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nightmaretist · 4 months ago

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TIMING: Current PARTIES: Vic @natusvincere & Inge @nightmaretist LOCATION: Masque of the Red Eye SUMMARY: Two immortals cross paths again and speak of current events, among which mostly daughters. CONTENT WARNINGS: Child death.

The meeting at the Good Neighbors had ended early. There had been a tenseness in the air that Vic couldn’t quite place, but, being a new member, she figured it wasn’t her place to question it. People in Wicked’s Rest were odd, and the do-gooder Good Neighbors must not have been any different. Regardless, Rosie was asleep at home with the nanny who had already been pre-paid, so Vic took it upon herself to saunter over to the Masque of the Red Eye, a place she had hadn’t ventured to since her days of betraying vampires. It might have been stupid to come back to the Masque- there was probably an unknown number of friends of those she’d betrayed, waiting to enact their revenge. But Vic, ever stubborn and ever so determined, was desperate to make amends in any way she could, even if the mere thought left a pang of anxiety in her stomach that felt too deep to quell.

300 years of hatred was hard to overcome in just 3.

A familiar face from across the way interrupted her nerves almost the moment she walked in, filling her with a strange sense of familiarity. It was a face she hadn’t seen in years, not besides about six months when she swore she jogged past her in the park. But Vic was always seeing flashes of faces she once knew in strangers, so she barely gave it a second thought. “Inge?”, she called out, feeling uncharacteristically brave as she approached the other. There was always something comforting about the other woman, even if they had only passed through each other’s social circles once or twice in the past few decades. Vic couldn’t even remember first meeting her, only that it was at an art museum in god knows where “It’s uh… Vic. Um, Victoria, maybe. I can’t remember which name I gave you.” She gestured to the seat beside Inge, wondering if it was okay to sit down. “Since when do you spend your time in a seedy town like Wicked’s Rest?” This would turn out to be utterly humiliating if Inge didn’t remember her, and Vic was already turning red at the thought of it.

—

It was an embarrassing thing to her, to feel unsafe. Inge didn’t tend to let herself feel unsafe — she tended to run, to turn on her heel and go to a different place where there would be no room for such a feeling. And yet, she was still here, in this town where a man had threatened to scoop out her insides, where a ghost had made the earth split, where the sky trembled and something else horrible was bound to happen any second. She found it hard to explain to herself why she stayed – it certainly wasn’t for her job (though she did enjoy that). Maybe it was because her art was better than it had been in years, the town like a never-ending muse. Or maybe it was because of something more embarrassing than feeling unsafe — because she found herself tied to the people inhabiting this space.

Regardless, the feeling of being unsafe persisted, and so she stuck to the places she felt safest in. The corners where the undead gathered. The astral, her studio, her home, the casino. Masque was another on the list, a nice place to grade papers and sip her coffee and feel like she was surrounded by her own kind. And she was doing a good job at focusing on said papers (something that she’d been struggling with due to the aforementioned causes of dismay), at least until her name was called. She looked up, pen floating above the page in mid-action. (She printed out the papers — she’d never gotten the hand of grading digitally.) “Vic,” she said, eyes widening with surprise. “Hi!” Inge got up, placing the paper on the tiny table and giving the other a quick embrace. “Come, come, sit.” She laughed. “Since when do you?” She sat down, wondering how to explain the magnetism of this horrid town. “I guess there’s something inspiring about a place like this to the likes of me, hm? I teach here, too. It’s nice.” It was the first time she’d been employed in at least a decade. “Tell me, how’ve you been?”

—

Vic was not used to the feeling of being embraced. Not by arms that weren’t child-sized, anyway. And not since… Well, not since a lot of things, she supposed. She tried not to let her body harden at the act, fighting past every instinct that told her to fight affection for the last 300 years instead of relaxing into it. It was over before she knew it, and Inge didn’t seem to notice her aversion, and Vic herself was embarrassed that her mind was making such a big deal of a little hug. She really needed to get a grip.

She sat as requested, again comforted by the magnetism that Inge seemed to hold. “Oh, I’ve been here for around 13 years, actually. Not at the Masque, of course. But living in town. I didn’t get out much until around three years ago, though. And who can blame me?”, she asked, trying to make a joke of the town’s reputation in an attempt to quell any questions Inge might have about what she had been doing while so recluse. What would Inge think of her if she knew how many people she had betrayed? “Teaching!”, she said with surprise, her eyes traveling down to the papers scattered around the table. Clearly, she had interrupted some hard work. “That’s a reputable job if I’ve ever heard of one. Are you teaching children?”

Vic thoughts flashed to Rosie, wondering what type of student she might be as she grew older. A confident one, surely, but well-behaved and demure. Inge would certainly be a wonderful teacher for her. “I’ve been… well, better lately than I had been in a while, if I’m being honest. I’m living over in Deer Springs in this beautiful home I’m restoring, and I have a small business going painting storefront windows. It’s not much, of course, nor is it incredibly mature, but I find myself quite enjoying it.” She smiled at the thought, remembering the adorable yellow minion men she’d painted out in front of a bookstore just last week. The owner had seemed shocked at her choice of character, but she would come to see the vision of it soon, Vic was sure.

“What about you, Inge? How has life been treating you as of late?”

—

Thirteen years, Vic said she’d been here for thirteen years. Inge found it impossible to imagine. Where had she been, thirteen years ago? Somewhere in Europe, gorging on people’s dreams and struck with grief, that must have been it. She had flown back to America something over a decade ago, but she’d flit around plenty of states even then. To stay in one place for that long – especially a place like this – she found inconceivable.

But then Vic had said she’d been inside for a lot of it. She didn’t know why, but she could imagine. She found herself avoiding the streets too, especially after her latest encounter with Emilio. She had the luxury of astral projecting, though, and still going out even without walking around an awful lot. “No one can,” she said definitively, not particularly interested in asking why Vic had stayed in all those years. “It tends to either smell horrid here or there’s puddles or goo, or all at ones.”

She smiled a little at the other’s reverence for her career of choice. “It’s nice, I never thought I’d enjoy it. And yes, in a way — college. They don’t think they’re kids any more but they certainly are.”

Inge took a sip from her coffee, wondering how she’d never encountered Vic in all the years she had been here. Different circles, perhaps. If only she could avoid certain types like that. “I live in the same neighborhood — it’s nice there, isn’t it? Painting storefronts … that’s wonderful!” Certainly not the kind of creative expression she preferred, but she couldn’t judge too harshly if someone was picking up a paintbrush. “I’d love to see some of it. And you would be welcome in my studio, if you want to change it up.”

The question about her life seemed a little futile. She’d told Vic, hadn’t she? She was a teacher. “Oh, you know — I’ve been between towns a lot the past few years. Was in New York before this, so this is quite the change of pace. But I don’t mind it. I never thought I’d return to a small town.”

—

Vic felt herself smiling, relieved that chatter with an old acquaintance seemed to be feeling more natural than not. There was so much about Vic and her past that Inge was never told- especially about who Vic truly was and what she was doing to those like her until Rosie came into the picture. The two of them had always seemed to dance around their shared status as undead (at least Vic assumed, due to her lack of a heartbeat) … (maybe it was rude to assume). This mostly happened on Vic’s end, as it did with all the undead she ended up having a fondness for, so she could ignore the repercussions of longing for friendship with someone who was a monster just like her. But now that she was done betraying vampires and hating those who had the unfortunate circumstance to be like her… perhaps the two of them would have a chance to delve more into each other. “Or, the people are just horrid in general. Stinky or not. Sometimes I find myself avoiding them altogether”.

Vic would deny she was desperate for adult interaction. She loved Ms. Rachel, and those yellow minion men, and the cute little cartoon girl who sang the phonics song on youtube. And Rosie was enough interaction- she was all Vic needed, especially now that her vocabulary was thriving in both English and Swedish. But she would have been lying if she said she didn’t intentionally pick fights with her nasty neighbor Tracy or the mailman who kept delivering packages to the wrong house, just to have a meaningful interaction with someone who could drive. Maybe a real friend might do her some good.

“I don’t think I’d have the patience for teaching”, she said earnestly. She never thought she’d have the patience for motherhood, either. Maybe another 10 years in Wicked’s Rest would soften her up even more. She shook her head at the thought of Inge seeing her ‘professional work’, almost regretting telling her. “It’s nothing incredible, if I’m being frank. Just cartoons, mostly inspired by my daughter.” Her elephant in the room, the one Inge wouldn’t have even realized existed, blurted out faster than Vic had expected it too. She picked an imaginary piece of dust off her pants after the pseudo-admission, pressing her lips together.

Would Inge be ashamed of her? Would she think it odd that someone like her suddenly had a child? Should she have kept it private? Vic couldn’t change the subject fast enough, it felt like the entire building were looking her way. “You know, in all my years traveling around, I never ended up in New York city. I was in Boston two separate times. But never New York. Did you enjoy yourself there?”

—

It seemed for a moment as something in the air paused. As if a collective breath was held, as if the invisible flow of air halted. Vic said something incredulous. My daughter. Inge blinked her eyes at her, this woman who had not aged a day since the last time she had seen her. A face unmarred by the signs of aging, not a gray hair growing from her head. A woman who was frozen in time just like her, and she had a child.

So there were two horrifying options — either the child was like them and would not age, which would be a small mercy for Vic but otherwise something so unethical it made Inge squirm as well. And then there was the other option, the one that made her unbeating heart skip a beat. Vic was the mother to a human child, one way or another, and that child would age and age and age, and in four or five decades time look older than her mother. Vera’s hair had not gone gray at the end, but there had been a few random silver hairs among the brown. Vera —

She closed her mind off for memories of her own daughter, of the hospital, of the end. She looked at Vic, disregarding most of the other things she’d said. “A daughter? Since when — how old is she?” She wanted to leave. She didn’t want to speak of the dead. There was probably a whole slew of dead people between herself and Vic, considering the nature of their unlives. “How – Is she like us?” This was said in a lower tone and with a level of shame, a level of quietness. Inge didn’t feed off children. She had, a few times, but they were too easy to scare. If she were a vampire she wouldn’t even consider it, but there were some out there that might.

She reached for a coffee like it was an anchor. “You – You should go to New York, sometime. It’s great. The museums are wonderful, and every child should visit good museums — everyone, actually, regardless of age.”

—

Vic tried to look down at the table, to occupy herself with anything other than the emotions that were processing on Inge’s face. If the situation had been reversed, she wasn’t sure how she would have reacted. There was something unspoken between them- they always seemed to dance around the fact that the other was undead, the Vic of the past never wanting to sit on the subject too long just incase Inge turned out to be a vampire, too (it was why she shouldn’t have been making friends). And she knew that unspoken secret was exactly what had caused Inge’s questioning look now. The silence between them was palpable, and Vic practically had to hold herself to the chair to stop from running away.

“She just turned three”, she said, trying to sound matter-of-fact. She wondered if Inge would put together her earlier words, or if they had seemed as throw-away as Vic had tried to make them sound at the time. I didn’t get out much until around three years ago, though. At the thought that Rosie could be anything like them, Vic moved back in her seat, clutching her chest in surprise. Her face morphed into one of distress before she answered. “She’s, no…no. She’s nothing like me… like us. She’s perfect. She’s… she’s human.” After she was sired, Vic was told horror stories of children turned, and the thought, now more so than ever, made her stomach turn. If being turned as an adult felt like torture, she couldn’t imagine the anguish and despair that must have come with eternal childhood.

Three years had already gone by in a blink. She couldn’t bring herself to think what their lives would look like in 30… or 60… or 100.

“She’s perfect”, she said again, as if to reiterate. Vic truly believed she was. “And I would never… I won’t… nothing like that will ever happen to her, Inge. I won’t let it.” She felt she should explain more, but she didn’t know how. When she thought back to her first night with Rosie, it still didn’t make sense why she was picked. “Her parents were slayers. Friends of mine”. She tugged at her cloaking bracelet, unsure if Rosie’s birth parents ever actually knew the truth. “They had betrayed someone, or something…there was a bounty on their heads, and their families had already been killed…there was no one else.” Vic hated herself for the times she felt grateful that there had been no one else. She couldn’t look at Inge, not after all the revelations.

“I haven’t been to New York in… decades”, she admitted, clearing her throat of the emotion that threatened to rest there. “Rosie loves museums. Maybe we should travel there on a small vacation.”

—

Vera had been three once — just as she had been four, five, ten, twenty, thirty, thirty-six. Inge thought back to that blur of the early years of childhood, the years before her transformation, the years she sometimes, very quietly and very guiltily, yearned for in a way she’d lost. She tried to blink the memories from her head, those thoughts of a toddler that had her eyes moving around the world while her mother’s eyes were growing more and more sunken, less and less similar. She tried to imagine Vic with her human child, her perfect human child, who would look older than her in a couple of decades and then die before Vic would.

Her coffee wasn’t strong enough and severely lacking in a shot of whiskey, and yet she clung to it, taking another sip. “A great age,” she said, because that was what people said in situations like these. She wasn’t sure what to say or do besides that, though, as there was no etiquette when it came to undead parenthood. Vic spoke about their natures as if it was something ugly and perhaps it was, if you thought about imposing it on your child. And how could she judge? Inge had never even thought changing Vera into something undying to save her from her coming death. She would have hated it. So no matter how much she thought herself and other undead better than human, some sort of upgrade, she understood not wanting to give it to ones own child.

But — the child would have to die. Rosie – she had a name – would die if she wasn’t turned and Inge wanted to warn Vic of it, this sword of Damocles hanging over her neck. And Vic kept talking, kept making it worse. The child was the result of two slayers procreating and was now hers. She kept drinking her coffee, the bitterness not bitter enough, her throat speechless.

She had to say something, though. “She’s … she’s … well, you won’t raise her as a slayer at the very least, right?” How could Rosie be perfect if she were to be a slayer? How could Inge condemn a toddler for something she couldn’t control? Why was Vic someone slayers trusted enough to give their child to? “I am happy – yes, Vic, I’m happy for you. It can be a wonderful thing— magical, motherhood. I do … well, I wonder. But as long as you’re happy. And I think…” She placed her saucer down. “For what it’s worth, you seem like a gentle parent.”

It was easier to talk of New York, even if it was in context of the child. “You should go, then. The natural history museum will probably also be fun for her, hm?”

