#mossy-vessel

[flame-shadow]

"Oh, Dear Unn, please don't let that guy give Thistle ideas-!" Thistle and Falliver (and Mossy Fool) for @supercasey [Attack #62]

[coulson-is-an-avenger]

absolutely wild to me that dustin hasn't released another version of Divisions without all the lore and loud noises at the end. Like I love an album telling a story as much as the next guy but god forbid I add Where The Skies End to the aux without a several minute cut of a woman breathing heavily while sirens blare around her at the end

[blueishspace]

(Slay The Watcher route p5 p39)

Mumbo: Yes.

Scar: Me too!

The Watcher: Then it is time for you to forget again.

Mumbo: Alright, we are ready.

The Watcher: And one thing.

Scar: Yeah?

The Watcher: The vessel says that despite everything it really was fun to play with you.

*a mirror breaks*

*everything goes dark and you die*

Voice of The Dungeon Master: Hello? Hello? Is anyone here?

Voice of The Canary: Tango!

Voice of The Star: Well, took you long enough

Voice of The Dungeon Master: Better late then never!

Voice of The Moon: Ugh...What happened?

Voice of The Mossy: That is uh...complicated.

Voice of The Goat: We have much to talk about.

(Slay The Watcher route 6 p1)

Chapter 1: The Watcher.

Mumbo: A-ah! Where am I!?!

Scar: Oh! Hi friend!

Mumbo: And who are you!? What is this place!?

Scar: The name is Scar Goodtimes, at your service! And this place...I'm not really sure actually...

The Narrator: You are on a path in the woods and at the end of that path is a cabin and in the basement of that cabin is a watcher. You are here to slay it, it will be the end of the world if you don't.

Mumbo: Wait!

Prev Next First

[huramuna]

banshee's lament - chapter 13.

aemond targaryen x stark ofc minor jacaerys velaryon x stark ofc masterlist prev | next

wordcount: 4.3k

@huramuna-fics - follow & turn on notifications for just my fic postings! no taglists right now, sorry.

content: smut, angst, fluff, disabled ofc, aemond being delulu & obsessive, major canon divergence, graphic depictions of violence, death

story playlist

The tailwind brought them over the bay and the Gullet with ease, the gargantuan body of Vhagar looming over Driftmark as they passed over the island. 

Aemond looked at the churning seas below them, the mood of the tides changing like a coin flip. A few Velaryon ships were going to port in Dragonstone as they approached the ancient isle, no doubt rife with supplies and workers of importance to the pretender’s cause. 

“Dracarys, Vhagar,” he hummed low, his form prone to the saddle as his dragon unleashed molten fire from her maw, bathing the Velaryon ships in her cleansing flame. 

Sunfyre trilled from the clouds above, settling upon the craggy cliffs of the mainland that overlooked Dragonstone. Vhagar, once dispatching the remainder of the ships, followed. The older dragon settled in the soft grasses, smoke trailing from her nostrils. 

Aemond descended from his perch on her back, looking to his brother, who was staring over the water to the island. 

“Your predictions of the weather patterns were right,” Aegon said, gesturing to the unobstructed view of Dragonstone from their vantage point. There wasn’t a low hanging cloud, nor fog. The hulking bulwark of a keep was as visible to the two brothers as they were to it— moreso, visible to the denizens inside. “They should be able to see us loud and clear, I’d wager. I suppose all of your effort in being the scholarly worm paid off.” 

“They’ll have to look from two sides, however,” Aemond responded as he watched over the skyline as a fleet of ships came into view. ���The signal of smoke from the Velaryon fleet burning is as good of an indication as any.” 

The ships flew the flag of the Triarchy, three sigils to represent the Three Daughters— the cities of Lys, Myr, and Tyrosh. They crossed the narrow sea with a vengeance, wishing to give the Sea Snake a message in salt, sea, and blood. 

The alliance between the infamous Triarchy and the King didn’t come without a price— the Stepstones would be awarded to them after the war was finished, as well as a sizable amount of coin. 

The Stepstones were an easy give, as the blasted shore of rocks and stone were nothing more than a watery graveyard, fought over for too long. Its debated governance, or lack thereof, had haunted the council room before Aegon was even born. It seemed an easy enough decision to give the islands to someone who actually had the means and knowhow to manage it— in Aegon’s mind, at least. Aemond knew it would be an issue to deal with in the future.

The two brothers watched as the foreign fleet encircled the passage of water between Dragonstone and Driftmark, skirmishing close with some of the smaller Velaryon vessels. The proximity of the two opposing forces would make it difficult for any of Rhaenyra’s dragonriders to dispatch the Triarchy— not without severe losses to the supply and size of the Sea Snake’s brigade. 

It was a delicate balance now, the Triarchy cutting off supplies and passage to Dragonstone, while keeping Driftmark at heel. The former was effectively sealed off, dragon flight being the only way off of the island. 

This is where Aemond’s careful planning of the weather and their positioning across the cliffs came into play— it was a clear message, a threat. The giant mossy colored dragon, coupled with the distinctive golden dragon, were a side unmissed on the crags. 

The missive was unmistakable in its intention; ‘We are watching.’

“Although,” Aegon looked to the ancient stronghold, built upon a volcano that housed and borne fire-bellied beasts. “It would be easier if we just…” he slammed his hand into his other fist, making a crude explosion sound.

“You’re the one who stopped me from going down that route,” Aemond’s tone was flat, unamused by his brother’s antics. “We made our choice— we play the long game now.”

“Suddenly showing restraint now, Aemond? How unlike you,” his brother sneered. “You’d burn the entire continent if someone gave you passage to do so.” 

Aemond shoots Aegon a look, violet eye sharp like a dagger. His jaw clenched, followed by an acute sting of pain in his eye socket, the nerves within lighting like a mass of torches. A storm swirls inside of his head, words flowing from his mouth on their own. “It’s difficult…” he swallows, looking almost sheepish as he speaks, a look that doesn’t quite suit him. “It is difficult to show restraint. To quell myself.” It isn’t exactly what he wished to say— the vulnerability was too much.

He screamed to himself, the searing agony of his socket drilling it into him. She is a few moments away upon Vhagar and I cannot get her. I have the largest dragon in the world and I’m still powerless when it matters. Powerless, powerless. It was moments like these where he felt like a child with no dragon again, two-eyed and physically whole but grasping at any semblance of his heritage, of his bloodline. He was bereft of it except for name and likeness alone.

“We’ll get her back, brother. I promise you that– as your King. And… as your brother too, I suppose.” Aegon didn’t look at his younger sibling, he didn’t need to, he could feel the torment swirling within him. It was familiar to all of them.

—

“Undefended! You left the city undefended whilst you two traipsed to Dragonstone to… taunt Rhaenyra? Primp yourselves like benign peacocks?” Otto was as furious as his two grandsons had ever seen him, apples of his cheeks red with anger. “I expected this foolishness from you, Aegon, but not you Aemond. You’ve been taught better than this!” 

Aemond let his grandsire rant and rave, only cutting in when the older man stopped to regain his breath. “To clarify, the city wasn’t undefended. The queen was watching over upon Dreamfyre. I’m sure the smallfolk were pleased to see their queen among them, defending them so stalwartly.” 

“The smallfolk? What would they do if Rhaenyra and Daemon came upon their two dragons and took the city after slaughtering your sister? How do the smallfolk amount to dragons with lords atop them, Aemond?” 

Aemond closed his mouth, looking over at his skulking brother. Even though he wore the crown and held the power of the Kingdoms in his hands, he was still so easily torn down by a tongue lashing from his grandsire. Aegon was turned away, collapsed into himself as he bit at his already stubby nails. 

“Thank you for your insight, lord hand. I will see you at first light for the council meeting. I suspect we’ll have much to discuss in terms of next moves now that Dragonstone has been cut off.” the prince, in so many words, dismissed his grandsire.

