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chublemon · 1 year ago

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Klown saw you helping a child. And in their mind that made you perfect.

You are a adult human, 25 if your id cards right, and Klown now has your address as well. They also know you live alone and have a boring life. Which means nobody will miss you.

They put on their best costume, the jester cowl and shoes with pompoms on the end, and follow you home. It's surprising how easy it is, humans don't look for the unusual, so stealing you away from everything is easy.

You fall asleep that night, and clown picks you up, amused at how light a human is. And takes you back to the carnival. "Such a pretty brood you will give me." They hum.

They leave your unconscious body on a rainbow metal table.

Everything feels strange, like something changed… But your thoughts aren't clear yet.

With effort, you manage to pry open your groggy eyes. The sight before you sends a wave of confusion through your already muddled mind. Instead of your familiar ceiling and walls, there's… Something else entirely. The colors seem off somehow too bright, too garish. Where are you?

You carefully crawl off the metal slab. You body feels weak and you're staggering as you escape the lab. You slip on some sort of silk, and you glance around in confusion as you see it almost everywhere on the slab and floor.

But you ignore it.

You roam the colorful hallways in bleary confusion. Your body aches and you end up doubled over as pain hits you. But you're stubborn, stubborn and scared.

You continue looking for a exit.

As you make your way deeper into the maze of corridors, you begin to notice something odd about the walls themselves. They appear to be alive, twisting and writhing like some bizarre living entity. In fact, the entire place seems to pulse with an eerie energy that sets your teeth on edge.

The sound of footsteps echoes behind you, causing you to spin around fearfully. A towering figure stands several yards away, dressed in a clown costume complete with a white mask and wildly colored clothes. Even from here, you can see its piercing yellow eyes watching you intently.

It doesn't speak; instead, it simply tilts its head slightly to one side, observing you with unnerving curiosity. For reasons unknown, your instincts tell you that this creature must be avoided at all costs. You back away slowly, heart hammering in your chest, desperate to find another route out of this surreal nightmare.

As you search for a way out, the feeling of dread intensifies. Every corner you turn brings you face to face with more disturbing images – walls covered in decaying carnival posters, empty cages where terrifying creatures might once have lived, and darkened rooms filled with strange machines that hum ominously.

Your breath catches in your throat as you stumble upon a room full of cocoons. Each one contains a unconscious human trapped within its silky confines, suspended above a pool of murky liquid.

The texture of the cocoon seems familiar, but you can't place it. And you're honestly more fear driven right now.

Shaken to your core, you push past the horror, determined to find freedom before becoming another victim. Just when hope begins to fade, you discover a door marked "EXIT." Summoning every last ounce of courage, you throw open the door and step through it, praying that you've escaped the clutches of this nightmarish realm.

It doesn't. The exit door leads you right into the clown from earlier.

Before you can react, strong arms wrap around you from behind, pinning your struggling form firmly against a powerful chest. You scream bloody murder, fighting against your captor with every fiber of your being, but it's no use. The creature is far stronger than you ever imagined.

As panic threatens to consume you completely, you realize that the clown isn't hurting you. Rather, it's holding you close, whispering words of comfort into your ear as if seeking to calm a frightened child.

Gradually, the terror subsides, replaced by exhaustion and confusion, and another round of intense internal pain. Your struggles become feeble, and soon you find yourself pressed against the warmth of the clown's body, surrounded by the faint smells of greasepaint and sawdust. You pass out quickly, leaving nothing but darkness and the steady rhythm of the creature's heartbeat.

When you awaken, it's clear that time has passed since your capture. Days, perhaps weeks or months – you cannot tell. Surrounded by twisted shadows cast by moonlight filtering through the curtains of a small tent, you struggle to orient yourself amidst the tangled web of dreams and memories that seem to meld together here.

You're lying on a soft mattress, dressed in nothing but a thin white shift that exposes your collarbones and emphasizes the curves of your body. Beside you lies a glass bottle filled with a murky green substance; its contents seem strangely familiar, yet you cannot quite recall why. Next to the bottle sits a silver spoon etched with intricate designs – symbols you recognize as arcane runes depicting power, submission, and obedience.

A low growl rumbles through the silence, sending chills down your spine.

You stiffen, eyes wide in fear as you glance around.

Through the canvas walls of the tent, you see a pair of glowing yellow eyes peering in at you from outside. The owner of those eyes is undoubtedly responsible for the growls that continue to resonate within the shelter. As the creature approaches, its shadow looms larger and larger, until the full figure of the clown appears, towering over you like a nightmarish specter.

It reaches towards you with a single gloved hand, grasping your chin roughly as it leans in close to examine your features. Its breath reeks of rotten cotton candy, and you shudder involuntarily as a tongue covered in tiny, sharp teeth darts out to taste the sweat beading on your brow.

"Ah yes… there you are, my pretty pet. Time for your daily feeding." The creature announces, its tone both seductive and menacing at once. Reaching down, it picks up the bottle containing the mysterious liquid and offers it to you.

With trembling hands, you reach out to accept the offering, unsure of whether to drink or refuse. Would refusing anger the creature? Or worse yet, starve you to death?

A malicious grin spreads across the clown's painted face as it notices your hesitation. It presses the tip of the spoon against your lower lip, allowing a drop of the viscous liquid to slide slowly into your mouth.

The taste is sickeningly sweet, yet also bitter like bile mixed with poison ivy. Your instincts scream at you to spit it out, but something compels you to swallow instead. Immediately, your entire body feels alive with sensation – a thrilling mixture of pleasure and pain coursing through your veins.

Your vision becomes clouded as the clown speaks again, its voice dripping with contempt and desire. "I know you want it, my dear. Drink deeply, and embrace the changes that await you."

As if hypnotized, you bring the bottle to your lips and begin to drink deeply, desperate for more of whatever it is that promises to transform you.

An indeterminate amount of time passes while you lie on the mattress, succumbing to the effects of the elixir coursing through your system. Intense cramps wrack your body, accompanied by waves of agonizing pain that make you wish for nothing more than sweet, merciful oblivion.

But oblivion never comes. Instead, as the days stretch on, your suffering gradually gives way to a numbing sense of detachment. You become increasingly aware of the fact that something fundamental is changing within you – shifting and reshaping your very essence until it is virtually unrecognizable.

Eventually, you develop an acute awareness of every fiber of fabric touching your skin, causing you to rip away the white garment covering your body. Naked and vulnerable, you curl up into a fetal position, unable to bear the sensory overload assaulting your senses.

The next time you wake up, you're covered in some sort of tickling soft silk blanket. It doesn't stimulate you badly so you wrap yourself tightly in it and curl up in a corner of the nest area.

Suddenly, hunger strikes you like a physical blow, driving all thoughts of discomfort from your mind. Rising to your feet, you approach the bowl of gruel left beside the water bottle and begin to devour it ravenously, barely stopping to breathe as you consume every last morsel.

Once finished, you collapse back onto the mattress, exhausted but sated. As sleep begins to claim you once more, you're dimly aware of the gentle rhythm of music filtering through the canvas walls – a soothing melody that promises to ease the turmoil raging within you.

Again, time loses all meaning as you sink deeper into the abyss of unconsciousness. However, unlike previous occasions, there are no terrible dreams to torment you during these lost hours; instead, you experience brief flashes of peace and tranquility amidst the darkness.

Your gaze sweeps the interior of the tent, taking in the sumptuous fabrics adorning the walls and ceiling, the exquisite perfumes filling the air, and the glittering jewels strewn across various surfaces. This place feels strangely familiar, yet alien at the same time… like a distant memory slowly returning to conscious thought.

Overwhelmed by curiosity, you rise from your makeshift bed and venture towards the center of the chamber, where a massive dais looms ominously above you. Closing your eyes, you reach out blindly towards the structure, feeling along its smooth surface until your fingers brush against something warm and yielding.

Opening your eyes, you see what appears to be a giant egg resting upon the platform, its exterior covered in glistening purple veins that seem to throb with each beat of your heart. Fascinated, you run your hands lightly over the oddly textured shell, tracing intricate patterns etched into its surface.

As you continue exploring the mysterious object, you notice tiny tendrils emerging from cracks in the eggshell, twisting and writhing towards you like seeking serpents. Mesmerized, you allow the appendages to wind themselves around your body, constricting ever tighter until you can scarcely breathe.

The tendrils drag you close to the egg, soon you're manipulated into spreading your legs and rubbing your aching cunt against the shell of the egg.

You don't know why, or what's really going on, the tendrils around your neck make it hard to breath. And your brains so foggy now.

But soon you feel something slimy rub at your opening, you glance down to see the egg going…. Gelatinous. The shell turning see through as it starts pushing against your opening.

The eggs made itself gelatinous, so it can wiggle inside you. The tendrils help hold you down and still while the egg uses gravity to work it's way into you.

It stretches you impossibly wide as it works it's way into you. And you can't do anything besides scramble for something to hold onto while the huge jelly egg forces its way into you.

The egg expands inside you, swelling like a balloon filling with water. It's so huge, stretching you far beyond your limits, making you doubt if you'll survive this ordeal. But as agonizing as the process may be, there's also an undeniable sense of pleasure mixed in with the pain.

Soon, the entire egg disappears inside you, leaving nothing but a strange sensation of fullness throughout your lower body. A feeling that grows stronger by the minute as the embryonic contents of the egg begin to divide and multiply within you.

You try to move away from the dais, desperate to find some relief from the crushing weight of the unborn spawn growing inside you, but the tendrils refuse to relent their hold. Instead, they carry you back to the mattress and deposit you gently upon its soft surface.

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kingdomoftyto · 2 years ago

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Advent Calendar: Dec 25

Merry Christmas!! We finally get to see what's in the biggest box of all. These pics are again courtesy of our housemate, who opened box #25 and was greeted with...

...a teeny tiny wooden dice tower! It can come apart into two halves to reveal a secret compartment for a single die, which is fun lol. Mostly though it's just a super compact but stylish little dice tower. :)

As for the dice themselves, first we have a d8 in the metal cog style, but this one appears to be black and rainbow! ⚙️ Almost feels like it's from a different genre entirely lol

We also got this transparent purple d4 with blue numbers. 🔮 I haven't seen it in person yet but the colors look crazy on it! Really neat.

And then of course we have all the dice to round out our incomplete sets: the rubber d12 ↕️, the mini gold d20 🪙, and the liquid core d20 ✨️ (now with MOON symbol where the 20 would be!).

It's been a busy (but fun!) weekend so I'll have to leave my wrap-up thoughts for a bonus post at some point in the next few days. This calendar turned out so great and fun, though, so I couldn't be happier with it. :) I hope anyone who's been following along found it fun as well!

Merry Christmas, happy holidays, and stay warm out there!

