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Elegant Leather Weed Accessories to store and carry your stash
Leather Weed Pouch from Little John New York is the perfect accessory with enough space and appearance to be the must have thing for your everyday use. It comes with five layers smell proof technology and extra padding that keeps your belonging safe. It also has a sealed rubber zipper for extra security.
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Trailer park Steve AU part 65
part 1 | part 64 | ao3
cw: angst, weed
Eddie reaches out then stops, hand hovering just above Steve’s knee, something like panic in the tremor of his wrist. “Steve, for real, man, please let me—”
“No, you for real, man.” Seriously? Man? As if there aren't so many more important things to discuss right now. Steve squeezes his eyes shut and pinches his nose, the voice of an old swim coach ringing in his ear. Game time, Harrington, c’mon, where’s your head?
“Look,” Steve sighs, fingers clenching around his shin. “We can talk about... this," he gestures between the two of them, "later. Let’s just— Important stuff only for right now, okay?”
Eddie’s breath shakes when he answers. “Yeah.”
“Okay.”
“Cool.”
“Good.”
This is somehow worse than silence.
Steve shakes his head, tries to focus through the fog of awkward energy. Important things. Important.
Like, how about ‘what were you doing with a pretty girl in my fucking trailer?’ for starters, or maybe—
Oh, fuck.
Steve looks sharply at Eddie. “Why were you asking if I was real?”
Eddie stares back in silence, eyes huge, bottom lip trembling as Steve presses into his space; drops his voice, brings a hand up to wrap around Eddie’s arm — just above his elbow, soft leather and warm muscle shivering under the touch. God. Please. Not him, too. “Eddie. Did you— did you see something? Are you…?”
“No,” Eddie shudders. “No, sorry, just, uh—” He shakes his head with a grimace, a shrill sound spilling out, some frantic braying thing that might have counted as a laugh if his face wasn’t doing that. “Pretty goddamn sure I’m just losing my mind after seeing the— the fucking—”
His palm floats up to the ceiling in a wobbly zig-zag, looseleaf drifting to the classroom carpet in reverse, then he clenches his fist and lets it explode open with a ‘boom,’ the sound effect ruined by another strangled laugh. “Oh, my god,” he giggles. Humorless, horrified, nervous system overwhelm. His entire arm is shaking. “Oh, shit, oh, Jesus Christ, Steve, Chrissy’s—”
“Hey.” Steve tightens his grip on Eddie’s arm; waits for Eddie to take a breath, gasping and wet. “We can’t think about it, alright?”
Eddie’s voice cracks miserably. “That’s not fucking fair to her.”
“I know.” Steve loosens his hold; smooths his palm over the leather sleeve; wonders who he’s really trying to soothe. “I know. But we can’t— if what you and Dustin said is true, if it’s really some— some monster that hurt Chrissy, that’s trying to hurt us? We can’t grieve yet, okay? We can’t give him an opening to attack. We need a game plan.”
Eddie exhales like he’s trying to mimic an owl. “Okay,” he nods eventually, slapping his thighs as he stands up. “Okay. Game plan. Yeah. Shit. Games and sports and plans and…”
He trails off, mouth moving around mumbled gibberish as he wiggles his fingers and drums on himself, hands slipping up his torso, tongue over his top lip. He pats his front pocket. “Oh, hell yeah, baby.” Whirling to face Steve, he slips his forefinger and thumb into the narrow pouch and pulls out the Altoids tin where he keeps his pre-roll stash. “How’s this for a game plan?”
—
part 66
tag list in separate reblogs under '#trailer park steve au taglist' if you'd like to filter that content. if you want to be added please comment and let me know (must be over 21; please either verify in the comment or have your age visible on your blog)
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Henchwomen Through the Ages
The "ages" of comics are not hard and fast things, and even comic book historians argue where they begin and end. They're more like moods than time periods, and your standard game of Henchwoman RPG will probably be set in a vague time period that could be anywhere from the thirties to today with an overall Silver Age mood. Still, let's take a look at how the roll of the Henchwoman has evolved, shall we?
Goldie is a gun-toting, cigar-chomping bank robber in victory rolls and a bullet bra. She's not called a henchwoman- she's called "Look out, that broad has a grenade!" She's loyal to the boss despite his dumb penny gimmick, but if he ever finked on her in court, he wouldn't live to see the sunrise. There's no Henchwomen's Union for her to join yet, but she's provided muscle for plenty of mob-backed unions. Goldie can't afford to be soft on heroes since they'd be just as happy to throw her off a roof as to arrest her, but she might be wooed by an appeal to patriotism- she ain't no Nazi rat! Her hobbies include matinee shows, swing dancing, and blasting coppers.
Sylvia is a competitive surfer and was a cocktail waitress until they fired her for slapping too many customers. Thanks to the newly formed Henchwomen's Union, she's treated much better by her current job, which usually involves crashing parties to steal themed jewelry. She and the heroes she fights have an understanding- they'll never be rough with her, and she won't check up on them after putting them in a death trap to see if they've died. On her off hours, she can go dancing in the same outfit she worked in- a silver jumpsuit, gogo boots and a purely decorative motorcycle helmet.
Brawny is a member of the Sisterhood of Wicked Witches, and she fights for a cause- or rather, several causes. These range from the reasonable (Save the whales!) to the less reasonable (A free ray gun for every child!) The Henchwomen's Union is strong enough to get her good pay, so many of her problems are philosophical- is she a good guy or a bad guy, and what do good and bad even mean? Brawny has to be a bit more careful than she would have been ten years ago, since death may well stick- but that also means she might really kill a hero, at least for a while, and that's what matters!
Tenebra prefers to be called a Dark Muse, a member of a vampire circle dedicated to bringing art to life, painted in colors of blood. Her eyeliner is swirly and her gowns are velvet, and she wears them onstage in her sideline darkwave band. Tenebra arranges her crimes in accordance with pre-raphaelite imagery, with victims displayed in heartbreakingly beautiful and mythologically-influenced poses. Her boss may technically be the Queen of the Vampires, and she may have a card with the Henchwomen's Union, but her true loyalty is to art itself.
Ferra is a mercenary with a separate pouch for each type of bullet, and she has a lot of types of bullet. Her stilettos are tall but her hair is taller, and she can strike intimidating poses that would break a normal person's back. The Henchwomen's Union had its own back broken by the bosses, and is now more of informal underground thing, but it still hooks her up with real deal bad guys. She'll kill without a second thought for her boss, but she's only one bad day away from turning her gun on him. It might even happen accidentally, since he and the heroes dress exactly the same. Ferra somehow has a heavy metal soundtrack even when there's no music playing.
Ally got a degree in psychology but until she can afford grad school, she gigs as a henchwoman. Her bosses are sillicon valley dickheads, but the first one to offer her real benefits will have her loyalty for life. Thanks to the resurgence of the Henchwomen's Union, Ally gets to wear big stompy boots instead of high heels, but she still has to wear a big day-glo logo on her leather jacket that might as well be a target sign. Her hobbies include pop culture conventions, smoking weed and credit card fraud.
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Light on the Darkside - Chapter Ten.
Oh, oh now what do we have here, besties? Do we have the lesser-seen DOUBLE UPDATE day today? We do. Are you getting TWO NEW CHAPTERS? You are! Why? I felt like giving you a little treat, so yeah, enjoy some James and Ella twice!
Previous chapters - One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight Nine
Tag list - In the comments. Please DM to be added/removed.
Words - 3,528
Warnings - 18+ throughout. Topics cover depression, suicide and eating disorders. Minors DNI!
“Oi, walking flea circus. Get up.”
Snedders frowned, his head pounding as he blindly reached for where he’d placed his watch, looking at the time. 11:02am. Far too early. “Jim, chill out, man. It’s early. I’m in bed, still.”
“You ain’t in bed, you’re on our fucking sofa, now shift it!”
He groaned, heaving himself up, reaching to the can of lager he’d left on the table and downing what was left. “Aw, fuck. Can’t even let a man enjoy his hangover, ya twat.”
“Newsflash, Snedders; you’re a fucking guest! I live here. Maybe stop pissing Kerry off and you’ll be allowed home for longer than a week at a time, innit,” he spoke, setting his tea down and shoving the blankets up the sofa to take a seat, Snedders finally rising to begin folding them up.
“Proper full of shit, you are. If you could, you’d have been just as fucking leathered as I was last night, but no.”
“Well, if I want my meds to work, I can’t,” he quipped, raising an eyebrow as he lit a cigarette. “And that weed Gaz got? Fuck, it was good.”
“Oh, I know,” he spoke, pulling out his rolling tobacco pouch as he sat down again, constructing himself a cigarette. “You put the share price in Mcvitties through the fucking roof all on your own. How many packets of chocolate digestives did you munch your way through?”
“Three,” he laughed. “What’s your point?”
“Fat bastard,” he smirked, licking the rolling paper.
“Oi, I ain’t the one with the gut, you gobby dickhead. Total bullshit.”
Snedders snorted, shaking his head. “Suck. My. Cock.”
“You. Fucking. Wish,” James fired back, looking up as Steve’s bedroom door opened, the rather dishevelled man himself stepping out.
“Both of you, never, ever let me drink ouzo again,” he groaned, heaving. “I keep burping aniseed.” Another heave.
“If you’re gonna honk your guts up, get in that bathroom, fucks sake,” James spoke, pointing in the direction of it.
Steve stood and mulled it over, rubbing his bare stomach. “Nah, mate, think I’m alright.” A few seconds elapsed. “Nah, I’m gonna puke. Make me a coffee while I go see that fucking kebab again.”
“You want a tea, Sneds?” James asked, rising from the sofa again and walking over to the kitchen area.
“That’s about the best thing that’s come out of your fat gob all morning. Four sugars, please. I need to get myself alert, man.” Just then, the noise of high heels emanated from Steve’s bedroom, the door opening to reveal a knockout of a girl emerging.
The guys looked at each other puzzledly, then back at her. “When’d you get here, princess?” James asked, the girl giving him a good look up and down.
“After you two had passed out. Steve called me at about three, but now I’m seeing you shirtless, I wish I’d had a go on you as well while I was here,” she purred, James grinning widely. “That’s some body you’ve got yourself.”