Otto narrowed his gaze but said nothing, leaving the two brothers alone. 

Silence stretched between them until Aegon looked to his brother. “Do you think I’m foolish?” 

“Depends on the situation.”

“You see I am trying, don’t you? I am the fucking King and yet I am still treated like less than a lecher by him, by them.” 

Aemond began to loosen his riding gloves, finger by finger. “The plan was well executed, Aegon. I think you may find that there are many people grateful for their King’s valiance,” he said, glancing towards the open balcony that overlooked the sprawling city. 

Aegon considered him for a moment, locking eyes with his brother before his expression softened. “War isn’t only fought by lords. I’ve spent enough time in those streets to know. Once, when I was coming back from the Silk, I saw a mass of people tear a raper limb from limb. ‘Twas deep in Flea Bottom, no lords or guards or laws there, only the code and anger of those who live there,” he paused, “A dragon can kill thousands— but thousands can kill a dragon, too. Their unrest shouldn’t be underestimated.”

The prince looked at Aegon, blinking slowly. The king did have a unique perspective on the smallfolk, and mayhaps he cared more for them than the monarchs that came before him. It may prove to be useful in the future, if Aegon was ever given the breadth to make his own choices. Aemond thought his brother sloven and foolhardy at best— inept, brainless and sinful at worst— but the few days of his reign had changed his view ever so slightly. He was still lazy like a fat tom cat, and yet, a fat tom cat may still catch as many mice as any other cat. He just may have a different way of doing it. 

—

The lucidity was too much. It was too bright, she wanted to go back to sleep. 

Bright, too bright. Shera sobbed silently, tears falling across her cheeks without any toil. Stars and figments of candle flame danced before her eyes, igniting a phantom pain in her eye that she thought gone. Her suffering that stemmed from Driftmark didn’t manifest in nerve pain in her eye like Aemond’s, but rather pain in her throat and her seizing episodes. She just wished for darkness and Aemond. 

“P-pl… please let me go back… to the weirwood,” she mumbled. “He was waiting… for me…”

Her hand was in Jacaerys’, held together by a sash that bound them as husband and wife. It was colored with red and gray thread, the color of their two houses. 

Shera felt… exposed. Exposed and cold, like a terrible draft was whistling through her, using her bones like windchimes. 

The room was barren, save for Rhaenyra and the two newlyweds. It was dark, too, the only light dancing from candles and dragon heralded sconces. The brightness that tortured Shera was her nerves on fire, a deep throbbing pain coming from her scar. The man who had officiated had left, the only semblance of his presence being the words that continued to echo in Shera’s mind. 

The union of Jacaerys Velaryon and Shera Stark is now absolute, in every respect. They are wed in the eyes of the Old Gods and the new.

It felt like a curse— a curse she knew was coming, a curse she had been waiting for. Something she thought thwarted by giving into her heart’s throes with Aemond.

How silly of an idea to avoid fate.

Her stomach was in knots, or mayhaps not there at all. “Jacaerys,” Shera whispered, a familiar feeling of weightlessness catching up to her. “I’m going to fall,” she squeaked, “Please don’t let me fall.” her plea wasn’t out of want for comfort, but rather necessity.

The prince untied the sash and supported Shera with a hand on the small of her back. “Like this?” 

“My… my hip,” she continued. “It is where… where Moongeist holds himself.” she lamented to be touched any further, her skin on fire and writhing with each misplaced caress. But she would hate to fall, legs crumbling beneath her like a newborn fawn. She felt like a tortured child, her feelings all too large for such a small body to handle. Her mind went back to the basest of needs— she wanted Aemond, she wanted Helaena, she wanted Moongeist. 

Jacaerys adjusted his hold with a confused and slightly anguished look. “Mother,” he addressed Rhaenyra, who looked on in stoic concern. “She needs… she needs a cane, or… or something.” 

Rhaenyra’s face didn’t crease in traditional consternation, her features unmoved. There was only a twitch of her brow and the dilation of her pupils that gave away the inner turmoil. “Go fetch the maester. He will have something made up for her, surely. I will escort her to your chambers.” 

Your chambers. Your chambers. No, not hers. Jacaerys’ chambers. The realization and panic washed over her as unforgivingly as a riptide. Was she expected to consummate the marriage?

“N-no, please,” Shera blubbered as Jace helped her into the arms of his mother. “I want to go home, I want to go home.” 

There was a solemn hollowness in Rhaenyra’s voice as she helped Shera walk down the corridors. “You are home now, dearest,” her voice was fauxly soothing, “I know it is difficult. I wouldn’t have wanted this for you— not… not like this,” there was something inherently warm about her touch that broke through any outward reservation, her hand caressed Shera in a way that could only be described as maternal. “I will do everything in my power to see to your comfort. You’re safe now, Shera.” 

Her body and mind were at odds with one another. Her brain told her that this wasn’t right, it wasn’t— it was all a facade, it had to be. Her body, however, leaned into Rhaenyra’s hold, her gentleness stirring something long dormant inside of Shera. 

She never really had a mother, in truth. Her life was riddled with surrogate mothers like Alicent and whomever her father had assigned to take care of her when she was a babe. Alicent did her best, of course, but there was always a fine line separating Shera from her own borne children. The nursemaids and stewardesses alike at Winterfell never had a gentle touch or affectionate words— not like a real mother would. Out of Shera’s myriad of issues, the mother-shaped hole in her heart was the least of her worries, easily pushed and locked away like a bad memory. 

But times like these— times where Shera’s constitution of mind and body were being tested, broken past her already fragile limits, the hole turned into a chasm, swallowing up the earth beneath her feet and making any further pain unbearable. 

As Rhaenyra sat Shera down on the feather-filled bed, she pushed a stray auburn lock from her face. 

Shera grasped at her hand, holding it with both of hers. “P-please, don’t go,” she whispered, her voice broken and far-away. She hardly recognized it as her own, thinking it more alike to that of a young child. “P…please, I do not… I don’t wish to be alone… n-not yet.” 

“Jacaerys will return quickly, dearest, you won’t be alone for long,” Rhaenyra replied, letting the frightened woman hold her hand, head cocked in slight confusion.

“N-no, no,” she cried, squeezing tighter upon the queen’s hand— a plea, a cry of a child long gone, forgotten. “Please.”

Rhaenyra was quiet for long enough that Shera thought she might’ve left, even if she was still holding her hand. A soft breath left her nose as she shifted, sitting down next to her now good-daughter and wrapping both arms around her, taking her into an all-enveloping embrace. 

No more words were exchanged, only the sound of Shera’s wheezing breaths, shaking body wracked with sobs filled the room. 

Jacaerys did return to his chambers, with the cane in hand, but upon seeing his weeping wife and mother, he bowed his head out and didn’t return that night. 

Rhaenyra stayed with the poor girl all eve and into the early hours of the morning, shifting Shera into a lying position on the bed and covering her with a blanket. It gave her some despair to see her cry herself into exhaustion and eventual sleep. 

As the queen left the room, her mind was flooded with thoughts, swirling like tumultuous waves. 

Have I done the right thing? Am I righteous in my choice? 

She passed her son in the halls, Jacaerys bowing his head to her. “Is she… alright?” he asked, eyes dark as he already knew the answer.

“You know her better than I,” Rhaenyra looked back to the closed chamber doors. “Is that… her normal air?”

“No, it isn’t her usual demeanor. She is very… morose, of course, but this– what exactly are you letting Daemon give her to render her so?” his tone took a turn, almost accusatory in its nature. 

The queen was taken aback by the snap in his words– it was unlike him, always the dutiful and polite son. Courtiers walked by them in the hall, their gazes averted, but she knew they were staring, listening. She pulled Jacaerys into an alcove. “Daemon has been dealt with for making such rash decisions without my consent,” she hissed, “You must trust in me, Jacaerys— as your mother and your queen. This is just one of the many pieces moving on the board, moving towards my ascension, to my throne.” 

