's backs on the regular.

After our ape ancestors sent their tyrants into the dirt; THAT'S when you start to see extremely complex language and tool-making and art and architecture EXPLODE across human culture: opening up all kinds of different options for life and for living.

All the things that make us FULLY human -- not just apes -- all these things resulted from us looking at nature's 'Might Makes Right', 'Red in Tooth and Claw', types of "winning", and saying to each other, "I'M SO SICK OF THIS SHIT!"

Nature is beautiful, yes. It birthed us. We need to cohabit with it sustainably and respectfully in order to live.

Yet, becoming human was an ancestral act of REVOLUTION.

It is relatively only very, very recently in the span of human existence when folk whose only loyalty is to capitalism and the made-up concept of whiteness, have swept across the world and RE-reframed the concept of "winning" according to fucking ape-brained bullshit that humanity had gotten rid of LONG ago.

They're doing it in ways that hurt not just everyone else, but themselves, too.

They are literally murdering the global ecosystem to do it.

And it disturbs me how many people have accepted that return to an absolute trash concept of "winning", instead of seeing it for what it is: NOT "the way humans just are"; but a regression, back into semi-conscious and ultimately suicidal ape-troupe mentality.

[charmikarma]

good lird. what have i done.

hey. i wrote this in response to yesterday's upd8. it's a drabble about candy!jade stuffing dave's corpse. a little more than 1k words. it's kinda graphic. there's implied cannibalism. it's also not beta read.

read at your own risk. peace

You summon the corpse from your sylladex and lay it out across your dining room table. The shades are gone – why, you can't be sure – but the eyelids are shut, so you can't see the eyes anyway. No matter. Dave was always cagey about his eyes; even in death, you're willing to respect that.

You head to the basement and look through the dusty old boxes. It's been decades since you did anything like this, but you know your supplies are still here somewhere. You find rifles, plushies, old gadgets – all kinds of junk you don't want to let go of, but no longer have any use for. Finally, the second-to-last box contains what you're looking for. Scalpels, needles, wood wool – all that and more. Tools and materials any amateur taxidermist should have on hand.

Below that box is one labeled simply dave in Dave's handwriting. You don't remember this being here.

You open it; it's not like he has any use for whatever's inside anymore.

Inside are a number of things you remember from his room. Records, photographs, fossils. There's even what appears to be a human fetus in a jar, which you would probably find more alarming if you weren't drowning in preserved human remains from a young age.

Rolling around the bottom of the box is a number of marbles, which gives you a brilliant idea. You fish out two of the largest ones you can find – one a red cat's eye, and the other a translucent blue-gray. If there is any symbolism to be seen in these colors, you don't notice it. You've neglected to notice symbols like these for decades.

You add the two marbles to the box with your tools. You return to the dining room and get to work.

You strip the body of its clothes. You are calm as you cut into the skin. The art of taxidermy takes a lot of care, after all, and while you are inexperienced, the training your grandpa gave you sticks in your memory like gum. You'll never forget how to do this for the rest of your eternal life. The feeling of the scalpel dividing flesh, the sound of skin peeling away from muscle, the smell of blood and something else which you have always assumed was death – it is all burned into your memory, and has been since the last time you did this. The time you stuffed your own grandpa. It was what he wanted for himself.

What you're doing right now is not what Dave would want for himself. You know that. But you also know better than your younger self – what Dave would want does not matter anymore. He is gone. But you're still here. So of course the question falls to you – what do you want to do with your husband's lifeless body?

With a squelch and a lot of arm strength, you pry the humerus free from the bicep. It's a shame Dave has no use for the muscle anymore. He always did have attractive arms. Though you could say the same for the rest of his body, too. You'll be sure to keep your rendition as faithful to the original as you can.

You set aside the bone on the kitchen counter. You wipe off the blood and write "LH" on it in black sharpie, so that you don't get it mixed up with the right humerus later. They will be helpful for posing the body when you stuff it.

You return to the carcass. Over the course of the next few hours, you strip skin from muscle, and muscle from bone. You lay each bone with the first humerus and each stretch of skin on the floor. You are careful to keep every piece organized. You are not careful to keep the house clean. Discarded flesh litters the floor. There is blood everywhere – on the table, on your hands, on your clothes. Your hair is sticky with it. The scent of it stings your nose.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, it registers that you are mutilating your dear husband without his permission. That it is Dave's blood on your hands. Somewhere deep below your diaphragm you are unsettled. But your body carries on; you're pressed for time. There's a war out there, and this is your only chance to preserve the love of your life.