—

Vic pressed her lips together and nodded, because she didn’t know what else to say. Or to do, for that matter. This conversation was bringing up far too many ‘what-ifs’ that Vic spent her time ignoring because they were too horrifying to think about. Now, under Inge’s unsure gaze, they raced to the forefront of her mind. As Rosie grew older, as she grew to understand what the world around her and what she was, there was an inevitable consequence hanging in the air, one that sucked the air from Vic’s lungs and forced her back to feelings she’d been attempting to bury away for 300 years. Surely their diametrically opposed natures would one day be the downfall of their relationship. She couldn’t hide who she was from Rosie, not anymore than she could force her to deny who she was-... but what did that mean for their future? Ever stubborn, Vic made it seem that there wasn’t a problem. Only a slight twitch in her brow might have implied otherwise, to someone paying close attention.

“I can’t very well deny her of her nature, Inge. That would be…unethical. It would be wrong. And it would leave her questioning things that she shouldn’t have to worry about.” She tucked a hair behind her ear and blinked, willing the tears that threatened not to fill her eyes. “I have my ways of… hiding myself from those that threaten me. I’ll find someone to teach her what she needs to know, but I’ll teach her about the rest of the world, too. It doesn’t need to be as black and white as you’re implying it’ll be.” But it would be, wouldn’t it? Letting Rosie learn about hunting and slayers… about the truth of the monstrosity of what she was, it would be the beginning of the end.

“I don’t know that I’ve ever been much happier”, she replied quietly, knowing that alone was where her juxtaposition stemmed from. Still, she found herself chuckling at Inge’s next comment. She wasn’t sure anyone had ever referred to her as ‘gentle’. “You speak of motherhood like you know something about it”, she commented, letting her unasked question fill the space around them.

“I assumed it would be, yes.” There was a far-off look in her eyes as Vic wondered just what a trip to New York might look like. Rosie had never left Wicked’s Rest before. “And the art museum, too. She’s quite taken with art, as of late. This week, anyway. Perhaps next week she’ll be interested in horses again.”

—

What a strange reunion this was. Inge had experienced plenty of reunions in her time (that was how an undead life went – lots of coming and going of relations) but none were quite so tense so fast. She wanted to be nothing but happy for Vic, but she spoke of the ethics of keeping a child from being a slayer. As if it wasn’t a gift to not indoctrinate them into indiscriminate murder. And who was she, to judge a mother on how she was raising a child? Vera had been gone before she was dead, the wedge that had grown between mother and daughter a constantly evolving thing until finally they had been definitively severed.

“Her nature? Do you suggest it is nature and not nurture that makes slayers go after us?” She tried to keep her tone to a lower volume but she felt a wave of indignation pass through her. “Maybe you shouldn’t leave her in ignorance, but come now — another slayer? We’ve plenty.” But it had been slayers who’d given Vic the child, so maybe there was more that. She bristled at the notion that it wasn’t as black and white, “Slayers never consider shades of gray in my experience, either. But — I do trust … your judgment.” Did she? How well did she really know Vic?

She wanted it to be so simple, to be happy for a friend who found happiness in motherhood. But Inge was bitter and ruined and felt like she’d flayed herself in front of the other. Did she wear it on her sleeve so obviously, then? Leila had pricked through it too. “I do. Did. It’s in the past now.” She didn’t want to talk of it, of children that grew older than their mothers and died before them.

“Good,” she said, “A child interested in art is a promising one. But the changing interests…” She did remember that, too. Vera had been a girl of many passions. “It’d be nice, to go. I’m sure.”

—

Vic picked at the tablecloth beneath her fingernails, feeling a small spot unravel as she dug into the fabric. She didn’t know what to say, because she felt at an impasse. She respected Inge a great deal, but it seemed like her opinion on this matter would do more to upset her than anything. “I suggest that hunters have senses, abilities, and culture. Culture which includes protecting the secret of supernatural existence, not just eliminating it. Do you suggest I should have her ignore these senses, instead?” There were plenty of hunters who weren’t killing machines, Vic knew this first hand. A decade ago she would have called them weak.

If truth were to be told, she didn’t know what the best route was when it came to Rosie being a slayer. She did not ask for her parents to die, nor did she ask to be raised by the very creature that she was born to kill. “I will sit in on her training. I will not allow anyone to traumatize her. But it will be up to her to decide who she wants to be in life.” Which meant one day Rosie might hate her, or… or worse. A kind of worse she wouldn’t let herself imagine.

She felt the urge to reach forward and squeeze Inge’s hand, wondering how much more of the story there was here. There really had been not much substance to their relationship in the past, but now, it felt like everything was tumbling out. “I’m sorry. For whoever you might have lost.” She looked down at her watch, noting that time was passing faster than she had expected it to.

“I didn’t realize it had gotten so late”, she muttered, worried that this might be the end and that their friendship would never spark. “I don’t want you to…You should know that I’ve thought about this situation long and hard, Inge. I’m just trying to do right by her. Because she deserves it, more than anyone.”

—

“You can protect the secrecy of the supernatural without calling yourself a hunter. It is in the name, Vic. They hunt. Their existence is built on murder,” Inge said icily. To her, it was different from the predatory existence of the undead — they needed to prey on others in other to survive, could not live without nightmares, blood or flesh. Hunters didn’t need to maim, chase and murder in order to breathe their mortal breaths, though. “I don’t — you can raise her aware of her senses, of what she comes from but why would you rear her to be that?”

The scars on her body would have throbbed dully if there was any blood in her system, so in stead there was a mental itch. She was overstepping, she knew. It was bad praxis to criticize a mother, but it was easy to do from the side. She swallowed. “It’s — I’m sure you’ll do well by her.” Just do right by our kind too, she wanted to add.

She felt exhausted, which was a strange thing to feel as a creature of the night who didn’t need sleep. Memories of Vera were sharp, however, as was the knowledge that Vic would watch her child grow old and die. She wanted to say that the undead were not supposed to have children, that such a thing was reserved for the living — but what good would it do? Inge had been a human when Vera had been born. Vic had happened upon a child. Life happened and more importantly, death did. “Me too,” she said, voice somewhat small. She swallowed her warnings. Grieving someone who wasn’t dead yet wasn’t something she wanted to make Vic do.

She frowned at the comment, “I suppose it did,” she said. “I — I know.” At least, she figured she did. She felt bitter and ugly, like a pessimist and a bad friend. If Vic and her were still friends, or could rekindle it now. “I didn’t – don’t mean to be harsh. If you’d like, maybe we can … She can come to my studio with you, if you’d like. We could see each other again.”

—

“It’s not up to you or me what she chooses to call herself. It’s up to her guardian to give her all the information possible, to nurture and guide until she’s old enough to decide for herself. Until then, she’ll be raised as she would have had tragedy not befallen her family.” It was enough that Rosie was ripped from someone who would have a natural maternal bond with her, worse that she’d been given to someone she was born to kill. Vic didn’t often think about this, because the consequences of raising her how nature intended were innumerable. Thinking about it only made her second guess her choices. In an effort to quell the tension, Vic hadn’t been holding eye contact with Inge, but her companion’s comment about murder changed that. “And how is that any different from our existence?”, she asked sharply and defensively, staring daggers into Inge.

But there was the catch 22. It was the problem with her whole change of heart. How could she still find value in what hunters did while befriending vampires and trying to rescue them? How could she ethically raise a daughter while teaching her it was okay to kill her mother’s friends, just for existing? Conversations like this brought too much to light- it was too hard to question how things were going when she was already so unsure of their outcome.

But there, again, was a spark of kindness from Inge. A permission, even, to make the choices she thought was best. She didn’t know if she would have granted someone else that grace had the situation been reversed. Vic sat back in her chair, letting out a low breath.

“I think she’d like that”, Vic said, although her voice was smaller than earlier. Her eyebrows were furrowed in contemplation, like they so often were. “I think she’d like to meet you, too.” She stood up, pulling her bag over her shoulder with a shaky breath. Reaching in, she pulled out a business card with her phone number and business instagram plastered in bright, bold letters. “Will you send me your information? We can set up a time to make this all happen.” Inge would meet Rosie, Vic was sure, and understand how important raising her was. She’d understand that no one could mother her without putting meticulous thought into every decision that was made about her life. She’d understand, and give Vic her blessing, and then Vic could stop worrying that she was making a huge mistake.

#natural consequences.#vic.#threads.#loooove u vic and i loved this v interesting exploration of immortal motherhood hehe

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amaiguri · 1 year ago

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#CalmWriMo 2023 Introduction

I'm Amaiguri -- or just Amai or Belle, it's all cool -- and I'm writing a script for a fantasy RPGmaker game! (It's also a webnovel lol.) I'll be participating in #CalmWriMo this year -- started by the wonderful @winterandwords.

If you're not aware, #CalmWriMo is for: "If you want to do NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) but a 50k word goal doesn't work for you, you're invited to join me in CalmWriMo 2023 on Tumblr for a chilled-out creative experience this November."

If this sounds fun for you, you should join us too! (VERY no-pressure tagging @maiemorrae and @dragonprincedawn to join me so we can all do writing and self-care stuff together!)

🎮 Amai's Story Pitch

"All promised heroes burn. Who are they now?"

In a world of fated heroes and abyssal machines -- born both of Kings and Philosophy --, a burned assassin girl must find new purpose when the War ends.

Untitled Yssaia Game is a narrative-focused, hand-drawn adventure. Navigate an assassin through her delicate, brutal world after the War annexed her homeland. Delve deep into political dealings, your past trauma, and the Abyss beneath the world!

📇 Amai's Writing Goal

I don't need to write a lot, but I do want to write every day. Even just one sentence! I wanna keep up my momentum!

I'm estimating the end of my story to be at around 300-350k words and I think I'm at around ~270k words? I literally don't know, everything is in different places... 😅So anyway, I just want to ensure I'm always making progress.

Plus, I tend to write more when I'm writing more! So I think this will be healthy for me, as long as I pace myself!

🛁 Amai's Self-Care Goal

I need start (again) setting Quarterly Goals and I need to start journaling every day again. I don't have to write a ton, I have to write 5 bullet points:

What's up with my at-work job?

What's up with my social life?

What media am I consuming lately?

What's up with my personal projects?

What's going on in my personal/internal world?

My sense of time has been absolutely shot since the start of the Pandemic and graduating college hasn't helped. See, what ends up happening is I get to the end of any chunk of time -- a week, a month, a season -- and I PANIC that I haven't accomplished anything.

But having a literal checklist of Quarterly Goals helps proves otherwise -- I can cross off a bunch of stuff, add new things that I accomplished not-on-the-list, and I can tell my anxiety to shut up. (And yes, I don't measure my self-worth by my productivity but I AM aware that my time is limited on this earth and I want to make sure I'm doing the things that are important to me during it!)

And journalling every day is another good way to ensure my sense of time stays in-tact! And having an in-tact sense of time ensures I talk to my friends enough and give myself enough free time and etc. etc.

And that's all!

What are your writerly goals for this November?

#nanowrimo #calmwrimo #writeblr #fantasy world #fantasy writing #writing #writeblr community #am writing #tumblr writers #writing community #self care #nanotrymo #rpgmaker #game writing #amaiguri #yssaia

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lodichi · 5 months ago

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The Trouble with Tempting Fate: A Primer

It is the year 997 in the country of Khors, a land that was discovered by the famed half-orc explorer Silgre Khorsblade some 300 years ago. 997 denotes the number of years after the Draconic Cataclysm, an event which altered the shape and make-up of the earth, when the two twin dragons Lliark and Malygris fought each other to the death. Magic seeps into the ground from the bodies of these two powerful dragons. Life and civilization did exist before the Cataclysm, but the event was so world-shattering that the passage of time is now marked by it.

Our story begins in the tiny rural town of Felsnor, which sits on the edge of a massive forest called The Whispering Wild. On New Year's Day, Mayor Luvea Rivenstone did not appear for her usual town address, leading six townspeople to investigate her manor and discover a group of cloaked intruders who had broken in. After routing the burglars, the party found that the Mayor had disappeared, leaving behind only a pile of soot and a small deck of cards.

The mayor's assistance, Tiberius "Ty" Calligaris, begged the party to watch after the cards -- the Deck of Many Favors, which had been hidden in a nondetection chamber beneath the mayor's manor for unknown reasons -- and, more importantly, to please find out what happened to the mayor. Without much more to go on, the party left the safety of their rural town and began their search for answers, which seems to put them at odds with a dangerous cult... the Malice.

Party below the cut! Art credited as it appears

art by @rollforalis Ash: A changeling (race currently unknown to party) wild magic sorcerer with perpetually tousled hair and soot-stained skin. Ash found himself in Felsnor on the New Year quite by chance -- he isn't from Felsnor, and indeed, seems to have traveled all around the continent; if he has a home, he hasn't revealed it. He is a skilled mage who has (apparently) has created and named all of his own spells. At some point during the party's travels, he suddenly transformed into a beautiful young woman with silver hair, purple eyes, and dancing constellation freckles, who called herself Ashley St. Elmo and claimed to be a runaway noblewoman. No one really knew what to make of this, but Ashley has been with the party ever since.

art by @rollforalis Benediction Daniir: A tiefling ranger with green skin and long brown hair. Bene has lived in Felsnor for almost his entire life; his mother Philomena moved back to Felsnor from the capital city of Khors shortly after Bene was born. He tends to speak plainly -- some would say "callously" -- but that doesn't mean he's cruel, just a little undiplomatic. He adores plants of all kinds and will gladly talk your ear off about the local flora. A few months before the start of the campaign, he found Rosenrot wandering out of the Whispering Wilds near Felsnor and brought her back to live with him and his mother.

art by @changeling-kisser Clemency: An aasimar bard with silvery hair and a long, willowy build. Clemency once lived in Felsnor, but moved to the coast with their family when they were a teenager. Instead of following after their artisan parents, Clem chose to attend college and take up the profession of bardary. They have a habit of mimicking the mannerisms of those around them during conversation. They found themselves back in Felsnor on New Year's Day after hastily leaving Fairview Harbor for yet unknown reasons, and while here, they discovered that Rosenrot was back in town -- apparently, the two of them used to know one another.

art by @changeling-kisser Mayizra Dusklin: A half-elf (Drow) noblewoman barbarian with long white hair. Mayizra -- May to her friends -- is a high class woman who has left the Underdark in order to seek out the human half of her half-elf heritage. She settled in Felsnor after leaving the Underdark, because although it isn't a fancy city, it's what she could afford. A very polite woman, May believes in the concept of "noblesse oblige", but beware if you see her let her hair out of its bun -- that means she is about to fly into a rage and take care of things as only a noblewoman can: with unbridled violence. Recently, she has been gaining wolfish qualities while in a rage, which she is having trouble coming to terms with.

art by @changeling-kisser Red: A changeling (race currently unknown to party) Cleric to Sune and your new best friend! Red always covers up with a long cloak, a wide-brimmed hat, and a white plague doctor's mask, but you can recognize them by their bushy red hair and perpetually cheery disposition. They left their hometown temple to Sune to go on a journey of faith to prove themselves to the church and find out more about themselves in the process. It was on this journey that they came to Felsnor, where they starting working with the local priest, Father Sivan. They are terrified of the dark. They are also very hesitant to take off their mask, though they have very lovely green eyes hiding underneath.

art by @rollforalis Rosenrot: A tiefling paladin with brick red skin and long braided hair. Rosenrot was born in Felsnor and grew up there until one day when she wandered into the Whispering Wilds and never came back -- at least, not until just a few months ago, when Benediction happened to come across her. She has no memory of what happened to her after leaving Felsnor, but she feels very strongly about being an honorable paladin and knight. She never wears shoes. She apparently has a history with Clemency, though the two of them have been dancing around talking about their history.