“Shera is just a pawn, then? A means to an end? And by marrying her to me, am I not the same?” Jace folded his arms over his chest, moving back from his mother. “Am I merely fodder for your fight against the usurpers? Usurpers, amongst whom is your dearest childhood friend? You and Daemon talk so openly of war, but you had cast the first stone with Shera’s… abduction!” 

“What would you have me do? Ask kindly for my birthright back? Chalk it up to a misunderstanding and give them pats upon their backs and a place at my court?” Rhaenyra scoffed. A thorn lodged in her heart at Jace’s implication of Alicent, a ghost who had haunted the queen’s very thoughts since she heard news of Aegon’s crowning. “My father was a great King in many ways, his reign one of peace— but he was blind with inaction. I will not stay my hand when the time comes to strike. I will have my throne, in fire and blood if I must.”

Indignation flashed in Jacaerys’ deep brown eyes— but like a storm, it dissipated into calm waters and clear skies. “You’re right, mother,” he murmured, bowing his head. “Your grace.” 

— 

Shera finally felt well enough to walk by herself. Although, her legs felt cold and wobbly without Moongeist. It was midday, the skies clear around the island. The sun was even shining, warming her skin just a touch.

The maester upon Dragonstone had prepared a walking cane for her— an instrument hewn from dark gnarled cherrywood. The exterior was a deep brown, whilst the inside was a deep, bloody red. She had worn small grooves on the top of the handle with her nails, exposing the inner layer of cherry, the color staining her fingertips sanguine. 

Rhaenyra had instructed Shera’s handmaidens to dress her in a more Valyrian-style wardrobe to ‘help her adjust’. She felt like an impostor wearing the garments, usually tailored in red, black and gold, coupled with intricately braided hairstyles, fashioned to her head with a dragon pin. A small veil was afforded to her after much pleading, one that only concealed her eyes and left her nose and mouth barren. Her choker was replaced by looping golden chains, imbued with rubies. 

Shera’s nails laid in the indents of her cane as she arrived into the dining hall. The Queen apparently likened to having her family lunch with her at least once a week— a tradition that became more sparse when the war began. 

She slunk into the hall as quietly as possible, the scattered sounds of Viserys and Aegon playing, as well as Lucerys and Joffrey conversing animatedly about swords and dragons, muffled the noise of her cane hitting the stone floor. She settled into her seat next to Jace, who looked irritated, a mood that befell him more often than not as of late, as he tried to serve in his mother’s war council, but was met with blockage after blockage from the other courtiers— something that Shera didn’t hear the end of for at least a fortnight. 

Despite the newly wed couple’s proximity to one another, Shera sleeping next to Jacaerys each night, they weren’t intimate in any way. They had come to an understanding, knowing their souls were each entwined with another’s. They didn’t need to muddy the waters any further with meaningless sex. 

That being said, they did confide in one another to some extent. Or rather, Jacaerys would vent his frustrations of the day, of the bickering of the council, of Daemon’s recklessness, of his own mother’s discounting of his skill— and Shera would listen intently. 

“Wife,” Jace murmured, clasping a hand over Shera’s as she took her seat. His jaw was clenched, bone grinding against bone. “Thank the Gods you’ve come.” 

“Has something… happened?” she whispered, glancing around the table. The children were unphased— but the older ones had an air of ice around them. Baela had both hands on the table, head angled downward as she bore holes through a wall. Rhaena was despondent, looking down at her hands. 

Daemon, however, was lazed. He leaned back in his chair, inspecting a singular grape as if he had no care in the world. “Shera,” he said, not meeting her gaze. Rather, he addressed her with such informality that it made her cringe. “A Valyrian vision you look to be. Mayhaps we should send her into the Dragonmont to bond with a dragon, since she now looks so much the part.” 

“A sheep changes wool rather easily,” she began picking at some fruit on her plate, stabbing her fork into a juicy piece of cantaloupe. 

“Ah, yes. Our wolf in sheep’s clothing, is it? Or mayhaps, a wolf in dragon’s clothing, better yet,” he squeezed the grape until it burst between his fingers.

“Daemon,” Rhaenyra cut in, hand up to stop him from saying anything further. “How are you doing this morn, Shera?” 

“I’m… well,” Shera kept her eyes down at her plate, wishing to shrink into nothingness. 

“Enjoy the fruit while it lasts,” Baela piped up. “They’re blockading the island.” 

What? Blockading? Her mind raced with the possibilities, but she stayed quiet. 

“I’m sure we can go without such frivolous things like fruit,” Jace scoffed, pushing his plate away. 

“Fruit, grain, most meat, silks,” Daemon drawled. “I don’t understand why we don’t stop the situation.” 

“Do we wish to go toe-to-toe with Vhagar? Sunfyre can be easily dispatched by Syrax, but do you believe Caraxes can survive her?” Rhaenyra snapped, placing down her cutlery on the table. 

“That hoary old bitch is cumbersome,” he continued, dismissing any shred of Rhaenyra’s concern as if it were nothing. 

Vhagar. Sunfyre. Something bubbled in Shera’s chest at the mention of the two dragons, who were undoubtedly with their riders. She continued to stare down at her hands, trying to contain a smile, biting her lip until it bled. 

“Cumbersome she may be, but her jaws could snap any of our dragons with ease. Mayhaps Caraxes and Meleys may pose a threat to her but…” the queen’s voice trailed off, her fingers drumming on the table. 

“… there’s been no news from grandmother, nor Driftmark, your grace,” Baela sighed. “The ships appear to be… dispatching any ravens attempting to cross the Gullet.” 

“We will just have to wait, then. They cannot fare forever against Corlys’ fleet. Jacaerys, any word from the Greyjoys?” 

Jacaerys shook his head. “Our letters have gone unanswered.” 

“Lord Greyjoy is just a boy of sixteen, Rhaenyra, no older than Lucerys. Untested in the matter of war, unblooded. We must seize Harrenhal and raise a land army.” Daemon stared at his wife, brow furrowed in agitation. “I will go with or without your leave. I have no need for passage.” 

There was a long stretch of silence, the chatter of the children stopped— it was as if the whole of the table held its breath. 

“We will speak upon it later, Daemon.” Rhaenyra finally said, the bags under her eyes more prominent than usual. She opened her mouth to speak once more, but was overcome with a strangled sigh. “Gods,” she whispered, clutching her stomach. It was almost easy to forget that she was in her last days of pregnancy, belly round with child, all whilst the war was being waged just outside. She writhed slightly, face pinched.

“Mother?” Joffrey spoke, his voice small and scared. 

The entirety of the table erupted as handmaidens, maesters and nursemaids alike were summoned, gathering around the queen as her labors began. 

Shera stayed sitting, watching as Daemon glanced over the situation before leaving the room, no doubt off to skulk. 

Soon enough, the room was empty. She blocked out the cacophony of agonized screams echoing from the corridors as she stood up to leave. A small pool of blood was beginning to dry in Rhaenyra’s seat. A chill passed through Shera then as she turned to the window, leaning against the sill. 

A green dragonfly rested upon the trellis of growing vines on the wall of the keep, the leaves withered and crusted in salt. 

Hordes of boats were littered in the sea, arcing around the island like a noose. Glancing to the cliffs, she sees a glint of gold off in the distance, coupled with a hulking mountain that almost reminds her of… 

No, it couldn’t be. 

It isn’t.

She wouldn’t let herself look again, she knew it would only end in disappointment.

As she went to walk away, something pulled her back. She clung to the window, peering out as if in hiding. 

Her hopes were true as the golden vision of Sunfyre came into view, the sun shining off his pale yellow and pink scales. Next to the gorgeous beast laid a stirring mass— the Queen of all dragons. Vhagar. 