#Dicemas2022 #I never mentioned the paper stars but they've been here all along! every box has had some inside along with the dice #it was festive and pretty while also acting as filler to keep the dice from clacking against each other and getting scratched #and I made so many of them that tbh they probably took as long to make as the boxes themselves lol rip

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ravynfyre · 2 years ago

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month or so back, I decided to splurge on something very nice for myself... a new dice box and a new set of dice. I have wanted a set of Liquid Core dice for YEARS, and finally decided to bite the bullet...

and to put them in, a new box from an artisan in Ukraine... the box came stained a plain brown like the inside edges of the lid/rolling tray, but then I got crazy with some Unicorn SPiT stain and some holographic glitter...

so now all of my favorite dice are in one box together. Clockwise: Liquid Core top left. Heartland Pride Pride Dice. Rainbow sheen metal dragonscale. Clear with Ace Pride flag confetti. Heartland Pride Ace Flag. Rainbow sheen steel. tucked where they can fit in various spots, rainbow sheen steel with pink details. And in the center, Labradorite Fuck Me/Fuck You (1/20).

I probably shouldn't have spent the money on this, but I wasn't expecting a kitten to randomly show up in need of medical care when I ordered everything off of etsy... but sis is going to help me with the vet bill, and I am quite pleased with my new dice.

#dice set #handmade dice

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five-rivers · 5 years ago

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the Chains of Kings

Okay, I'm going to admit, this one is a little weird. I was sort of experimenting with a distant third-person perspective. (There’s just a smidge of body horror.)

Phic Phight, prompt by @fabnamessuggestedbytumbler.

If the Ghost Zone had a secret, it was this: Pariah Dark had been asleep when he was crowned.

He'd had a good reason to rage.

It was coronation day.

Phantom laid in his bed in the human world, asleep. Dead to the world, but not quite. It was Nocturne's duty, in this whole affair, to keep him that way until everything was over, and even Phantom's great power and stubbornness cannot reverse what has been done.

The old ghost leaned over the younger one, painting a sleep into his mind so deep that he slumbered even in his dreams.

The third ghost in the room, Clockwork, Master of Time, stepped forward. Gently, with a paternal air, he picked Phantom up, cradling his limp form against his chest.

Phantom deserved what little kindness they could give him.

Clockwork opened a swirling blue portal with a flick of his hand and stepped through, Nocturne following soon after. The room they entered was much larger and more crowded. The windows were high, the ceilings vaulted, the walls hung with tapestries embroidered with tales that had never been told by human tongues. Green light filled the room, cast by floating balls of fire.

The people in the room all had two things in common. They were ghosts and they were leaders. From Clockwork, who ruled time itself and lead the council of Ancients, to Fright Knight, the first and most loyal knight of the Ghost King and King of Fear in his own right, to Princess Dorathea and Prince Aragon of Mattingly, who each had their own supporters when it came to who should rule, to Frostbite, Chief of the Far Frozen, to Pandora, to Mab, to Surtr, to the Yellow King, to the Lady of Ys, to the very least of those ghosts who could claim a crown or throne, no matter how humble, they all were there.

In the center of the room there was a throne. It stood high on a dais and was surrounded by chains.

Clockwork carried Phantom to the throne and set him down, careful not to let him fall to one side or the other. Almost at once, a dozen petty dwarf kings leaped forward, and seized upon the chains. They crossed back and forth in front of Phantom, binding him firmly to the throne, shackling his ankles and wrists.

Undergrowth, Mab, and all the other ghosts who claimed any sort of mastery over plants stepped forward, sowing seeds on the steps of the dais. The seeds grew, roots curling over the stone, woody sprouts snaking upwards, towards Phantom. The vines wrapped around the chains and limbs, binding him again.

The dragon prince and princess came to the edge of the dais with all the others who could command fire. The princess's eyes sparkled faintly, but no one commented as they bound the sleeping child with fire.

And so it was with ice and water and lightning and even the air itself.

Pandora came forward with a box she had once buried deep beneath the maze surrounding her home. She eased back the lid, and the burdens of kingship she had stolen from Pariah dark so long ago scurried out of the box and settled heavily on Phantom's shoulders, though they could hardly be seen beneath all the other fetters looped around him. She stepped back.

Fright Knight stepped forward, sword bare. Even the hardest of ghosts cringed at what they knew was coming, bracing themselves. Fright Knight knelt, briefly, before the dais, then, standing, climbed it to stand before the throne. No one could see his expression as he raised his sword. No one wanted to.

He drove the sword forward, piercing Phantom's heart and core all at once.

Phantom flinched and shed his human skin. His hair went white and his skin darkened as a suggestion of electric scaring brushed over it. His aura flickered softly, enticingly. His clothing, a set of space patterned pajamas, did not change.

Were they human, the assembled leaders would have held their breath. They were not, so they didn't. Even so, the stillness that fell over the room was more than supernatural and did not fade until all present were satisfied that Phantom would stay asleep.

All eyes turned to Clockwork. He had not participated in Pariah Dark's coronation, symbolically giving him a way out. Time will not bind you, he had said. In time you shall be free.

But, now, the Master of Time drifted forward, tail streaming into mist behind him. He bent to cup the side of Phantom's face with one hand.

"I am sorry, Daniel," he whispered, giving voice to the only words that had been spoken since he entered. "This is the way things are meant to be." He pressed a kiss to Phantom's forehead and, at the same time, sketched a strange symbol in the air with his staff. Phantom and the symbol both glowed blue for half of one of Phantom's ever-slowing heartbeats.

Clockwork floated back, off the dais, and turned to face the doors. The crowd parted, and the doors opened.

The ghosts that entered were not leaders, they claimed no crown, but they fancied themselves judges. They fancied themselves righteous and fair and brave and a whole host of other things as well, most of which did not apply. But they were judges, and they did have the duty of crowning kings.

Each gazed at their future King with one baleful eye. The Observants were not pleased with the current state of affairs, but even they could not resist the old laws, and so they carried the Crown of Fire and the Ring of Rage.

Both artifacts burned with so much power that the nearest rulers subtly backed away.

The Observants flew forward and circled Phantom three times before one darted forward and roughly pushed the Ring of Rage onto his finger. The crown-bearer took that as his cue, and shoved the crown into the space above Phantom's head. Then all the Observants fled the room, the great doors slamming shut behind them.

The auras of the crown and ring began to flare brighter and brighter. Their light reflected beautifully off of the tears running down Phantom's face.

The ancient artifacts began to melt. To drip. Where the molten metal touched Phantom's skin it burned and scarred. In his sleep, the young ghost twisted against his bonds.

No one moved to help him, though a few, Frostbite of the Far Frozen included, clenched their hands until their claws drew ectoplasm and the thick liquid left puddles on the floor.

They waited.

At long last, the metal that had once been crown and ring began to cool and reform, crystallizing into new shapes for the new High King of All Ghosts. The ring became a simple silver band. The crown tangled itself in Phantom's hair, growing thorns and icy flowers, one silvery branch looping down to curl in the eye that had been burned away by a particularly large droplet of molten metal.

Only then did the assembled ghosts move. Each ruler took back their binding, whispering oaths of fealty and obedience that they hoped desperately would never be called on, and left.

Soon, the only ghosts in the room were Clockwork, Nocturne, Fright Knight, and High King Phantom. Fright Knight pulled free his sword, cleaned, and sheathed it before moving to stand behind the throne. Nocturne glanced at Clockwork, shook his horned head, and took back his sleep, leaving Phantom to a more natural unconsciousness, before sweeping away.

Clockwork waited.

Free of his bindings, Phantom curled in on himself protectively, drawing his legs up onto the throne and trembling.

Slowly, a change seemed to spread out from Phantom. The throne, all harsh edges, dark green stone, and severe lines, paled, rounded, curved, until its aspect was more like that of carved crystal or ice, and it almost seemed to cradle Phantom.

The change did not stop at the throne. It inched out, a little wave of alterations with each of Phantom's heartbeats, with each thrum of his icy core. It crept across the floor, and the walls, and the tapestries, cleaning them, repairing them where they had been damaged. The colors became brighter, more varied, the ever-present murk and dust of Pariah's reign swept away. The tall windows were filled with stained glass, and the light in the room took on a rainbow hue. The very air seemed to clear.

Above the palace, the sky become marbled with shades of blue. In all corners of the Ghost Zone, the lands shattered by Pariah Dark felt a faint but irresistible tug, a tug that would only grow stronger with time, a call to return to what they once were, to heal, and to become even more, even greater than they had been. Barren places stirred with the first beginnings of new unlife. Old ruins restored themselves. Ghosts everywhere looked up, aggression, rage, fading, for what was for some the first time in their existences, replaced with something softer but no less insistent.

In the chaotic and lawless wastes not far from the palace, a scar known as the Fenton Portal healed over. A similar wound, poorly hidden by a large football, also disappeared. The fabric of the Infinite Realms knit back together around its new and precious king and smoothed itself, all the thin spots repaired.

With the thing that had split him gone and the power of the Zone itself inside him, Phantom changed as well, though not as much. His two halves slowly, inexorably, began to mix together. Black streaks bloomed in his hair until it was as much black as white. His scars darkened, and his skin paled. When he finally stirred and his one remaining eye fluttered open, it was a shifting, shimmering swirl of Earthly blue and ghostly green, not unlike the new sky.

"Clockwork?" said the king, and even muddied with pain and confusion, his voice was clearer and more compelling than it had been when he had last spoken. "What's going on? Where am I?"

"We are in your palace," answered Clockwork.

"I don't have a palace," said Phantom. He reached up toward his missing eye, and flinched when he encountered the cold metal of the crown. "I- I don't understand." But he did understand. How could he not? He was bound to Infinite Realms, and they to him. He could feel them, under his skin. "Why- Why did you do this?" he asked. "Why me?"

"Because," said Clockwork, "you are a good person."

"There are other good people," said Phantom, pressing himself into the back of his throne. Behind him, Fright Knight stood at the ready, prepared to cut down any ghost who caused his king undue distress. "Good people who would be better kings. Or queens."

"You are a good person," repeated Clockwork, "and you might one day forgive us for this." He bowed deeply to the child king. "You might give us a second chance."

Phantom noticed the ring. He swallowed. "I can't go home, can I?"

"You will never be able to leave the Ghost Zone. Such is the curse of kings."

"I hate you," said Phantom. He pulled at the silver ring on his finger. It did not come off.

Clockwork straightened, and looked at Phantom with something like pity. "No, you don't."

"I hate you," repeated Phantom. He choked back a sob, but could no longer hold back his tears. "Don't leave me," he ordered.

"Never."

#danny phantom #phic phight #phic phight 2020

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pictures-to-prove-it · 4 years ago

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First 20

Guidelines: List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20, just list them all.) Choose your favourite opening line, tag some friends!

Technically, I wasn’t tagged, and technically, I don’t have 20 stories published on AO3 (I only have 19), so I’ll have to supplement with an unpublished WIP.

I’m also partaking in hopes that rereading some of my opening lines will magically undo this MASSIVE writer’s block I’m having trying to wrap up my latest fic. Literally, I’m trying to write like, one more paragraph and I physically can’t do it. It’s like goddamn torture. In the spirit of my latest reblog, seriously considering ending it with “Somehow, Palpatine returned.”

Anyway, here’s Wonderwall.