#campaign: trouble with tempting fate #party: the deckcrew #(jk they don't have a name yet)#also I know the tokens aren't the same size #I'll fix it later

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aliceward · 2 years ago

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Spider meaning spiritual

Spider meaning and symbolism include artistry, manifestation, patience, feminine power, ancient wisdom, illusion, balance, and interconnection. A source of fear for some and fascination to others, the spider is an ancient being, having inhabited the Earth for more than 300 million years.1 (By comparison, our own ancestors date back to just 2.8 million years ago.) In addition to being ancient, spiders live on every continent except Antarctica. So, they appear in the mythologies and folklore of cultures around the world.

In this post, you’ll learn about spider symbols, meanings, and mythology, as well as the spider spirit animal. You’ll also learn about spider’s web symbolism and metaphors.

Spider meaning spiritual

Detailed Spider Symbols and Meanings

A Shamrock Spider (Araneus trifolium) in its web with fog droplets, San Francisco, CA. Photo: Brocken Inaglory.

Artistry

As they skillfully create their iridescent webs, spiders are the embodiment of artistry. They patiently weave their webs in optimal places, and if one strand breaks, they will weave again.

Those who consider the spider to be one of their spirit animals are often gifted creatively. Spider people have vivid imaginations and they’re also good with their hands. They can envision, feel, or even hear what they want to create in their minds, and then manifest it in the real world in art, music, cooking, and even surgery or other medical procedures.

Manifestation

The spider is known for being an intelligent arachnid who is capable of strategizing and planning. Therefore, the spider is also a symbol for the power of manifesting. Imagination, artistry, and the power to manifest are a winning combination. So, if a spider suddenly makes themselves known to you, they are reminding you of your own ingenuity.

When the spider is your spirit animal you have the potential to create something wonderful in your life and the lives of others.

The real estate mogul Barbara Corcoran, who appears on the TV show Shark Tank, said [paraphrasing], “I have worked with all kinds of entrepreneurs. And the most successful ones aren’t the ones with the best idea or the hardest working or the smartest or even the luckiest. They’re the ones who have a clear vision of where they want to be and what it will look like when they get there.”

This is the essence of the spider spirit animal’s ability to manifest!

Patience

Weaving an intricate web is painstaking work. And even when the web is done, a human or strong wind comes along and breaks it. So, the web has to be repaired. In addition, waiting for prey to fly into the web can take even more patience. The spider is not deterred.

The spider spirit animal reminds you that good things happen for those who wait. While we live in an immediate gratification culture, the spider reminds us that patience and self-governance are how we create and get what we want in life.

Female Empowerment

Black widow spider (Latrodectus).

We’ve all heard stories about a femme fatale who bumps off her sugar daddy husband to collect his life insurance money. She is called a “black widow” because of the black widow spider who does indeed devour her mate. Unfortunately, this archetype hasn’t done many favors for women or spiders.

In a world where some cultures don’t believe girls deserve to get an education and only 8 percent of the CEOs of Fortune 500 companies are women, there are definitely more women and girls who lack power than those who have it.

Meanwhile, in the spider world, female spiders do have power. They tend to be larger than the males and they live longer. They can also defend themselves. Hence, female spiders are like lionesses in that they are symbols of female power.

Ancient Wisdom

Because they’ve inhabited the Earth for more than 300 million years, spiders are also symbols of ancient wisdom. They hold in their DNA a memory of how the Earth once was and how it has changed.

The spider spirit animal reminds us to study history and learn from the past. Spider people tend to be old souls who have experienced many lifetimes, therefore they are open-minded because they understand. They can easily put themselves in others’ shoes because of their soul-level experience. Hence, it’s important for spider people to be patient with younger souls and to help guide them as they navigate their life path.

Spider Symbolism: Illusion

The spider is skilled in the art of illusion and entrapment. The Australian crab spider is capable of manipulating ultraviolet light signals to attract bees to flowers where they lie in wait to catch them.2 As heinous as this sounds, not all illusion is negative.

The spider spirit animal also embodies the idea of “fake it til you make it.” Even if you don’t have the internal confidence to take an action, like getting up on stage, introducing yourself to a stranger, or going into that interview, the spider spirit tells you to “act as if.” Act as if you are capable, act as if you are confident, and you can manifest it. The spider reminds you that with your imagination you can create something beautiful and other won’t be able to resist your alluring web.

Balance

Spiders are cunning and carnivorous arachnids who are commonly seen figures in haunted houses and Halloween decorations. It’s easy to see why they scare so many people. Not to mention, some are also venomous. But despite their bad rap, spiders play a critical role in keeping natural ecosystems in balance.

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fortheloveofwonderland · 3 years ago

Note

The very first time I ever requested anything it was to you and I absolutely loved it!! Congrats on your milestone, very well deserved 🥳 also I’d like to request:

😡 👫 🔫 ⁉️ 🤕

Oh, no way! What was it you requested? Thank you so much! ❤️

Send me emojis for my milestone celebration and I’ll write you a blurb.

😡 enemies to lovers

👫 friends with benefits

🔫 hostage situation

⁉️unrequited love

🤕 tending to each other’s wounds

Summary - in the aftermath of a hostage situation, Spencer and the reader find comfort in each other.

This is 14.1 300 reimagined where reader is held hostage instead of Garcia.

CW - typical CM violence, slight mentions of blood, kissing, allusions to sex but nothing explicit, swearing, idiots in love, hopeful (?) ending.

Word Count - 2.6k

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Foolish Hearts

Ben’s Believers.

Well there was a name you never expected to hear again.

Initially when you’d been held at gunpoint by Meadows in the BAU elevator, that case from ten years ago at that ranch in Colorado was the furthest thing from your mind.

You hadn’t gone into that church with Prentiss and Reid, you’d never see Meadows before. You had no reason to suspect she was anything but the FBI Agent she claimed to be.

Until you stepped in that elevator with her and Owen Quinn and the hairs on the back of your neck had arbitrarily stood on end.

You still didn’t make the connection to the Colorado cult, but you knew somehow that Meadows was dangerous.

When she drew her firearm and shot Quinn, you didn’t even blink. You figured it out the second before she unholstered her weapon.

A second too late.

You were hit over the head and shoved in the back of a car, your phone and gun removed from your person.

And when the car pulled up to the scene now unfolding at the elevators, Meadows pointing her gun at Reid and him pointing one right back, you were sure the two of you were both going to die.

How apt that you would be resigned to death with your least favourite person on the face of the earth.

Spencer Reid had been a thorn in your side since the day you joined the BAU twelve years ago. No one understood why the usually benevolent Doctor took a dislike to you but for some reason he had.

He kept you at arms length all these years, never once hiding his disdain towards you or putting it aside for a moment.

You’d been in countless scenarios over the years where you thought you might die in the line of duty. But dying with Spencer Reid was the world's greatest joke.

When he arrived at the warehouse you’d been taken to and thrown to his knees in front of you, you saw a fleeting look in his eyes, one you’d never seen before.

Fear.

Spencer was scared. And if Spencer was scared, you knew to be too.

His face was battered and bruised, his hair damp with sweat and adhering to his forehead.

When Meadows took a call he was fast to curl his body closer to you and whisper instructions for how you were to escape.

And even under the circumstances you couldn’t believe Spencer was helping you.

Soon after he was dragged away again by the collar of his soiled shirt and you watched him go wondering if you would ever see him again.

And the most curious thing was, the thought you might never see him again made your stomach coil and your chest constrict.

Because outwardly you portrayed that Spencer was your least favourite person on the planet. In reality, you were implausibly in love with him.

It was the stupidest thing. The man had spent the last twelve years treating you like you were a stray puppy that wouldn’t leave him alone. He was rude and standoffish towards you.

Yet your foolish heart had taken it upon itself to fall despairingly in love with him, as though he single handedly hung the damn moon.

It was without doubt the most moronic thing you’d ever done. Falling for Spencer Reid was about the most ill advised thing you could have done.

But your heart wanted him, yearned for him, when your brain knew it would never happen.

So watching him being dragged away by Meadows, knowing you might never lay eyes on the golden eyed genius hurt more than anything these assholes could do to you.

***

Thanks to Spencer’s advice you’d managed to escape the warehouse on extremely shaky legs, dragging your agonised body with you.

He’d saved you. He’d put your safety ahead of his own. If you never saw him again you would never forget the way he’d looked at you in that bustling warehouse and whispered, “the team needs you.”

It felt like the hours ticked by at a fraction of the speed as you helped the team try and find where they were taking Spencer.

Emily tried to get you to the hospital, you had multiple cuts and bruises and a potential concussion but you dismissed her.

You weren’t going anywhere until you knew Spencer’s fate.

By the time you hauled your aching limbs up the two flights of stairs to your apartment, you were dead on your feet. Each step caused pain to shoot to one or more of your extremities.

But you didn’t care about the pain. The pain was all but washed away with the relief that came when you’d saved Spencer.

Witnessing him with Merva’s knife pressed against his throat, ready to claim Spencer as his three hundredth victim had been the most horrifying thing you’d ever seen in all years with the BAU.

You thought you were going to see him die. And all you could think was that you’d never gotten to tell him how you felt.

But he was safe. The team had shown up in the nick of time, seconds later and you would have found his corpse, stripped of its hyoid bone.

And as he was being unstrapped from his restraints, for a brief second you considered telling him how you felt about him.

But then he passed you, glancing at you with a look that could only be described as frustrated, and you pushed all those feelings back down in an instant.

How could you be so recklessly in love with such an asshole?

You pushed on up the stairs towards your apartment looking forward to soaking your sore body in a long, hot bath.

As you turned the corner and saw the silhouette outside your door, you knew your hopes were squandered.

The first thing that struck you was that he’d changed his clothes, probably an outfit from his go bag as he’d been covered in dirt and blood.

The second thing was how he knew where you lived. He’d never in twelve years been to your apartment, even when you had the whole team over he always declined.

Garcia, you rolled your eyes as you fished your keys out of your purse.

His hair was still draped lifelessly onto his face that was bruised and cut much like your own was.

Something flashed behind his eyes briefly as you approached but it was too fast for you to register what it was.

“As if today hasn’t been exhausting enough?” You let out a sigh as you reached where he leant on the wall next to your door.

“Can I come in?” His voice was croaky, after what he’d been through today it was to be expected.

The last thing you wanted was to let Spencer Reid inside your apartment. But the day had beaten all the fight from you. So you simply nodded before slotting the key in the lock and opening the door.

You observed him as he cast his eyes quickly over your apartment as if trying to sum you up by the contents of your home.

You hung your bag and jacket up and dropped to the couch.

“I really want to just relax in a bathtub with a bottle of wine, so can you tell me why you’re here so we can get this over with?” You didn’t even try to disguise the annoyance from your tone.

He chewed on his lip as he stepped closer to where you’d fallen to the couch.

“You’re bleeding.” He whispered, a fleeting look of concern on his face. “Do you have a first aid kit?”

It was only then you realised you could feel the wet, sticky blood trickling down your cheek and your fingers flew to the cut on your cheek.

“Uh bathroom. It’s through my bedroom on the left. In the cabinet over the sink.” You pointed towards the door at the back of the room.

Spencer nodded, hands in his pockets as he slumped towards the bedroom.

An uncomfortable sensation settled in the pit of your stomach as you thought about Spencer Reid being in your bedroom.

You just hoped you hadn’t left any errant pairs of underwear strewn around on their journey to the laundry basket.

He returned soon after, clutching the kit in his hands.

His steps were deliberate yet tentative, an oddly fascinating combination.

He dropped to the couch next to you and it shifted slightly under his weight.

You watched his deft fingers open the kit and procure an antiseptic wipe before tearing it open.

His eyes flicked to your face and his free hand made a slow voyage to your face. When his fingers wrapped gently around your jaw you inhaled sharply.

It occurred to you then that in all the years you’d know each other, you’d never once been alone together.

Until now.

He raised the wipe to your cheek and he was effortlessly gentle as he removed the blood from your cheek and cleaned up your wound.

It probably hurt. You might have noticed if you weren’t so hyper focused on his fingers on your jaw and the way his skin felt remarkable against your own.

His breathing was measured and even, every now again you’d feel it fan across your face and you hoped to god he didn’t notice the goosebumps it sent soaring across your skin.

He rolled his bottom lip between his teeth in concentration, nimble fingers making quick work of the blood.

When he let go of your face you felt disheartened, immediately missing the way it had felt.

He rummaged in the kit again, not noticing your shift in demeanour, until he found a bandage large enough to cover your wound.

“I think it’ll keep bleeding unless it’s covered.” He whispered, opening the package.

You simply nodded, worried your voice would give way to the nerves pooling into your stomach.

Spencer leant closer and cautiously pressed the bandage over your cut, smoothing it out lightly with his finger tips.

When he sat back you blinked a few times and your eyes dropped to his lips but not for the reasons you thought they might.