Shera’s heart raced, thumping against her ribcage like a caged bird. Aemond— Aemond and Aegon had come to save her, they had! She vowed to never let herself be separated from Aemond again, never to let them be apart. Surely Aegon would dissolve her marriage to Jacaerys and let them marry, wouldn’t he? Oh, of course he would. 

The giddiness she felt was elating, her swimming pain and sorrow temporarily abated. She watched as Sunfyre took to the skies, Vhagar behind in a slower pace. They’re coming to get me now, they are! 

The dragons climbed in altitude and drifted off from the bay— in the opposite direction of Dragonstone. They were flying away from Shera. She stood still for what felt like an eternity, not breathing. That can’t be right.

Any semblance of happiness was crushed instantaneously, her feverish pulse stopping for a beat. They were leaving. They were leaving without her. They weren’t coming to get her. 

[linterteatime]

All the hollow knight gijinkas i have made so far, with links for easy find (◕_◕)

Troupe Master Grimm, Divine, The Radiance, Brumm, Broken Vessel

Quirrel, Mantis Lords, Traitor Lord, The Knight/Ghost, Tiso

Hornet, Lace, Myla, The Collector, Bretta

Pure Vessel, White Lady, Pale King

Marissa, The Hollow Knight, Iselda, Xero, Eternal Emilitia

Monomon The Teacher, Cornifer, Cloth, Jiji, Soulmaster

Hive Knight, Queen Vespa, Grey Mourner, Traitors Child, Marmu

God Seeker, Blue Child Joni, Herrah The Beast, Midwife

Nightmare King Grimm, Markoth, Gorb, Zote The Mighty, No Eyes

Grimmchild , Dung Defender, Moss Prophet, Grub, Grey Prince Zote

Paint Master Sheo, Nailmaster Oro And Mato, Nailsage Sly, Nailsmith, Lurien The Watcher

Salubra, God Tammer, Pale Lurker, Seer, Thistlewind

Small changes to Pure Vessel, Troupe Master Grimm, The Radiance

Fierce Dryya, Mister Mushroom, The Hunter, Snail Shaman

Isma, Revek, Steel Soul Jinn, Tuk

Flukemarm, Fluke Hermit, Dream Warrior Galien, Relic Seeker Lemm

Milibelle, Nosk, Elderbug, Maggot

Grimmkin Novice, Grimmkin Master, Grimmkin Nightmare, Elder Hu

Distant Villagers, Grimm Steed, Massive Moss Charger, Kingsmould

Unn, Cristal Guardian, False Knight/Mighty Hegemol, Watcher Knights

Gruz Mother, Vengefly King, Leg Eater, Menderbug

Willoh, Grubfather, Hot Spring Bugs, Mask Maker

The Last Stag/Old Stag, Brooding Mawlek, Little Fool, Soul Warrior

Ummu, Bardoon, Soul Twister, Volt Twister, Mistake, Folly

Extra stuff for the gijinkas + Fixes for old ones

Greenpath Vessel, Ellina The Chronicler, oblobbles, royal retainers

White Defender, Lord Fool, Winged Nosk, Grub Mimic

(Greenpath enemies): Mosscreep, Mossfly, Mosskin, Volatile mosskin, Fool eater, Squit, Obble, Gulka, Maskfly, Moss knight, Mossy vagabond, Durandoo, Duranda, Aluba

(Fog canyon enemies, The hive enemies, and 3 other ones without groups): Ooma, Uoma, Lumafly, Lifeseed, Bluggsac, Wingmould, Husk hive, Hive soldier, Hiveling, Hive guardian.

(Enemies from the abyss, ancient basin, and some others): knight's shade, siblings, lightseed, infected balloon, mawlurk, lesser mawlek, shadow creeper, entombed husk, void tendrils.

(I will make more dw)

[lizziespoem]

damsel in distress | itadori ͏⸺ one shot

͏⸺ Among the trees, alive with woes and heartaches, tall enough to almost reach up to the sky and something magical in the cold air as the silent forest almost seem to be enchanted, the young boy with the pink hair imagined how many adventures and stories those tall trees must have seen. A heavy sigh escaped the mouth of Yuji as his white shoes sinked into the soft grassy hill, that made the boy's breathing difficult as the calm air blowed a gentle breeze through his light hair before he muttered in another voice than usual "we should split up"

"such a stupid idea…" Yuji commented with an annoyed look on his prominent face as he kicked against the little rock, causing it to roll a couple inches away from him as he puts his hands in the pockets of his pants "have they never seen a horror movie?"

Yuji wanted his life to be an adventure, traveling far and abroad, stretching his legs out over the seas, improving that he could be more than just a vessel for the king of curses, that he wanted to help the world to be a better place and yet it only felt like he was trying to escape what was meant to be his path, to be a vessel with the destiny to be destroyed, which soul was meant to die before it found it’s place to be and the reason why everything was meant to be.

"a stupid idea…" the pink hair boy mocked but before he could finish his sentence a oddly pathetic scream teared him out of his thoughts.

The boy didn’t even hesitated as he heared the frightened cry out of help, of chivalry and sheer noblesse, he runned through the mossy grass like windborne blossoms nearing himself to the echoing scream and Yuji didn’t even thought about which dangerous curses could lingered behind those tall trees, about which strange powers they could possess. Like a haunting symphony he followed the wildflowers into the depths of the forest, adrenaline floating through his veins as he knew he couldn’t return without knowing if everyone is safe, and even if his feet’s couldn’t hold his weight any longer he would crawl on his knees to keep anyone safe.

A exhausted moan rustled behind those thick green bushes, as Yuji's hand carefully pushed a couple of the branches to the side to peak through the little gap in the bush.

The delicate hem around your ankles soaked the muddy water into the material of your purple dress as you quickly rushed over the stones under the water of the creek, your hair bounced with every step you made and as soon as your pretty eyes dared to see back over your shoulder, your feet stepped onto one of the mossy stones, causing you to slip to your knees into the water.

"Running away from me, I see" a smoky laugh made the boy's ears perk up as he saw a gigantic blue hand grabbing you by your waist and pulling you up into the air.

Roughly you slammed you hand against the back of the gigantic blue hand, that was tightly wrapped around your waist as you tried to kick him with your feet’s when you scoffed unimpressed "you ruined by dress, Nessus"

The gigantic curses chuckled as he brought you closer to his face you could already smell the decay on his grey flaky tongue and see the plaguing hunger lingering behind his black eyes, when suddenly a boy with pink hair stepped in front of one of the blueberry bushes "excuse me, would you mind to release.."

"keep moving boy" you interrupted the boy as you rolled your eyes while you relaxed yourself under the grip of the curses, as Yuji studied you with a gap between his lips and his eyes twitched "but you’re a damsel in distress"

Recursing a damsel in distress, a shining knight becoming a glorious hero, fixing hearts that are broken as his sensei Gojo taught him.

"I can handle this" you replied with a sarcastic smile on your lips, when a grin hushed over the lips of the curse as he looked down at the young sorcerer, who cleared his throat and stepped a bit closer "uhh, i think it’s my duty to.."

Another exhausted moan escaped your mouth as you lean your head into your palm "move boy"

"hey, if you didn’t noticed I’m trying…"

A rough punch against his guts made him tumble a couple steps back, letting him fall onto his butt into the cold water of the creek as his wet hair fell into his face and some of the water dripping down the corners of his lips as he split out the dirty water out of his mouth.