“I try,” he smirked, the girl sauntering towards the door, Snedders sitting there with his tongue hanging out. As soon as the door was closed...
“Did you see the arse on that?”
James laughed filthily. “Top grade, innit?” Preparing the drinks, he brought them back to the coffee table, flopping down and reaching over to the small table covered in music magazines and an overflowing ashtray, pressing the answering machine. No messages.
“You seem to be checking that a bit obsessively, Jim,” Snedders remarked, giving his tea a good blow before the first careful sip. How he’d missed James’s tea; he was the only person he knew who actually made it well.
“Waiting on a call,” he shrugged.
“Who from?”
“His new bird!” Steve announced loudly as he entered the room, looking a lot less pale than when he’d left it, wet hair indicating he’d also jumped into the shower after his visit with the toilet bowl.
Snedders turned, mouth open. “What the... You’ve been out of the nuthouse for a grand total of two weeks, and you’ve pulled a new girl already? Fucking hell, mate! Leave some for the rest of us, eh?”
“Pulled her while he was still in there, the fucking tart.”
“You fucking what?” The bellowed reaction sent the pair into fits, Snedders sitting there wide eyed, offering his hand. “Only you, my man. Only you.”
James shook it, still laughing. “I do well for myself everywhere I go. It’s my raw charm, mate. Girls can’t get enough of it.”
“Ain’t because you’re a pretty boy, with pretty hair, and girls can groom you like you’re a giant My Little Pony?”
He snorted. “At least I am pretty, you fucking riffy flea bag.”
“Oil! Enough of that, or you’ll be wearing this tea!” Snedders warned, sending him into laughter all over again. Saturday mornings with his mates, drinking tea, chatting shit, having fun. God, he’d missed it while he’d been away. “Right, I’m making breakfast. Fucking starving. Could eat a badger with enough ketchup on it.” He’d also missed Snedders cooking, too. While he sat and awaited Warwickshire’s best full English to be assembled, a few miles away in Rugby, Ella was in a panic.
“Jane!” she called through her sister’s bedroom door. “Are you awake?”
It opened, revealing a slightly sleep ruffled person, still in one of the huge t shirts she always wore to bed. “Well if I wasn’t, I bloody would be now, wouldn’t I?”
“Good, I bleedin’ need to stress out and I don’t want to do it by myself,” she spoke, handing her one of the two cups of tea in her grasp before moving past her, sitting down on the edge of the messy bed in an equally messy bedroom. “What the hell do I even wear tonight? I don’t have any clothes that scream rock club vibe!”
Indeed she did not, all of her old clothes either in extra small adult or child sizes, Ella’s current jobless status meaning her wardrobe was meagre at best. With only a few hundred pounds left in her bank account that she’d allocated for other expenses, she didn’t want to splurge on a new outfit either. Luckily for her, though, she and Jane were now the same size.
“Okay, let me have some of this tea and a fag first while I contemplate.” A few puffs on a Marlboro Light and a couple of swigs of Tetley later, and Jane had an idea. “Okay, we go sexy but understated. A pair of my skintight jeans, a simple black vest and those platform boots you have, the sexy stripper style ones. All that and a Wonderbra and sis, that man, his dick, boing!”
Ella almost spat her tea out. “Trust me, he doesn’t need any further amping up in that department. If he got hard kissing me when I was still a bony mess who dressed in nothing but baggy clothes, then, well…”
“He’ll be able to pogo himself on his own hard on when he sees you looking all swit swoo and sexy in what I have in mind!”
Oh, how she had missed her sister, Jane truly her best friend as well as her only sibling. The three women of the house were bonded very closely, and had been since the girls’ father had walked out on the family back when Ella was five, and Jane seven. Seventeen years on and neither truly remembered Owen Featherstone, not even keeping his surname. Both had changed to their mother’s maiden name of Greenhall.
Speaking of April, once Ella had tried on and approved the outfit choice advised, she headed downstairs for a very late breakfast while Jane took a bath, her mum smiling widely as she entered the kitchen.
“How’s my chicken?” she asked warmly, Ella moving to place the mugs in the dishwasher.
“Good for having a lie in,” she smiled, moving to the fridge and pulling out a couple of eggs as well as the tub of Flora. “I’m enjoying all the comforts of home, including my old bed. I will get out of your hair eventually, when I get a job sorted.”
April stood from her seat at the small counter, reaching to stroke her hair. “Stay as long as you like, sweet girl. I don’t mind.” Gesturing to the eggs, she raised an eyebrow curiously. “Scrambled on toast?”
They just happened to be her mum’s specialty breakfast dish. “Yes, please.”
“Take a seat, chicken.” Moving with her usual fluid grace, she cracked the eggs into a bowl, grabbing the whisk to blend whites with yolks. A pan was then fetched, a little curl of Flora placed in before setting the pan upon the hob. “One slice of toast?”
“Please.”
The breadbox was the next stop. “Jane tells me you’re off to that club on the high street with her tonight,” April commented, placing one slice of Hovis wholemeal into the toaster. “Odd choice for you, being the very antithesis to the music you like.”
“Yeah, but I have good incentive, though,” she spoke, her mum turning to her with a knowing grin.
“Is that incentive named James, per chance?”
Immediately, her cheeks coloured, her face pinching. “Yes.”
“Oooooh!”
“Mum, no! No ooooh!”
“Oooooh!”
Immediately, she hid behind her hands. “Mum, please!”
April couldn’t help but chuckle, turning the hob on beneath the pan. “Does he even know you’re going to be there? As far as I’ve seen, your attempts to call him have all been unsuccessful.”
Indeed, Ella’s nerves had firmly gotten in the way, her stomach awash with the dance of many butterflies over the last week and a half. “He doesn’t, no. Jane says that the element of surprise is a powerful move, though, and I suppose I agree with that. I’m still nervous, though.”
“Why?” Turning the eggs around in the pan as they began to firm, she turned the heat down, reaching to click the kettle on. “You let me read that lovely letter he wrote you. For all intents and purposes, he seems very much attached.”
“Yeah, yeah Andrea told me the same thing at the time, and then twice so far this week when we’ve chatted on the phone. I’m just... it’s my bleedin’ self-confidence. He’s so, so gorgeous, he could have any girl he wanted! I’m struggling to believe he wants me, especially since like, my body confidence is still a bit shaky.”
Plating up her breakfast, she handed it over, moving next to grab the French press and make some fresh coffee. “This all ties in with that mean little voice you have in your head, the one you used to see as a helpful friend,” she began.
“The voice of Ana,” Ella confirmed, her mouth thinning. It was a common term for those who suffered with the eating disorder, to name anorexia as Ana.
“Yes, that little beast. It’s her again, you know, telling you he isn’t as into you as you know he is, as others can see he is, like your new friend Andrea. Maybe apply some of your therapy techniques to help silence her in this situation too, chicken?”
It was a valid suggestion.
“Fair comment.” Ahh, a James-ism. They slipped out every now and again. Slicing into the toast, she gathered the fluffy eggs and speared them, popping in the first mouthful as her tummy rumbled right on cue. “Mmmm.”
April beamed, reaching to stroke her cheek. “It’ll never fail to make me happy, seeing you enjoying food again.”
“It’s nice to not be quite so scared of eating, too.” Her portions were still on the smaller side, but snacks were also included in Ella’s daily diet now. Once she was done eating, it was her turn to go and lie in the bath for a while, luxuriating while listening to her music. Since her release, it was the simple things she was enjoying most, the comfort of her own bed, unlimited bathroom time. The biggest? Being able to relax without having a pair of eyes on her always, monitoring her behaviour.
Once out, she pulled on her sweats and a t shirt, heading into her sister’s room to relax and watch a film prior to getting ready. The girls settled on Clueless, their favourite since its release two years prior. Every so often, Ella would think of their evening ahead, her stomach flipping with nervous excitement, a small noise accompanying.
“Sis, your little sounds of discontent, becoming more frequent,” Jane observed as the credits were rolling, moving to her small dressing table and plugging in her curling iron. “Shall I go fetch some drinks, help calm your nerves?” Her suggestion was met by rapid nodding. One bottle of Bacardi Breezer and a can of Strongbow were brought up from the fridge, Ella sipping the latter steadily, feeling calmer as she sat having some loose waves curled through her hair while she did her makeup.
“Is my blush even?” she asked, turning so Jane could study her face.
“Hmm, take the left cheek down a bit and yeah, you’re all good,” she spoke, running her fingers through the last of the curls to make them unscrew and fall in pretty waves instead. “How are the nerves?”
“Don’t even bleedin’ ask!” she gulped, looking at the time. 6:05pm. There were two bands on at the start of the night, Nocturnal Descent hitting the stage at around 9pm. Just under three hours, and she’d see him again. Her butterflies? They were racing one another, it felt like, Ella dressing while Jane called for a taxi to get them to the centre of Nuneaton.
Just over twenty minutes later and they were walking into The Gallows to the roar of Atrophy, the first of the two support bands, Ella feeling her ears ringing as they approached the bar. She scanned the room, looking to see if James was there yet, Jane leaning close as they waited to be served.
“He’s probably hanging out backstage, sis. What you having, pint of the usual?”
Her mind immediately began to do the maths over calories on top of the can she’d had at home, scolding herself with a mental slap. “Please, yeah.” Just being there in his environment, knowing she was in the same building as him made her nerves jangle even more, her heart escalating whenever she pictured him in her mind.
She couldn’t wait to see him, but hell, she was so nervous that her hands began trembling. At least she had her mind taken off it, meeting up with some of Jane’s friends. Hester, Lecter (aptly nicknamed after biting someone during a fight) and Adam provided the perfect distraction from her mild panicking.
“Ella, I’ve got to say, you look freakin’ smoking! Look, with your boobies and everything!” Hester remarked, pointing the neck of her beer bottle. “It’s lovely, seeing you so healthy.”
Honest compliments. Since her weight gain, she was receiving them more and more. They all helped nicely with her self-image. “Thanks, sweetie! Speaking of boobs, how are yours now? They fucking look mint!”