Spencer’s constant lip gnawing had caused the laceration through his bottom lip to split and now he was bleeding too.

He must have sensed this as his tongue crept out his mouth and swiped along it.

“Darn it.” He groaned, making a grab for another wipe.

You put your hand gently on his wrist to still him, before picking one up and ripping it open.

“It’s ok, I got this.” You smiled shakily at him.

Mirroring his actions on you, you cupped his jaw, the few days worth of stubble growth on his skin was scratchy beneath your fingers.

You exercised caution as you delicately removed the blood from his lip.

Spencer’s eyes fluttered closed, his long eyelashes grazing the dark skin beneath his eyes.

He had a bluish bruise on the side of his mouth and cuts on his brow. There was another bruise situated in his hairline, dipping into his forehead.

But he was still somehow so incredibly exquisite, like a painting or a sculpture.

You couldn’t take your eyes off of him. You were drawn to him and his magnificent beauty.

The wipe fell from your hand but your fingers remained on his pouty lips, brushing over them.

Spencer’s eyes remained shut and he exhaled heavily through his nose. Your hand cupping his jaw tightened a little, fingers ghosting over his stubble.

When you moved your hand from his lips it didn’t venture far. You found purchase on his cheek, fingers curling around his ear.

Spencer’s chest heaved with another large breath and when his eyes finally opened you were barely inches from him.

His deep hazel eyes flecked with gold questioned you, but not in a bad way.

“Have I stopped bleeding?” He whispered, voice breathy and if you didn’t know any better you could have sworn it was laced with seduction.

“Yeah.” You whispered back, unable to reign yourself in from your hold on him.

“Good.” His lip turned up at the corner into a wry smile. “So are you going to kiss me, or what?”

Your eyes widened instantly at his words but you still didn’t let up your hold on his face.

Spencer chuckled at the reaction he’d pulled from you and you felt the way the contours of his face changed at the action.

“Don’t tell me you haven’t been thinking about it Y/N because I’d be inclined not to believe you.” His hand came up and rested on top of yours on his cheek.

His hand was so much larger than yours, practically eclipsing it under his.

It was warm and slightly rough from callouses but it felt amazing nonetheless.

“I saw the relief in your eyes when you found me today.” He continued when you didn’t speak. “And suddenly everything made so much sense to me. All these years we’ve been fighting it right? There's an obvious attraction between us. So I ask again, are you going to kiss me or what?”

You froze for a fraction of a second before you gave in.

You drew him closer by his jaw and pressed your lips against his, softly at first so as not to disturb his cut.

But clearly Spencer had other ideas as he gripped your neck and teased your lips apart with his tongue before sliding it in your mouth.

He tasted like the remains of antiseptic and coffee and it was magnetic.

How you ended up in your bedroom was beyond you, your head had been a complete jumble since the moment your lips touched.

You found yourself undressed in no time at all with Spencer hovering over you, also free from the confines of his clothes.

He was firm yet gentle, letting you know he was in charge without exerting too much force.

You came faster than you would be happy to admit, the feeling of Spencer inside of you almost too much to bear.

Afterwards he placed an almost loving kiss to your temple and tore himself out of the bed.

You watched dumbly as he dressed with his back to you.

“That was one way to blow off steam.” You spoke quietly, hating the awkwardness that suddenly flooded the room.

He turned back to you as he was buttoning his shirt. His eyes had a spark to them and he had a mischievous smirk on his lips.

“I wouldn’t be opposed to blowing off steam that way again.” He told you playfully.

After that he left and you felt equal parts elated and downtrodden.

You’d waited twelve years for that moment only for it to be over much faster than you would have liked.

He’d claimed your body and your heart and he had no idea.

As Spencer dragged himself away from your apartment, closing the door softly behind him he sighed sadly, running his fingers through his messy hair.

He’d spent over a decade pushing you away because he was scared of this exact moment.

He knew the second he kissed you he would be bound to you entirely. He’d been on the cusp of falling in love with you for all these years and when he kissed you, he fell in an instant. Hook line and sinker, tumbling down a rabbit hole of his own creation.

Of course there would never be anyway you’d feel the same and for years he’d been ok with that. But now he’d had you, he wasn’t sure he could live without you.

He left a piece of his heart tucked between your sheets that night.

Maybe one day the two of you would find the words to convey your feelings for each other. Maybe one day you’d both realise your love wasn’t quite as unrequited you both thought.

But for now you'd both settle for not being enemies anymore. Friends with benefits had to be better than that.

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #build a blurb #spencer reid x you #spencer reid blurb #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds self insert #criminal minds

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starglitterz · 3 years ago

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Here is another request for the 300 followers event (because you're gorgous). Can I have a chocolate confection (diluc) with extra fruit. The reader has time travelling ability where they can temporary jump to future or back in time but they can't control the amount of time they want to travel. I hope it make sense ;-; I have always wanted to see a fic with genshin time-travel concept but there isn't many of them. Thank you for your hard work. Send loves! (づ￣ 3￣)づ

LMAOO ur so sweet ty !! also thank u for respecting my rules and requesting in two parts, i acc appreciate it :)

request; diluc fluff, soulmate au, time traveller!reader

soulmate au; you're connected to your soulmate with a red thread that you can only see when your eyes are shut. in a regular situation, you would follow it to find your soulmate and find happiness together. however, there are some rare special cases where this thread becomes tangible, and pulling it will pull your partner towards you too.

please reblog ! it helps a lot :)

( @clarissalance )

diluc.

diluc's always been confused about his soulmate thread that appeared when he was eighteen. it tends to flicker, sometimes there and sometimes not. he doesn't know if this is normal, and there's nobody he's willing to ask about it. to be honest, he's confused in general about why he has a soulmate, and he's not entirely sure if he even wants to meet them. after all, diluc is far too busy being both the famed wine tycoon of mondstadt and the darknight hero to worry about love. not to mention that he's unwilling to let yet another person he could lose into his life, he's perfectly fine on his own. but sometimes, when the midnight breeze billows through his curtains and moonlight bathes the bed that suddenly seems far too big for just one person, diluc shuts his eyes and tries to focus on the red thread glittering ahead of him, and he wonders what would happen if he reached out and grabbed it. would he be lucky enough to tug you closer? and if he was, would that be a blessing or a curse?

your head hurts. scratch that, everything hurts. this was a stupid idea, you think to yourself as you rush through the forest surrounding wolvendom, trying to ignore the branches harshly scraping your face and the leaves that might be stuck on your head. the sounds of hilichurls accompanied by a snickering abyss mage fade into the distance as you run, and you exhale a sigh of relief before leaning against the weathered trunk of a cedar tree. your eyes slide shut, and the familiar flickering red thread appears in your vision. it's always been scintillating for as long as you can remember, blinking in and out of existence. is that what it's supposed to do? you want to reach out, but you're not even sure if it'll work, especially when you're not in your proper timeline now. you open your eyes again and stare at your hands, wondering how and why on earth were they given the ability to time travel. it's been years since you discovered it, but you still have no more control over it than you did as an innocent child.

you're always jumping both to the past and the present, but you can never tell what year it is, or how far you've gone, and asking what year it is tends to attract some suspicious reactions. one thing you do know is that you can never bump into the version of yourself from these other timelines that you slip into - you don't know why, but it's a major warning bell that sounds in your head whenever you time travel. but based on all the novels you've read from the favonius library of the future from the last few times you jumped there, it has something to do with maintaining the balance of the space-time continuum... you don't really get it.

suddenly, the loud growl of a mitachurl echoes in the air as it notices you, and you curse under your breath. guess there's no choice now, you think to yourself before clenching your hands into fists and watching blue energy coil around your fingers, and a second before the mitachurl smashes its glowing axe onto you, you're sucked away as if by quicksand. you doubt you'll ever get used to the nauseous feeling that comes with jumping through time. when you're back in the regular world of teyvat, you blink a few times before sighing. you'll never know when you're back in your regular timeline, the place you're supposed to be, the place you should have been if you hadn't found out about your powers.

you snap out of your thoughts and realise you're in front of dawn winery, the mansion towering in front of you. you've never seen it up close, too nervous as to who you might meet. but somehow, travelling through time tended to change your location too. you press the heels of your palms against your eyes, trying to stop hot tears from flowing down your cheeks. where is your home? or more accurately, when is your home? will you ever even get there? yet as your eyes are shut, you notice the thread in front is actually solid. it isn't glitching out of reality for once, it seems tangible. and you can't tell whether it's pure instinct or perhaps the hand of fate guiding you, or maybe even a hint from celestia, but you reach out and grab the thread, pulling it with all your might.

a second later, a man you've never seen before pops into existence right in front of you, looking incredibly disoriented. you suppose it's understandable, after all it's not every day that you get teleported. a heavy fur coat hangs on his shoulders, and he runs a hand through his scarlet hair, crimson irises adjusting to the outdoors sunlight and scanning you with confusion. before you can say anything, you spot the head of someone who looks very similar to you strolling towards the entrance out of the corner of your eye. no way... is this the other version of you from this timeline that you've been told you should never let see you?!

"listen, i'm really sorry about this," you state apologetically, wringing your hands with nervousness before cupping his face and pulling him in for a long kiss. fortunately for you, he doesn't pull away, in fact he leans into you to deepen it, and you can feel how hot his cheeks are as they darken with a pink blush. your mind is actually panicking about what your soulmate is going to think about you being so forward, but then you realise - he tastes like grape juice, and for some reason that little fact soothes you, and you melt into the kiss. you only break away when you're certain that person has disappeared around the corner.

the face of the man in front of you is dusted in pastel pink, and he seems to be struggling for words as he tries to process what just happened. "i'm really sorry! i thought i saw someone i knew... so i kinda wanted to hide," you rub the back of your neck as embarrassment floods your brain. the man finally seems to regain his senses, "no problem. i just didn't expect my first meeting with my soulmate to be so... unique." sticking out your hand with a shy expression, you beam, "so, should we start again? i'm y/n." the man nods with a soft smile, "lovely name. call me diluc." a beam spreads across your cheeks as he shakes your hand, and with the sun shinining down upon the two of you, you think that maybe, just maybe, you've found your new home.

quill speaks !

just a couple things i wasn't sure how to clarify in the writing: feel free 2 skip if u prefer to imagine it on ur own hehe

- reader IS in their proper timeline now :] that's the whole reason the red thread was finally solid, and it was flickering previously bc pulling it wouldn't be able to bring diluc to the future/past & vice versa

- for some reason, reader is never able to find that person that they thought looked like them,,, perhaps it was a nudge from the archons in the right direction, for even they've taken pity on the reader & diluc who are both so nervous/unable to speak 2 their soulmate

LOL this was such a cool request !!!! time travel genuinely is smth so interesting to explore in genshin, bc of how much history teyvat has, not to mention it would be so cool to see what happens in the future :O

also i wanna tag @xiaophobic bc i think ebg should be done by the time i publish this ^_^ atlas !!! the no1 diluc simp !!! pls take this offering as an apology for how much i bullied you during ebg HAHAHA <3 pls forgive me so we can be 4lifers once again i promise ill send more diluc hcs into your inbox 🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️ also send some xiao hcs (NOT ANGST I WILL CRY) to me RN thanks /hj ily tho !!! congrats on surviving ebg bestie !!!!! /g

queued hiatus post once again haha >_<

plz i feel like this is so long so i'll stop here KJASKDJASKD i hope you all liked this !! and i hope you liked how i wrote your request <333

and i hope you enjoy your stay at quill’s dessert cafe, and do check out the menu if you'd like ! 🍭

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nasa · 5 years ago

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21 Years of Amazing Earth Imagery

On April 29, 1999, NASA Earth Observatory started delivering science stories and imagery to the public through the Internet. Today, we turn 21! So much has changed in the past two decades...

youtube

One of the most notable changes is the way we view our home planet. Check out some of the beautiful imagery of our planet over the past 21 years.

2000: Pine Island Glacier

Most people will never see Pine Island Glacier in person. Located near the base of the Antarctic Peninsula—the “thumb” of the continent—the glacier lies more than 2,600 kilometers (1,600 miles) from the tip of South America. That’s shorter than a cross-country flight from New York to Los Angeles, but there are no runways on the glacier and no infrastructure. Only a handful of scientists have ever set foot on its ice.

This animation shows a wide view of Pine Island Glacier and the long-term retreat of its ice front. Images were acquired by the Moderate Resolution Imaging Spectroradiometer (MODIS) on our Terra satellite from 2000 to 2019. Notice that there are times when the front appears to stay in the same place or even advance, though the overall trend is toward retreat. Read more.

2002: The Blue Marble

In February 2002, Earth Observatory published this “blue marble” image based on the most detailed collection of true-color imagery of the entire Earth at that time. Using a collection of satellite-based observations, scientists and visualizers stitched together months of observations of the land surface, oceans, sea ice and clouds into a seamless, true-color mosaic of every square kilometer (.386 square mile) of our planet. Most of the information contained in this image came from Moderate Resolution Imaging Spectrometer (MODIS), illustrating the instrument's outstanding capacity to act as an integrated tool for observing a variety of terrestrial, oceanic and atmospheric features of the Earth. Read more.

2009: Tsauchab River Bed

The Tsauchab River is a famous landmark for the people of Namibia and tourists. Yet few people have ever seen the river flowing with water. In December 2009, an astronaut on the International Space Station caught this glimpse of the Tsauchab River bed jutting into the sea of red dunes. It ends in a series of light-colored, silty mud holes on the dry lake floor.

Like several other rivers around the Namib Desert, the Tsauchab brings sediment down from the hinterland toward the coastal lowland. This sediment is then blown from the river beds, and over tens of millions of years it has accumulated as the red dunes of the Namib Sand Sea. Read more.

2012: Manning Island and Foxe Basin, Canada

Although it may look like a microscope’s view of a thin slice of mineral-speckled rock, this image was actually acquired in space by the Earth Observing-1 satellite in July 2012. It shows a small set of islands and a rich mixture of ice in Foxe Basin, the shallow northern reaches of Hudson Bay.

The small and diverse sizes of the ice floes indicate that they were melting. The darkest colors in the image are open water. Snow-free ice appears gray, while snow-covered ice appears white. The small, dark features on many of the floes are likely melt ponds. Read more.