The glit of grueling anger filling the eyes of Yuji as he crudely pushed up the sleeves of his uniform before he muttered quitely to himself "you can do this, itadori"

"Giving up already?" the curse mocked the young sorcerer as he swinged you in the air, but before his enormous eyes could fall onto the jujutsu sorcerer he was punched roughly into his bloated stomach, causing the curse to let go of you and falling a couple inches deeper into the creek, when Yuji gently wrapped his arm around your hips, so you didn’t fell into the water again. Carefully he guided you to a rock near the edge of the bay as he sends a apologizing smile to you "I’m back in a minute"

There wasn’t a way to hide the grin on your lips as you silently watched the young jujutsu sorcerer fighting against the curse with which you still have to pay off your debts, there was something exiting within the way Yuji moved, how his muscles flexed around his armes under the wet material of his uniform and how his pink hair fell down into his tired face, while his jaw was clenched. Even though you knew you could easily win against Nessus, you let Yuji have his little win, while you leaned over the edge of the little creek drenching out your soaked hair till he finished his business.

"so you’re alright?" the boy asked a bit flustered as he watched you lean over the edge of the water, rubbing over the back of his neck with the wet palm of his neck, trying to hide the exhaustion of fighting the curse.

A seductive smile crosses your plump lips as you gently straighten your back and moved a bit closer to him, till your soft fingertips could brush away those strains in his face "I’m y/n y/l"

"yuji" he stuttered a bit and tried to hide it with a panicky laugh "Yuji Itadori"

With a amused look on your face you moved a couple steps away from him, turning your back to him to drench the hem of your dress and as soon as you turned back around, yuji had already leans his body against one of the large trees and crossed his arms over his chest "so, how got you mixed up with this…"

"Well you know how men are. They think no means yes and get lost means take me I’m yours" you rolled your eyes as studied the boys face, letting your fingers brush under his chin holding it a bit up.

You couldn’t deny that he was gorgeous, even if you should feel this way.

"well thank you for everything, Itadori" you give him a little wink and saluted before you pulled your hand carefully back and walked over the soft grass, but his desperately voice holded you back “wait.. are you sure you wanna go alone?"

Again a satisfied smile crosses over your lips as you looked over your shoulder, noticing how one of the straps of your dress had slipped down before your eyes moved onto the boy behind you "I’m big and tough and I tie my own shoes, don’t worry about me”

"Am I going to see you again?" Yuji didn’t wanted to sound as desperate as now, but he could miss the chance of seeing you again.

Like dripped in honey a laugh escaped your mouth as you moved between the trees "if you find me"

Yuji swore he would find you again, but he didn’t knew you were on of the most dangerous curses he’ll ever met.

© 2023 LIZZIESPOEM. please do not copy any of my writing and translate or repost onto any other sites.

[bluu3berry]

HK oc

This is grasshopper, theyre a runaway vessel that lives in the mossy area of deepnest! Usually asleep which is why their eyes are over an with overgrowth!

Don't repost, reblogs ENCOURAGED

@mush726 @xunsh1ne @scramble-eg @borisboring @anon-coke @the-second-reason

[picturesofthegoneworlds]

For one word prompts, I'm finally seeing some green in my garden again, so: Sage?

Oh, of course you know how to appeal to me. I hope this brings the vibes <3 ~

There was a variety of sage (still is, most likely) - sanctified – a herb that they would dry hanged from the rafters and tie into bundles like broomstick bristles, its own fibrous stem knotted in noose around the neck and ankles of the bale, burnt at the stakes and raised pitchforks to sweep away the wicked.

The smoke was what woke her, herbaceous floral distress signal, thrown through the open (paneless) window, accompanied by salt and circle.

They hoped to lure her out the front ‘door’ - she concluded with groggy post-dream clarity - strategized to trap her between saline force field and stone and mortar.

She stumbled over herself, gathered her few possessions. In time shorter the flames carpeted the threshing covering the floor, climbed into her bed to alight the straw stuffing the mattress, exorcised from there to cross exposed rafters to the mossy thatching comprising the roof-

She left through the vacant fireplace.

From a distance fled she observed the thick grapevine coiling of smoke as it billowed out above the forest canopy from a chimney that had crumbled decades ago.

Fire-licked masonry, tattered and scorched fabrics. Perhaps their malice left the cabin more befitting, well-suited, paralleled - outfitted in ash grey skin and soot ichor stains. The hunting party retreated but she could not return. She wondered who would take up residence in the hollow shell - as such a body must be an invite, must be a vessel (at least that was a lesson she was soon to learn) - but who would cohabitate with the spiders, birds, and other small mammals?

The thick smoke filtered through the pines

All of her grievances aside (packed away once again with her bedroll and cauldron), it smelt rather wonderful-

~

There was another sage (surely must be, still) - common - cultivated in window boxes and allotments, the leaves torn to marinade meats, to infuse healing balms, unbiased towards the dead or the living, transmuting itself for both in order to permeate soft tissue.

Laudna would grab handfuls of the silver-furred leaves; amass them in pocket-lint-lined-bundles of potpourri. Crushed the sage between her fingers, rubbed it on her pulse points, tied it with red twine dried in parcels of cheesecloth that she decorated around her person. Loose in her coin pouch, trinkets, her spell component satchel too, sewn into Pâté’s stuffing, flattened behind her belts and tucked into the front of her bodice and trampled in the soles of her shoes-

Never sure if it was necessity or in her head, not like when she wore flushing and sweating flesh, saturated, awkward teenager dealing with the stubborn stench of puberty or drenched in the fragrance of a farm-girl-butcher’s-daughter composting straw manure and coagulated pigs’ blood –

-not the perfume of The Ladies, certainly, refined with their age, aged mahogany liquor barrel vintage sophisticated palate, finery of silks satin lace velvet layers stored in lacquered marquetry hardwood armoires and mausoleum-sized wardrobes, aired in gilded vase and bouquet’ed marble surroundings, chandeliers ornately framed paintings in alabaster hallways-

She would feel rather self-conscious of it; of her differences - but continued her play with the worms in the forest regardless.

Then, for a short time, she slept with them.

Or rather, she woke to fall onto a heap moving with them, dancing drunken room-spin carpet shag pile of maggots and flies and mosquitoes and pillows of other larvae unidentified, turning familiar faces into fertiliser.

She was not sure if it was the memory, or the actual (un)working order of things

Permanently rotting 

Hard to smell past the end of a decomposing nose

Perhaps it wasn’t so hard to tell for others?

Every time she passed the plant she filled her pockets and hands - ironically unaware of how time had stilled, that she was embalming herself - hoping it would fight the trauma-ever-present smell, that she could throw off the(ir) scent.

~

There is a sage that blooms violet throughout the summer - wild - like early humid evenings with head thrown back in laughter and perspiration jeweling tanned neck, clouds underlit and voluminous as purple-sunset tousled hair.

Imogen points it out with inquisition; at the gatherings of spears of blossoms lanced into soil growing not far from the bank of a river in the sun-bleached and crunching-under-foot tall grasses of an open field.

Seeds from dried out flower heads are carried along the docile breeze, ashes falling in hazing-heat ground fog, smithing dandelion diamond rings to decorate the fingers of the willows that lazily wave, bid farewell to the jewellery that doesn’t fit, allowing it to marry elsewhere between clumps over the grass and charms accumulated at the banks of the gently moving river.

“D’ya know what this is? Smells good.”

She kneels down with her palm held open to the purple blooming sage, presentory, skin offering the tan lines above her knees exposed from the displacement of the tops of her tall leather boots, a dandelion seed catching in the mass of her mane like a feather, her hand not designated to indicating specimen shading above one of her eyes squinted shut and the corner of her mouth raised baring teeth as she looks to Laudna with the midday sun over her shoulder.  

It’s a bit overwhelming, the life and the bliss it elicits.

Laudna walks the few paces over to her, gives a quick inspection with the cast of her shadow.

Smiles in familiarity, nods to the plant in greeting

“Would you like to try it?”