Tiring of being a flat chested double A cup, Hester had saved up her cash and done something about it, now a nice, full D thanks to her implants. “I love ‘em! I can’t feel my left nipple but they say that can happen. It’s worth it too, finally having a rack!”
It was as she was laughing at her huge, Cheshire cat grin over finally having something substantial in the way of boobs that the house lights all dimmed, the crowd all roaring, Ella’s eyes snapping up to the stage. Oh, god. Oh god! She could make out the figures of Nocturnal Descent in the dim light, the noise of a guitar then booming before an unearthly wail split her eardrums in two, the stage lights illuminating the band.
There he was. And god, he looked the furthest thing from how she remembered, corpse paint on, snake eyed contact lenses in, she could see from her vantage point to the side of the crowd. In truth, he looked scary as hell. Oh, how her heart still thundered, though, much like the music, Nocturnal Descent absolutely ear splitting in volume.
He looked even bigger up on the stage, his hair a headbanged whirlwind as his fingers moved rapidly over the guitar neck, falling precisely on each fret. She might not have been much of a fan of black metal, but she could appreciate how good he was, the band on a whole, in fact.
“And we’re moving closer,” Jane spoke, she and Hester flanking her and beginning to shove her nearer.
“No, no I’m fine right here. Ladies! Not cool beans!” Ella squeaked, neither listening as she was taken about three people back from the front row, her mouth dry, her heart going into overdrive. He was virtually right in front of her.
“Don’t be freakin’ daft, darl!” Hester shouted in her ear. “He won’t see you back there!” Yes, she’d confided in her sister’s bestie, Hester’s mouth dropping open at the revelation of her and War himself having a thing. She had to wonder whether he’d see her at all, with all the headbanging, and perhaps his vision a little hampered by the contact lenses.
In the break between the second and third song, though, as he chugged back water from a pint glass while scanning the crowd, his eyes picked her out. Placing the glass back down by the monitors at the front, he fixed her with a stare, Ella feeling faint as she smiled, watching his blackened lips begin to curl. Then he winked. She almost fell through the floor. Jane and Hester let out two long, obligatory ‘oooooh’s’.
“Sis, that man’s face, the grin!” Jane spoke, grabbing her arm and giving her a very thorough shake of joy. The only thing Ella could do was lean in close and squeal a little. Her elation at him being obviously pleased to see her there did little to quell the nerves over actually having him before her in person, though. Truly, she had no idea why, either. It was James, her BFG, the bloke she could talk to about anything.
She felt her tummy turning over all the way through their set, racing to the bar after they were done to grab herself something steadying.
“Two pints of Carlsberg, a double JD and Coke, a bottle of watermelon Bacardi Breezer, a pint of Strongbow and a double vodka, please.” No, she wasn’t about to throw the entire order at the bar down her throat, rather getting a round in for everyone. The last two drinks were hers, though, the double vodka only remaining on the sticky dark wood of the bar top for three seconds before she downed it in one.
“Better?” Hester asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Nope!” Her reply caused a booming laugh from the busty blonde, Ella being pulled into a hug.
“You’re so sweet! It’ll be fine!”
Would it? Her brain began to suggest that it might not be, throwing up all kinds of scenarios. What if it hadn’t been her he’d been grinning and winking at? What if it was a girl behind where she’d been standing? Goodness knows, there were enough of them present that night. What if he was pissed off to see her out of the facility, yet she hadn’t called him like he’d asked her to?
Two cigarettes later and she was still no calmer, taking huge, puffed cheeked breaths that entertained Jane and Hester no end when finally, she saw him emerge from the doors at the side of the stage.
“Oh, bleedin’ hell! Someone, help me!”
Jane shrugged, watching a now paint and contact lens free James making his way to the bar, veering off when he saw her at the other end of it. “War has seen his target, he is cutting through the crowd, he’s smiling. Oh, sis, I hate you. He’s such a babe!”
Placing her pint down, Ella felt like her heart was about to beat clean out of her chest as he moved through the throngs of people, feeling sick and hot. When he finally reached her, her brain failed with a complete short circuit, having no idea what to say. Talking, it seemed, wasn’t on James’s mind as he took her face in his hands and pressed his mouth to hers.
That was the moment her very soul caught fire once again, but the burn brought her no pain at all.
In a nanosecond, her heart went from nervous palpitating to thumping out nothing but waves of sublime happiness. She could hear Lecter and Adam howling, her sister letting out a piercing wolf whistle, but no amount of raucous noise could pull her away from him.
“Shitting hell, I missed you, little,” he spoke when they finally parted, resting his forehead to hers, kissing the tip of her nose. Oh, how she bloomed further within.
“Missed you too, church burner.”
The boom of his laughter made her feel lit up inside. Finally, after seven very, very long weeks, she had him back.
#original fiction#original story#original stories#smutty fiction#smutty stories#tw: depression#tw: anorexia
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Just Blow
A Hobie x Reader Fantasy
⚠️ Mentions of smoking. All characters involved are 18 or older. I did age Hobie up just a few years, if you are offended by this, grab a bandaid.⚠️
Enjoy
Author Note: I haven't written a fanfiction since I was 12, bear with me 💀 Before any continuation of reading this, please read the tags thoroughly. I am not responsible for your therapy cuz you didn't listen.
Hobie has been my best friend for a while, and even though most of the time he gets me into some form of trouble, I still enjoy his company. This particular time, he wanted me to try something new, something he calls his "little surprise." I had recently turned 21 just a few days ago and I guess as an apology for not getting me a gift, this was it.
'Knock knock...'
I check the time, it's already near midnight, meaning no other human being could be at my door other than Hobie. My curiosity grew with each step I took towards the door, just pondering on what it was he was going to give me. I swung the door open and to no surprise, revealing my best friend on the other side.
"Hobie." I greeted.
"Y/n." The accent was thick as always, yet so smooth, even when he sounded deadpan and nonchalant saying my name. Without anything else being said, he walked right past me and into my house, carrying what looked like a small pouch of who knows what. "Geez, Hob.. Make yourself at home."
I rolled my eyes playfully and took a seat on my black leather couch, carefully watching him place the pouch on my coffee table and pulling out its contents one by one. As each object came out the bag, my eyes widened in shock at what he was hiding away in there.
"What the hell?" My eyes averted from the pens and joints he had up to him. As shocked as I was, he paid no mind to my tiny panic and sat right next to me, staring at me with those eyes. It's hard to read his face, but from what I gather, this is going exactly as he planned.
"What's the matter, Y/n? A little puff never hurt nobody~" If I could slap that teasing smirk off of his face, I would. "Why do you think this is what I would want as soon as I turn 'of age'?"
I looked at him as if he was stupid, and right now, he was definitely being stupid. All he did in response to my little glaring was chuckle and put the pen to his lips, lightly sucking it in. I watched this closely, knowing that by the end of this, he'd convince me to join one way or another. I was taken off guard when he blew the smoke directly in my face, causing me to scrunch up my nose and cough. The smell was atrocious and it made me question how people could find this stuff addicting.
"Aye, I didn't bring this all for myself y'know. This is your present after all." I looked down at his hand which was now holding out the pen for me to take. I was hesitant when I reached for it, unsure of how it really worked. "Don't be scared, love. It won't hurt you."
"I'm not a child, I know that." I rolled my eyes and examined the stick looking object in my hand. I've never seen weed that looked like this before. I put it to my lips and (poorly) copied the previous actions I saw Hobie do. Unfortunately, he didn't really explain it to me so after I was done sucking it in, I immediately began to cough and weeze. My chest felt as if it was on fire. Water... I need water.
Unable to really say anything, I mumbled incoherent words between each cough until Hobie got the message of what it was that I needed. "Shit shit shit.... Just.. breathe." Despite the slight nervousness in his voice, Hobie kept calm and left the living room, returning with a bottle of water. Without any question, I quickly took the drink from his hand and began to gulp down on it as if I was stranded in a desert (which it definitely felt that way.)
After removing the lid from my lips, I breathed out heavily, trying to catch my breath. "Damn, you okay Y/n? Maybe next time you'll learn to wait for instructions." After making sure I was okay, he didn't waste any time to make fun of my entry level smoking.
"I almost died and this is how you treat me?" I looked up at him pretending to be offended with my hand over my chest.. which was still burning up. Hobie just laughed and sat right down in his spot, taking the pen from my hands. "I'll let your body rest for a minute before we try this again." He shakes his head, that small smile still on his face.
I just nodded in response, taking another sip of the water, allowing my dry throat to feel quenched. That's when the slight feeling of whatever it was started pounding in my head. I was now very aware of my arms and close surroundings. My eyelids felt heavier yet I wasn't sleepy. I felt everything and nothing all at once, it felt numbing yet effective. Was this the feeling of being.. high?
Hobie quickly snapped me out of my thoughts, which I had no idea I could be sucked into my own conscience this much. "You ready to try that again, princess?" I lazily moved my head in his direction, trying my best to look at him. Instead, my eyes couldn't help but wander at all his features which now seemed more apparent than before.
All of a sudden, I couldn't help but laugh at the way he was talking. I always poked fun at his accent, but now it felt even more funny than all the other times. I guess he could tell that the feeling hit me since he was now slightly laughing, too. We both were now laughing at each other's laughter, which made us laugh louder. I was nearly out of breath from all of the giggling we were doing, and my movements were jerky and slowed, causing me to nearly fall off the couch if Hobie hadn't grabbed my hips and placed me on top of him to keep me from busting my a$$.
The laughter only lasted for a couple of more minutes until it finally died down. The air felt thick, and I could feel the heat in the room rising.. unless it was just me. His face gradually switched from playful to something more unreadable, his smile being replaced with more of a straight line as his eyes glided down from my own to my body. He let his gaze linger for only a few seconds before going back to looking into my eyes.
"Hobie?" I called out in almost a whisper. My smile was now turned into more of a curious expression, wondering what could possibly be going on inside of his head. Hobie continued to stay quiet, allowing his eyes to flicker back and forth from me to my mouth.
Out of nowhere, his hand was now cupping my chin and his other hand held the pen which he was now bringing up to my lips. Throughout all this, his eyes never left mine. The look he had on his face was soft yet so... Serious, almost as if he was trying to focus on keeping me focused. This is a side of Hobie I have never seen.