2013: A Lava Lamp Look at the Atlantic

Stretching from tropical Florida to the doorstep of Europe, this river of water carries a lot of heat, salt, and history. The Gulf Stream is an important part of the global ocean conveyor belt that moves water and heat across the North Atlantic from the equator toward the poles. It is one of the strongest currents on Earth, and one of the most studied.

This image shows a small portion of the Gulf Stream as it appears in infrared imagery. Data for this image was acquired on April 9, 2013, by the Thermal Infrared Sensor (TIRS) on the Landsat 8 satellite. TIRS observes in wavelengths of 10.9 micrometers and 12.0 micrometers. The image above is centered at 33.06° North latitude, 73.86° West longitude, about 500 kilometers (300 miles) east of Charleston, South Carolina. Read more.

2016: Curious Ensemble of Wonderful Features

When John Wesley Powell explored the Colorado River in 1869, he made the first thorough survey of one of the last blank spots on the map. The expedition began in May at Green River, Wyoming, and ended three months later at the confluence of the Colorado and Virgin Rivers in present-day Nevada.

About two months into their journey, the nine men of the expedition found themselves in Glen Canyon. As the men traveled along the serpentine river channel, they encountered what Powell later described in Canyons of Colorado as a “curious ensemble of wonderful features.”

From above, the view of Glen Canyon is equally arresting. In 2016, an astronaut aboard the International Space Station took several photographs that were combined to make a long mosaic. The water has an unnatural shade of blue because of sunglint, an optical phenomenon that occurs when sunlight reflects off the surface of water at the same angle that a camera views it. Click here to see the long mosaic.

2019: Lena Delta Shakes Off Water

For most of the year, the Lena River Delta—a vast wetland fanning out from northeast Siberia into the Arctic Ocean—is either frozen over and barren or thawed out and lush. Only briefly will you see it like this.

After seven months encased in snow and ice, the delta emerges for the short Arctic summer. The transition happens fast. The animation above, composed of images from the Moderate Resolution Imaging Spectroradiometer (MODIS) on our Aqua satellite, shows the transformation from June 3-10, 2019. Read more.

2020: Making Waves in the Andaman Sea

When tides, currents and gravity move water masses over seafloor features, they can create wave actions within the ocean. Oceanographers began studying these internal waves from ships in the 1960s, and the modern era of satellites has made it possible to see them on a grand scale. The Operational Land Imager (OLI) on Landsat 8 captured these images of the Andaman Sea on November 29, 2019. The reflection of the Sun on the ocean—sunglint—helps make the internal waves visible.

Internal waves form because the ocean is layered. Deep water tends to be colder, denser and saltier, while shallower water is often warmer, lighter and fresher. The differences in density and salinity cause layers of the ocean to behave like different fluids. When tides, currents, gravity and Earth’s rotation move these different water masses over seafloor formations (such as ridges or canyons), they create waves within the sea. Read more.

These images were taken from NASA Earth Observatory!

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Make sure to follow us on Tumblr for your regular dose of space: http://nasa.tumblr.com.

#NASA #earth #earth science #mother earth #oceans #sea #seafloor #river #landscape #earth observatory #tides #Canada #blue marble #satellite images #celebration #tsauchab river #atlantic

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earthstory · 4 years ago

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The New Madrid Seismic Zone About once a year, residents of the counties at the border between Kentucky, Tennessee, Missouri, and Arkansas will feel the ground roll beneath their feet. This image maps out the location of earthquakes in this area over a 30-year period and clearly illustrates a major feature: the New Madrid Seismic Zone. This zone produces about 1 quake that can be felt per year in addition to many small earthquakes…and has historically produced really big ones.

The pattern of earthquakes clearly traces out a fault with 3 segments. This fault is not exposed at the surface; these earthquakes take place about 10 kilometers below the Earth’s surface on faults that are remnants of the continent’s ancient history. The story of the New Madrid Seismic Zone begins over 1.5 billion years ago. The continent that would eventually become North America was growing by adding volcanic arcs onto the core that is today found in Canada, expanding outwards a block at a time, when something changed. The center of the growing continent began to pull apart, forming a long rift valley. That valley is named the “Reelfoot Rift”. We don’t know exactly what all the plates were doing that long ago, but its clear that the continent started opening and things stalled. A comparison might be the East African Rift Zone today; the Arabian plate has fully pulled away from Africa to form the Red Sea, but East Africa itself is forming a deep, fault-filled basin loaded with volcanoes. If the East African rift shut down, it would eventually look a lot like the Reelfoot Rift. The continent bears many scars from this rifting. There are igneous rocks throughout the area formed between 1.5 and 1.3 billion years ago. during this rifting Measurements of the gravity and magnetic fields over the rift also illustrate its presence. The modern Mississippi River even generally follows this valley today as the ancient faults still allow enough movement to make the rift zone a lowland in the continent’s center. The faults formed during this rifting event don’t appear at the surface, they have been buried by sediments deposited by the Mississippi River system over the last 100 million years. The cities in the Central United States therefore sit mostly on top of fairly loose sediments that filled in these lowlands at the center of the continent. This is the area that in the early 1800s suffered a surprising series of disasters. Three of the largest earthquakes in U.S. history occurred in the area between Missouri, Arkansas, Tennessee, and Kentucky over a period of about 3 months starting on December 16, 1811. With earthquakes that occurred before modern seismic instruments were around to measure them it can be difficult to fully tell the story, but these events are important enough that scientists have assembled many details. See how there are 3 segments to the fault? You’ve already seen the reason why there were 3 quakes. The first quake took place on the southernmost segment and ruptured in a strike-slip motion. The second quake took place on the middle segment and ruptured a normal fault. The final quake took place on the northernmost segment and again had a strike-slip motion. This structure therefore looks like a piece of the rift, a normal fault segment with two large strike-slip faults on its edge. The quakes were extremely powerful; USGS estimates place their moment magnitudes at 7.5, 7.7, and 7.7; comparable in strength to the 7.8 Mw 1906 San Francisco Earthquake. Because the crust in the Eastern U.S. is older and colder than that in the west, the shaking transmitted over a greater distance; historical records report the earthquakes caused church bells to ring as far away as Boston. The quakes were a disaster for this area even though the population was sparse. The fault motion shifted the Mississippi River’s position, creating the modern Reelfoot Lake and also drowned and submerged many other areas. Sediments shifted and blew out of the ground across the region. Any structures present were likely destroyed, although there are very few remaining records. There was enough damage that a single landholder named John Hardeman Walker was able to cheaply buy up the affected land in the years following the quake as most of the inhabitants simply left. When Missouri became a state in 1818 he lobbied for inclusion of his land in Missouri at the expense of Arkansas, leading to the inclusion of 3 counties in Missouri as a “bootheel”. The New Madrid quakes therefore literally show up on the U.S. map. Although these events are huge, they’re very much an anomaly. We teach that most major earthquakes are associated with boundaries between plates; even if the earthquake is happening far inland of the plate boundary it tends to relate to plate tectonics. The New Madrid quakes are so far from any plate boundary it’s extremely hard to say what is driving the motion on the faults. There are ideas. We do know that plates can transmit stresses long distances as they move; the New Madrid area could be feeling the impact of stresses as far away as California. The New Madrid Area could also be responding to the change in mass on top of it from melting of the huge ice sheets 12,000 years ago. Finally, there are even proposals that a small mantle “hotspot” has interacted with the Central U.S. over the past few million years and that could contribute to stress on the New Madrid Faults. These big quakes aren’t the only things this fault zone has produced. Not only do we see that earthquakes continue to this day, but scientists have also found evidence for previous earthquakes in the centuries prior to historical documentation. When these quakes happen, loose sand in the soil bursts onto the surface like a geyser, a feature called a “sand blow” or a “sand boil” (sand blows covering the land were probably a big reason why it was cheap to buy after the 1812 quakes). Older sand blows have been found indicating several large quake sequences happened on this fault before historical records were recorded, with the most recent ones happening about 1350 and 900 a.d. Furthermore, seismic techniques have been used to image the subsurface throughout the Mississippi valley and found evidence of faults across a broad area that have been active over the past few million years - not just these exact faults, but a multitude of them throughout the valley. The sequence of prehistoric earthquakes and the ongoing smaller quakes is good evidence that this fault is still an active threat. If the smaller quakes were aftershocks of the 1812 sequence, there would be fewer of them with time; instead their rate is pretty much constant, suggesting they’re caused by continued stress on the fault. Although the fault most recently ruptured about 400-500 years apart, there’s no reason why it can’t go sooner next time. In fact, during the US Geological Survey’s most recent earthquake hazard assessment, they increased their assessment of risk from this fault system due to the mapping of the prehistoric earthquakes. If this fault system ruptures again, there are vastly more people in this area than last time. St. Louis, Memphis, and Nashville are all in the area that could see heavy shaking; smaller cities like Paducah, Jackson, Evansville would feel it as well, and smaller towns even closer to the epicenter could feel even stronger shaking. Several factors would likely increase the damage to these cities even beyond what is observed in major earthquakes elsewhere. Almost all the buildings in these areas sit on sediments deposited by the Mississippi River and loose sediments are extremely weak during earthquakes. When shaken, loose sediments break apart and lose all strength, a phenomenon known as liquefaction. Any buildings built atop those sediments will be at risk of severe damage or even collapse (http://tmblr.co/Zyv2Js1WTUw1o). These areas also have very little in the way of building codes that could limit damage. Building codes are hugely important during earthquakes as unprepared buildings tend to completely collapse while limited building codes can save huge numbers of lives. Some of the states in the area do have seismic building codes, but many local areas do not. Major commercial buildings tend to do pretty well during earthquakes if the ground does not liquefy, but only 10% of the local areas have seismic building codes covering residential homes. If another earthquake were to hit these areas, residences would be absolutely devastated and the losses would rival the recent hurricanes as the worst disasters in U.S. history. If you live in these areas, earthquake preparation is smart. Have an earthquake kit, including stored water (http://tmblr.co/Zyv2Js1pz9oUR). Make sure your family knows what to do if a quake starts. Practice the “Drop, cover, and hold on” techniques during the yearly shakeout drills. If you own property, see about a seismic retrofit – a few cheap upgrades can be the difference between no damage and a house being completely lost (http://tmblr.co/Zyv2Js1puIWDj). And, if you have any influence on the political processes in the area, keep pressure on decision-makers to be ready. Cities can and should practice earthquake emergency responses and building codes in this area need to be upgraded to reflect the seismic risk. This fault system is still there and active. It might be 300+ years before another major quake series strikes, or it could be much less. If a major quake does hit, this is not an area you want to be in given current preparation levels. -JBB Image credit: http://bit.ly/1CTZavp Read more (tons of references): https://www.usgs.gov/natural-hazards/earthquake-hazards/lists-maps-and-statistics http://dnr.mo.gov/geology/geosrv/geores/techbulletin1.htm http://www.new-madrid.mo.us/index.aspx?nid=132 http://s1.sos.mo.gov/archives/history/bootheel http://www.showme.net/~fkeller/quake/maps.htm http://pubs.usgs.gov/fs/2009/3071/pdf/FS09-3071.pdf http://pubs.usgs.gov/pp/1538e/report.pdf http://www.britannica.com/event/New-Madrid-earthquakes-of-1811-1812 http://www.reelfoot.com/new_madrid_earthquake.htm http://bit.ly/1OvtNsu http://www.shakeout.org/centralus/

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cantgetoutofmyheda · 4 years ago

Note

Omg can you write a one shot where Lexa is paid by her college peers to write love letters to their gfs/ppl they want to date. So Finn asks her to write for Clarke and it becomes a constant. Until one day clarke goes up to her and says I know its you

OKAY. So this has been sitting in my asks for like a year. There will be a few (but short-ish) parts to this. And before anyone asks, this is not based off of “The Half of It” ... but here ya go.

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Letters

PART 1

It was Polis Record’s fault. Lexa’s atrocious week was definitely Polis Record’s fault. Had Titus not been a complete asshat of a manager and dicked the schedule around, Lexa certainly wouldn’t be having this predicament. Had Lexa’s hours not have been cut back, she wouldn’t be where she was. Had Lexa not known that her next paycheck would be half of what it normally was, she wouldn’t be writing a fake love letter to the devastatingly beautiful girl in her Astronomy class. Had Finn Collins not offered her cash to do so, she wouldn’t be writing this letter on his behalf, even though she was the one that’s had an earth-shattering crush on the recipient ever since their Freshmen orientation, four long years ago.

Let’s rewind.

“Titus, are you kidding me?” Lexa huffed at the bald-headed man who was scurrying around the break room like a headless chicken. “You did what?”

“Lexa, listen,” he tried to calm her down. “The schedule will be back to normal before you know it. I had to hire her. There wasn’t another way around it.”

She was mad. No. More than mad, “There was. But you just didn’t have the balls to tell your mistress’ best friend that you already had a full roster of people on your fucking schedule.”

“Can you keep it down!” He hissed. “This is temporary. I’m sorry. I couldn’t dock my cousin, okay? The schedule will even itself back out. You’ll be back to selling these shitty, scratched up vinyls in no time. Ride it out for two weeks, it won’t kill you.”

What he didn’t realize was that two weeks of half-pay because of shitty scheduling could actually kill her. He just didn’t realize that. There was the pressure of doing well in school, that was one thing. But there was also the pressure of doing well enough to keep her GPA high enough to keep her partial scholarship. And then the pressure of her shitty part-time job at the local record store to help make early payments to her student loans so she wouldn’t have to worry about crippling herself into debt once she figured out what to do with a fucking degree in Geology.

“Two weeks,” she warned him as she started to storm out. “This better be fixed in two weeks, Titus.”

Spoiler alert: Two weeks had come and gone, and Lexa was still screwed off of her work schedule.

“C’mon,” Finn pleaded at Lexa’s side. He had managed to weasel his way into the vestibule of Lexa’s apartment building. “I took that writing class with you last year. I know you’re good. I just need one letter. Typed. That’s it.”

She was already on the verge of a massive outburst after her conversation with Titus. The dickwad that he was, managed to screw her hours up for another week, even though he promised he wouldn’t, “This is not a good time, Finn. Seriously.”