Imogen starts the fire, uses the abundance of dried grasses as kindling. It smells just like the burning cottage had, does so every time. Laudna prunes the wild sage, gathering toothed leaves and small violet petals into her wicker basket, rolls the fragranced stems between the pads of her fingers and inhales, implores the herbal scent to momentarily mask the memory of deterioration as it once had. Imogen sets up the frame for hanging the cauldron, drives the iron spikes into the dry ground, fills it from the river, has to submerge her hand into the gathered water, fingers tweezers removing errant dandelion parachutes that she wipes onto her gauzy dress skirt, skin glistening with the cascading droplets that intuitively follow the scarring of her lightning marks and drip onto the floor, where a lizard with skin like stones flees under the weave of the trodden grass once her footfall returns, retreats for safer ground. Laudna questions whether it will turn to watch the fire or let instinct tell it to keep running-

“You’re quiet…”

Imogen states, offers a softened and upturned corner of her mouth.

Another feather of an airborne seed lands in her hair. A warning arrow shot through the window and puncturing her pillow, innards flying-

“I seem to be having a reflective day, sorry.”

 “Anythin’ you wanna share?”

Imogen wears her empathetic apology in her brow, strained, and Laudna isn’t sure of how legible abstract memories are to her, if the furrow is from an attempt at unknotting the tangles, mostly it feels a weight too unquantifiable to know what to share with intention.

“Not now. I think this is good, something new.”

Present is good, a gift, shared (willingly, in part).

“I don’t dislike it…”

Imogen declares, staring into her cup as she swirls its contents under inquisitive-eyed assessment.

“It sounds like you are warming up for a caveat there.”

She pauses, holds the pottery between her hands on her lap.

“I’m not, s’just new. Tea back home was mostly black and made with lemons and alotta honey or sugar; was cold if the occasion were special-” she tucks her hair behind her ear as her eyes read the pattern of the blanket they had laid over the floor. Laudna wonders if there were birthday parties on picnic blankets out in the paddocks, waited by her father, Imogen and her childhood friends drinking sweet tea and running around in daisy crowns “-I guess we had other teas, but they were more for if y’all were sick?”

She doesn’t like to think of that.

The birds and the crickets carry on their background accompaniment, Imogen's hand returning to the other cradling the cup. Laudna feels as though she can see the slow turn of the skin on her exposed thighs from bronzed tan to sun-kissed red, convinced she is observing the freckles multiplying.

“This one is supposed to be good for anxiety.”

Imogen scoffs, it causes a nearby bird in the brush to scatter

“Yeah? Well I’ll report back on that - maybe we should take more with us just in case.”

Laudna laughs agreeably, enthusiastic. She knows how to make plenty of room for sage.

To follow the tea she also makes them a salad with the plant’s greens; a field-foraged thing prepared with borage and dandelion leaves, fleshed out with wild strawberries, a little olive oil and a little cider vinegar, served in a wooden bowl. 

finishes the assemblage with an intentionally random flecking of the wild sage's violet petals, as though the bowl is a miniature diorama of the meadow in which they sit, olive oil babbling brook and cast iron fork fallen-tree bridge ready to present on a plinth, garden plans proposed by the landscaper in the study to a snooty gent stroking his chin and um-ing and ah-ing -

the hidden door that was disguised behind ornate wooden panelling, adjoining the ransacked and emptied floor to ceiling shelves of the study via dark stone corridors to the equipped and practical, cell-like laboratory- 

She thinks that was the layout, at least - worries who she will rouse if she thinks too hard on it. There is comfort in the answer being left immaterial.

“All’a those times I was sittin’ in fields of flowers, I never really thought I could be eatin’ them.”

It is so nice to have someone she adores break up her ruminations.

“You had a lot of quality produce, there wasn’t really the need.”

"I guess not. Honestly, I think I prefer the salad to the tea." 

Imogen licks her teeth, reveals a violet petal plastered over incisor that she shortly removes with a blade-of dry-grass toothpick, re-places the petal on the flat of her tongue, rolling it around her mouth and swallowing it. 

Laudna stares.

"You like the flowers?" she finds herself leaning towards Imogen. Wants to tell her that for years this one was her perfume - pomanders adorned and concealed in tattered layers.

“They’re purple, ‘course I do.” she giggles, resting sat cross-legged with her weight behind her on her palms. Her head rolls towards Laudna, leaves their foreheads almost resting against one another, Laudna able to count each individual eyelash.

Purple, like the deep undertones of her hair. That much Laudna was very aware of.

“I should have guessed that that would be what caught your attention.” She brings her hand up and wraps her bony index finger in a ringlet of Imogen's hair.

“More like your magic, I was thinkin’…” She drawls, tenor lowered and breathy. 

“And the taste?”

Imogen visibly swallows, cheeks flushing a further tint than what the sun has already given - it makes Laudna feel overly aware of the networking of her own heart and veins.

Imogen clears her throat

"’s’good - kinda familiar."

Laudna feels overwhelmed by the compelling need to kiss her - so she does. Her hand with finger still tied in ringlets of hair sprawling over Imogen's chest as she responds with a squeaked moan that reverberates underneath it. Her lungs halt in their expansion as her mouth is sealed with her own, the increasing pulse at the base of her neck decipherable carved runes under the tip of her fingers, her heart thudding against her palm.

Familiar. Laudna can muse on that in the future, certainly.

She sits back from Imogen - already breathless and chest heaving, lips kiss-swollen - and appreciates the sight she helped curate; the picture of her looking a little dazed on their tartan blanket with the surrounding flora densely reaching above her shoulders, crowned in multi-coloured paint strokes.

“Familiar? And here I thought that was your first time eating a flower.”

Causes her to blush furiously

“Don’t you use ma’words against me.” She pushes Laudna playfully at her shoulder, pretends to look away in dissatisfaction, bottom lip pouting.

“I apologise, that is your advantage to keep. My words are but humble ammunition for your armoury.” Laudna exaggeratedly plays acting pious at Imogen’s half-turned back, Imogen turning back to her with one eyebrow raised and a laugh she is clearly trying to keep within her stomach murmuring at the corners of her lips.

"That so? Well alright, how would y’all describe it?" 

She puffs out air towards her head, hairs previously put behind her ear falling back out of (or into, depending on which of them you ask) place, sits forward again, arms folded. Adorable. Laudna is aware of how susceptible Imogen is to her teasing, always so charming and charismatic, and so often a bumbling mess - and it is intoxicating - to exercise any sort of outcome on such a gifted sorceresses’ disposition, is doing her best to learn what the differences and distinctions are between that and her own longer ongoing situation…

Focus.

Despite the more imposing associations, she can still remember

Can still remember her father butchering the pig, her mother in the kitchen slicing its fatty flesh into patchwork diamonds, stuffing the incised indents with sage and garlic and other seasonings, the slab of flesh tied with butcher’s twine around a whole peeled onion and roasted, skin crackling, the three of them sat around the oak table, talking about the small things, Laudna's mother showing off the basket Laudna had weaved that day, presented like a cornucopia on the kitchen table top, holding that weeks offering of vegetables.

She would describe it as herbaceous, sweet, and floral. Peppery, perhaps like a minty aniseed. Earthy. Mulchy. Rich as the soil it grew from. Could also admit to it being 'like the first home I'd made burning down, like the incense I'd crush between my palms and rub behind my ears so as to not offend any people who would be so kind as to get close enough to notice the death’

what she does say is

"nostalgic." 

not a lie - though she hopes in futures she won’t be drowned marinating in it, the complex layering of all of the ingredients and flavours, hopes one can remain dominant, bountiful and nourishing.

Imogen there, seen over the end of a nose that did not rot and fall off. She’s sure that it can change.