"Open" His words seemed so demanding yet gentle, and I couldn't tell if I was intrigued or just highly confused... Maybe both? It took my brain a few seconds longer to process what he had just said, and I parted my lips slightly, allowing him to place the tip of the pen inside. I didn't inhale, I just kept it in place, waiting for his green light.
"Inhale." I slowly began sucking on it, the light at the bottom now appearing, indicating that it was being used. My eyes continued to stay locked on his. Were his eyes always this brown? Why is he looking at me like that? Why am I looking at him like that? So many questions ran through my head but it was interrupted abruptly by him taking the pen out of my mouth.
The hand he had on my chin now moved down, resting on my neck. He wasn't squeezing it, but he had a firm grip on it, watching my every move. He raised a brow, waiting for something, so I just copied what he indirectly showed me and sucked in a slow breath. Just then, he said the last step.
"Now.."
"Just Blow"
#hobie brown#atsv#x reader#fluff#writers on tumblr#fanfic#fanfiction#lime#hobie spiderverse#spider punk#SoundCloud#one shot?#maybe sequal#Spotify
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The Things They Carried to Mordor (with apologies to Tim O’Brien)
When the Fellowship left Rivendell, Frodo Baggins carried an unadorned gold ring on a chain round his neck. The ring was not heavy; it weighed only three ounces, but he was always aware of it.
Frodo also carried a sword called Sting that his uncle Bilbo had given him which glowed blue when Orcs were nearby. It was not a sentimental gift, but it came with a kind of Sentiment all the same. He kept Sting it in a shabby leather scabbard which he had also gotten from Bilbo. Sting weighted nineteen ounces and the scabbard four more.
The scabbard was Sentimental to Frodo, much more so than the sword was, for it was worn in places where Frodo was certain that his uncle must have rubbed it. Bilbo did not come with him on the journey to Mount Doom, and though Frodo was glad of it, sometimes he would run his fingers over those worn places and imagine that his uncle’s fingers were there too; that their fingertips were touching through time across that piece of leather.
The things they carried were determined by necessity, but not exclusively. Frodo’s cousin Peregrin Took carried two pipes and an overstuffed pouch of pipe-weed. All of the hobbits carried pipe-weed, and so did Gandalf the wizard and Aragorn the ranger, but Peregrin Took carried the most of anyone. Each of his two pipes weighed three ounces, for a total of six, but to Pippin it was worth it if it meant that he was in no danger of being bereft of his most important luxury.
Many miles later, he would give his second pipe to Gimli the dwarf and they would smoke together on the edge of ruin. The gesture was a repayment of a debt, and it made Pippin's pack a little lighter. He had only one pipe with him when he journeyed to Minas Tirith.
Merriadoc Brandybuck carried a conspiracy, even after the whole company had embarked; it had been months since he’d explained himself to Frodo, but he couldn't put the conspiracy down. The conspiracy was Loyalty and Courage in the face of terrible Fear. It was heavy and not.
Merry carried maps and the knowledge of maps. He carried Pippin, who was still only a tweenager and could be a right danger to himself and others, who was his younger cousin and his responsibility; he carried Pippin until he couldn't anymore, until Pippin rode south with Gandalf and Merry remained in Rohan. He also bore a knife weighing thirteen ounces which he would one day use to smite the Witch King of Angmar. It didn’t seem very heavy to him until Pelennor, when Éowyn unveiled herself to Death and Merry realized that he had a sword too.
Samwise Gamgee carried the most out of anyone in proportion to the size of his small body. After they abandoned their pony at the gates of Moria, he carried all his cooking gear, which consisted of a small tinder box, two small shallow pans (the smaller fitting into the larger), a wooden spoon and a short, two-pronged fork, some skewers, and a little box of salt that he always carried and refilled when he could. Together, all of these items weighed about eighteen pounds. He also carried his own supply of pipe-weed, flint and tinder, woolen hose, linen, and various small belongings of Frodo’s that Sam had stored away on his behalf. He did not carry any rope with him at that time, a fact which frequently vexed him. He really ought to have remembered to bring some rope.
They all carried gifts from the Lady Galadriel: Boromir, Merry, and Pippin each bore a silver belt weighing between one and three pounds depending on the girth of the waist for which it was made. Boromir's was the heaviest, and it traveled with him down Rauros in the end.
Until he was killed, Boromir of Gondor carried a long sword and a shield, three and four pounds respectively, and his war horn, which he still would have carried if it had weighed a ton. He carried his father’s suspicions and his brother’s hopes and all the glories of Gondor. Boromir was trying very hard to be a good man.
Aragorn carried, in order from lightest to heaviest, the Elfstone, Arwen’s love, and his own lineage. He hauled Arwen’s love up the hills and across the plains until at last she sent him a banner to carry. He carried his lineage in the form of a sword called Andúril, which did not seem heavy to him anymore, having borne it for so long.
Legolas bore a new bow from the Lady Galadriel and Gimli three strands of hair. The hair weighed almost nothing, but Gimli carried it like he might have carried a silmaril, which everyone knows were very heavy. Gimli was the sort of person who could assign precious things their whole worth: maybe this came from being a Dwarf and from growing up surrounded by treasures, but Legolas didn’t think so. He thought Gimli could see what things were worth just by the kind of person he was.
Because the nights were cold, each member of the Fellowship wore an elven cloak, which could be used as a raincoat or a groundsheet or as camouflage or a makeshift tent. Sometimes, when they were afraid, they would all pull their cloaks tighter around their too-small-for-this shoulders and try to feel a little warmer. It would have been easy to succumb to the cold. Sometimes, the strongest thing in the world is simply to keep warm on a cold night.
Frodo bore a phial of starlight, which came from a silmaril but which he carried like a shield. Along with the phial, he carried words of Quenya that he had learned long ago from his uncle Bilbo: “Aiya Eärendil elenion ancalima!” The words weren’t magic, not from Frodo’s ordinary hobbit-lips; but they pushed back the dark a little when he held his silmaril-light aloft. He carried elvish prayers, stories and the hopes of stories, "They cannot conquer forever" and "I can manage it, I must." When a person is desperate, survival is 98% mantras.
After they broke with the rest of the Fellowship, Sam carried less and less. The food was finite and gradually it ran out. Eventually, even the salt ran out. He carried rope (finally) and a box of soil and seed from the Lady Galadriel. After a while, he forgot about the box of soil sitting in the bottom of his pack, but he never lost sight of what it represented. The only thing that Sam wanted really was to return home with his master and plant seeds in the ground. He was a gardener, after all.
For a short time, Sam carried the ring; he took up what Frodo could no longer bear, and he found that it was every bit as Heavy as he’d imagined. The ring weighed only three ounces, but that wasn’t true at all.
Frodo and Sam carried the Black Land itself: Mordor, the place, the ash and dry dust that clung to the soles of their feet, their hair, their nostrils. They carried it inside them after a while and they never got rid of it. They carried the world. All of Middle Earth, they carried it: Gandalf’s foolish hope, Aragorn’s destiny, Faramir’s kindness. They moved like aged pack mules, picking their way across the desolate wastes. Sometimes, they walked until they were numb to it and all they could do was walk for the sake of walking in the knowledge that someday they would get There or die in the attempt. They plodded along slowly, dumbly, one step and then the next, toiling up hills and across marshes and down ravines, up and down and up again, because they were fighting a war and war is entirely a matter of posture and carriage, a kind of inertia, a kind of emptiness, a dullness of desire. They carried their hopes in their feet.
Frodo carried Gollum’s oath and Smeagol’s soul. He carried his own soul too, slowly coming loose from his body with the growing burden of the Ring. He carried gravity. He carried the whole sky The ring was very Heavy now. It weighed more than anything he’d ever had to carry before. It weighed 216.09 pounds per square inch: weight multiplied by weight.
Sam carried music and wonderment. He carried duty to his master, the image of Rosie Cotton dancing, starlight and songs about starlight. These things were all intangible, but for Samwise Gamgee they all had their specific lengths and masses and tangible weight. They were hard to hold onto, always trying to slip off his tired back and fall by the wayside. Each time, Sam picked them back up and carried on.
Sam carried Frodo, in the end.
Frodo weighed forty-two pounds; he was heavier than all the cooking gear, but he weighed a great deal less than he had at the start of the journey. When Sam staggered to his feet, he was amazed at the lightness of his burden. His master was no heavier than a child carried piggy-back on a summer's day in the Shire.
Hope carried them all and they all carried Hope. This is not a paradox. When the Eagles carried Frodo away from Mount Doom, his hand was a little bit lighter.
#i keep seeing all these comparisons between lotr and all's quiet on the western front#which does make sense because tolkien served in ww1#but i read The Things They Carried on a plane when i was sixteen and it's haunted me ever since#so here's this#leah stories#i will not say the day is done#tolkien legendarium#pontifications and creations
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You mentioned loving those "what's in my bag/what's on my nightstand" videos. I was just wondering… would you ever consider doing something like that for the Y/Ns? 🥺 I love the way you draw/describe everyday objects, and I think it'd be so cute!
i do love those “what’s in my bag” type posts/videos. 👀 it’s bc im nosey and easily influenced LOL, i wanna know what you’ve got in your bag and why it’s there and whether or not it has any correlation to what’s been keeping u up at night. 👀
but!!! YES i wanna play this game!!!! omg i know it’s taken me an age to answer but i have poured over the list i made for this—i window shopped, asked other people what they thought, cross referenced my own writing so now we are PREPARED!!
i consider this a part 2 to how i envision the Y/Ns in the in another life verse dressing. and just like part one, this one is under a cut—so that the friends we have among us who don’t want their vision of Y/N spoilt by my subjective taste in objects ruined don’t have to see it!
weedsie-woo would favour bags that can carry a lot; a heavy waterbottle, one of haru’s toys, the little pouch packed with like, band-aids and face-mist and hand cream and lip balm. then you’d have things like the crumpled empty pack of hero chips (that’s haru’s), a wallet, a coin-purse, and obviously the all-important phone. the pocket knife from katsuki. the little pouch that holds weed’s hearing aid (and a spare battery, just in case).