1. Untitled Sex Pollen/Fuck or Die Unpublished WIP (AUTHOR’S NOTE: I swear I’m not a monster) - AoS, Rated E (Leo Fitz/ Daisy Johnson)

Daisy stands in front of the drab, graffiti-littered cinder block wall and huffs out an agitated breath.

2. I Drink and I Know Things - AoS, Rated E ( Leo Fitz/ Bobbi Morse) WIP

“Alrajul almaswuwl,” Bobbi said slowly.

3. Invariance - AoS, Rated E ( Leo Fitz/ Jemma Simmons)

Without a doubt, it had been the strangest twenty-four hours of Fitz’s life.

4. The Uncertainty Principle - AoS, Rated E ( Leo Fitz/ Jemma Simmons)

Jemma was done talking, even if he wasn’t.

5. The Magical Place - AoS/ Good Place AU, Rated M ( primary Daisy Johnson/ Daniel Sousa; secondary Leo Fitz/Jemma Simmons) WIP

Welcome to Level Seven!

Everything is fine.

6. Over the Rainbow - Sherlock BBC, Rated E (Eurus Holmes POV) - Indefinite hiatus

She lives in a dust bowl.

7. Flesh and Blood and Camouflage - Sherlock BBC, Rated M ( Sherlock Holmes/ Molly Hooper)

Molly leaned over the basin, staring at the tap, cold water flowing between her fingers as she swallowed thick, bilious strings of her own saliva.

8. Core - Sherlock BBC, Rated E ( Sherlock Holmes/ Molly Hooper)

Of all people, the last person Sherlock Holmes expected to engage in such a blatant act of sabotage was Molly Hooper.

9. Numbers and Figures - Sherlock BBC, Rated T ( Molly Hooper POV)

More and more, Molly had found herself thinking in terms of numbers.

10. Flicker From View - Sherlock BBC, Rated E ( Sherlock Holmes/ Molly Hooper)

“Hey Molls, it’s me…listen, I know you said that we shouldn’t –“

11. Mad Science - Sherlock BBC, Rated M ( Sherlock Holmes/ Molly Hooper) Indefinite Hiatus

“Well…it was a Dark and Stormy night…” Molly began with a dejected sigh.

12. The New Arrangement - Sherlock BBC, Rated E ( Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper/Greg Lestrade)

The sounds of music and laughter drifted from the reception hall and rolled softly through the picturesque gardens of the quiet countryside inn, floating gently down a set of pristine stone steps, around an elegant fountain, and eventually crawling its way up Molly Hooper's spine, where it promptly took up residence on her last nerve.

13. Ground Stop - Sherlock BBC/MCU Fusion, Rated G ( Molly Hooper POV)

Molly squeezed her way down the narrow aisle of the airplane, unable to keep her bulky carry-on from bouncing off the shoulders of her fellow seated passengers.

14. The Case of the Maze Runners (and Subsequent Perusal of Alternative Treatments in Allergen Immunotherapy) - Sherlock BBC, Rated E (Sherlock Holmes/John Watson)

“Annnd…another dead end, “ John sighed in frustration.

15. The Sweet Spot - Sherlock BBC, Rated E ( Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper)

Dr. Molly Hooper slumped back in her chair, barely able to contain her giggles.

16. Sweet Interruptions - Sherlock BBC, Rated T ( Sherlock Holmes/ Molly Hooper)

Molly sighed contentedly, stretching her lithe arms above her head and sinking deeply into the mattress as Sherlock worked his way down her body.

17. Rhythm Method - Sherlock BBC, Rated T ( Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper)

It was the sharp, slightly metallic taste in her mouth that first broke through the hazy curtain of a dreamless sleep.

18. Watch Over Me - Sherlock BBC, Rated T ( Sherlock Holmes/ Molly Hooper)

She dashed into the small cafe, sliding through the swinging glass doors with flushed cheeks and a thudding heart.

19. Rebound - Sherlock BBC, Rated E ( Sherlock Holmes/ Molly Hooper)

Molly slumped backwards against the wooden booth, swirling the last of the Guinness in the bottom of her pint glass before arching her head back and tossing the bitter liquid down her throat.

20. The Sixteenth Seal - Sherlock BBC/ SPN Crossover, Rated E( Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper) - Indefinite Hiatus

"You were right. I'm not okay."

There you have it, folks. Tagging @quicklikelight @eclecticmuses @witcherislovewitcherislife @mizjoely @ritalara @miabicicletta @sunalsolove @sundance201, and anyone else who wants to play.

#i think all this made me do was realize i have more WIPS i can't finish #goddamn it all #my fic #writing is hard

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alithisuniverse · 4 years ago

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The Rainbow Starling: Chapter One

Knock knock knock…

I stand on a doorstep, my sister awaits timidly behind me. We’ve only seen this house a few times before, it felt familiar yet unknown. It had a wooden exterior stained purple cobblestone accents. The roof was crafted out of synthetic metal but made to look like hay, and the doormat under us was worn, but could still be read as, Ves’buka la Meiho!, which roughly translated to Welcome to All! The door, with a slight creak, opened up and a warm light hit my skin, assaulting my gaze, as a taller blue-haired woman crouched down and looked at my sister and me.

“I’m glad you two finally showed up. I was getting worried. Come, come.”

She waved us in and stood up, holding open the door. I walked in holding my sister's gentle hand as she grasped mine tightly, and I brought her along. The inside of the house was decorated in a modern way. Art of many styles like abstract, pop art, surrealism, and many more decorated the lavender walls along with pictures of family, friends, and previous pets. She had some sculptures and many shelves on which various knickknacks sat upon. She slightly crouched again, pulling my sister and me into a tight hug where she kissed both of our heads.

“Here, I see your bags. Let me take them to your room, and then I’ll be back down and I’ll make you guys some hot tea and food. You both look cold.”

My Aunt Miya, the woman who just took us into her home, was always a sweet woman. She was a Blue Starling, a race that both my sister and I were a part of as well. My sister, Coralyn, was a white Starling, and so were both of our parents. I, on the other hand, was a rainbow, Starling. I was adopted into the Galaxy family when I was a young child. I am a product from a lab, a rare starling born every couple millennia to protect the Starling Kingdom and race from any type of evildoers that don’t like us, and trust me, that’s a lot of people who don't. My Aunt was different from my sister and me. The Starlings, which are a race of sentient dust from stars, bound together by a crystal somewhere on their body, have a hierarchy in our home galaxy, the Asterii Galaxy. The top of the hierarchy is the White Starling, people like my sister. I’m also lumped in with the White Starlings because I work at the king’s orders and work alongside the noblemen. They hold this position because of royal ancestry and they were the first Starlings to be made by the creator. The Blue Starlings, people like my Aunt, are at the very bottom of the Hierarchy. That doesn’t mean much in personality and character, it’s just a system established that pushes people for being a different colored Starling. How it currently sits hierarchy-wise is White, Red, Purple, Yellow, Orange, Green, Blue. I’m not a fan of it, but I have much more on my plate at the moment. My aunt takes the bags out of our hands and walks upstairs with them as we walk out into the kitchen, sitting down at an island in the very center of the room. The kitchen counter was made out of beautiful olive-colored marble, and the counter was held up by dark oak drawers. She had all the necessities too, a sink, an oven, a fridge, and other appliances you’d find in a typical kitchen. Coralyn rested her head down on the counter-top as her pair of cat-ears flattened upon her head. Coralyn, as mentioned, is a White Starling. She has long silverish-white hair with pink tips and a pair of cat ears on her head that also have the same pink tips. She normally wears a crème colored blouse, but currently, she’s fitted with a long-sleeved deep red shirt, a pair of worn-out blue jeans, and a puffy black jacket to keep her warm when we were on our way here. She also has a tail that is white fading into pink that at the moment is swaying low to the ground.

I, myself, am Star. I’m currently wearing a dark burnt orange sweater, a pair of dark blue worn-out jeans, and also a puffy gray jacket. At the top of my headrests dirty yellow-blonde hair with a pair of brown bunny ears that naturally lean back. Throughout my hair, I have small specks of different colored stardust. Our hair is how we starlings store excess stardust, which can be used in many ways like art, weapons, or even clothing. The longer your hair, the stardust you have to use. My hair personally was a small bulky and curly mess. It didn’t extend down towards my back, but it had volume. As I come back to reality I hear my aunt walk up behind me and rest her hand on my back.

“Star, Coralyn, what can I make you two eat?”

My Aunt spoke softly, but you could always tell there was a smile on her face by the way she talked. She rubbed her hand through the back of my hair, as she reached over and did the same to Coralyn.

“Nothing, I want to head to bed.”

My sister’s high-pitched voice mumbled out from her buried face.

“I’m fine with anything Aunt Miya, I’m not too hungry either though.”

I spoke out, my voice cracking occasionally as I’m finally hitting Starlyosis, the time in which Starlings go from children to adults.

“Hm. How about some soup? I made some home-made Kushivoo soup the other night, I can heat it up in a bowl for you.”

She spoke as she walked towards her fridge.

I nodded my head, a slight smile cracked on my lips for a few seconds. It felt weird to smile. It’s been a tough few months for my sister and I. We’re just happy to be in a safe home.

“Me too…. please”

My sister once again spoke out, this time slightly raising her head and holding it up with her hands pressed against her rosy cheeks.

“Okay, a bowl of soup for each of you then! It’s coming right up.”

Aunt Miya added excitement into her voice as she spoke. I’m sure she was excited to have us there as she got divorced when she turned thirty, and never had the chance to have any children. Even though my aunt’s kind and caring personality, I couldn’t help but feel like there was still tension in the air. None of us are talking about the elephant in the room—the fact my parents passed and my eldest sister disappeared only a few months ago.

“Kids, I want your stay here to be as smooth and wonderful as I can make it, so if you ever need anything, no really anything, please tell me and I’ll fix it right up! For both of you! For either of you! Okay?”

She turns to us, smiling with a slight nervousness added to it. Maybe she’s afraid we aren’t going to like her, but that would be silly; My sister and I always looked up to my Aunt Miya. She was an explorer, an adventurer! She has since halted those dreams to start taking care of us, but you can tell that’s what she’ll always be at heart. The microwave beeps as she takes out the two bowls of soup and sets them down in front of us. She reaches into a drawer and pulls out two spoons and sets them into the bowls. The bowl was filled with a thin, purplish liquid, chunks of white meat, and various types of vegetables native to this planet. I begin to eat the soup, spoonful by spoonful. It was the best food I’ve had in a while and it warmed my body all the way to my core. Coralyn seemed to be enjoying it too as she was wolfing it down. I was happy to see her eating, as she had been eating less and less ever since the events.

“My my! It looks like you two were hungry, huh? Well, there’s more if either of you would like some.”