“$200.” He stood tall in front of her. “$200 in cash right now, and all you need to do is type up a page of words that will have her vaguely interested in the person who wrote it, and that’s it. $200 right now. If you do this, then I’ll never bother you for anything again.” He scratched the back of his neck, “Listen, I just need a good way in. I can take the rest from there, okay?”

$200 was enough to cover a good portion of what she would be missing out on for the week. $200 was enough to get by. $200 was enough to get her mind to start churning.

“$300 and it’s a deal,” she tried to match his height. She straightened her back and broadened her shoulders as far as she could.

He laughed at the request, “You’ve gotta be shitting me.”

“You’re the one that needs me,” she reminded me.

He let out a huff and pulled another Benjamin out of his leather wallet and clumped it with the other two. “Fine,” he shook his head as he handed her the wad of cash.

Lexa nodded as she took the money. She buried the pang of guilt she felt into her pocket, alongside the earnings she just made and was ready to make way up the two flights of stairs when she felt Finn grab her arm.

“Hey,” he called out. “Wait a sec. I started a letter already, but didn’t get very far. You can just go off of this,” he handed her a folded piece of paper.

She opened it and read it aloud, “Have you ever felt like you couldn’t breathe? Like the weight of everything you’ve been carrying has amounted to this one moment in your life? Like there’s this burden placed so heavy on your chest that has left your lungs struggling for any ounce of air?”

Finn nodded as the words poured out of Lexa’s mouth. He was more than proud of what he thought was eloquently poetic. Lexa’s look of confusion went missed by him as he crossed his arms over his chest, “Pretty good, right?”

“Finn,” she deadpanned. “It sounds like you just described having the fucking Spanish Flu. I’m not using this. You sound like a serial killer.”

“What?” he yelped. “It’s poetic!”

“It’s a terrifying beginning to what’s supposed to be a love letter,” she deadpanned again. She shook her head as she finally made her way to the flight of stairs, “Give me a few days, I’ll come up with what we need.”

He rolled his eyes, “Fine. But you better make it good.”

She made it good. She made it really fucking good.

Clarke ran her fingertips over the paper as she scanned the words again. She had no idea who had left it for her—she walked into the lecture hall a few minutes early, as she normally did, and saw an envelope pinned to the corkboard with “Clarke” scribbled on it. She looked around, wanted to see if anyone in particular was looking in her direction. It was the usual suspects that always got to class a little bit early. Monty, the one who was always quiet in class but loudest at the neighborhood bar during happy hour. Echo, the girl who always sat in the back row and snoozed as soon as the professor opened her mouth. Finn, the boy who always found a way to have an uncalled for argument with the professor. Lexa, the one who was always in the front row and tended to herself.

Not a single one of them was paying her a piece of mind, so she let her eyes scan the letter one last time before the room filled up.

Clarke,

I was sitting on the lawn behind the library catching up on reading for a class last week. I was skimming through Voltaire’s words:

“Sensual pleasure passes and vanishes, but the friendship between us, the mutual confidence, the delight of the heart, the enchantment of the soul, these things do not perish and can never be destroyed.”

This particular passage struck a chord with me, and it was mostly because when I looked up after reading it, I immediately saw you consoling who I’d assume to be a friend of yours. I’m not sure what had happened, but she looked like she was crying and you showed up with a blanket to sit on, a bowl of fresh fruit, and sat with her and listened intently while she spoke. It was life imitating art, right before my eyes.

Voltaire’s writing is mostly straight and to the point. It isn’t hard to decipher the messages he often tries to relay, but it was most certainly a breath of fresh air to finish that passage to find a parallel to present day. Your actions on that lawn helped me see things a little clearer.

I suppose I just wanted to thank you for that. SO, thank you for being the catalyst for making something in my brain click.

Before I close this letter off, I do have a question for you. And if you feel so inclined to indulge and answer it, you can drop it back into the envelope where you found this one and pin it back to the board.

Has anything happened to you recently that struck a chord? Something that stood out to you, but you haven’t had a chance to dive deeper into it? I’d like to know.

Enjoy your week, Clarke.

Upon tucking the printed note under her laptop, she took another look around the hall, which was now practically full. She moved her computer to the side and pulled a notepad out of her bag. The professor had started her lecture, but Clarke’s mind wandered from the images pulled up on the projector from the Spritzer space telescope as her pen started to move across the page.

Hello,

I believe you’re at an unfair advantage here. You know my name. You know what I look like. Yet I have absolutely no idea who you are. So if you write back to this, I’m hoping you’ll share some insight on the person behind the pen (or keyboard, in your instance).

I’m happy that the interaction you saw helped bring better insight into what you were working on. Coincidentally, the friend that I was with when you saw me is also reading a Voltaire piece for an assignment. I wonder if you’re in the same class?

She’s taking “Romance Studies” as an elective. I tried to convince her that there was no point harping on what was considered to be “romantic” through archaic literary pieces that are now long gone, and replaced with mediocre-at-best Netflix series about teenage love.

It always seemed that with the way things were going in our lifetime… that all “romance” really was, was when two people swiped right on Tinder.

With that said… I guess I can honestly say that your letter is what struck a chord with me. Especially after freshly coming out of that conversation with my friend.

I don’t want to be presumptuous. But it seems that this gesture of yours, whether it was meant to be platonic, or if it was meant to imply a sense of something more, is making me realize that maybe—just maybe—the practice of sharing words on a page isn’t so archaic after all.

-Clarke

She was happy with the end result of what was hurriedly committed to the page. Clarke quickly tore it from her notebook and tucked the loose piece of paper back into the envelope. She scanned her fellow students to see if anyone was watching her. She slunk further into her seat and wondered if the recipient was there, sitting in that very room. Unfortunately for her, the lecture that was being given on the Nebular Theory kept the attention of every other person in the hall, so she quickly reached for her computer to start typing notes on the theory’s premise of how every planet in the system was formed.

A tedious hour later, her fellow classmates started packing up and rushed towards the exit door. Clarke took her time shutting her computer down and tucking things away into her bag. She was suddenly aware that the person who wrote to her—the person she now wrote to—could be in the room watching her to see if she had a written response back.

She waited a few more minutes, and finally deemed it safe when the last few people in the room seemed to be chatting with one another or finishing up straightening their notes from the lecture. With a big exhale, she pinned the envelope back onto the board and made a swift exit.

Lexa felt a tap to her shoulder, which caused her to look up, “What do you want?”

“I think it worked. She put the envelope back!” the excitement in Finn’s face didn’t go unnoticed.

“Okay,” Lexa lowered her head to finish writing out her notes from the class. “Job’s done.”

“I’m gonna go get it so we can read it and figure out what to do next,” he giddily let out before darting out of Lexa’s peripheral.

She let out a sigh of distaste when he came back half a minute later and pulled a chair close to where she was sitting. “Finn, you said one letter. I did it. This is on you now. And if you don’t mind, I need to finish up here,” she raised her hand, showing she was still trying to get some of her notes done.

“Fine, suit yourself,” he propped his feet onto the table in front of them while he silently read Clarke’s reply. “Hmm, Voltaire?”

The author’s name caught Lexa’s attention. She suddenly looked up to where he was sitting, “What about him?”

“I don’t know. Clarke said something about him. That’s the bad dude from Harry Potter, right?” Finn brought his attention back to the letter. “What did our letter even say? You never even showed me.”

He handed Lexa the notebook page with loopy and wide writing on it. The edges were jagged, as if Clarke did the whole thing in haste.

“What do you want me to do with that?” Lexa eyed the piece of paper.

“Read it and let me know if you think she likes me,” Finn shrugged. “But also, why didn’t you put my number or something on it?”

“Because it’ll probably take more than one letter for her to even be open to the idea of you,” Lexa chided in her reply. She let her eyes quickly scan the girlish handwriting and folded the paper back up. “She’s definitely intrigued.”

Finn finally set his feet on the floor as he leaned forward and rubbed his hands together, “Okay, great! So what do we do now?”

“We,” Lexa pointed her pen between the two of them. “Do nothing. You can write another letter and see if she wants anything to do with you, Finn.”

“C’mon,” he nudged her shoulder. “I’ll pay ya for another one. Another $300. But we need an exit plan for when we move this from letters to texting or something.”

“Her reply literally just said that we’ve opened the idea to her that letters are romantic,” Lexa shook her head. “Your take on that was to immediately turn this to a texting conversation?”

He grabbed the letter from Lexa, “What? Where’d she said that? It doesn’t say that, Lexa.” He scratched his head.

Lexa let out a defeated sigh, “Finn. She literally said something like, ‘maybe the practice of sharing words on a page isn’t so archaic’ or something. Did we not just read the same piece of paper?”

“See, Lexa,” he smiled as he patted her shoulder. “This is why I need you. Just one or two more. Same price per letter. I just need a little more help and then I’ll be outta your hair. Promise.”

She took her palm to her forehead and rubbed her thumb into her temple. One more wouldn’t hurt. Mostly because the $300 definitely wouldn’t hurt.

“Fine,” she finally let out. “One more. Give me her letter back. I’ll have our reply ready for this same class next week.”

“Excellent,” he grinned as he handed the piece of paper over to her. “You’re a lifesaver, Lexa.”

She felt anything but that. But at least it meant she’d be able to get by for the next week or two, while Titus still screwed around with her hours at the record store.

#clexa #clexa au #clexa modern au #clexa prompt #prompt #my fic

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theparanormalperiodical · 4 years ago

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The TRUE Story Behind Friday The 13th (1980), And America’s 7 Most Haunted Campsites & Lakes That Will Definitely Ruin Your #VACAY

It was sometime around midday when Nils Gustafsson’s body was found on the shore of Lake Bodom. The 18 year old was alive, however, despite his broken jaw and the concussion.

The three people lying next to him were not.

In the early hours of June 5th 1960, Nils, Irmeli Bjorklund, Tuulikki Makiwer, and Seppo Boisman were attacked by an unknown person armed with a knife whilst camping at one of Finland’s most serene tourist spots.

12 years later, a former suspect confessed to the crime. The local kiosk keeper was known to be irritated by the presence of the youngsters in the area and it was assumed he took his rage into his own hands.

He alleged that he did indeed commit the murders in a suicide note before drowning himself in the lake that overlooked them. His wife has since provided evidence that refutes this.

This tragic story is still under investigation to this day, with the sole survivor being put up for trial for killing his own girlfriend and her friends himself. But what makes this tale quite so terrifying is that we’ve heard this story before.

We’ve read it on r/nosleep, we’ve heard it at a sleepover, and we’ve told it round the campfire. We’ve even seen it on the TV, too.

It’s been 41 years since the terrifying events at Camp Crystal Lake were recounted in the horror classic Friday The 13th (1980). But what happened at Lake Bodom is not the only time the stories we tell around the campfire actually happened. And right by the crackling logs, too.

Today we unmask the dark inspiration behind Friday The 13th and make some smores at the most haunted campsites in the US, each with their own tale as terrifying (and tragic) as what happened at Camp Crystal Lake.

First, Let’s Recap Horror’s Most Iconic Franchise, Friday The 13th

It’s not easy to summarise a franchise lumbered with 12 films, a TV series, and a gaggle of video games following in close pursuit. But I’ll try.

This American horror franchise follows Jason Voorhees, a serial killer who drowned as a child at Camp Crystal Lake while the camp councillors were having *sex*. Following this tragic event, the lake was rumoured to be cursed according to the superstitious locals and became the setting for several mass murders carried out by Jason or in his name.

It was one of the original slasher flicks released in an attempt to cash in on the success of Halloween (1978) and was actually the highest grossing horror franchise of all time - until about 3 years ago.

The reboot of it’s arch nemesis, Halloween (2018), left Jason in the shadow of Michael Myers.

The franchise starts by introducing us innocent viewers to the mysterious folklore surrounding Camp Crystal Lake when the new councillors rock up to revamp it. Then Jason Vorhees’ mother starts pickin’ em off one by one in vengeance for the death of her son who was born on - yep, you guessed it - Friday the 13th.

There’s actually not much mention of the date in the franchise, with some claiming only on his birthday does Jason commits the murders. But this is what’s so great about the films: at its core it’s a story told around the fire by American kids at summer camp.

Just like ‘The Hook’ or ‘Killer In The Backseat’, Jason’s murder spree fits a simple plot line copy-n-pasted for urban legends. There’s a mysterious killer with a mysterious motivation who does terrible things at a mysterious location.

We see the events of these baseless stories happen in the grainy footage of the 80s and the pierce-your-eyeballs HD of 2009, right where the stories are typically told. It’s meta. It’s mindful. It sounds like a boring 90 minutes stretched out of an urban legend you could tell in 45 seconds flat.

The franchise does sprinkle in a handful of bad luck symbols amidst the buckets of blood ‘n’ guts to fit the title, but it’s setting on this infamous day is merely a technicality to pull us headfirst into the not-so-urban and not-so-legendary plot line.

Most urban legends are just that: legends. Rumours pieced together from random scraps of information until they juuuuuust about make sense. But most of these rumours have basis in reality. Despite the creators claiming it was not directly based on a true story, we already know events eerily similar have taken place.

But what happened at Lake Bodom was not the only occurrence of such terrible events. We will get them later.

Even if Victor Miller wasn’t inspired by the cursed lakes and haunted campgrounds littered across the States, they clearly took inspiration from one paranormal phenomena.

(Hint: it’s in the title.)

Why Is Friday The 13th Considered Unlucky?

We’ve never had a good relationship with the number 13. Triskaidekaphobia can be traced back as far as Norse mythology when 12 gods were having a dinner party until Marvel-fan-favourite Loki arrived and arranged for someone to be shot.

The god that was shot, Balder, died, and it was then that the “earth got dark. It was a bad, unlucky day.” A similar dinner party, this time hosted by Jesus and his disciples, also gave ‘13’ a bad name.

Judas was the 13th to sit at the table during the Last Supper and his betrayal of Christ gave it its more mainstream reputation.

There are many more events like this, whether mythical or based in reality, that link the number 13 to bad luck. But what is about Friday the 13th?

Friggatriskaidekaphobia - or fear of Friday the 13th - lumps together the cursed backstory of the number 13 and the fear of the unluckiest day of the week. Eve gave Adam the apple on a Friday, their son killed his brother on a Friday, and Jesus was crucified on a Friday.

It’s not looking good.