scribbles would grab whatever’s near. 💀 whatever bag ends up being used, it’s always crammed full of shit—a pencil case, filled with coloured pencils and fountain pens and ink and watercolour paints—paint markers, mechanical pencils, erasers. the journal that scribbles takes with them, everywhere. headphones and a tin of breath mints and a small makeup pouch with like, idk, lip gloss and concealer, mascara. there’s a bottle of perfume in there somewhere and a mask and a wallet, scribble’s phone (although that mostly lives in scribble’s hand). it’s not uncommon for scribbles to lug magazines to the studio—for reference.
both Y/Ns would swap things, interchangeably. weeds might buy a new magazine, or a manga volume and take it to work—scribbles might take a drink bottle from a convenience store. both of them might use a flimsy tote bag one day, then the next scribbles might arrive to work with a fine leather handbag. weeds might take some florist wire or tape home and then take it back to the shop a few days later. it’s just—stuff like that! there’s gum in weed’s bag one day, some tiny gachapon toy in scribbles’ the next. maybe it pours rain in weed’s part of town, so there’s a little compact umbrella shoved into the tote, while scribble’s side of the city is dry as a bone so there’s a cap in scribb’s instead. on and on and on forever, as they go about their lives and their days. 😌
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FebruarOC Day 6: Fay
we are pretending I did this on time
With the sun hot on her back and the scent of dry soil in her nose, Fay knelt among the pots of herbs. Alaric knelt beside her, pointing where to use the small shears he’d handed her. Unlike her, his arms and shoulder were bare with no protection from the sun. His dark red brown skin didn’t burn like her white skin. He said that there were other people as pale as she who didn’t blister in the sun like she did. Apparently the red in her hair meant the sun disagreed with her more than it did a lot of other people. So she wore a shirt of pale yellow-green with sleeves that she could leave loose or button so they fit more snugly around her wrists and a hat that held a scarf of gauzy cream coloured material so it protected the back of her neck. The scarf was something she’d been looking at for a long time on one of the rare trips she took with Alaric through the large outdoor market that spanned a couple streets. It was pretty, and she hadn’t known that Alaric had been keeping an eye on her until they were leaving the market at sunset and he’d put it into her hands along with the dark purple plums she’d also spent a lot of time looking at.
“We cut it here so that it doesn’t put too much energy into growing up and out when it should be using all that energy into growing thicker stems and roots,” Alaric explained as he snipped at a few vibrant green stems that looked out of place with the older dusty grey-green stems.
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why not let it grow however it wants?”
Alaric pinched a few of the leaves between his thumb and index finger. “Because it gets too weak, especially now when it's hot and there isn’t so much rain. New growth means the plant will use up all the water to make new leaves, get stressed, and very likely die.” He held out his fingers. “Smell.”
Fay cautiously sniffed his fingers and wrinkled her nose at the pungent sharpness of the scent. “You want me to eat that?”
“It adds a nice flavour to stews, so we’ll be drying most of this for cold weather. The rest will be used tonight with the chicken.” The stems went into the small basket that sat between Fay and Alaric. “People and plants are similar. People need to take their time and strengthen what they have before moving on. If we try to learn too many things at once, we’ll get stressed and make ourselves sick. Often we’ll quit learning and that's a little like dying. Remember that, Fay. A few things at a time, and go slow.”
“I don’t want to learn magic.”
“You already are,” Alaric replied gently. “There is magic in learning how plants grow and how to take care of them. There’s magic in cooking, in cleaning, and in working with your hands and body.”
“No. Those are normal things,” she argued back, glaring at him as she did.
Alaric merely blinked before cracking his knuckles and picking up his shears again. “Are you telling me you find nothing magical or wondrous about taking a chunk of metal, and turning it into something like a knife? Or turning raw ingredients into a delicious meal? Isn’t turning something from its rawest form to be refined and shaped into something else a form of magic?”
Fay furrowed her brow and stared down at her hands. They were dusty and her fingers had green stains from weeding earlier in the rows of seedlings. “That’s not magic though.”
“Why not?”
“I…”
She didn’t like these kinds of questions, there never seemed to be an answer that stopped them. It always made him ask more questions and those led to answers that meant more questions and on and on and on until she was so muddled in the circles he wound around her. Circles of questions that kept haunting her when she was trying to fall asleep.
Touching the leather pouch that held the crystal light she created with magic sparked a thought and she thumped her chest. “It doesn’t cause the second heartbeat.”
“That’s because it’s a different form of magic.” Alaric sighed. “Perhaps it’s a little bit too much for you to tackle currently.”
Nose twitching in anger, Fay sent her fists into the packed dirt around the pots and leaned forwards on them to snarl at the wizard. “I can get it! I’m not stupid!”
“Where did I say you were stupid?” He looked up, one of his brows quirked up in the way it did when he was confused. “I consider you to be quite intelligent and highly curious. I am also fully aware you had your innate curiosity stifled, perhaps deliberately smothered even, and that you were raised to hate magic and anything related to it. You can’t see what I mean yet, and so I need to be the one to rethink how I do lessons for you to accommodate that.”
Well now she felt weird inside. Her emotions stuck together and twisted and it all hurt. Slowly easing back, she hugged her arms close to herself. Why was he like this? He was supposed to be her teacher. So why did he keep saying things like that, that he had to be the one to change things. She was used to being yelled at for not getting things, for not being able to do things correctly like everyone else. Teachers had always beaten a lesson into her one way or another. Often she came out of such times with bruised knuckles and stinging eyes from trying not to cry when her hands were switched.
“Fay?”
Tears disturbed the dust and dirt on her knees. She was allowed to cry here. Alaric didn’t hurt her, the scars on her hands were just that now. She hadn’t developed fresh bruises except from when she ran into something or tripped and banged herself up.
Alaric moved and she felt him settle beside her, cloth rustling as he grunted softly as he sat. “Do you want to-”
She threw herself into his arms before he even finished his sentence, burying her face into his shoulder as sobs choked her throat. Alaric patted her head as she clutched at him.
“It’s okay, Fay. Everything will be fine, little hummingbird. It’ll be okay.”
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Castle on the Cliff: pt. 1
It was a bright, sunny morning in the midst of Summer. A light breeze whistled through the trees. A forking dirt path lay in thick woodlands, neglected. Tufts of grass had broken through the packed dirt. Walls of shrubbery bordered it off from the dense forest beyond, and oftentimes obscured the path all together. The left path led down hill, towards a rocky beach churned by rough, incessant waves. The other, uphill, towards the only landmark to be seen above the treeline, an old, dilapidated keep. A keep, which was the objective of the sole traveler of that dirt path.
A knight, or perhaps just a soldier, with a dark brown hood shrouding the top of his head and a long, white beard covering the bottom. His plate armor was dented and scratched. He wore a large metal kite shield on his left arm, the emblem in the middle was, intentionally or not, entirely scraped off, leaving only three thin, blue, ribbon-like ink strokes to be seen flowing towards the bottom. On his back was a bastard sword with a nicked blade, a cracked cross guard, a stained grip and half a pommel. Around his waist was a canteen, along with a pouch that jingled lightly with coin, and finally a steel dagger in relatively good condition with no obvious damage.
The old warrior stopped when he reached the fork, and decided to rest on a log while figuring out which path led to his goal. To his right he heard crashing waves, and on his left, the scurrying and calls of woodland creatures. He guessed heading deeper into the woods would lead him closer to the castle. And so he stood with a grunt and turned to his left, down the right path.
A little while after, a young maiden stumbled onto the path, tripping over the bordering shrubbery. As she came to her feet she flipped her blonde hair, darkened by dirt, leafy twigs, and sweat, out of her face, pulling aside strands with her dirty and calloused hands. Two hazel eyes shone with a fire of either hatred or revenge, or both. Her face was mostly red and crossed with small cuts, her button nose burning from sniffling and rubbing; her thin lips were chapped and her mouth was dry. The sleeves of her dress were torn to the shoulders, and her arms were cut up, bruised and riddled with insect bites. Her peach colored dress covered her loosely from shoulder to ankle, with a torn up bottom, exposing only her old, worn leather shoes which threatened to drop their soles at any moment, as well as her upper chest, which suffered from a mild rash, reaching up past her collar bone.
She stumbled onto the path not far from the fork and sighed in relief. She stuttered over to the fork and let herself fall onto the same log the old man had rested on. It was the first time she'd stopped in awhile and her legs had begun to ache. In order to take her mind off it she decided to listen in on either side of her and eventually she detected the sound of the crashing waves. Instinctually she licked her dry lips, but it did nothing to soothe them, in fact, it only tore at the arid skin, drawing some blood. Eventually she willed herself to her feet and continued down the left path with some renewed vitality.
By mid-day the old man had reached the clearing which led up to the crumbling castle. He looked upon the stronghold which was strong no more. The entire side of the circular wall which faced the woods was gone, and the rest was soon to follow, arching up towards the only standing tower. Three gray bricks fell to the ground just as the man approached, as if his mere presence was enough to topple the fort. The courtyard was entirely overgrown with grass and weeds. Inside the wall, torn and tarnished tapestries flowed in the breeze. They appeared to originally be orange and red, now stained by rain and dirt; many were singed, suggesting a rather bloody end to the once inhabitants of the fort. Just past the courtyard, where bricks began to show through the grass, the remnants of three rooms still remain distinctly shaped with wooden ceilings intact. The leftmost one, with old sawed boards strewn about, the man assumed was once a storage room. The next, had broken and busted down bed frames and was filled with ripped sheets and loose hay and wool. And finally on the opposite side of the base of the tower was a large room with an almost as large busted table and a large scorch mark on the back wall between four pieces of tanned leather pinned to the wall.