My aunt’s smile becomes warmer as she sits down at the other end of the island and displays an article to read with her IRIS. An IRIS is an Intergalactic Reading Intelligence & Subconscious. It does many things like searching the intergalactic web, sending messages from one person to another all the way across the multiverse, or even something as simple as writing down documents. There is also an AI personality built into IRIS, simply referred to by that name, that will aid you in whatever you need—even if that’s just someone to talk to. The holographic article my Aunt is reading shines from a panel in her arm that rests right under her wrist. That is how you access IRIS’s interface; it’s also the older and more traditional way. My sister and I finish our soups around the same time as my aunt looks up from her article.

“Can I get you both more, or are you finished?”

She says, scooting herself out of her chair.

“I’m done, Auntie.”

My sister spoke out, also standing up out of her chair.

“May I go lay down, I’m tired, Auntie.”

Coralyn once again speaks, pushing her bowl towards aunt Miya. I do the same, as I myself also feel pretty tired.

Aunt Miya nods, taking the bowls, and sets them down in her sink.

“Here, before I do the dishes let me show you to your rooms.”

She says while she walks towards the staircase. My sister and I follow behind her, staying close to one another. When we get upstairs, we walk down a short hallway as she stops between two rooms, one on her left and one on her right.

“Star, you’re in the left room, Coralyn, you’re in the right room, okay? My room is all the way at the end of this hall, so if you need me, you know where to find me. Goodnight, little starlights.”

She pets both of our heads then kisses both of our foreheads and walks to her bedroom.

“Star… can I sleep with you? I don’t want to sleep alone…”

Coralyn timidly speaks, grabbing the edge of her shirt.

“Of course you can, Cor. Go get changed into some jammies, and then come into my room. Okay?”

I speak out gently, as she responds with a simple,

“Ok!”

She walks off into her room as I do the same. I walk over to my small luggage bag and pull out one of the few pairs of pajamas I brought with me. I put on a pair of fuzzy blue and white pants, decorated with a brown bear, and a shirt that matches the same theme. The pajamas I grabbed, however, were a pain as they had no hole for my little puffy bunny tail. I pull the back end of my pants down just enough for my little tail to pop out, and I turn off the light. I crawl into the bed, the mattress being surprisingly soft, as the big blue quilt covered the majority of the bed. It was warm and heavy too. My sister knocks on the door, and then slowly creaks it open as she notices I’m in bed. She steps in, and gently closes the door behind her, and waddles over towards the other side of my bed. With one small leap, she gets onto the mattress and crawls under the covers laying on her back as she stares up at the ceiling. Coralyn laid in silence, and so did I. We used to talk about something every night but recently. I then decided to break the silence.

“Do you think Kira is still out there, Cora?”

I spoke, looking over at her.

“I hope so, bubby. I hope so. I’m glad you’re still here.”

She looks at me while talking, a smile forming on her lips.

“That’s all we have now, each other. I’ll be here as long as you need me to Cora, as long as you need me to be. We only have each other and that’s all we need.”

She nods to my statement and looks back up at the ceiling staring blankly.

“I miss mom the most. Is that bad to say? I just related to her more. She always knew what to say, or how to guide us.”

Coralyn spoke emotionless, continuing to stare.

“No, I don’t think that’s a bad thing. You just related to one parent more than the other. I mean I miss Kira the most, but dad and mom still left just as big of a wound. We just related more to different people, you know?”

She nods in agreement to what is said but stays silent until turning away from me. As she does so, she sleepily speaks out,

“Goodnight Bubby.”

I pet the back of her head for a few seconds while saying,

“Goodnight Cora.”

I turn onto my stomach and put both my arms under my pillow turning my head away from Coralyn.

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gilded-knight · 4 years ago

Text

But First There Was Light

It had all happened so quickly. In one moment he had stood beside her, huddled amongst the other tradespeople shivering behind a barricaded door, & in the next there was only fire. But first there was Light.

Yvelian had first encountered the sun as an announcement to a new day. It painted the sky with warm scarlets & magenta, filtering through the golden leaves of the twisting, light-barked trees of his coastal home. He’d only discovered the light in the way it dappled the evergreen landscape & bursting flora that blanketed the hills before giving way to the wide expanse of the sea. He wondered how the sun reached so far, reflecting a rainbow like prisms against the water & towards the shore. There was warmth in the way it baked the sand & crusted the beach’s surface, only breaking when the crash of a wave gave way to the soft underbelly beneath. He recalled wiggling his toes into that sand as a child, scooping handfuls of the grains around him to bury his legs. No more than a torso he’d raise his voice as loud as he could muster, crying wolf over the noise of the water. By the time his brother would answer the waves would already wash away his hard work, drawing the sand back into the surf & leaving him to dry beneath the sun unencumbered.

By the time he understood the sun as more than just daytime, he was still a child - but old enough to become enraptured by the man who taught him. He would watch his brother with wide, ocean-colored eyes and hang off every word. “Respect,” his brother started, drawing back the curtains to allow the light to shine through the salt-pebbled glass. “Tenacity,” he continued, his steady voice soothing - but commanding attention. “Compassion.” He reached towards the bed where Yvelian sat, pressing the palm of his hand gently to his cheek. “These are the Virtues which you must always abide by. Remember them & you’ll always walk in the Light.”

Telandrian - as he was called then - was his hero. There was no better way to state the way he idolized him, toddling along in his footsteps (though for every stride his infinitely taller brother took equaled three of his own) as he worked. He would clamber onto boxes, willing him to tell him more ‘stories’ of the great warriors of the Light, and of paladins and far-off human bastions dedicated to the magical power. And of course, his brother would succumb to the butterfly-batting of his eyelashes, recalling tales as he ferried various goods from the docks to the boats anchored alongside them.

Everything he knew of the Light came from him. His parents had faith in the Light too, of course - but the kind of faith that was used in greeting & good-byes. ‘Light keep you’, they’d say. ‘Light bless us’, they’d will. But they never spoke of it the way that Telandrian did - and there was never the love in their voices as they orated. Even soaked through with old sweat & sea & fatigued from a long day - even as there seemed not an ounce of energy left in him, Telandrian would always greet his brother’s wonder with an answer. And that answer was always filled with love.

There came a day when Yvelian was young that his brother went away. As Yvelian clung to his mother’s hand, eyes welling with tears and father bolstering him with a grip on his tiny shoulder, Telandrian promised he would be home soon. The past years had tested them all - but none of those storms were so difficult as this. He remembered when his parents fought - raising their voices & spitting at each other in sharp Thalassian about a child he’d heard of but never met, who Telandrian explained was their half-brother, but with a sour expression said nothing more. There were moments when his father’s face reflected that same expression - but aimed towards him. When his mother would shield him behind her skirt & warn his father to look at their child with kinder eyes. When his father would scoff at the wish, dismissing the pair of them with a passing wave. But even through every rebuke he knew a new day would come. He knew the sun would chase away the darkness again, and his brother would share with him more stories.

How would he do that when he was gone?

Those years passed slowly, with Yvelian hiding away in the workshop of his mother’s jewelry-making business. He learned her trade because it was the only option. The stoic setting of every pin, the mechanical faceting of every gem, was done in the dim light of covered windows & flickering candles. It pained him to look outside, the expectation that his brother would crest the pathway of their home & return to them fading with each passing season until he closed himself off to the idea altogether.

Still, he became skilled at the craft his mother shared, and as the years of his childhood faded, too, he started to travel across the sea to the mainland, delivering their work to the denizens of the shining capital of their nation and the villages which encircled it. When Telandrian returned things went unchanged. Instead of returning home, his brother returned to Silvermoon. He lived on. He ventured forth. He visited, but to Yvelian it felt more an insult than if he had just stayed away.

---

The noise came on like crashing waves against buildings too near the shore. It rumbled and roared as it drew nearer, the cacophony becoming more distinct with each shaky breath he took. He pressed his forehead against his mother’s arm & she instinctively held him closer, her worry apparent in the tension of the muscles beneath the linen sleeves of her dress. There were screams of soldiers that earned cries from the collected Quel’dorei, and there were monstrous snarls, the cracking of bones, or metal - or both. There were noises of straining wood and crumbling stone that shook the building of the shop where they were hidden. But they were safe here in the dark, shielded from the battle that they were warned of marching from the human lands to the south.

And then there was cold. It hit like cannon fire, snaking through the shuttered door & blasting it from its hinges back into the people within. What he experienced thereafter could only be described as chaos. Certainly, he remembered the smell of blood and death - that sickly mixture of metal and bile that spelled oncoming demise. The group shattered, individuals splintering left and right - exposing him and his mother to whatever had found their safehouse. He kept a vice-like grip to his mother’s hand as she pressed him further into the back wall, and he remembered the way the smoky daylight flashed against her wild, fear-stricken eyes. They were battered side to side, and Yvelian tried desperately to drag her towards safety - or, away. Just get away from the door, away from the beasts that clambered through the opening & had begun to cut through those that had drawn breaths moments before. Now they were bodies - or, perhaps just parts. These creatures rent so many, ripping, tearing - and he closed his eyes against a splatter of warm liquid that painted his face. He felt his mother being torn away from him before he could manage to really open them again, and by the time he had wiped that warmth from his face - she was a quickly disappearing body within the storm.

Yvelian jolted forwards, bumped & battered on every side as he sprinted out the remains of the doorway and out into the square. He couldn’t even register the sights that he was met with - his focus pinned to his mother, watching her being dragged bodily across the cracked stones by a hulking figure. “Minn’da!” He cried, reaching forwards as he began to try to close their distance, when a sickening crunch registered in his left ear - far too close for comfort. And then there was the pain.

It washed over him in a flurry of waves, one after the other as his other hand mechanically reached for the foreign objects that caused it. Talons tore through his shirt, lodging into the space of his shoulder just above his collarbone. The shock and horror of the moment spurned him to seek the assailant properly, & he struggled backwards away from the ghoul that snapped towards his face just a moment too slow. “Minn’da!” He called again, more a sob than a word as his knees buckled against the weight of the creature and he fell backwards, cracking his head against the ground, a wall of white blanketing his vision.

And then he felt the fire.

The guttural wail that bubbled from his throat was wordless, a noise that came from his core. Somehow he had thrown his attacker to the side, and as he rose to his feet and his vision cleared he saw that the square had taken on an ethereal glow, painting the lifeless bodies that laid around him. They were grouped as though falling mid action, the geists still arms deep in their prey, the elves still holding expressions of horror. But nothing moved. Yvelian fell to his knees, the searing, white-hot fire still lingering in pulses of pain that radiated across every inch of his skin. He found himself squinting, eyes searching for some sign of his mother, still.

But he found nothing. No movement save for the tentative, shivering shadows that crept along the edges of the consecrated ground. So he fell forwards, once again sightless - but this time his eyes shut to black. It felt to him as though time had stopped, that the rise and fall of his chest was a farce. Once upon a time Yvelian had dreamt of becoming a great paladin - like from his brother’s stories. He had imagined himself on an ivory warhorse, wearing glittering armor in silver and blue. As the city fell and the survivors were hurried to the safe bastions within the eastern walls of the city, one could assume those dreams had twisted, tempered by an awakening fire & spurned by a singular, burning premonition: justice.