You begin to reconstruct the body, and it stops feeling so impersonal. Tears blur your vision as you sew Dave's flesh back together. Why did he decide to leave? Of course you'd always feared the worst – that he never truly loved you. Why would he? But he stayed anyway, for sixteen long years. Sixteen happy years. Maybe he never loved you, but at least he would stay with you.

No longer.

Your hand begins to shake, and you nearly tear through his skin with your needle. You begin to mutter to yourself.

JADE: shh shhh its ok dave im sorry JADE: ill be more careful i promise! i wont hurt you JADE: christ jade get it together!!!

You steel yourself and fill his skull with wool. You stretch his scalp over the backside, and his face over the front. You sew the two pieces together just in front of his hairline, whispering sweet nothings to him all the way.

JADE: just a bit longer ok? JADE: youll be all nice and pretty again dont worry :)

When his head is finished, you pop the two marbles into his eye sockets.

JADE: there now you can see!!! JADE: do you like your new eyes? hehe i thought you would JADE: theyre from your own collection after all!!

You remember the hands being the most difficult part, so you've saved them for last. There is something unexpectedly intimate about reconstructing a hand you've held so many times you've memorized it. It may not be warm the way it used to be, and those stitches were never there before, but it's still Dave's hand. You have half a mind to press it to your cheek, to kiss the palm like you always used to, but you aren't that far gone. You do, however, thread your fingers between his after you finish your work. You hold his hand like that for a while.

JADE: i miss you already JADE: ......... JADE: well i guess youre not really gone JADE: youre still here, just JADE: quieter

You look around the room. Unsurprisingly, it's a mess. The blood is probably never coming out of the hardwood floor. And, of course, there's flesh everywhere. Organs, too. It's a shame, really, how much of the body is wasted in the process.

Your eyes fall to Dave's still heart. It's smaller than you expected; you were so little when you handled your grandpa's, so you guess you remembered it being bigger.

Your hand slips out of Daves as you fall to the floor. You stare at his heart, thinking. Not thinking about what to do – no, you're thinking about whether to do it. To follow the urge bubbling up from deep below your consciousness. If it were anyone else, you wouldn't hesitate to discard the thought. But it's Dave. You'll never meet anyone like him again. You don't want any part of him to go to waste.

You shouldn't. You know you shouldn't.

You reach for his heart.

[furretfluffies]

HELLO!! My name is Marcy! I am a Blueberry Academy student, originally from Johto! That's where I got my best partner, Baby the Furret!

I am dating Valentino (@barbedwireheartz), Anne, and Sasha! Val is an exchange student I met recently and me and the girls were childhood friends and grew up together, going to the same academy now!

I AM SUPER AUTISM HEHEHE!! at least that's what Sash says! I love keeping journals on Pokémon, my current journal is one I keep digitally! I call them Kitty! But I also love having physical journals to draw cool Pokémon I see! I am just here to share my journeys and have fun with my loves!

Unlabeled (She/They)

💞 Panromantic, Pansexual 💜 Polyamorous

TAKEN BY ANNA BANANA, SASHY, & VAL!!

TEAM >>

Baby the Furret! ♡ ♀️

Normal 🤍

My primary Pokemon, although I love all of them dearly! She was my first ever partner I got back in Johto! We are pratically inseparable! Ever since she was just a little Sentret, she used to wrap around my neck like a scarf! She still does it to this day, despite being rather big for a furret (6'1) compared to average! She is very loving and will do anything for a little treat!~ 🍬

Aza the Ribombee! ♡ ♀️ - ✨

Bug 🪲 // Fairy 🎀

Shield Dust

Draining Kiss — Dazzling Gleam — Bug Buzz — Struggle Bug

On a trip to Galar with Valentino and some of his companions, I saw a wild Ribombee! Ohh, it was so tiny and cute! Surely it must be an easy catch, right? I was proven very wrong! Small things have a very rough punch and this was proof! I got my ass pretty beat, but I ended up being relentless and came back for it after recovering. Aza must have been impressed by my determination to catch it, but it still put up a brutal fight. I caught it on the second go-around and she became one of my strongest!