The Knight squinted at the leather and approached. The edges of the four pieces were singed. He took off one of his gauntlets and felt a piece, it was firm and still a little dusty. His eyes stayed narrowed as he felt the scorch mark and some ash came off on his fingers. He wiped it off on his pouch and slipped his gauntlet back on. Whatever had burned the wall may still be around, but the soldier decided to continue exploring the remaining fort. Next he looked to the arch leading into the tower, the stonework was particularly impressive in this arch compared to the rest of the crumbling fort. The arch stones were a glazed marble with swirls and prairie grass carved into it. At the pinnacle of the arch, the man assumed, was once written a name, as the stones there were indescribably scratched. He entered the arch…
The young woman exited the woods onto a beach of rounded stones weathered by the rain and crashing waves. The ocean spray was refreshing and revitalizing as it gently landed on the maiden. Her lips catching the much needed moisture, she licked the water off and immediately the taste of salt filled her mouth. Despite her desire for water, she knew that the salty ocean waves would do more harm than good. The young maiden walked down the beach, hoping to find some kind of shelter, and believing that traveling alongside the shore would somehow help her hydration.
She looked at the jagged cliffside in awe. As she was admiring the environment, something caught her eye, a black bulbous object hit the cliff several times with a series of loud bangs and clangs. The young woman squinted and made out the object as a large pot. Her eyes widened and she ran to where it was falling. It hit the ground just before she reached it and picked it up, it was in shockingly good condition and could clearly still hold water. She looked up at where it came from but the cliff was such that she could not see the source of the fallen object. As her eyes trailed back down, she noticed a crack in the wall that seemed big enough for her to slip into and maybe spend the night.
Inside the tower of the fort, no debris was strewn about, not so much as a cobweb in the corners, just a pristine set of wooden stairs directly to the left of the entry arch. The soldier took one step on the first board and not so much as a creak. The warrior looked back out of the arch and saw the same old, dilapidated courtyard. He hummed nonchalantly before continuing up the stairs. Whatever force kept the base of the tower perfect had already lost its power even before the second floor. The steps began to squeak with each foot fall and the wood began to appear worn and rotted. The old man took each step cautiously and didn't spend any more time on a stair than necessary. The floorboards of the second floor didn't seem so decrepit as to deny passage, but a few broken parts warned to tread carefully, and so the knight did. The second set of steps were in no better condition than the first, and so the warrior continued upward.
The maiden filled the pot with water and brought it to the cave entrance, the small opening led to a comfortably sized cave. She set the pot in the middle of the small cave and sat down. The woman put her hands over the pot of water and they began to glow. The light reached toward the water before stopping altogether and the girl saw visions of lit torches and pitchforks, hearing angry screams urging for her head. She came to with her hands on her chest heaving, she took a few deep breaths and outstretched her hands once again, she had to push the awful memories away. The light again surrounded her hands and reached for the water, this time making it to its destination and filling the pot itself with the glow. After a few minutes of concentration the glow stopped and the girl dipped her finger in and licked it. The water was still a little salty, but safe to drink. She drank handful after handful until she began to feel sick.
She rested against the back wall. The maiden could see a flock of birds flying over the water in the distance. Their travels were cut short as the woman watched a great sea beast leap from the water and take the whole flock in its mouth. Her stomach began to growl, but she decided to wait for nightfall to search for food.
The soldier passed several rooms that held nothing of interest; broken beds, wardrobes, and tables. Finally he reached the penultimate room and paused. The room was filled with old pink drapes: on the walls, obscuring the remains of the bed, hanging over a broken mirror in the corner like an upside down rainbow. He took a step in, not concerned with the state of the floorboards, luckily they were mostly sound. He took one of the flowing clothes in his hand. He remembered a young woman, with shining black hair and glimmering red eyes with a brilliant smile. She always loved this shade… a tear came to his eye as an image of her lifeless body laying in his trembling arms arose. He shook himself out of the memory as something else caught his attention. Behind one of the curtains was a hole in the tower that faced out to the water. He made his way over and looked out, accidentally kicking a small iron pot he hadn’t noticed and it went flying out and falling down the cliff. He watched it fall for a moment before looking out at the ocean. For several minutes he allowed himself to be absorbed by the crashing of waves and the flapping of distant sea birds. Until a distant flock got gobbled up by a colossal Leaping Whale. The sight of it made the warrior queasy, and left a pit in his stomach.
The knight turned and made his way back to the ruined courtyard to make a small fire and prepare his few rations.
The young woman fell asleep waiting for the moon to rise.
Under the light of the full moon, the knight sat by a small fire, his sword and shield both pushed deep into the earth so as to keep them both standing. The warrior heard a harmony of distant howls.
The maiden awoke suddenly to the growling of wolves, their silhouettes could be seen blocking the entrance to the cave and she froze in fear. One wolf approached her slowly and she pressed herself against the wall until the wolf was staring her in the eye. It sniffed her face before slowly backing away and turning to leave. The young woman watched it do so, thanking the gods for this one kindness.
The old soldier was brought out from his meditations by the presence of three wolves. He looked at the lead wolf, which snarled at him. The warrior lowered his hood and revealed his soft brown eyes to the moonlight. He and the wolf held the other’s gaze for several moments before the wolves turned and left.
The young lady was stuck breathing heavily for several minutes, recovering from the near death experience. Just as she had regrouped to go out foraging, the shadows of three familiar forms once again filled the cave entrance. The maiden's heart sank, then she heard something hit the ground, something the wolf had dropped before nudging it her way. The young woman raised an inquisitive eyebrow and used her powers to light up the cavern and see that the wolves had brought several wild vegetables and roots, including cabbage, carrots, and beets. The head wolf, whom the girl could now see had Scars covering its face, and a particularly nasty gash over its right eye, sniffed at the pot, and deemed the water well enough for a stew, and sat, as if that alone would tell the maiden its intentions. The young woman did pick up on the inclination, looking between the wolf, the vegetables, and the pot; she used a collection of twigs, dried moss, and some magic to start a small fire. She began loading the veggies into the pot, wishing silently for some meat, such as rabbit or fox, but her growling stomach reminded her that she was in no position to be picky.
Almost thirty minutes after the wolves left the knight to his meditations, two returned and he saw that they were carrying something in their mouths, they approached confidently and dropped the contents of their maws; that being the carcasses of a rabbit and small fox. A pit formed in the warrior's stomach, he looked back at the main wolf; who was sniffing at the smoldering campfire and the warrior knew what it was trying to suggest. He started the fire back up and found a particularly smooth rock. He brought the stone over to the fire and threw the rabbit onto it. He pulled out his dagger and steadied himself. The wolves both sat and watched him with anticipation, but he felt as though he were being judged by them.
As the maiden waited for the soup to boil, she observed her other two unlikely guests, the second wolf to enter let out a low growl and went to lay on the opposite end of the cavern from the young lady, looking away from her, it had a large gash on its side as if it had been run right through between two of its ribs. The third had its tongue hanging out its mouth and sat directly in the doorway facing inwardly, its left eye dangling out of its socket by red sinews. The woman felt sympathy for the beasts, as she knew all too well what it is to be battered and mistreated. The wolves each glanced occasionally from the fire to the pot as if knowing, and anticipating the outcome. The young lady figured, after all she'd seen of them, that it was reasonable they were each intelligent enough to come to such a conclusion.
The soldier knew how to prepare an animal carcass, it was a crucial part of his guard training as a young man, but even then, the idea disturbed him. He brought the blade to the belly of the rabbit and slipped it between the skin and underlying meat. His lack of practice was apparent to even the wolves which watched his work closely, growling gently when he would leave a patch or cut too deep into the flesh. Each time they did so the guard would correct his mistakes, and he would begin to question the true nature of the beasts.
Within the cave the smell of stew filled the stale air. And the same sounds of bubbling which had lulled the maiden into a meditation had grown violent enough to draw her out from it. The smell had told her the soup was ready. She snuffed out parts of the flame and realized she had nothing to serve the soup with. Just then, the third wolf, the one with the dangling eye began to gag and convulse violently. The young woman lit up the room to get a clear view and went to help. Just as she reached the animal it coughed up a shiny silver ladle, it then sat back in its position panting happily. This all but confirmed for the young lady that these wolves were not natural, but likely the familiars of an old mage that had most assuredly passed quite some time ago, judging by their lasting injuries and scars. She grabbed the slimy ladle and focused her light into it, cleaning the ooze from it and leaving it only a little grimy. At least the smell was gone.
The warrior finished preparing the rabbit and stuck it over the fire with splintered wood from a destroyed box and began working on the fox. His apparent disgust in the acts were not lost on the wolves, the leader of which would lay his head on the lap of the working soldier. This led to a pause in the knight's work, after a moment he went to pet the creature but was sent back to work by a low growl. He finished skinning the fox and put it over the fire as well. He grabbed the rabbit and offered it to the wolves who each turned their snouts. Exasperated, the warrior shook the rabbit in their direction. The lead wolf nudged the rabbit back towards the soldier, who's stomach growled due to the smell. After some deliberation, the knight begrudgingly took a bite out of the roasted meat. The earthy taste was palatable, and his hunger was enough to distract him from the act. After eating a chunk of the rabbit, he gave the rest to the wolves, who now accepted it happily.
The young woman ladled out some of the soup and went to give some to the first wolf. It nudged her hand up towards her mouth. She accepted the gesture and drank some; ignoring the questionable utensil used, the stew itself was about as good as it could be, and it filled her with a warmth she hadn’t felt in weeks, maybe longer. She gulped down the rest of the spoonful and went for a second as well as a third before giving the wolves their share. The first lapped his up slowly and deliberately, giving the spoon a few extra licks at the end for good measure. The second took the whole spoon in its mouth and nearly took it away from the maiden as it went back to its corner. The third ate sloppily, losing several large drops as it cleaned out the spoon. After eating their share, the leader and gloomy wolves left the cave, with the third remaining at the young woman's side. They fell asleep shortly after.
After splitting the fox, the knight and wolves stayed awake for a while longer. Watching the moon pass over the land with full bellies before falling peacefully asleep.
Early the next morning the maiden awoke to the sound of fluttering wings and sprinkling dust. As she opened her eyes she saw a floating ball of light with delicate transparent pink wings. The young lady perked up with subtle excitement, waking the snoring wolf in her lap. The wolf looked at the pixie, watched the woman stand slowly and went back to sleep. The woman went to clasp her hands around the gleaming creature who deftly avoided capture. She tried again and the pixie fled from the cave. With childlike wonder, and the fullest belly she'd had in weeks, she gave chase to the pixie, following it out into the morning glow. She chased it all down the beach, into the woods, down the other path and into the thicket. She followed it into a clearing where it flew in front of a large stone. The maiden pounced on it, her hands colliding with the stone and the pixie fluttering away. The young lady looked in her hands with excitement, which turned to disappointment when she saw nothing in them. Suddenly the stones began to move, and the woman could now see the ovular shape with deep circular ridges and her heart sank. As the stony skinned humanoid stood up and rubbed it's head it looked down at the woman with menacing gray eyes. The woman let out a shriek and began running in the direction of the castle.