#how ybe turned into a lightbulb #ic #character story #yvelian everbough

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indelwen-of-mirkwood · 6 years ago

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Thranduil Imagine (Multi Part) He Can Still Love: Part 2

He Can Still Love: Part 2

Masterlist

Part 1

A/N: Dont be surprised if some of the thoughts are kinda naive and not like the best choices, although elves are fully matured physically and mentally by the age of 100, there’s basically no life experience compared to an Elvenking of about 6,000 years old.

Writen during a phase of Writer Block but I tried. Kinda a filler chapter so.

Warning: Let’s make the slow burn a warning, I am expecting at least 10 chapters for this, so it’s gonna be long and slow romance but good hopefully. There, that’s my warning.

You tried to compose yourself, your face returning to its neautral expression. You were not sure what you were feeling as you walked inside the palace with Thranduil. Something about the fact that this was the man who you would spend the rest of your with made you uneasy, but somehow you knew it would not turn out to be horrible.

You haven’t even seen a portrait of him before, and had expected much worse. You were very relieved that he wasn’t a brutal looking elf, he didn’t seem to be a nasty person, but he was a king. Everyone knew that there was no such thing as a soft and gentle king. All you knew about him were the many rumors, some saying he was just to even the prisoners, others say he has no mercy.

The two of you followed behind your parents as they headed for the dinning hall where a small feast had been set up to welcome Thranduil. It was only tradition that there had to be a feast at both houses of the future couple.

Thranduil silently led to you to your seat, and pulled out the wooden chair. “Thank you, my lord,” you say politely as you say down. You allowed yourself to look at Thranduil from the corner of your eyes, watched his graceful movements as he made his way to the other side of the table, facing you.

Accidentally you stared for to long, allowing him to catch you eyes. His face showed no emotion, and you silently doubted the fact that he had any interest in you. You wanted to see him smile, tell you that he will take care of you as his wife. But these were just the fantasies of your vivid mind.

Simply because you were prepared to marry a king didn’t mean you had fantasies of what life could be, taking care of each other in the good and bad. Even if love didn’t come you always hoped to be friends with your husband. An unhappy marriage might as well be like being locked up in the dungeons with certain privileges.

You were pulled from your thoughts by your fathers voice. “Thranduil, we are glad that you have been able to make the long journey to our home,” your head turned to watch the words gently spill from his mouth.

At this moment you had no idea of what to say, Thranduil was going to be your husband soon, and you needed to get to know him. But what could you ask in the middle of lunch? You kept your ears open to the exchange between the two kings while you looked at your mother, silently pleading for her aid.

“It was all my pleasure,” Thranduil thick voice says, “As I know you too will travel with Lady (Y/N) to Mirkwood.” He spoke slowly, you knew he was carefully choosing his words. “To properly send her off into a new chapter of her life.”

You turned your head toward the silver haired elf, your eyes meeting as he gave you a small nod. None of the less it was quite an awkward ordeal, your shoulders were tense as silence filled the hall, only to be broken by the sound of servants coming in. On silver trays they brought the food, heavenly toasted meats and vegetables.

You saw Thranduil eyes light up at the sight of his wine glass being filled with the scarlet colored liquid, you let out a quiet puff of air as a small laugh. Once yours too was filled, you carefully lifted the glass, and stood up from your chair.

You saw a look of relief on your fathers face as you finally began to speak. “A toast,” you say as you look toward your parents, “to my dear parents, the rulers of this fair kingdom. I thank you for the lovely memories you have given me, for treasuring me and taking care of me up to this day.” Then you look at Thranduil, his face neutral, but you could see a glint in his eyes with slight curiosity.

“And to King Thranduil,” you say a you think of the words, you had to be careful of what was going to come out, you didn’t want to sound naive, but what were you going to thank him for? “The wise ruler of my future home, I appreciate what you have to offer, and may both your and my future be filled with prosperity.” You pause for a moment, “And hopefully I am suitable enough of a wife for such a graceful and noble king.”

Letting out a small smile you take a sip of your wine, watching everyone from the top of the glass, they all raised their glasses and you heard your mother say, “Well said my dear.”

You say down, beginning to feel your knees slightly weak as you replayed your little speech in your head.

Throughout most of the dinner the only conversation was between the two males, you caught come snips of it, not bothering to listen to the talks of politics and trade.

At the point where everyone was done eating you finally looked up and around. You were caught by Thranduils voice, “If you don’t mind, I would like for (Y/N) to show me around your home.” You tilted your head in shock, not allowing to show it on your features. Your parents exchanged glances and both nodded.

“It would be my pleasure my lord,” you say as you place the white napkin from your lap onto the table and stand up, waiting for him to come over. You gave him a polite smile as he walked over to you and offered you his arm, you took it and the two of you made your way out.

You had a tense feeling in your core, your breathing deep. You were trained for this moment your whole life, but you had no idea of how to engage in conversation. “Would you like to see the gardens?” You ask with a slightly shaky voice at first, quickly composing yourself before continuing, “The flowers are at their peak this time, my lord.”

You turn your head to him as you wait for a reply, having to lift your gaze up. He was a tall elf, above the average, but a height difference was something you would get used to.

“Indeed I would, seems like you know me already,” he said and you were able to tell that he had become slightly more relaxed, hopefully open to actually get to know you. You had always planned that if love never came, you were going to make the effort to make it a good and happy relationship. Maybe it would happen, but more than likely you were just being too hopeful.

“I wish I did,” you begin to say, “Know you, but I am glad that I made a good lucky guess, my lord.” You thought you heard him give a little grunt, but you could be mistaken.

You lead him down the decorated halls of your home, down toward the entrance of the garden. The gardens were something that your family took pride in, having imported many species of exotic flowers and trees.

There was a long moment of silence as the two of you walked through the silver metal gates, the warm day was clouded by the large trees scattered throughout the area, providing shade to the sweet scented rainbow of flowers and bushes.

From the corner of your eye you watched Thranduils reaction, only to be disappointed by the fact that he barely moved a facial muscle. You almost jumped when his voice said, “It is quite impressive given the slightly different climate here, my own gardens are just as astounding.” He turns to face you more, “I think you will enjoy them.”

You give a warm smile at his comment, happy that he was somehow trying accommodate you. You were going to be married soon, you couldn’t just live seperatly and never speak. So this was a huge step, at least you thought so.

“I truely can not wait to see them, and meet the rest of my soon-to-be home,” you say politely, behind all the sadness you had to be leaving your first home, you family, you were excited to get to know more places and explore the differences.

The rest of the walk was mostly silent, only followed by the two of you sharing thoughts on a certain species of orchid and the weather. By this point you were relaxed, feeling more comfortable and confident that your life wouldn’t change for the worst.

Even Thranduil, who wouldn’t dare share his thoughts yet, he began to learn your body language, study the way your face moves with different expressions. He had mixed feelings about this, having to marry another after the death of his first wife had passed so long ago. But he would take advantage of this political engagement. Deep down he knew he would have to make the best of his attempts to welcome you, not only to his home but into his heart.

Tag List for this story:

@bvckys-doll @nijiru

#thranduil #thranduil imagine #thranduil x reader #imagine #mirkwood #the hobbit #thrandy #multi part

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lockwoodlitherland · 4 years ago

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LITE

“Okay what is happening, you are never late.” Her sister's voice came crackly through the dashboard speakers.

“I’m driving, I fucking hate driving in this city.”

“Oh, we’re swearing too? Late and swearing-“

“Anni I don’t know where I’m going, I’ve just come out of Little Portugal, where can I park in Downtown?” Lil whined, charcoal blue eyes wide with mild panic as she looked left and right and left again, making a calculated last minute turn in the traffic.

“You know the only time I think I’ve ever seen you properly angry was in traffic. It was horrifyingly violent, I loved it. I think you called a really old man in a Merc a ‘wank sock’.”

Annika’s laugh rang through the speakers, warmly familiar. It calmed her slightly in the midst of her burgeoning road rage. No matter the situation, it always came as a relief to Lil, hearing that sound now; there had truly been a moment last year when she worried she’d never hear it genuinely again.

“I stand by what I said, he was a wank sock and a danger to society. Annika, I don’t know where I’m going and it’s icy and it shakes me to my core that people are still speeding. Also, I shouldn’t be talking to you while I’m driving.”

Anni laughed at her again and Lil couldn’t help but join in despite herself; she was serious about the Highway Code.

“Okay, just park opposite mine between the churches, I’m pretty sure it’s free, I’ll meet you there.”

“Anni, it’s not gunna be free, it’s like a block away from City Hall.”

“You’re telling me that these God honouring folk don’t provide free parking? Shocking. Anyway, I don’t fucking drive here, how am I supposed to know? I’ll see you in a minute.”

A few stressful minutes later Lil turned into the car park off Bond Street, carefully reversing into a space directly opposite St. Michael’s. She clocked Annika immediately, who stood outside her apartment building on the other side of Church Street. Anni was leaning against the sandstone, heel of her right boot braced against the wall behind her. She held a cigarette in one hand and her phone in the other; the screen lit up her graceful features in the dwindling daylight of the late winter afternoon. It always amazed Lil, the juxtaposition between Annika’s nature as a force of chaos and the very precise and pristine way that she presented herself to the world; never a hair out of place, all clean white lines.

Anni looked up from her phone and spotted Lil’s silver Toyota 4Runner. It was still splashed up the sides with dirt and snow sludge from the two hour drive she’d embarked on this morning, from just outside The Park in Peterborough and into Toronto. Anni took a quick glance up and down the road before jogging across the traffic towards Lil. She took a last drag from her cigarette when she reached the safety of the pavement, flicking what was left of it into a metal trash can and quickly blowing the smoke out the side of her mouth before reaching Lil, who climbed out of the 4x4.

“Lite!” With a huge grin Anni put her arms out and hugged Lil tightly, kissing the side of her face with glossed lips. The familiar scent of Annika’s signature perfume filled Lil’s nostrils as she returned the hug and leaned into the kiss, scrunching up her features.

“It’s good to see you Anni, even if you have just made my cheek sticky.”

“Just rub it in, it’s moisturising. You’ve changed your hair!” Anni replied, pulling back a little from the hug to brush her gloved hand across the shaved side of Lil’s head. She had a short back and sides now, the length on top pushed up from her forehead and to the side in a lazy quiff. This wasn’t particularly new for Lil.

“Yeah, but I change my hair all the time, you on the other hand.” Lil raised her eyebrows at Anni and nodded towards the others scalp, her hands held Anni’s upper arms proudly as she took her in.

Anni’s delicately curled hair lay over the left shoulder of her long white woolen coat. Lil took note of the red roots and strawberry blonde fade into Anni’s customary pale blonde at the ends of her hair; for as long as the two had known each other, Annika had never let her natural roots grow in. In fact, she remembered Anni actively panicking about how much they showed and getting so desperate as to ask a pre-teen Silvie to help her bleach them- chemical burn city.

Anni moved a hand to her hair consciously “Out with the old and in with the older, ey?”

“You look great Anni.”