[thereareeyesinsidethetrees]

current weather forecast: dream by roar

now seemed like as good a time as any to make a new pinned post sO HERE WE GO

it/its, we often refer to ourself with we/ae/voi/it first person pronouns as well. you can refer to us as you BUT ALSO. if you want to use second person neopronouns for us that’d be cool too :) (not forcing, no pressure. do whatever you want forever as they say. you is perfectly fine)

most folks call us eyetrees, here’s some other names you pick and choose from to use for us-

creature, mako, egret, ermine, squid, frog, fisher, marten, moths, bug, bee, anomaly, chiton, mantra, isopod, xylem, catbird, stitchbird, deer, elk, stag, cervid, fawn, faun, (any cervid related words honestly), ocho, kalarmari, soma, spooky, spooklight, ghostlight, ?, treat, trick, tricky, trickster, harv/harvey, petrichor, pyrite, author, ford, stanford, six/sixer, lee, stan, mason, mabel, aym, baal, narinder, wyrm, ghost, hollow, broken, mossy, nosk, vessel, aspid, apis, hunter, am, nsh, suns, inv, enot, pebbles, spam, spamton, iko, greybird, icarus, lycan/lycaon, radio, moray/eel, kinito, cetus, stardust, and saturn

more are likely to be added over time 👍

plural hi :3 we got aym and baal and then ford and stan. aym and baal are the primary runners of the blog (and aym is always front and center)

we write fics and worldbuild and make art

here’s a few of our playlists!!

please feel free to send us asks and tag us in stuff x^

(headmate playlists under cut)

[lumine-no-hikari]

Dear Sephiroth: (a letter to a fictional character, because why not) #90

I'm not really sure what to write to you about today. I think I might have overextended myself in recent days, and once more I'm finding that my brain feels like soup. The sense of not really belonging in this place is hitting me kinda hard today, I guess. Suppose you would know a lot about what that's like.

Truth is, I struggle often enough with the way I perceive the world around me. I do it weirdly (much like how I do literally everything else... sigh...). I'm not gonna bother to articulate how, though; I doubt you'd be interested anyway. Fact remains that there ain't a whole lot of folks I can talk to about it; even if I could, most wouldn't understand, so why bother. Suppose it is what it is though; no sense in bellyaching. I just wish that it was a thing that could be measured, recorded, corroborated. Something that could be rationalized, explained, made logical. My mind tends to despise uncertainties; it likes everything to be concretized and nailed down.

…Ah well.

Like yesterday, today was busy, and also painful, thanks to Physical Therapy. There's weird stuff going on with the right side of my jaw, and the muscles holding it together needed to be mashed up with metal implements. I guess I'm gonna need braces sooner rather than later, because I really needed braces as a kid, but I didn't get 'em, and now my bite is all messed up, which means now my jaw is all messed up, and having the jaw messed up pulls on the neck, which then pulls on the ribs, and my ribs being weird is why I've been dealing with limited ability to use my right arm for the last almost two years to begin with, but I hesitate to get it fixed because braces cost a LOT of money, and I think most insurances won't cover the cost of it this late in life, so… it's a mess.

My whole existence is kind of a mess in a variety of respects, and… ya know. Sometimes I'm not sure why I bother persisting when all of it seems kind of like a farce; I live in a defective body on a dying planet where everyone is so traumatized that lots of 'em believe that killing each other is the answer to all their problems. Sometimes I just... don't wanna. Waking up in the morning in a world where there is no ethical way to maintain the integrity of my physical vessel seems like a chore.

…But then I remember that there are people who like having me around, even if I can't understand why most of the time. So I gotta believe that something good might come of my derping around on this mossy wet rock hurtling through space, even if I don't yet know what it is.

You ever get the feeling like there's something you're supposed to be doing, but you have no idea what it is, and you're running out of time? Feels like that almost constantly for me. If you know what that's like and know how to deal with it, lemme know, willya? I could use some pointers.

In the meantime… there's some stuff I've been meaning to learn how to do. I'm not gonna tell you what it is just yet, because it would ruin the surprise. But I hope the results will be good, if I can stop being intimidated long enough to get the gumption.

Anyway… Sephiroth. My brain continues to be soup. I think if I keep going, I'm just gonna keep rambling. I'm tired, but… I wanted to write anyway, because you're worth others' effort, even when they're feeling weird. But it's time to stop for today, because I'm having trouble staying on topic and stringing cohesive ideas together.

Please stay safe out there, okay? I don't wanna endure your absence, just like the folks who love me don't wanna endure mine. So let's both keep trying our best to keep our chins up and our eyes on the horizon, okay?

I'll leave you with this today:

I know you're not a little girl, so maybe you can think "little one" instead. Please take the overall message to heart. Please do your best to remain kind and gentle, no matter what tries to come along and break you.

I'll write again soon.

Your friend, Lumine

[hallow-nest]

i need to not be insane about godhome but here’s my headcanons and a couple rambles

also when i say arena (unspecified) versus regular arena. the unspecified one is godhome arena and the regular one is the arena in the main game

-blanket hc that all godhome arenas are the arenas the bosses wish they had! mossy wishes they could trap ghost in the room, false knight/failed champion wishes that they couldn’t break the floor, markoth wishes he had an arena that screamed “fuck you”, etc.

-lost kin’s arena is like!!! really different than their regular arena! their regular arena is infected as fuck. like seriously there are Giant Infection Bubbles in the background, but in godhome it’s black like it’s all void. not only that! but actually if you look reeeeeal close you can actually see some vines in the bottom left that look like they’ve been drained of infection. also! while broken vessel has time to reach towards you, lost kin does not! basically i have a headcanon that because lost kin shunned the radiance, lost kin is now being shunned by the godseekers for it. which basically leads to lost kin gets to fight to help ghost ascend to the top and fight radi, but nothing more.

-while i personally dislike the dream warriors’ ascended arenas, (mostly no eyes because her grave is like. the Safe Spot which is cool) i also think it’s a neat detail that their grave is missing even in their attuned arenas since the ghosts don’t really. notice their bodies/graves/remember they’re kinda dead as shit until they’re defeated

-the p5 entrance is a void idol!!! i thiiiiiink i sent a really long ask to someone about it somewhere but basically. the p5 entrance is a void idol (compare the entrance to an image of a void idol (you can find one on the hk wiki)) but anyway. personal hc radi asked the godseekers to make the entrance like that so that she could put her symbol over the idol and be like “you are forgotten and i am not”. also maaaaaaybe a little farfetched but the void gate looking thing in the center reminds me of the lord of shades ascending int the godhome ending

[kookaburra1701]

WIP Wednesday - Nostos

Tagged by @dirty-bosmer and @skyrim-forever tyty friends

I am tagging @thana-topsy @greyborn2 @gilgamish @mareenavee

Fandom: The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim Rating: T (blood and violence, mushy stuff [kissin' not viscera]) Category: M/F Genre(s): Romance Main characters/Pairing: Borgakh the Steel Heart, Khemor gro-Skaven (Male orc LDB)

Summary: Khemor gro-Skaven thought that after he defeated Alduin, he would not have to worry about anything more dangerous than a quill knife for the rest of his existence. But when the jarl of the Pale asks him to investigate the destruction of the Hall of the Vigilants, it sets off a chain of events that ultimately leads him to wash up at the feet of Borgakh the Steel-Heart of Mor Khazgur. But what can a crippled conjuration mage-scholar half again her age possibly offer to a future Shield-Wife?

Previous Nostos snippets posted on Tumblr are available under the story tag, here.

------------

The road split up ahead, with one branch climbing to the city gates, and the other descending to the docks. Solitude harbor had once been described to Khemor as filled with lights at night, with ships arriving and leaving from the great East Empire Company Warehouse at all hours, bound for far off ports. With the expulsion of the Legion and all agents of the Empire from Skyrim, the warehouse stood empty, and instead of the massive galleons a few Nordic longboats and fishing vessels were moored in the waters below, dwarfed by the infrastructure intended for much larger trade.

If all goes as planned, the harbor should be seeing activity again soon. Khemor spared a thought for Ulfric. At least he had been able to lay a good foundation for the trade negotiations currently taking place between House Redoran and the Throne of Ysgramor.