Awoken by an ear piercing scream the knight grabbed his sword and shield and his canine companions took point. When a deep roar followed, the wolves eased up, to the surprise of the warrior, and ran off, leaving him to fend for himself. He ignored them and turned to the way the scream came from inside the woods. The soldier stood stalwart waiting in silence. Suddenly, a thump could be heard, and the screaming picked back up. Another Thump louder, and another, and another, and eventually the ground began to shake and the woman's cries were completely audible. The knight saw the peach colored dress of the woman in the woods and he began running towards her. Moments later he saw the huge shadowy figure chasing her and recognized it instantly. He pulled into a full sprint and was halfway through the clearing when the woman broke out of the forest. The giant not far behind.
The woman saw the armored man and cried out for help, begging him to help her. She got a quarter through the clearing before she stepped into a burrow and tripped. She turned and saw the giant about to crush her with a massive stone club; she closed her eyes and saw her life flash before her. She saw her pa, holding her tiny glowing hand in his. She held a wounded deer and cured its infected wound. She saw her ma, sick and dying. She saw fire and smoke and heard coughing. She saw the village that was sick when she got there. She purified their water and they grew healthy and their crops became bountiful. She felt the hand of the man who betrayed her.. the man she could have loved if given just a little more time. She saw pitchforks and torches, heard angry voices and accusations. She ran, and ran, and ran, and now, she couldn't run anymore. She opened her eyes and saw nothing but dust.
The warrior watched in slow motion as the ground beneath the maiden's feet collapsed, she stumbled and fell to her knees. The knight breathed in deep and exhaled before the ribbons drawn on his shield glew gently and he bolted over the fallen young woman in a flash and raised his shield over her. The force of the resulting strike caused the old warrior's knees to buckle and the loose dirt beneath his feet created a light brown cloud around the three of them.
As the dust settled the young lady saw the knight shaking under the weight of the beast's weapon as his shield seemed as though it would shatter any moment. The old man grunted and with a roar flung the stone club out of the giant's hand off to the side. The monster lifted its hulking arm high and brought it down in an attempt to crush the knight who dodged it and in one motion drew his sword and slashed the giant's shins open, his blade breaking the process. The giant let out a pained wail and fled into the wilderness. The maiden looked at the man who'd saved her life and a guilty fear took hold. When the man turned to look at her her fear grew until he removed his hood and his gentle brown eyes vanquished her fear in an instant.
“Are you alright?” He asked her with a gruftness resulting from weeks of not having anyone to speak to.
“I-I think so.” Her voice too, was rough from lack of use.
“Here.” He offered his hand. She took it. He looked her over for a moment. “I think I saw a tub big enough for a bath in the tower. I can start a fire for one.”
“A bath?” She asked.
“Here, come with me.” He led her back to the ruined keep which to the knight seemed slightly more whole than it had the night before.
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I keep my weed in an old leather pouch hanging from my ceiling
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come on, 𝒈𝒓𝒂𝒃 𝒔𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝒂𝒎𝒃𝒓𝒐𝒔𝒊𝒂, and let the nectar flow! take a load off! — accepted! please familiarize yourself with the guidelines, plot, and lore. join the discord link from the pinned post within 24 hours or your roles will be reopened. welcome to 𝘬𝘦𝘧𝘪, 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘢, lee soria, mara samar, sylvie summers. alyssa raghu, ariela barer, lola tung is now taken.
⧼ alyssa raghu, nonbinary, they/them, 24. ⧽ nunemaker's parable by everyone's worried about owen + haphazardly written formulas, detailed ledgers of items and secrets, a worn path in the woods, light passing through stained glass, a leather jacket with too many pockets ☼ Lee Soria survived the second titan war, but just barely! nowadays they’re a chemist and are known to be loyal&spacey, makes sense given they’re a CHILD OF HERMES word around town is that they’ve been here for 6 years and always have a warm meal ready for those who ask, is it true? it’s probably just gossip. whenever you see them around town they have their jacket. [ sable, cst, 21, sa ]
⧼ ariela barer, demigirl, she/they, 27. ⧽ the horror and the wild by the amazing devil + crumbling marble covered in moss, steam curling from a cup of hot chocolate, trees that do not feel like trees, the first rays of sunshine streaming through the curtains, marzipan ☼ MARA SAMAR survived the second titan war, but just barely! nowadays they’re a barista and are known to be bubbly&offputting, makes sense given they’re a CHILD OF DEIMOS / LEGACY OF APOLLO. word around town is that they’ve been here for 2 years and they paint people's nightmares, is it true? it’s probably just gossip. whenever you see them around town they have their sketchbook. [ sable, 21, they/them, cst, sa ]
⧼ lola tung, cis woman, she/her, two hundred and sixty two years old, physically twenty-one. ⧽ bloom by the paper kites + bare feet pressed against soft green grass in the summer, the sour then sweet taste of lemonade, the skunk strong smell of weed as you light up a joint. ☼ SYLVIE SUMMERS survived the second titan war, but just barely! nowadays they’re a plug and are known to be gentle&timid trait, makes sense given they’re a DRYAD. word around town is that they’ve been here for two hundred and sixty two years and HER TREE IS SLOWLY DYING, is it true? it’s probably just gossip. whenever you see them around town they have their pouch of dirt. [ meredith, 23, est, she/they, ed/body image & self harm ]
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@ikkaku-of-heart asked: There was a splash of water as a sea turtle the size of an orca whale surfaced alongside the Polar Tang. The old reptile peered at Law, bubbles coming out of his corncob pipe and a few pieces of seaweed clinging to his navy blue sailor cap. “Got a delivery from Buranku Tomasu,” he drawled, glancing over his shoulder at the dinghy that trailed behind him. “For a Trafalgar Law. Tommy said somethin’ ‘bout a birthday gift for his granddaughter’s captain. Incentive and tools t’ keep you alive.” Inside the dinghy, which had been sealed from the ocean waters by a layer of Sabaody’s special bubble coating, were a few silver harpoons and a wooden chest. Within the chest were leather-bound journals filled with sketches and notes of things the Ghostlight had observed and encountered beneath the waves. Some of them spoke of eldritch horrors, while others were detailed descriptions of underwater ruins and unique creatures and plants. There were even a few rough charts and coordinates to islands in the Calm Belt. Places the Hearts could lay low if they really needed. But next to those, there was also a small velvet pouch with a note attached. Within the pouch was a silver coin, stamped with a familiar seal. Well, familiar to the Surgeon of Death, at least. Ikkaku told me where you’re from, the note said. I visited there once years ago. It was a beautiful place. Full of good people. Turns out I still had a coin from that trip in my stash. Felt it deserved to go to the one man who would appreciate it. You’re a survivor, lad. Like me, whether you like it or not. Keep on surviving. Flip off the world that tried to beat you down. Live another year, and another after that, and even more out of spite. For Ikkaku, your crew, and for Flevance. Unprompted
Law had stepped out onto the Polar Tang's deck for some fresh air. One of his self-rolled joints sits between his fingers, gently smoking as it's owner breathes deep of the sea air. He sighs and brings the joint to his lips, taking a drag and breathing out gently. Then comes the splash in the water, the shape rising from the depths. It's size has him tensing for a moment, the doctor preparing for a threat. Then it becomes a giant sea turtle. A giant sea turtle that talks to him.
The Surgeon of Death blinks for a moment before he looks down at his weed cigarette. A frown on his features, the doctor wondering if he laced this with a hallucinogenic by accident. But then the animal mentions Ikkaku's grandfather and the pieces start to fall into place. He does remember his engineer mentioning something about a giant turtle friend. He just didn't expect it to actually talk.
His gaze goes to the towed boat with it's wealth of goods. He straightens then, putting the cigarette between his teeth as hands go into motion. A Room made, a few worthless coins produced as sacrificial teleportation fodder, and a hand gesture later has the odd weapons and chest appearing onto his deck. Despite his doubts about the eldritch horrors the residence of Joras believe in Law has seen some weird shit beneath the waves and he would be loathe to disregard the expertise of an old sailor like Tomasu. Especially since his stealthy ways will absolutely be of use to him.
The turtle is patient as Law takes a moment to inspect the goods. He makes a mental note to give the silver harpoons to Shachi for proper care and storage. He also decides to peruse those journals later, noting that perhaps Ikkaku would be interested to get a peak into the Ghostlight's adventures. But what really draws his eye is the pouch and note. Placed aside as if as an after thought but still on top so it is seen. Innocuous but as he picks it up he feels a strange weight in it, a weight much heavier than the bag itself.
Law reads the note first, his brow furrowing and jaw tightening with the first sentence. As it continues he feels a vice on his chest, an ache in his soul. His mouth goes dry, that weight he felt now settling on his shoulders. He finishes the note, grip getting tight enough to crumple paper. His eyes begin to burn and he takes a shaky breath. Hands are clammy as he tips the pouch, letting the coin fall into his palm.
And there it is, the World Government official currency stamp on one side, inter-meshed with the Flevance royal seal, and on the other side, a familiar hospital standing proud. A coin minted to commemorate that great establishment's opening. A chocking gasp slips past his lips, a hand rising to cover he mouth as he feels a sob rising up his throat. He feels tears slip from his eyes, body now hunching with the weight of this coin and the words in Tomasu's letters.
"Fuckin' hell," he groans, turning his head away from the turtle. He takes a breath, calming himself and tugging his hat further down onto his head. He slips the coin back into the pouch and pockets it with the note, closing the chest along the way.
"Oi ... ah," a pause as he tries to remember the animal's name. "Barnabas, thank the old man for me, and tell him to stop poking his huge fucking nose in other people's business."