But fear of the date Friday the 13th was only planted in mainstream Western culture in the 20th century. 73 years before Jason Vorhees mother slut-shamed those camp councillors, Thomas William Lawson published the book Friday, the Thirteenth (1907).

Lawson told the tale of an NYC stockbroker who used superstitions about the date to create chaos on Wall Street and rake in the cash.

*sweats in GameStop*

From here furore about the date festered with every occurrence (which can be as much as three times a year). There’s no escaping it, even if a hockey-masked killer is interrupting your campfire sing along.

To this day, the American economy loses about $900 million every Friday the 13th. Flights are half-filled, spending is reduced, and some daren’t leave their homes until midnight strikes.

Funnily enough, the franchise only contains 12 movies so far, but this echoes the unluckiness of 13 that much further. Another reason we fear the number is because 12 is used so much to represent completeness. The months of the year, the hours in a day - 13 goes beyond that. 13 plays on that.

It takes what we know and twists it a ‘lil. But just enough to strike fear into even the least superstitious.

The 7 Haunted Campsites And Lakes That You Should Emotionally Block Out When You’ve Finished Reading This

Holy Ghost Campground, New Mexico

Nestled in the Sante Fe National Forest, this is an isolated but serene location perfect for pitching a tent and starting a fire. But 300 years ago, something happened there that might make the howling wind that much more terrifying.

The area is reportedly haunted by the spirit of a Spanish priest murdered there in the 18th century. But the entire area has a reputation similar to the Bermuda Triangle. People just tend to disappear into thin air over there. No clothing is found and no bones or bodies are discovered.

UFOs have been sighted overhead, shadows have wandered through the forest, and voices have echoed into the night. Just like the Bermuda Triangle and the lesser-known Alaskan triangle, there are claims of a ‘cosmic doorway’ where different energies and entities flit between realms.

Big Moose Lake, New York

Grace Brown was only 18 years old when she died. She was unmarried and she was pregnant by her boyfriend, Chester Gillette. This was a bad situation to be in in 1906.

She went with her soon-to-be-fiancee to the Adirondacks mountains assuming he would propose during the trip, saving her from a ruinous fate. But one day, she would not return to the campsite from which they stayed.

Knowing she couldn’t swim, Gillette paddled their boat out to the middle of the lake, grabbed a tennis racket from inside his bag, and smashed in her head.

She then fell into the water and drowned. To this day, campers have reported supernatural occurrences around the lake. She is often seen wandering the shores of the lake, visiting the local cottages nearby, or reliving her traumatic death.

According to local legends, she is trying to extinguish all the lights in the local houses. No one knows why.

Lake Morena, California

On the other side of the US, events similar to those seen in Santa Fe were playing out.

In 1983, these supernatural occurrences were reported in the local paper: “More than Fish Haunt Morena”. Park rangers and tourists have witnessed and reported a vast range of phenomena, not limited to heavy footsteps following visitors, noticing the figure of an old man in the corner of their eye, and even seeing people levitating.

One of the most infamous sightings of paranormal activity was when a ranger had a relative staying over in his house. The relative woke up in the middle of the night to see a baby’s christening gown float across the room.

“It floated to her, brushed her cheek, floated back where she had first seen it and disappeared.”

Lake Ronkonkoma, New York

To this day many locals won’t dip a toe in Lake Ronkonkoma - and it’s easy to see why.

Long Island’s deepest lake was once the setting of a tragic love story. Just like Romeo & Juliet, but far wetter. Legend has it back in the 17th century a Native American princess fell in love with a colonist on the other side of the lake.

The star-crossed lovers were forbidden from meeting, and the princess wrote notes confessing her love on a piece of bark and floating it across the lake. Heartbroken by the lack of response, she canoed to the middle of the lake, stabbed herself in her broken heart, and her body slumped into the icy waters below.

Some versions of the legend claim before she died she cursed the lake.

Whichever you believe, the routine drowning of a young man on a yearly basis is enough to stir up the story. There have been at least 160 drownings here from the 1850s to the 1970s. A majority were men, fitting the story.

Is she still looking for the man she could never be with? Or is she punishing the local community for the divide that kept her from her love?

Lake Lanier, Georgia

There are a number of ghosts seen at this lake. There’s the spirit of a woman in a flowing blue dress roams around this lake, and several pairs of supernatural hands have been felt reaching out of the depths and grabbing swimmers mid-stroke…

But this paranormal phenomena is nothing compared to what lurks underneath the water.

The lake was actually created in the 1950s by flooding valley communities. The local government wanted to provide surrounding towns and the city of Atlanta with water and power, but to do this they’d have to create ghost towns and then effectively drown them.

Locals that had sold land to the government gathered during the building of the dam and watched the waters rising above the place they once called home. But in these communities were cemeteries. The dead did not consent to this.

More than 200 people have died in mysterious accidents on the lake since 1994.

Manchac Swamp, Louisiana

The Manchac wetlands are known for being, well, grotesque. They’re thick with pea green ooze, riddled with bugs, and festering with ‘gators. But according to some, the greatest threat was the local Voodoo priestess, Julia Brown.

She was known for her charms, curses, and singing strange songs on her porch. But there was one verse which in hindsight makes a lot of sense: "One day I’m going to die and take the whole town with me."

On the day of her funeral a huge hurricane swept through Louisiana. On September 29th 1915, the 125mph winds killed 300 people with homes, buildings, and railways destroyed.

Locals claim this was caused by a curse created by Brown. She is even rumoured to still be seen cackling by the water’s edge.

Lake Tahoe, California

Tahoe-Truckea is steeped in paranormal tales, stretching back as far as the legends of the local Native Americans. Many hotels and cabins claim to have their own supernatural entities concealed within their hotel which you can see for yourself - for a booking fee, of course.

But the spirit that haunts Emerald Bay can be seen for free.

Captain Dick Barter was known for telling stories of his seafaring days in the early 19th century. His encounters with capsizing in frosty waters, grizzly bear attacks, and by the sounds of it serious alcoholism made him talk of the town.

Apparently Captain Barter just can’t stop reliving his glory days.

One night after goin’ heavy in the bar, Barker boarded his boat to sail home. But he was never seen again. Somewhere on the route back he capsized and died. His body was never found.

His spirit is often seen swimming in the area during foggy moments, trying to find his way back to the tomb he built years before he passed.

So that was depressing.

Anyway.

If you liked this post/it traumatised you but hey you’re living for the spooks, make sure you like and reblog to let me know!

And if you simply can’t wait for more articles on the paranormal, then you best be hitting the follow button. I post a new article every weekend AND a new ghost story everyday.

(That’s really sad, isn’t it?)

Oh well. See you next week, kids!

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mimik-u · 4 years ago

Text

Fragments III, 1-100

300 drabbles about Steven Universe/Future, 100 words each! These are the first 100 prompts and writer’s choices that have been fulfilled.

Asterisks are placed next to my personal favorites that I’ve written.

Baggage* — Steven meets his new therapist!

Eternity —How about a Bellow interaction you've always wanted to see in canon but didn't get to?

Foe —Jasper is simultaneously satisfied and yet left deeply empty inside by her self-isolation on Earth, and doesn't understand how to even begin to process this dichotomy. (So she doesn’t.)

Letter — Young Greg's POV when he wrote those letters to his parents Steven found on Mr. Universe episode.

Sword —Connie interacting with someone she doesn't usually talk to by herself (ex Jasper, Bismuth, Lapis, etc.).

Reconciliation — Idk about you but I wanna see more Mega Pearl. The others have not met Mega Pearl.

Marks —How about... Spinel, and the tiny, everyday baby steps towards healing?

Tangled — Peridot finds out/is told about PD/RQ? (And is confirmed in her guess that Pearl is fancy...?)

Challenge* — How is Steven’s TubeTube channel doing?

Bruises — Priyanka tends to Connie's wounds after training sessions with Pearl. [Writer’s Choice]

Rest* — Yellow Diamond gets to relax. (She's the one who most expresses regret and real understanding. Let her take a nap! She deserves it!)

Barbecue* — Post-movie, during cleanup, Steven and Lars talk and plan the BBQ we got a glimpse at during the final song.

Ghost — Yellowtail and Greg talk about fatherhood and how it can be ruined (mentioning Marty and Greg's father subtly).

UNO* — Date between Pearls (platonic or otherwise).

Height — The pebbles!!! They're so small???? Where are they? *Sobs, points at the Heaven and Earth Beetles.*

Embrace — Steven gets a well-deserved cuddle pile from family and friends.

Constructs — Bismuth and Peridot have a lot more in common than they think.

Horns — Amethyst makes an unexpected new friend at Little Homeschool. (Whichever other character you feel would fit best!)

Garden — Pre-show scene. While having a funny chat, Greg mentions something that reminds Rose about her abandoning Spinel, which makes her regret more of her choices.

Advice — Garnet can tell when Stevonnie has a lot on their mind. [Writer’s Choice.]

Hum — Yellow and her relationship with music.

Love* — Pearl considering her romantic feelings towards someone and thinking about how she's finally moving on from Rose. (Doesn't mean she'll ever forget her.)

Kid — A glimpse into “Sadie Killer.” Maybe when they played their first show, while Steven was still in the band. Celebrating afterward or a discussion on why Steven didn't stay IN the band?

Troubleshooting* — Integration of gem communication networks and Earth Internet and phone lines and the resulting inevitable disaster.

Fairytale — Connie gets a tour of Little Homeworld.

Hope — Jasper finally starting to let her guard down and realize her self worth.

Song* — As for prompts... Steg? Like, him in general, just being himself. It's a bummer we only got to see him in the movie.

Mistakes* — Steven talking to someone (not a therapist, just another character) about his trauma?

Forgiveness — The Topaz fusion reconnects with the Crystal Gems at Little Homeschool and apologizes for her role in the kidnapping all those years ago.

Visions — Sapphire and Ruby reflect on the events of "Together Forever." [Writer’s Choice]

Reunited — Maybe a scene where Yellow comes home from a long escapade and is reunited with a worried Spinel?

Beginnings — After CYM, Lapis and Peridot discuss where to live since the barn is destroyed.

Pet* — White Diamond happily announces one day that she has decided to take in a small creature (of your choosing) as a pet.

Together — What were Doc, Army, Navy, and Leggy doing during Future?

Desert — Steven meeting Lion from Lion's perspective. I dunno, I think it could be neat.

Freedom — For a post-CYM/SU:F prompt, what do you think about the exact moment it hit either Blue or Yellow Pearl that they were completely free to follow their whims?

Apologies — Greg apologizes to Steven due to the incident in “Mr. Universe” and both have the talk they should've had in that episode.

Change — Blue and Yellow Zircon's relationship has improved even if they are now rivals in the new democratic Homeworld. This last tiny bit is related to the “Homeworld Bound” episode.

Hug — Bellow cuddling. Yellow has no idea what to do, but Blue is loving it.

Valentine* — Steven gives Peridot a Valentine's Day gift. [Writer’s Choice]

Spite — Aquamarine and Eyeball are distraught at knowing they won't be rewarded for their actions because their worst enemy, Steven Universe, has been labeled a hero and royalty by the Diamonds.

Reevaluation — How about more Peedee and Steven friendship? Like, Peedee noticing Steven’s change in demeanor the farther along the show we get?

Camp — Connie kicking ass at space camp.

Family — The night after the events of the movie, Steven gets some quality family time.

Homestretch — Peridot, Lapis, and Bismuth spend time together while preparing Little Homeworld.

Enough — We know what Jenny, Sour Cream, and Buck are gonna do for their futures, but what's Kiki been up to? Is she gonna take over the pizzeria?

Spillage — Vidalia and Amethyst catch up after Steven's monster episode.

Reformation — White Diamond has learned how to be so extremely empathetic to the point that she literally becomes another person, but has she really begun to understand others?

Comment* — Sardonyx makes some Internet videos.

Unicorn — While traveling through California, Steven encounters two fishermen arguing about unicorns. [SU/GF crossover.] [Writer’s Choice]

Worry — Andy and Greg stay in touch.

Homerun* — I hopal for Opal—perhaps she will attempt some baseball.

Skydancer — Post-CYM, Pearl getting to “truly” take Steven out for a joy ride through the cosmos in a properly operational ship of her design.

Mercy* — The shattering-is-wrong discussion between Rose and Bismuth that led to Bis being bubbled.

Happy — Smoky Quartz hasn't made a self deprecating joke in a while—is it Steven's therapy?

Electric* — Yellow’s gloves—I feel like they’re covering something up, maybe.

Cake — Fusion Cuisine 2: Electric Boogaloo.

Belonging — The Rose Quartz sisters visit again.

Transcendence — Fluorite offers someone wise caterpillar grandma advice.

March — Connie and Steven reflect on changes in life after the pandemic. Not canon compliant. [Writer’s Choice.]

Understanding — Onion be doing Onion things.

Ocean* — Andy and Steven post-”I Am My Monster”? I love their relationship, lol.

Ignorance* — Does Lapis even realize Bismuth was probably the one who poofed her?

Reflection — Did I already say more Mega Pearl? ‘Cause there can never be enough Mega Pearl.

Possibility* — Yellow deciding she should try putting shattered gems back together. (She probably broke the most.)

Storyboard — Peridot’s budding career as a storyboarder.

Fall — Lapis and Steven talk about trauma and recovery. Pre-The Future.

Limbo — How the dismantled gempire has affected the lives of noble gems like Emerald, Holly Blue Agate, and others.

Now — Garnet reminds herself to live in the present.

Grief* — Alexandrite forms for the first time. [Writer’s Choice]

Inauguration — Wait, did Connie's parents ever meet Stevonnie?

Please — Did Kevin ever learn anything? Naaaaaah....unless...

Friend — General prompt? A sequel/prequel to this, please [White D’s panther].

Treatment — Greg starting to learn more about gem stuff to be more involved in Steven's life if something ugly happens.

Numbers — Pearl, please do something with all those phone numbers in your head.

Generations — Rose continues to discover the wonders of Earth, even after all this time. (No angst allowed in this one, just pure wonder.)

Survival — The Off-Colors used to have more members in the past.

Acting — How did Rainbow 2.0 even get invited to babysit Onion?

Kindness* — Former Mayor Dewey coming to terms with his new position in town.

Play — The Gems and Greg try to capture Steven's first moments on a bike. [Writer’s Choice]

Documentary — Ronaldo makes a real actually informative documentary about Little Homeworld.