Pristinee the Drizzile ♡ ♂️

Water 🌊

Torrent

Rain Dance — Surf — Liquidation — Sucker Punch

I got Pristinee in Blueberry Academy as a little Sobble! The cutest little baby, I wanted to protect so much! And when he evolved into a Drizzile, I was even more thrilled! I knew these kind of Pokémon they give as starters normally had three evolutions though so I decided to look Drizzile's up. I was… very much not so fond of the final evolution so I gave him an everstone! He's not really the type that likes to battle, leaving that for the others. He loves taking naps in the shade while everyone else does the hard work. What royalty!

Joe Sparrow the Spearow ♡ ♂️

Normal 🤍 // Flying 🪽

Sniper

Drill Peck — Aerial Ace — False Swipe — Fly

I found Joe Sparrow on my travels home! I was going camping when I lost my way from the general path! When stopping to camp, I took out my violin to play a little tune for myself around a fire when this alpha Spearow popped out of the bush! Instead of being aggressive, he was dancing to my music! We played for a bit before he huddled up to the fire for some warmth since it was a cold night… we ended up resting together and in the morning, he helped me find my way back home! After a night together, we grew close enough to be buddies and now travel together! He doesn't like staying in a pokeball, but isn't big enough to let me fly with him! We…we've tried, trust me.

Torti the Sigilyph ♡ ♀️

Psychic 🔮 // Flying 🪽

Wonder Skin

Psychic — Air Cutter — Psybeam — Sky Attack

I ended up finding Torti on the same trip to Galar that I got Aza! Torti ended up being easier to catch, more cause I was just entranced by her beauty than overestimating the competition. I had slipped away from the group randomly upon spotting her and caught her shortly after admiration. Similar to me, she is very curious in the world and loves staring at others.

Branson the Cradlily ♡ ♂️

Rock 🪨 // Grass 🌿

Storm Drain

Energy Ball — Spit Up — Giga Drain — Brine

A gift from Gordie and Oxi! They know me, I've always been fascinated with fossil pokemon! According to them, a Tyrantrum got really destructive after someone pissed it off and it ended up hurting a lot of 'mons… Branson was one of those Pokémon that they recovered and I was given him! He is a very curious and loving friend, although a bit skittish when it comes to battles! He is one of my favorites, up there with Baby! Don't tell the others I said that though…

OOC //

HELLO!! My name is Marcy, aka @marbledaydreams // @whimsjellic !! I am a Marcy Wu fictive that runs this silly roleplay account with my gfs, Sasha and Anne!

I don't actually know too much about Pokémon! Hell, I even asked Ino recently if Cradlily had a mouth :sob: so yeah, I'm pretty inexperienced, but this is for fun anyways!

We will have sentient Pokémon stuff here! Baby (:candy:) loves chatting with the Rotom and using it to make posts! SO if you ever want to ask Baby something, that option is available!

due to being a fictive, yes this is basically just if Marcy Wu from Amphibia was in Pokémon!

no story elements at the moment, I'm honestly just joining in to be with my partner, Ino!

Pelipper Mail :: ON✅ Musharna Mail :: OFF❌ Magic Anons :: OFF❌ Mystery Gifts :: ON✅

GUIDELINES //

I am an adult and so is my character, but there will be no NSFW on this blog!

Any pokéirl blog can interact!

Triggers will be tagged

We block freely, but the main DNI is the usual, just don't be a fuckin asshole or creep!!

ABOUT ME !!

Unlabeled (she/they)

Uses 🎲 before talking in posts!

EST

Host of a OSDD system

Dating Moth, the other sys we are rping with! And dating Anne and Sasha in-sys!

TAG SYSTEM //

🎲 Skit Skitters —> posts made by me, Skit!

🍬 Baby Babbles —> posts made by Baby the Furret!

🎲 Marcy Marvels —> Skit reblogging things!

🎲 Skit Unboxes —> Ask Box Responses

[lorianbladeoflothric]

BONK!

Hiyo! I bring a silly ask! What kind of pokemon do you think the ER cast would like to have around?

(Choose however as many or as little characters as you like <3)

Oh dude, be prepared for a long answer bc I was obsessed with pokemon for the first half of the pandemic so I make teams for characters a lot and I try to put a lot of thought into them, but sometimes it really is just rule of cool.

Starting with Ranni because I don't get her, so her team is basically just themed after her.

Shiny Midnight Lycanroc - She's had this one since she was a child Lunala - in a pokemon au she would have met it instead of the dark moon or maybe it was passed down from Rennala Frosslass - is ghost. is ice. is woman. what more do you want? Mega Banette - Mega bc it looks cooler than normal Banette, but in general it's the possessed doll pokemon so it makes sense to give it to her Mismagius - For the crone that taught her magic Alolan Ninetales - A doglike ice type to round everything out

For Rennala, I did what you would more likely find around her now than the team she may have used in the past.