The two women linked arms as they walked the wintry streets of Church and Wellesley, rainbow flags decorated red brick, glistening with frost or frozen solid and unmoving in the breeze. They made their way to Second Cup, chatting about everything and nothing; the minutiae of their week. They got to the coffee shop and sat with their drinks in the gentle yellow light of the lamps above the counter.

“I still can’t believe you drink black coffee, and without sugar too, you psycho.” Anni said, smiling as she took off her lilac scarf and set it over the dark wooden back of her chair, “It’s like how Lloyd used to-“

Annika sucked in a sharp breath, stopping herself before going any further, the light of her smile dying in her eyes after she realised what she was saying. She was looking at Lil with frightened doe eyes, like a child that had just accidentally told a secret. Lil was about to take a sip of her plain black ‘psycho’ coffee but she didn’t. Instead, she put the cup down and reached across to hold Annika’s hand, which had balled into a fist at the table.

“It’s okay.”

Lil felt Anni relax with her touch, the woman slumped her shoulders a little- they had tightened after she spoke the name aloud.

“It’s okay.”

Anni pursed her lips and closed her eyes, taking the hand that Lil had offered, locking their fingers. Lil could see that although time had passed and Annika had really taken steps forward, away from the trauma of her past, of that night, the toll still weighed heavily on her.

“It’s about getting to the point where the edges of the pain aren’t as sharp Anni. It will start to hurt less, you’ll catch yourself doing that a lot, it’s normal.”

Anni opened her eyes, the pale green glistening with tears that had welled up. She didn’t cry though, Lil knew that Anni never let herself cry in front of people. Anni sniffed and squeezed Lil’s hand before pulling hers away and gathering herself.

“Last night I couldn’t sleep,” Anni said, ripping a brown sugar sachet “so obviously, I thought why not give an orgasm a try?” She poured the contents into her cup and began to swirl the liquid with the wooden stirrer. “But the guy in the video I was watching reminded me of Lloyd, so, I just cried myself to sleep instead, and that’s not even a joke.”

Lil sucked in her cheeks as she tried to swallow a laugh.

“You can laugh, it’s funny, I’m pathetic.”

“I’m really sorry.” Lil stifled her laugh through her fingers.

Anni gave a painful, sarcastic smile and shrugged, taking a sip of her drink.

“It will get better, I promise you. After Matthew died, I would just forget he wasn’t here anymore, all the time. Even years later. I still sign cards from both of us and I feel him behind me sometimes. It’s like he’s just sitting in the next room but I can’t go in... It gets easier with time, but sometimes something will push the button and it’s just as painful as it used to be, that just happens less and less.”

Lil thumbed at the wedding ring she still wore on her finger, twisting it round and round by the stone it bore proudly. This was a nervous habit she got into after Matt had first proposed.

“Matthew and Lily Teller… my Lily Teller. Lite of my life, ha! Li-Te. Do you get it? Cuz you’re sugar-free?” Matt’s voice rang in her ears, it was like a warm hug. Lil smiled, remembering his big, proud, dumb grin. The sadness was still there, it would never leave her, but neither would the light he brought to her.

“Lite…”

“It’s fine.”

“Thank you. But, you really lost Matthew. Lloyd’s still around and what happened was my fault. I deserve to feel like this, you don’t.”

“Stop it Anni. You don’t deserve it and just because he’s not dead doesn’t make your grief any less valid.”

Annika shifted uncomfortably in her chair and moved her cup up to her lips again, “I did sign your birthday card from both of us and then had to bin it.”

“Just give it time. Are you going to your therapy?” Lil asked, already knowing the answer.

Anni rolled her eyes as she swallowed, “No. I’m not, I can’t cope with that yet. Maritza rides my arse enough.”

Maritza Ramirez- Annika’s narcotics sponsor. The woman worked loosely in the same circles as Lil professionally; she’d referred a few of her kids to Maritza’s service. She did great work, the progress Lil could see Anni making in recent months was a testament to that. Lil could see the fog that hung thickly around Anni when she was using, and it had been absent for nearly a year now.

“Anyway, how was your day? How’s Silvie, is she excited about ESA? God, what grade is she in now?” Anni asked, shooting out the questions, unsubtly changing the subject.

Lil visited the city periodically for work, to see her Umbra kids. Today she’d been busy. One of her kids was undergoing their first Theriomorphic Metamorphosis and she had only just found them a placement at High Park zoo, where the Veil facilities were sketchy at best. Luckily, it turned out to be a peacock -just like Mitchell’s first time- as she had predicted, hoped to all hope, so it worked out. Lil spent time with him this afternoon after dropping Silvie off for this weeks block of classes at Etobicoke school of Arts; after what felt like months of auditions she got onto the dance programme she wanted most. Lil had already talked to Anni about most of this on the walk over here of course.

“You’re worse at deflecting than you used to be.”

“I just don’t have the effort in me today. Please talk to me about anything other than my shitty life or I’ll just stab myself in the eye with this.” She waved around the wooden stirrer.

“Are you done with that? I’m gunna recycle it.” Lite reached across and took the stick from her.

Anni groaned, “Look, see, you’ve just got your shit together. You’ve got a fucking travel cup, you recycle, you’re literally a social worker and every day you’re out here all saintlike helping our lost, sad, disadvantaged shifter kids have a better life. Most people are roaming the world with a cause, I don’t have a cause, my only cause is me.”

Lil burst into a laugh, that was perhaps the most Annika thing she’d said all night. There’s my girl.

“You’re one of those rare people Lite, that does something once and doesn’t like it, or makes a mistake and learns from it, and simply doesn’t do that thing again. How the fuck do you do that? I think you were just born into this world knowing that it was bullshit, but you somehow push through it all with your compassion.”

“And I think that you don’t give yourself enough credit. I think that you were born into this world knowing that it was bullshit too, but you had a tougher time of it than me, Anni. Plus, I’ve had a lot more years of doing some intense spiritual growth and it’s not all roses. As you and your porn are discovering.”

“Don’t!” Anni put a hand to her forehead.

“Anyway, did you really just ask me what grade Silvie is in? Eleven, she’s seventeen, you know this.”

“I don’t have a clue, it was all just ‘Years’ in England and Russia.”

“Anni,” Lil laughed and stared at her sister across from her who had a blank, dismissive look on her face “you went to school here from grade eleven.”

“Oh, so what, she’s in lower sixth? Jesus…” Anni looked reflective, staring past Lil for a second at something else. Lil waited for the question to come.

“...How’s Cass? I mean, officially.” Anni’s perfectly gelled plum nails rapped on the dark wood of the table nervously as she took another sip.

Lil ground her teeth “I’m sorry Anni I-“

“I know, I know. Confidentiality, Department of Integrations and all that. I thought I’d just as and see.”

“You should ask her yourself.”

“Mmm, I’m building up to it, there’s a lot of people I wanna ask about.”

“Jay’s here too you know.” Said Lil, testing those waters.

“Oh, I know.”

Lil let out a frustrated breath. Those two had been poison for each other continuously in the past. Encouraging each other’s bad behaviour, always forcing shifts together. There was nothing inherently wrong with the practice, it was a tradition in some of their communities. But the way that those two did it, to get away from themselves, to lose themselves more and more, their humanity, for the sake of unresolved issues and words left unsaid. It was unhealthy. And now Anni was in a place where Lite felt she could tell her that, and Anni might take it in, instead of telling her to fuck off. “Anni, I say this as your sister and your friend, please do not start sleeping with him again. For both your sakes.”

“Ugh! Ye of little faith. You know I’ve not been with Jay like that since…”

Since before Lloyd. Lil finished the sentence in her head. It would keep coming back around to this subject until-

“Do you know anything about how he is? It’s just that I know that Jay was tailing him for a while after the wipe and-“

“Anni you know I can’t, you shouldn’t even know that much. Plus, I don’t even know,” A lie, Lil hated to lie, “and if I did I wouldn’t tell you anyway.”

“I just want to know if he’s okay... if it’s holding. I did so much damage to it after the wall was put up.”

Lil sighed, “I don’t suppose you’ve spoken to Jamie at all?” She already knew the answer to this too.

Annika scoffed, “Ha, actually I have.”

Lil looked at Annika, stunned. Lil brought strays home regularly, but when she brought Jamie into the household it caused more trouble than ever before. Annika and her had severely butted heads.

Okay, maybe I'm not as omniscient as I thought I was.

“I left her a voicemail.”

“And exactly how inebriated were you at this point?”

“I was actually relatively lucid when I had the initial idea, part of the programme an all that, but I was really drunk during its execution.” Anni raised her eyebrows at Lil over her cup as she took another deep swig of her coffee.

“Did she reply?”

“Nope.”

“Probably for the best.”

“Uh-huh.” Anni unzipped her boots and placed them neatly next to her chair so that she could comfortably sit cross-legged, tucking her feet between herself and the seat. “Can we talk about something else again please? I just don’t have the stomach for an impromptu counselling session from my, no offence, know-it-all older sister with all her shit together. I know that I’m messy.”

Lil would usually fight Anni on this and get her to talk about what was bothering her, what had happened, but she could see that today wasn’t the day.

“Are you working tonight?” Lil inquired politely, back to basics.

“Yes, at the hotel, I’m accompanying a singer. I actually haven’t read the music sheets yet.”

“Oh! Is it Hollie from the band? How did your date go with her? I’ve been meaning to ask you.”

“Oh GOD!” Anni threw her hands up in the air before resting her head in them, elbows on the table, she was groaning.

“Not great then I’m guessing…”

#lite #lite x anni

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metalalia · 7 years ago

Text

Worldbuilding: Does a Protagonist Sh*t in the Woods?

Today in Worldbuilding, we’re looking at a principle I like to call Does A Protagonist Sh*t In The Woods?

You have a great idea for a world! Awesome! Your airship pirate elves voyage between the broken lands lashed to your planet’s core by impossibly long and durable metal chains, wrought by the forgotten lore of the ancients. Your characters survive by dodging the apocalyptic storm cultists seeking to complete the sundering of the world, who inexorably extend their influence over the squabbling principalities the pirates prey on to survive. That’s super. One thing.

Unless your elves turn their lembas bread or cloud-whelks or whatever it is sky pirates eat into rainbow dust and helium, your badass airships need facilities to deal with that. To say nothing of the princes and their serfs living on their craggy homes, and those darn cultists. Where do they, y’know, go?

(Poor Taro. The smell must be terrible.)

When you’re creating a new setting, whether it be sci-fi, fantasy, or some other speculative wonder, it’s important to consider Everyone Poops. And if Everyone Poops, how does your world deal with that? In developed countries, we tend not to think about it much, but lots of people living close together creates a real health hazard in terms of waste matter. Nobody likes to live in sewage, so your societies probably have systems to manage the problem. What do those systems look like?

This is an important question, not because you’re going to write 2000 words about your main character dropping a fat deuce, but because it encompasses so many more questions about the shape of your world and the societies that live in it. What are the logistics of its population centres? Who organises the necessary infrastructure? Who are they accountable to? How long has this system been in place and is it being improved upon? What maintenance does it require? What level of understanding does each of your setting’s societies have about sanitation? Construction? Medicine?