#ikkaku of heart#boring question // answered ask#as planned // ic#birthday boy#[Tomasu how dare you make him cry!?]
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Next in Line
Mere days after Regalla's final defeat and subsequent recruitment at The Grove, here lay Aloy, on the cold, hard ground next to an untended campfire, in the middle of what used to be San Francisco. She had been called many things in her life. Outcast from and Seeker for her home tribe, the Nora. Savior of Merridian. Destroyer of the Bulwark. Champion of the Grove. A living ancestor. The reincarnation of Elizabet Sobeck. A friend. A sister. Perhaps soon, an aunt, should Zo allow her to be that close to her child
Tonight, she merely called herself tired. She'd spent the days since knocking Regalla's daylights out, tying up loose ends across the Forbidden West and preparing her gear, her mettle and her appetite for the real fight. The last charge on the Zenith's base. The fight that would determine the future of all life on Earth. That would see Gaia; her mentor, and Beta; her closest sister, rescued and brought home safe, more importantly.
Living as she did, mostly out in the wild, She'd become rather accustomed to sleeping fully clothed and geared. She admitted it was exactly comfortable in the slightest, but leaving herself exposed to the elements and any passersby, be they human, machine or animal, would pose a great deal more danger and uncertainty if she wasn't ready to change locations or at least nock an arrow at a moment's notice. As she carefully expeditioned her hands through her thickly braided hair and rested her head on them, she felt at ease with herself. Come what might, she thought, soon, it would all be over.
As she attempted to close her eyes and allow herself to drift to sleep, however, she felt a strange, ethereal warmness start to envelop her arms. She curiously pulled them out to look at them and saw that they were glowing and sparkling a bright gold kind of color that hurt her eyes against the calm darkness of beach underpass. And they were fading. The more her arms glowed the less of them she could see. It was spreading. As she sat up to investigate she discovered that this effect was beginning to cover more and more of her being the more it went on. It wasn't just her body either. Her clothes and her gear pouch were afforded no sympathy. She stood up and watched as her entire being glowed and glowed and she saw less and less of her environs.
In what amounted to less than one minute, Aloy had spectacularly vanished from the world she'd worked so hard to protect.
And an imperceptibly eternal moment later, she reappeared, in another world.
With a sword to her throat. "Hanss up, or taste my blade." It's wielder said, firmly.
Aloy did as she was told.
It appeared to be about midday. They were standing on some sort of carved stone platform which was overgrown with plant life. A firm carpet of grass, moss and weeds. It was easy to see this because, despite her previous surroundings, where ever this was, it appeared to be about midday. There was a wide, gushing waterfall in the far distance, and just past halfway between that and where she was standing, was an island among the lake into which said waterfall poured. On this island stood a statue, of the woman whose sword was currently staring rather intently up and down Aloy's jugular.
Rolling hills also met this lake at it's banks on either side of the waterfall, and carried with them some peculiar looking objects. A city in a bottle sat bolt upright and bustled with life, and a bizarrely shaped green lantern lilted to one side, seeming to have burnt out some time ago.
The woman with whom Aloywas standing and to whom she was trying not to be rude by soaking in her surroundings, was Caucasian with black hair, wearing a thin looking outfit comprised of blue and read dyed leathers with brass and gold highlights. Aloy admitted the boots were cute, but decided against saying so just while this person was also wearing a stern look on her face and firmly holding her sword aloft.
What with one thing and another, Aloy felt it was safe to assume, she wasn't in the Forbidden West anymore . . .
To Be Continued . . .
#multiversus#aloy of the nora#aloy#horizon forbidden west#4mvs#aloy4mvs#short story#story blurb#just the beginning
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I just bought a new pouch for my weed stuff
#weed#420#camera#drugs#marihuanna#vintage#dope#pouch#slg#small leather goods#pochette#sassy#fashion#dope and fashion#luxury#luxury fashion#cannabis#macbook#macbook air#laptop
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New AU concept
theme: forest/steampunk blend
possible names: wandertale? druidtale? botanytale? planttale lol?
concept:
instead of being locked underground, monsters are trapped in an expanding forest forced to wander forever. Only a determined soul can break the curse and lead them out.
monsters have weaker magic than average. in order to supplement, they make tools powered by life force of plants. Tools resemble steam punk attire but primarily wooden. stone tools are rare, metal is rarer
no established cities, instead wandering tribe lead by the last royals. very small population, maybe an eighth of the other aus
instead of magical attacks, magical crafts and weapons are passed down by families. they cannot access their magic other than ecto without the help of crafted tools.
more focus on gathering and animal handling than farming. each monster picks a personal pant species to work with
characters:
toriel: queen of forest monsters. happily bonded to asgore. fierce and protective personality. strict, little sense of humor. balanced out by husband. Is the primary healer of the underground, crafted items are vials that slowly refill with healing potion over time. alternate items: possible boiling water attack, shields? pant of choice: tea tree
magic color: pale yellow, sightly green
possible names: dryad, fey, fay,
asgore: king of forest monsters. happily bonded to toriel. cautious and nurturing personality. strict but fair, not easily offended. balanced out by wife. leader of the monsters and creator of their communication system. crafted items are braided pouches that can exchange letters and goods between pouches of choice. alternate items: dandelion seeds that point towards safe routes/ lost monsters? fast growing roots attack? plant of choice: dandelion
magic color: deep olive
possible names: lion, founder, chief
frisk: lost they/boy, mexican, lost from boy scouts group, crossed the curse. curious, determined, empathetic personality. attacks: has bear mace and bug spray. very handy, clever usage of magical tools. will eventually lead king and queen out breaking the curse. no plant of choice, uses all
possible names: gizmo
undyne: leader of the hunting squad (wolf pack). courting alphys, not official. patient, determined temperamental. prefers stones over plants. crafted item: pond weed whip stuns target. alternate items: river stone spear? pond weed net? plant of choice: seaweed/pond weed
magic color: peacock green leaning on blue end
possible names: river, whirlpool, lotus, dragonfly, koi, pike
alphys: queens assistant, royal bookkeeper. is being courted by undyne. scared to commit. soft sweet and eager to please personality. crafted items: leather bound book with leaf pages. pages eternally refilling but book staying the same size. alternate items: feather pen with refiling ink? berry bombs? plant of choice: bamboo
magic color: slightly tan mustard yellow.
possible names: sunny, trinket, script, lisp,
sans: scout team with papyrus. looking for paths out. inventor on the side. curious, bashful, lazy, coward personality. crafted items: small pebbles that he can change locations with when tossed. mimics shortcuts. alternate items: paralyzing spores, mimics grabbing soul. plant of choice: mushrooms
magic color: umber
possible names: gears, funguy, munk, gopher, gadget, fox
papyrus: scout team with sans. creates maps locating useful plants and food sources on the side. curious, playful, fierce, brave personality. crafted items: wooden shield, pushes back enemies with a blast, mimics gaster blasters. alternate items: small wooden flute, plays animal sounds, sounds loud and scary. plant of choice: redwood tree
magic color: burgundy red/brown
possible names: piper, satyr, compass, stag, shield
gaster: alive. royal craftsman. good father. very elderly and brittle. calm, hopeful curious and elegant personality. crafted item: clay and vine oven that infuses plants and magic together. alternate items: vines that cover body and form golem like armor. plant of choice: ivy
magic color: chocolate brown
possible names: elder, aspen, trill, copper, potter, motar
side details:
royal dog guard becomes the wolf pack. hunters led by undyne
grillby in charge of food distribution. muffet is treaserer
blooky and mettaton stay ghosts
travel with packs, packs unfold to make tents
forest has larger and denser trees than normal
monsters hunted by forest animals when they leave the group
magical power traded for magical sensitivity. monsters very observant, hard to sneak up on
they will enter society same time as all the other aus in the crash. majority of forest monsters dwell with the farmtale monsters. become farmers or construction workers/carpenters
asgore and toriel separate from royal family. care over national park and in charge of ebott water supply instead of politics. keeps ebott safe from pollution
#ratsoh wip#heres all my details for that au i was talking about.#the main thing i need is names#a few backstories and more specific personalities are being worked on
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This seems fun! Thanks to @ecwrenn for the idea & the banner.
I only write on occasion as a hobby and am nowhere near as hardcore as the others in the #ayearofwriting tag, but I still wanna participate. So without further ado...
NOVEL IN PROGRESS: Lin's Gate fantasy • nblm • coming-of-age • political intrigue After a freak incident, a young trans man finds himself stuck in another world. To get home, he'll need the help of the Emperor's Wizard. Inspired by Howl's Moving Castle!
"She stuffed the teeth away in a leather pouch and shimmied farther down the spine of the monster, running her fingers under its feathers. Tiny jewels began to spill from the plumage, sprinkling the ground in a kaleidoscope of colors. Vince watched them as they fell, suddenly wondering if that weed from earlier had been laced with something."
3964 words written over six months (phew, I'm slow!)
FANFIC IN PROGRESS: Like Watching the Earthrise Pacific Rim • Newton Geiszler x Hermann Gottlieb • Fix-It As the PPDC scrambles to bring war upon the Anteverse, Hermann believes he can liberate Newt from the clutches of the Precursors.
Takes place after the events of Pacific Rim: Uprising.
"For just a moment, a flicker of desperate recognition passed across Newt’s face. Then he let out a bitter laugh.
'Oh, he is quite fond of you,' the Precursors spat."
4449 words written over six months 4 chapters finished, 1 posted
SHORT COMIC (PILOT) IN PROGRESS sci-fi • mecha • wlw • political intrigue Earth had given up on the people of its failed off-world colony, but she hadn't. Determined to rescue them & with nothing else to lose, she steals the bioship of the academy's ace pilot. Inspired by Heaven Will Be Mine.
GUEST EDITOR DUTIES ✨ In addition to my own stories, I was asked by two of my friends to help with theirs. I read through the first draft of one friend's novel, A Taste of Darkness, and assisted in reworking its plot. I also helped develop the plot of another friend's short comic, which has yet to be named. :)
#i also wrote a few poems!#ayearofwriting#writeblr#im scared to be exposing myself like this#but this was too fun to pass up#also you can DEF get to my twitter from this post#not sure how i feel about that
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