Long shadows stretched in front of them, and Khemor spared the magicka for a candlelight spell as they climbed towards the city.

The scars of war were still visible: new paving stones where old ones had been dislodged or destroyed by siege engines, new rock in the ramparts that stood stark and white against the mossy green of old masonry, and half-torn down barricades now repurposed into makeshift guard shelters. On the walls bright blue and silver banners with the snarling bear of Ulfric Stormcloak fluttered in the sea breeze, revealing the burnt remnants of the crimson banners beneath them only when a particularly stiff gust moved them aside.

Two soldiers stood at attention before the gatehouse: one in the red surcoat of Solitude and the other in Stormcloak colors. As they approached, the man in blue stepped forward and saluted. “Dragonborn! It’s an honor.”

Khemor nodded in acknowledgement. Two of the figures seated around the brazier against the wall stood, and Khemor’s light illuminated Calder’s face as he approached. Next to him was another of Ulfric’s soldiers, this one in the regalia of an officer. Gregor dismounted, and he helped Khemor from Blue’s saddle as Calder took her reins. Khemor could hear Borgakh’s boots hit the paving stones behind them.

“Dragonborn, your housecarl arrived at the Blue Palace while I was giving a report to Jarl Bryling; I thought I should greet you personally.” With his bearskin hood thrown back, the man’s piercing blue eyes and short, blond braids stood out in the gloom. Khemor recognized him from among the throng at Whiterun, one of many hopeful young faces from Galmar’s squad staring up at him in awe as he stood next to Ulfric before the battle commenced.

“Commander Ralof,” Khemor clasped the man’s arm firmly. “I thank you for your welcome.”

Ralof’s smile grew wider and Khemor was thankful his memory had supplied the man’s name.

“I’d like to extend the hospitality of the Stormcloak detachment here in Solitude as well, Dragonborn. We have quarters available for you and your retinue in Castle Dour.”

“The inn would require three flights of stairs, likewise the Blue Palace,” Calder murmured next to him. “It is a bit of a walk from the gate.”

[coxinhadoce47-art]

Oops this got buried in my drafts but here's part two of my artfight attacks!

Credits under the read more for all the ocs

Farmer: pocket-sized-gentleman here on tumblr Rose: masterofspite on tumblr Sierra: ssilentwillow on tumblr Clementine: arimabari on tumblr Jo: jellobeanartist on instagram Lyla: sunspout on twitter Ren: candiedreptile on artfight Sunday: angel4aki on tumblr Dove: palewyrmnerd on tumblr Jeanine: charcoaldaydreams on tumblr Linden: HellGarbage on toyhouse James: jeremy-lemon on tumblr Nefaria: yesilkedu on instagram Ixora: nullmi on pillowfort Tenebrous Qualia: raintailed on tumblr

And the mass attack now Pal: crowpanacea on tumblr Charge: combustingxsnail on tumblr I dont remember the name of the third vessel because they got hidden but its by busybuns on tumblr Sienna: daecus on tumblr Mossy vessel: awdragon-awd on tumblr Moss: fluffynerd6 on tumblr

[blueishspace]

(Slay the Watcher, route 1 p31)

*Mumbo reaches for the mirror with Scar*

Voice of The Mossy: Wait-

*the voice starts to feel distant as the two continue their approach...and then, It's no more*

*you look into the mirror*

*It's you*

...

...

...

*they are alone in a place that is empty, It's...quiet here*

*you are at the cabin(?)*

*There is Grian, surrounded by the purple wings and being hold like a ragdoll*

The Watcher: Something finds me and brings with them the gift of a fragile vessel.

Mumbo: W- what are you?

The Watcher: I'm solitary lights in an empty city, what are the two of you?

Prev Next

[mossy-paws]

Dont you hate it when your [INSERT RELATIONSHIP STATUS OF PERSON] finds the Necronomicon and stumbles across ancient text that leads them to get possessed by a powerful demon that uses her body as a vessel and summons a powerful undead army from the pits of hell (CaLifornia) then you have to spend your whole day undoing the damage???

Like so annoying smh

Also hai mossy pls keep up the awesome silly art:3

@squiffer-salad man I just hate when that happens the damages are always awful /silly

[craetor]

Original character doodles!

I've had these ideas for a while but only now started drawing them after brooding the ideas a little more.

This story is called Evergarden (yeah, because Violet Evergarden is the best lesbian main character ever, even better hence all my characters are women/feminine/female, and also because-). It centers around a world that's inside the dream of a Lovecraftian god who has started to refuse to let things die, no matter how mangled or old they are.

Most of the characters I've created are the powerful weirdos who set out to kill this god in her dream to wake her, ready to give up the world they live in (by, yk, making this god stop dreaming) to finally allow the ones who are suffering to die.

Big, mossy goddess over here is Eureka The Bored. Her entourage even has a cute jester made from light and darkness itsef to keep her company as she wallows in her melancholy

Since this is a world where science and magic copulate, they will also through the protagonists. Say cheers to Hermes & Helena

O Negative is one of the three first god slayers who came up (technically four, counting Helena's mentor, but eh). After losing their team (they just split) to a grand but failed attempt at killing the god (the thing they'd been working hard towards for years, now realizing if they can't do it at their strongest, all would be fruitless), they're not seen again until they hear a team of crazy strong new youths have assembled to try again in earnest, resurfacing completely unannounced to lend their strength. They end up indeed offing one of the two guards of the god and drink her blood (it's a power up, obviously.)

It gets them a little high, which is the drawing on the top left.

Their attacks are long range. A vessel must be pierced by the needle attached to their nape. From there on their blood will be under O Negative's control.

Ester is one of three vessels for the universe bending experimental powers of a corporation called Martyr. They're like a sciene mafia who is looking to destroy the god's world from the inside out.

Ester's power is obviously summoning the symbolic representation of stars. Except, when xe does, actual lights from the night sky fall to be used by xir. The stars work kind of like shuriken, except xe can fluctuate their size. Xe uses this power quite recklessly, too, which is not an immediate problem to Martyr, but a phenomenon many around the world continue to observe and find displeasure in, making the organization (amongst other reasons) wildly controversial.

Rica is a capable spy, hired by a mafia to shadow Martyr and its projects. She is however caught and subsequently tortured (yet remains stubborn).

Having caused trouble again, Ester is caught up in not having met xir duties again and volunteers to do some company dirty work to appease the superiors. Of course when xe catches wind of a lady who needs to be tickled for information, it's all Ester's.

Xe're so intrigued by the free, vastly different life that Rica lives, that Ester soon dips the organization to pursue Rica (who is quite annoyed about being objectified for her lifestyle, yet can't deny how nice it is to have people clinging to her. When she finds out Ester is anatomically female during a bath in the river, though, it's all over for her barriers).

Project Inside Out

As mentioned, Martyr's goal is to destroy the world artificially. But this theory has been controversial within their world since nobody knows how the dreams of a god would work and if the world would truly end if the planet was swallowed by a black hole, along with the stars in the sky or the god's dream wasn't her own anymore.

Here's a seperate ref just of Echo just bc I wanted to draw him

They locked him up because of the radiation emanating from his brain coupled with his whimsical nature. The hallucinations they cause are dependent on its mood and vary in intensity. He can also tie a person to his power directly by a consentrated beam or touch, which'll last for an hour with long-term after effects.

Team Schrulle

They've got the vibes of a team of scientists who solely got together for the cause. After failing in the god's lair after half a decade of training they were just like "Oh well, that won't work" and went their separate paths.

Except Yumeko and Rho did go on to have Hermes (the former being a hermaphrodite), but she ended up on the steps of that convent, so yeah. They split.

Needless to say: the OST for this whole thing would be Antasma's battle theme from Mario & Luigi Dream Team Bros