These questions might by themselves seem inconsequential, but their cumulative effect will have definite ramifications if omitted. It’s the difference between an actual Rhine Valley castle, and Disneyland. One is a practical construction that actual people lived and thrived in, and the other is a shiny theme park made of plasterboard and polystyrene, which uses visual tricks and overdramatic characters to distract you from the fact none of it is real. And that’s fine if you’re only visiting for a couple of hours. I like Disneyland. But you can’t live there. If you’re inviting someone to inhabit your world for a couple days or however long it takes for someone to digest your work, you have to put in the effort to make it a place they could actually live. Even if they never actually see most of the work you’ve put in, they will be able to sense if it’s not there. So, let’s do this.

People have lived in cities for thousands of years. In that time, there have been many different sanitation systems in place. Orkney Islanders had rudimentary indoor plumbing and toilets 5000 years ago, made from stone and tree bark. Hopefully they used something softer to wipe with.

What can we extrapolate about that society? It was a small settlement, so not too much to worry about in terms of amount of waste, but there was clearly at least one person who specialised in building sewage systems. They weren’t thrilled at the idea of doing their business outside (probably because they were living in the Orkney Islands, once referred to as one of the vilest climates under heaven). They had access to fresh water and could manipulate its flow, which requires a certain level of technological awareness and proficiency in engineering. These are all details invaluable to someone building the idea of what this village looks, feels (and smells) like.

Another example. In the Indus Valley, the city of Lothal had a whole municipal infrastructure, with sumps, communal cesspits, underground drains and reservoirs. That was nearly 4500 years ago.

Clearly they had a large population for the period (estimates begin at 15,000), with dedicated construction teams building these waste management systems. People must have had jobs emptying the sumps and cesspits, maintaining the drains and reservoirs. These people were probably paid by a central authority, which clearly had a strong interest in the sanitation and efficient resource management of the city. The society’s tech level must necessarily have been more advanced than the Orkney society, because gathering and containing large bodies of water requires advanced construction techniques, as does building an organised system of underground drains.

Then again, a mere hundred and sixty years ago, the River Thames in London had three million people emptying their waste directly into it, with six foot deep banks of sewage, abattoir effluence and industrial slurry creating a stench so noxious the British Government considered abandoning the Houses of Parliament and relocating to Oxford.

Yeah, it was a bit like that. The cholera epidemics of the time caused by things like sewers leaking into domestic water sources were so deadly they killed over 30,000 people. But most people were convinced the disease was contracted from the smell! Even when distinguished physician John Snow correctly identified ingestion of water contaminated with fecal bacteria as the vector of the outbreaks, Victorian standards of propriety meant the Government refused to accept it as fact. (The one time he actually knows something and nobody believes him.)

Here’s some excellent worldbuilding material: a city that triples in size over a period of about a hundred years but doesn’t manage to adapt to its larger population and the strains on its infrastructure, leading to multiple public health crises. A central authority that shirks its responsibility to solve the problem, can’t correctly identify the cause of its frequent epidemics, and when handed expert research pinpointing not only the actual reason for the disasters but an actionable solution, turns its back because the answer is politically inexpedient. (Stop me if you’ve heard this one before, Americans.)

By the way, Joseph Bazalgette, an engineering genius of a calibre to debatably eclipse Brunel masterminded the modern London sewage system shortly thereafter, which remains intact and in use today. A happy ending.

Crews in London are working to unblock a section of the city's sewer system. The culprit, a stomach-churning, 130-ton mass of sanitary products and cooking fat. You might call it disgusting. Water company officials call it a fatberg.

Oh goddammit.

What about future societies, maybe spacefaring ones? How are they likely to manage their waste, and why? NASA has a couple of ideas, one simple, the other sophisticated. The first involves simply packaging waste of all sorts into bags compacted into dense ‘footballs’ and expelling them into space. This is problematic for vessels in orbit, and the problem of liquid waste potentially escaping and contaminating or impeding the function of the airlock grows larger over time, as well as the amount of propellant required to make the footballs actually leave the airlock in zero gravity. The sophisticated solution involves processing the waste into high-quality propellants like methane and oxygen. While an expensive and advanced system to implement in contemporary spacecraft, the dividends can make long-haul space travel much more economic, reducing the net initial fuel outlay and consequently the emissions produced. What does your future society prioritise? Who manages the system? What kind of status do they have?

Anyway, let’s bring this home. How can you use this information in your story? Your characters don’t need to have lengthy conversations about epidemiology or waste management, but if your elf sky pirate enters a new settlement where waste is extracted from the septic tanks of towering spires by uniformed personnel in government vehicles, you already know a lot about the type of society your protagonist has wandered into. You’ve laid the groundwork for how people live and how they’re able to live that way safely. There is probably a reason for there not being an integrated sewer system, which you may or may not extrapolate on within the story, but the organised central authority nevertheless has made a commitment to professional management of waste for public safety, which in turn implies a great deal about the values of that central authority, its ability to actualise policy, the stratification of its labour force, and more. Sanitation is shorthand for societal structure. It’s alliterative, so you know it has to be true.

Hope that this short essay was helpful. If it wasn’t, at least the gifs were funny. This will be the first in a series of worldbuilding topics I’m hoping to share. If you have any feedback or would like to request a topic for me to look at next, I’d love to hear from you!

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kisaell · 7 years ago

Note

You seem to be really good at writing calm things in an old time fantasy setting! So with that thing you reblogged I think It'd be super cool to see you try and write a high suspense Sci-Fi thing! Or a setting with advanced technology at least! It'd be cool to see how you write that kinda stuff!

There was a lurchingunder their feet, the metal screeching against the rust as it beganto move for the first time since the lock down.

White, hands shakingand lungs heaving, pulled herself out of the small hole where thecore of the system was hidden; she looked up to Black, and lifted herarm, weakly, “Care to help?” She asked, holding back anothercoughing fit.The man, who waswatching the entrance, jumped at the voice and then gave a nod,“S-Sure…”

White melted intoBlack’s arms as he finished lifting her, fatigue sinking into heryoung and sickly bones, “We’re almost there…” She gave a lightgrin, pointing upwards, “Just a little more and I’m home…” Whenshe chuckled however, her body gave up the fight against the cough inher chest; thick black liquid that shimmered the colour of therainbow escaping her tired lungs. Black gave her a reassuring smile,taking his eyes from the entrance for only a moment, “And then,what was it, your dad or something? He can fix you, right?”The child squirmed herway out of Black’s hold as she regained her breath, wiping theremains of the thick black blood from her lips, “Yeah.” Shenodded.

Click-Click-Click….

Black’s heart sunk at the noise and White froze, the mechanicalclicking a familiar haunting melody. The two of them looked upwards,towards where the floor of the bridge above them was; the clicking ofan old enemy echoing from there.Black knelt down next to White, holding his hand out for her to take;she did so, her knuckles already pale from the pressure of her owngrip.

Click-Click-Click….“C'mon Copper,they’re bound to be here somewhere. Hurry up and find them.”

There were unspoken words between Black and White, neither wanting torisk Copper finding them; a worried glance from Black with a slowpoint to his own chest, White shook her head, hopelessness and fearon her face.

Click-Click….

The noise above them stopped. Silence reigned for a long moment…

Body weakening and tired, White winced in pain, a grunt from thespasm in her chest barely audible.

Skreeeeeeeee

The metal above them caved into the superior material as the razorsteel claws of the mechanical hunter Copper tore through the bridgeto reach them, the metal screeching of its detection filling themetal hollows.

“If you just give up, all of this will go away.” Called Red, theman that owned Copper and once had killed Black; Copper stepped awayfrom the hole it was bore into the metal as Red pulled the gun fromthe holster at his hip and gave a laugh, “You have until the countof three to surrender or I can’t be held responsible for what Copperhere will do to you.”

White had panicked at the sight and sound of the mechanical hunterand it had triggered another coughing fit, Black was unable to doanything beyond watching the child empty her lungs of more blood.“One…” Black stood up and lifted White as he did so, shewas too weak to complain, and just began to run.

“Oh. Well if you’re just going to run…” Red sighed and motionedinto the hole, “Fetch.” The mechanical beast, Copper, began toscreech once again as it’s eyes flickered to a deep shade of red; themetal of the bridge, still twisted from the earlier intrusion,snapped as Copper forced it’s canine form into the hole, the rustediron straining against Copper’s weight and power.

They needed to hide, Black knew there was no way he could out runCopper; his body made of flesh would tire long before Copper’smechanical heart would run out of power. The underbelly of thisbridge would be perfect but, Black risked looking back for a moment;Copper, in full sprint already gaining on them, not needing to adjustfor the uneven floor.

They were going to need another miracle.

#my writing #thanks anon #this was fun #I'm glad you think my writing is calm #angst is my normal stuff so i call that progress

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trashfontcesttrash · 7 years ago

Conversation

Zack: *Sets a cylindrical container on the table. The top and bottom part is silver, while the middle is glass. There's a floating metallic rainbow-ish liquid floating inside*

Scientist #1: And this is. . .?

Zack: Anti-matter.

Scientist #2: . . .anti-matter?

Zack: Enough to destroy this planet, and then some.

Scientist #1: Um. . .o-okay. Why did you bring this. . .?

Zack: I thought you'd all like to see it. You can have it if you want. It was just sitting on my shelf in my room for decoration.

Scientist #2: No thank you??

Zack: You sure? There's enough energy in there to power your society until the black hole in the core of this galaxy evaporates.

Scientist #1: We're sure/

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fireminer · 7 years ago

Text

Writing advice: Forging a sword

Let me say upfront that this list is meant to fit a wide variety of settings, from high-magic to low-magic. And it is NOT the ONLY which you can make an awesome sword. In fact, your character can simply pick up any tree branch laying on the side, enchanting it with a multitude of spells, and there you have something which can take on the likes of Dragons.

What I am about to say is, however, gathered from my real-life experience (as both a sword affectionado and amateur blacksmith,) mixed with a very low amount of fantastic elements. As I said above, what listed here can be put in almost any campaign and would not look completely out-of-place. You can expand the list, or choose to remove elements from it, it depends on how you are going to play.

So, let’s us begin

I. MATERIALS & TOOLS

- Steel: Meteorite ore gives that “Oomph”, but if it is not possible I recommend Magnetite (Fe₃O₄). In some cases, you may want to have a sword which was made from several types of steel (more on that bellow.)

But Ore is not the only type of steel you can use. Recycling steel is something which blacksmiths have been doing since the dawn of their carrer. Any steel, even those have rusted, will do as long as it is homogenous (made from one type of steel only) such as a hovel or a pot (cast iron is fine, too.)

Sometime recycling steel also has spiritual meanings. The most obvious one is scourging the battlefield for broken blades, but you can really made a spin on this idea - for example, a sword which is a tribute to a god can make use of the steel from the nails which are taken from a shrine dedicated to that same god

Also, never use stainless steel, unless you’re looking for a knife. Use steel with high carbon content

- Coal: Good old fat coal, or if coal is not available then use charcoal, which is normally formed by slow-burning wood or (sometimes) bones. If you want to add some more “Oomph”, considering the coal is fossifulized from the remains of an ancient magical forest or bones of magical beasts.