Clefable - Among her sweetings, there are also members of the entire clefable line scattered around the library, gathering around her as they would the full moon. Shiny Gardevoir - Shiny bc blue to signify that Ranni has left this one to guard her in her slumber. Cresselia - Moon theme and pleasant dreams, it's a crescent moon so idk if this would be her Moon pokemon the way Lunala is Ranni's but it feels right Midday Lycanroc - the red wolf of radagon Hatterene - This one could go one of two ways. It's a witchy looking thing and it attacks anyone who shows too much emotion. This could either be a pokemon the Raya Lucaria scholars left to watch her and make sure she doesn't try anything, or it could be like Gardevoir and one of her children (Rykard in this case) put it there to guard her.

Like Rennala, Radahn's "team" is just the pokemon encountered while fighting him. Which is to say Leonard the mudsdale and various minior that crash down during and after the battle.

Rykard's turn! I know there's not a single snake on this team but hear me out

Magmortar and Delphox - He developed magma sorceries Groudon - This is Eiglay. I know it's not a snake but like. look. Big catastrophe causing thing sealed beneath a volcano. It's Eiglay. Yamask - explicitly the soul of a dead human. Not sure if this is on his team so much as scattered around volcano manor, but it felt important to mention. Magearna - Virgin abductors Mawile - This one is probably Tanith's but I'm not doing a team for her. It's the decoy pokemon, it fits both of them. Tanith is like the main body, Rykard is like the mouth.

Leaving the carians, we have the easiest team so far: Godfrey. Perrserker, Machamp, Incineroar - Self explanatory really, they fight like him. Sirfetch'd - His knights, the decorum he has as Elden Lord, and the Storm King he defeated was a bird. Solgaleo - Serosh, godfrey is sun-aligned. Azumarill - HEAR ME OUT. Huge power + high hp makes it a powerful foe, water to fight against all the different fires that oppose the erdtree, fairy to conquer the dragons, its shiny is gold, and the most important point of all: Gap Moe

I want to make a team for Godwyn, but it's very hard since he doesn't really...have much to him? Haxorus and Kommo-o - Golden + Dragon Roaring Moon - Literally an ancient dragon Cursola - Analagous to deathblight Fortissax isn't in his party, but he would probably be Giratina?

Godrick's team is a joke kinda, but Machamp - 4 arms plus one of Godfrey's iconic pokemon Shiny Magikarp - for the Lord of All That Is Golden Corviknight - For the storm king Dracovish - Grafting! Dragon! It was so hard not to make his entire team galarian fossils bc they're all grafted freaks

For Malenia, I think she would have a different team before her rot got too bad. These three go along with her graceful fighting style pretty well, and since she is a walking toxic status effect...

Bisharp is the only one who survives and evolves into Kingambit. Ceruledge - dual wielding swords, edgy and cool, since it's a ghost she can't kill it by just being near it. She trained it up alongside her cleanrot knights. Quaquaval - a gift from the blind swordsman The last three are some of many nuisances that follow her around at the haligtree. Things that like poison and rot are just attracted to her.

Miquella's team is probably exactly what you'd expect. Silcoon - It doesn't seem to want to hatch... Togetic - "These Pokémon are never seen anywhere near conflict or turmoil. In recent times, they’ve hardly been seen at all." They're also known to bless people, very fitting for what we know about Miq Shaymin - It purifies toxins and grows flowers Comfey - more flowers, more healing, I bet there's a bunch of these around the Halligtree. Musharna - dreamworld pokemon <3 Gardevoir - Counterpart to Malenia's old Gallade. It's his strongest pokemon and only fights to protect him

Marika has no pokemon, she may have at some point, but right now the only pokemon she's around is Ultra Necrozma (The Elden Beast, bc it's golden, evil, a legendary, and from space)

Aaaaaand the last character I'm going to do is Radagon, but if anyone's read this far and wants me to do a specific character outside the god family tree, I'd be hella down.

Zoroark - You Know Why He Has This (it can disguise as humans) Zacian - Radagon seems to be tied to wolves/dogs, plus it has his greatsword Aegislash - this one just feels right Trevenant - for the erdtree Minior - for his elden stars incantation

So yeah that was way too many words and I'm sure as soon as I post this I'll think of better ones but yeah! Ty for the ask bud!!