[Unconfirmed sources tell that in the pre-Medieval time, people did use the bones of their ancestors/enemies, not as the primary fuel source, but for the carbon content gained when burning the bones while smelting the metal.]

- Tools: The older the tools are, the more prestigious they carry (and, work like the extension of an arm.) If possible, then have a dragon to substitute for the furnace (so as to raise the temperature as high as possible, therefore pushing out more impurities from the iron during smelting), and let a spirit possessing you and guiding your hammer hand

- Steel types: Hagane/Shigane/Kawagane (edge steel/core steel/skin steel used in the making of Katanas,) Crucible, or Damascus (essentially a variation of Crucible) steel. You can see that these types of steel all consist of several layer of steel of different strength, which gives the sword both strength, sharpness, and flexibility.

Steel-working in the ancient days was also more advanced than we thought. For example, the 2nd century Romans used naturally occurring metal alloys (Molybdenum from Dacian iron ore) as cores, with soft iron sheathing. It was basically a sandwich forge-welded together with a hard edge and tough exterior

- Wood: For the grips, blacksmiths has always favor straight-grain woods (oak, ash, etc with teak the most expensive of them) for easy shaping and durability (it’s much harder to break a straight-grain wooden stick when you put it on your knees and break)

- Enchantment: Ofuda or any other types of paper talisman to wrap around the still-hot ingot (Japanese steelmakers still do this today.) Having a priest (or any supernatural entity) blessing everything also help, too

II. STEPS TO FORGE A SWORD

- Smelting the ore into steel (or buy already-made steel)

- Drawing out the shape of the blade: Heating the ingot till it is red, hammering it, reheating the ingot again, hammering again. Repeat the process until you have the basic shape of the sword in your hand. Then it is all about grinding which you create the profile of the blade, which includes its point and edges. All engraving should be done by now

- Hardening the blade: Heating the blade till it glow, then quenching it in a liquid. Please note that curve swords (like the katana) only become curved after they have been hardening

- Tempering the blade: Heating the sword (at a temperature lower than the temperature which the Hardening happened), then quenching it again. Repeat the process for several times. This is one stage where the skill and experience of the swordsmith is invaluable. It takes trained hands and sharp eyes to understand the properties of the metal

- Finishing the sword: Polishing and applying finish to the blade, then adding hilt, guard, pommel, etc to the sword.

III. TIPS

- Metalworkers were rarely specialized in the way we think of having a "job" today. The local blacksmith was also the dentist, not because he had medical training, but because he had tools. Metalworkers often had a toe dipped in alchemy, which is not surprising since they appear to transmute "dirt" into metal and then tools

- Choose the type of blade: Look online for “Oakeshott Typology” and see for yourself what kind of blade you are going to make. Stranger types of blades, such as the Flamberge, also work but you must first think of the setting which your characters stuck in. Is it a period where full-body armor prevails? Are you more likely to fight against men-at-arms, thugs, or knights, etc.

I notice that the most commonly used blade style is a hybrid Viking sword/Arming sword style with little taper and a wide fuller (in practice, however, depend on the sword you may have to adjust the size of the fuller.) Artists tend to exaggerate the width of the blade, though.

- Sharpness: European longswords were never much sharper than a butterknife. They didn't need to be sharp to cleave armor and limbs, and a sharp blade will be more likely to warp, chip, and shatter. Rapiers and other quillion-hilted swords take this to the next step – as they are mainly used to thrush and lunge, the edge are left blunt

- Hardness:

The hardness of the steel can be determined when you are grinding and polishing it: The more spark it creates, the harder the steel is. Normally, with swords which just have been quenched, you will have the outermost layer of steel quite soft. You must grind the edge down so as the now-hardened edge can reveal itself

- Fuller: Depend on the type of the blade, the number, length and width of fuller will change. You should do some research first before coming to your decision

- Folding: The primary purpose of folding the ingot is to beat out the impurities. The "wavy" pattern on Damascus swords are only a byproduct of folding. That said, never fold the steel over 5 times, unless you're really sure what you're doing. Long short story, the molecular structure of steel is messed up so bad it can no longer be used to draw out a sword

- Tempering: Use either oil or water for tempering, but in any case DO NOT use blood. Medieval sources tell that blacksmith once quenched their blades in rendered lamb's fat

If you use a single type of steel for your blade construction (most likely the case with modern steel. Most of the “backyard knife/sword/etc making videos you see on Youtube are actually like this, with the maker traced their sword on a sheet of steel and then cut it out), quenching the blade in oil will make the blade lost its curve. The opposite happened with cruxible steel, as the sword curves more when quenched with oil (for example, the shape of the Katana is formed like so.)

- Blade decoration: The sky is your limit, but remembers that any carving must be done before the blade is tempered, and even then the blade can still be weakened if not properly treated. Inlaying gold or silver, however, is done after tempering but before polishing. If you want to inscribe something after tempering, use acid and stencil. DO NOT attempt to use a chisel on a finished blade

A lot of times gold, silver, ruby, and other precious materials have magical and/or religious meanings, so make sure you know what you’re doing.

- Grips, hilts, guards, and pommels: Once again, go with the Oakeshott classification. The hilt, guard, and pommel are actually the part where all of the “Blings” will go, and whether a sword is visually impressive depends on these parts. That said, do not try to “hang” everything on the three of them. In some cases they will make the sword impossible to be used.

Do not have the grip rounded, for when your character wielding that sword, he won’t known which is the front and which is the back of the blade (wrong blade alignment.) Have the grip quadrilateral, hexagonal, or octagonal.

For the wrapping of the grips, hilt, guard, uses cured hide of a monster, or its dried tendons. If necessary, boil down bones to make glue

- Finishing: Choose between browning, bluing, blackening, Parkerizing (the last three methods are recent inventions, and while they may not give the most aesthetically-pleasing look, they certainly protect the metal surface weel,) or just a simple layer of oil.

A traditional and effective method was to warm the blade and melt beeswax over the surface. It will protect the blade until rubbed off, and it has a good look.

Remember that your sword will certainly rust, considering the amount of blood you are going to douse it with, so if your game has a “Breakable Weapon” system, remember to clean and sharpen your sword after each engament

+ Case hardening: In case you want to make your sword fancier, there is the Case Hardening method which turn the polished blade into the color of translucent rainbow (seriously, Google it up.) There are two plausible way Case Hardening can be done in a medieval-fantasy setting: dunk the parts in a bath of boiling cyanide, or, packing the metal parts in a box along with charcoal, leather, and bits of bone (you can add some copper coin for an even shinier finish,) then heat everything up for several hours, and then quench it in water.

#writing tips #writing advice #sword

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andrewmawby · 4 years ago

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Restore Old Deck

Restore Old Deck - Flip Over the Joists

DEAR TIM: I’ve got a nine-year-old treated lumber deck on my home that’s showing worrying signs of decay. I removed some of the deck boards to discover some of the 2x12s are rotting at the top and there are huge cracks running along the top edge of each joist. Should I replace the entire deck and start over? Is there a way to salvage what I have? If you were here helping me, how would we make it so the deck would last thirty or forty years? Jeff Y., Upton, MA

Nine years old!!! I know this really dates me, but I can clearly remember the first time I saw an in-store marketing piece for treated lumber. I was fresh out of college and had just started my own remodeling business.

I was at the sales counter of a local full-service lumber company. This was four years before the orange major big box store was even a glint in the eye of its founder. There on the counter was a color cardboard placard that introduced treated lumber with a LIFETIME GUARANTEE. I marveled at that and took it hook, line, and sinker because I had yet to have enough life experience to know better.

I’ve since come to realize that some marketing managers for manufacturers live in a world populated with unicorns, rainbows, and glitter. Some also distort the English language and make a play on semantics. Rhetorical question: “Who’s lifetime?”

Here’s the truth. Treated lumber can and does decay. It can and does crack. Water is its enemy. Let’s do an autopsy on Jeff’s nine-year-old (gasp!) deck hoping that you can avoid his pain, his upcoming labor, and possible expense.

Treated lumber is a magnificent material when you think about it. It used to be treated differently decades ago when I first bought it, but the EPA decided that the heavy metal chromium was not such a good idea in your life. Today’s treated lumber that you see at the home center and lumber yards contains lots of copper, a very good natural biocide.

But the core issue with treated wood is it’s hygroscopic. This means it changes its shape and size in response to the presence of water. If you have a piece of older treated lumber you can do a fascinating experiment. Set the piece of lumber out in the sun and allow it to become dry as a bone. Once dry, drop a small amount of water on it. Look closely and you’ll see the water soak into the lumber. Therein lies the problem.

The water causes the lumber to swell. As the wood dries, the lumber now shrinks. This back and forth movement causes tension within the lumber and micro-cracks start to develop. After repeated wet/dry episodes, the cracks grow to where you can see them. These are called checking cracks. These cracks allow the next rainfall to penetrate deeper into the wood causing even greater tension forces. The cracks grow bigger and bigger.

Rot can happen for any number of reasons. When you purchase the treated lumber, you hope that the chemicals used were the right proportion. You hope the pressure vessel the lumber was in was working right. You hope the pressure gauges were accurate. You hope the operator didn’t have a fight with his wife or boss that day. Hope is something you should reserve for things you can’t control like the weather and if you might get rescued from a deserted island.

If I could help Jeff rebuild his deck, here’s where I’d start. First, I’d buy my lumber from a true lumberyard, not a home center. You can get different grades of treated lumber and I prefer #1 if I can get my hands on it. All I ever see at the home centers I visit is #2.

I’d be sure to use the absolute best metal framing connectors and fasteners that have been rated for use with modern treated lumber. Remember, today’s treated lumber has a very high concentration of copper in it. Once treated lumber gets wet, a chemical reaction begins and the iron loses this battle. Many a person has been injured or killed in a deck collapse caused by the corrosion of the fasteners.

Once the undercarriage of the deck was complete, I’d cover the top of all the joists as well as the tops of any beams with the newer joist tape meant for this purpose. This tape seals the top of the joists and beams and minimizes the chances of water entering the lumber. It’s important to realize that when you drive a nail into the top of a treated lumber joist you create stress points that eventually result in cracks around the nail shaft. The cracks allow the wretched water into the lumber with the above-mentioned ill effects. The tape is designed to seal around the shaft of a deck nail or screw.

Jeff might be able to salvage all his current lumber. He may be able to flip the joists over. The issue might be that he’ll have to trim the lumber ever so slightly in case the joists are crowned. A crowned joist has a hump in it much like bridges you drive over. Crowns should point skyward. If you flip a crowned joist over, now it has a dip in it that can cause water to collect on the deck. You need to snap a chalk line and cut out the dip.

I’d purchase some liquid copper naphthenate and brush it on any of the joists where the rot is less than 5 percent of its overall width. Joists with more rot than this should be replaced in my opinion.

Column 1357

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