Rain — Blue Diamond still cries sometimes.

Zoophobia — Also, I saw Z and my immediate thought was "Zoophobia.”

Echo* — Why does the tiny floating whale have Rose's voice before Steven ever heard it in the tape?

Sketch — Steven and Connie discover an anime character/mythological figure who bears an awfully similar resemblance to Obsidian.

Unironically — Why does Buck wanna be a doctor?

Club — How did Bismuth, Lapis, and Peri become such tight friends?

Nostalgia — Greg considers a comeback tour.

Pressure* — The creation of the Diamonds, maybe?

Coping — Amethyst and Pearl grapple with Rose's pregnancy. [Writer’s Choice]

Theatre — Sugilite, meet Rainbow 2.0.

Dadhood* — Whatever happened to Mrs. Fryman? IS there a Mrs. Fryman, or was it only a passing on-and-off thing that resulted in kids?

Lingering — Jasper finally lets Malachite go.

Human — Steven talks to his therapist about his mom, the feelings of before and the now. (It was left open-ended—his relationship with his mother.)

Words — Kofi is proud of his daughters.

Quest — [Letter prompt] Quest.

Picture — Sour Cream and Steven talking about absent parents and bad parenting. Post-The Future.

Bittersweet* — Shep finally gets to meet the notorious Lars.

Gemini — Spinel discovers memes and we're all doomed.

Weird — When he's younger, Steven doesn't quite know how to label the Gems.

#mimiku #steven universe #100 fragments!!!!!#fragments iii

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dancing-withthedoctor · 3 years ago

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Okey so Hi, me again! :)

I am actually wondering if the main characters are humans or/and other creatures?

Also, if you want to share it of course, I am wondering what relation are between them? Like how did they met and why? Maybe there's bigger purpose behind it?

*all their names have meanings and direct connects to who they are i just forget some of them

here are their character sheets and a little worldbuilding mixed in

Name: Uriel

Gender: Male (he/him)

Race/Ethnicity: Angel, Caucasian

Age: Unknown (roughly 20 in human years if I had to give a number)

Family/Ancestry: An angel created by God, hierarchy system of angels (Archangels -> angels -> humans, this hierarchy system is only specific to their Realm), no "blood relatives", angels intended purpose is to protect and serve humans while providing knowledge, wisdom, and guidance

Realm: Realm of Angels (this name is a wip)

Appearance: light skin, blue eyes, silky long white hair, 6’ 1”, slender body, wears a pure cotton full body robe

Personality: quiet, observant, reserved, has a fascination with knowledge and learning about other cultures, is learning to have empathy for the other races however it’s not tolerated towards the Fallen

Hobbies: playing his harp, reading history books, (with his exploration in the book he develops the hobbies of talking walks in the woods/enjoying nature, collects plants and herbs for fun)

Abilities: has the ability to heal, though healing only goes so far, wings can help him fly, trained at a young age to use a sword in combat if necessary

Sexuality: Asexual

~~~~

Name: Azazel (Nickname: Zaz)

Gender: Male (He/Him)

Race/Ethnicity: Angel (Fallen), Mixed (Caucasian/African)

Age: Unknown (roughly 21 or so in human years if i had to give a number)

Family/Ancestry: was created by God, no longer associated with the Angels, no “blood relatives”, considered to be a Fallen due to past transgressions, has a younger sister (not by blood) that he has protected ever since he lost his right to be an Angel

Realm: Realm of Obscurum (obscurum means darkness in latin)

Appearance: Brown skin, red (maroon) eyes , medium length dark hair with streaks of white, 5’ 10”, slightly muscular build, wears a thin black turtleneck sweater, black cargo pants, combat boots, and a hooded cape

Personality: withdrawn due to his outcasting, empathetic but doesn’t express emotions well, aggressive, doesn’t trust people well, protector

Hobbies: hunting, collecting herbs (natural healing remedies), sharpening knives, playing with his sister

Abilities: was trained in sword wielding, but he prefers smaller dual wielding knives like daggers, hand-to-hand combat, used to have the ability to heal, knows a lot about the body

Sexuality: Gay (no this is not the reason he got cast out of the Realm of Angels)

~~~~

Name: Mitis (Nickname: Tess) (mitis means gentle in latin)

Gender: Non-binary (she/they), they use their pronouns interchangeably, however in her human form she prefers (she/her) and in their fae form they prefer (they/them)

Race/Ethnicity: Faerie, Scottish or Irish i can't decide lol

Age: 300 (roughly 19 years human age)

Family/Ancestry: Faeries have been around longer than the comprehension of the human mind. Mitis comes from a large family, filled with more brothers and sisters than she can count. Fae culture is deep rooted in survival, family, and trust. In their nature states, the fae are easily controlled due to their small size, so over the years with their magic, they can now present as human if they so choose

Realm: Realm of Faes

Appearance: in her “human form” she’s 5’ 1”, red curly hair (wears a crown made of twigs, leaves, and flowers), freckles across their cheeks, green eyes, wears a short dress made of lilies, in her fae form, they look exactly the same but she’s an inch tall

Personality: peacekeeper, kind and loyal, headstrong, pacifist, wants to be a hero, wants to be considered an individual, but since she has so many siblings, she gets referred to as “they” and the pronoun stuck but it's comforting for them, extrovert

Hobbies: reading, drawing maps, playing and talking with her siblings

Abilities: human form: bow and arrow (since being human is new and recent ability for the fae, she taught herself how to use a bow and arrow to defend herself), fae form: plant type magic (since they have developed their powers from birth, it's the strongest magic they possess)

Sexuality: Pansexual

~~~~

Name: Sibyl (nickname: Sib) (another word for seer)

Gender: Female (She/Her)

Race/Ethnicity: Human, Mixed (Filipino/Caucasian)

Age: 19

Family/Ancestry: Humans have been kept in check by the other Realms, but with that being said, they are the lowest Realm in terms of wealth and power. The Archangels in the Realm of Angels are in charge of looking after and governing the Realm of Humans as it is their duty to. She grew up without knowing her father, living with a single mother. She was blind at birth, but was also given the ability to see into the future. Maybe her father had magical abilities? But as far as anyone is concerned he was human too.

Realm: Realm of Humans (might change this name later)

Appearance: tan skin, short wavy black hair (neck length), grey eyes, 5’, wears a dark blue dress with see through sleeves (a slit down the middle of the sleeve), with a dark blue hooded cape, wears a belt with her essentials (weapons, food, water, etc)

Personality: Due to being exploited at a young age for her Seer Powers (as a way for her and her mother to make money), she has grown a distaste for people and beings in general, stubborn, manipulative, cold

Hobbies: Unknown

Abilities: can see into the future, can use her ability willingly when physically connected to the person in question, has some fighting abilities due to other heightened senses,, overexertion causes headaches and nosebleeds

Sexuality: Unknown (questioning)

~~~~

Name: Indra (means warrior god of sky and rain in indian)

Gender: Female (She/Her)

Race/Ethnicity: Water Nymph, Indian

Age: 18 (water nymph years)

Family/Ancestry: Water Nymphs come from the ancestry of all women. Water nymphs are “born” during heavy rainstorms or thunderstorms. Heavy rainstorms/thunderstorms only happen roughly every few centuries due to water nymphs having a shorter lifespan (mother nature type of situation, in order to not flood the world). Water Nymphs tend to stay in one area, but the ocean is expanding drastically. Indra was born during one of the most destructive rainstorms of the century, she was the only one born that century and that’s how she received her name. She was raised by a community of Water Nymphs, she considers them all her sisters.

Realm: Realm of Nexus (Realm of Nexus is the largest of the physical present Realms on the planet)

Appearance: blue skin, plump cheeks, dark long wavy hair, purple/violet eyes, 5’ 3”, wears a tube top and high/low flared shirt, wear a bracelet made of grass and it has a little water lily attached to it

Personality: positive, free-spirited, emotionally oriented, headstrong, mischievous

Hobbies: swimming, taking care of animals, sunbathing, having conversations with people close to her, training

Abilities: emotional based powers, powers are heightened when her emotions are heightened (both positive and negative emotions), negative emotions are more destructive while positive emotions are more creative, uses water around her as a weapon

Sexuality: Straight

~~~~

Name: Lunar

Gender: Male (He/Him)

Race/Ethnicity: idk he's from the moon :), African

Age: 19

Family/Ancestry: Not much is known about space and anything beyond Earth (aside from the Realm of Angels), but what is being recently discovered is that there is a civilization on the Moon, a new peace treaty was introduced and now they are considered a Realm. No one really knows how they got there, but they are similar to humans except they use telepathic communication to reach each other. Talking vocally is not uncommon, Lunar has selective mutism which means at a younger something traumatic happened and he chooses not to speak. Lunar was picked to explore Earth and everything it has to offer. Lunar comes from a family of four; a mother, father, and a younger sister. Lunar uses telepathic communication, written communication, and USL (universal sign language) to communicate with others.

Realm: currently travelling between realms *an excuse to not call it Realm of the Moon 🤡

Appearance: long braided white hair, blue-grey skin tone, dark blue eyes, 5’ 5”, lanky build (but also stronger than he looks), wears white dress shirt with a dark blue vest, belt, and black pants, wears dress shoes, wears a satchel that holds his notebook and pen (his communication devices)

Personality: calm, quiet, reasonable, strategic, sweet, great listener

Hobbies: charting stars, playing with his younger sister, traveling

Abilities: telepathic, can communicate with others through his mind (with their permission), if there is a full moon, he can manipulate people’s thoughts though he's never done so, when communicating out-of-mind; he signs or writes it in his notebook

Sexuality: Straight

~~~~

As for the next part of your ask, im completely fine talking about their relationships with each other and how they met (though as of rn, some stuff is set in stone and other aren't)

let's start with ships! so there are 2 ships out of the six and only one of them is romantic. lunar and indra will eventually be in a romantic relationship, they were the easiest to pair together. I first created what kind of being they were going to be. indra and lunar are inspired by the fact that the moon pulls the tides on the earth, so you could say its fate :') the second relationship is uriel and azazel, they are platonic soulmates. i had to give a lot of thought about uriel and azazel's relationship and what I wanted it to be or mean. all I can say is, is that uriel is asexual and comes to that revelation through self growth with zaz! I also thought about having mitis and sibyl have some kind of romantic relationship, but I didn't feel right so they are simply friends and who will eventually trust each other a great deal.

i like to think of them as a family: uriel and zaz are like the parents of the group (zaz will never admit it though), mitis and indra and the mischievous kids, they mess around and do dumb stuff because it looks fun, sibyl is like the brooding teenager (if this world had headphones, she'd never listen to anybody), and lunar is just the good kid parents always want lol

next is how they all met! this is actually what I'm trying to figure out in my writing right now, so its great that you asked this because I can think on it and solidify it more. the rough idea i have, is that uriel finds an old book hidden behind a wall or a bookshelf in one of the historical archives that tells a story of the future (Uriel's present) of the event of a catastrophe that hasn't happened yet, but six individuals from all 6 Relams needing to save the world. uriel is essentially the catalyst that gets the group together because curiosity got the best of him. in terms of the order they met: Uriel meets Sibyl because he was assigned to monitor her and guided her cause she was causing ruckus in the Realm of Human. Sibyl gets a glimpse of the future and decides to trust him enough to see this through, they then meet Azazel, Mitis, and Indra (though I don't know what specific order yet) and Lunar is last, and they literally just run into him as their traveling in the woods like "who are you 😳"

also yes, them coming together definitely has more than its letting on, but I'll keep it to myself for now ;)

~~~~

im still working out the kinks of the whole "saving the world" bit and whether or not I should introduce a villain to the story! but each of the main six do have problems of their own they have to solve and most importantly they have to learn to coexist because the fate of the world depends on it

im sorry this post was so long, it was probably a lot of reading, but I meant it when I said I'd talk your ear off lol feel free to ask more questions:)

#ocs #fantasy writing #fantasy #character sheet #surprise im writing a book

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corpsentry · 4 years ago

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behind the taylor swift gundam was in fact another, smaller gundam: a brief inquiry into the events of june 2020

so back in june this year june and i got together and we made this motherfucker of a story with this motherfucker of a thread to keep track of it all. but you already know that! and i’ve already got one foot and three elbows in my grave, so i’ll spare you the long-winded stuff. you wanna know how i wrote 93,035 words in 4 weeks? i’ll tell you how i wrote 93,035 words in 4 weeks-

-by linking you guys to copies of my planning documents because i feel like those words speak louder than any words i can offer in the present day. these are long documents. but they are also historical artifacts. very interesting. very weird. very, uh, full of cussing. so anyway, here’s

BIG DADDY: THE ORIGINAL PLANNING DOCUMENT

for those, like me, who have no motivation left in life to do anything and rely on summaries from others to acquire new knowledge, it all started with a single line.

prince of a fallen kingdom atsumu tries to kill hinata but falls in love with him instead

june, april something, 2020

with that in mind i tested the concept out with a few paragraphs of text, which you can find at the bottom of the Big Daddy document in the graveyard segment, accidentally sold my soul to the image of hinata with epaulettes, and then worked backwards, structuring an entire plot around two images:

a) hinata getting the shit beat out of him, with snark b) hinata and atsumu dancing in an empty ballroom under the stars

if you want a betrayal, you have to have something worth losing. if you want to fall in love with someone you don’t know, you have to meet them. if you have to meet them, there has to be a reason for that meeting, and so somewhere in between atsumu became a sword instructor and hinata the prince with daddy issues. june and i used this method of glancing anxiously over your shoulder to see what you’d missed to fill out the blanks in the story, after which i tacked up a bunch of post-its, typed out the plot, consulted june, typed out the plot again, and then broke the characters down into a bunch of questions, like ‘what do they want?’ and ‘what do they have?’ and ‘what are they afraid of?’

with the plot more or less ironed out, i decided it was time to start writing, and then i decided that i was actually too scared to start writing after all, so instead i set a couple of timers using classroomtimers.com (15-20 minutes long) and i sat down and i wrote about the world that hinata and atsumu inhabited.

each warm-up was 300-500 words long, and for the first few days, i’d write one before getting into writing the story proper. later these evolved into simply picking a scene from the story and launching straight into it, which became useful for opening those scenes later when i got to them organically.

then i got lazy! so i stopped. but these shitty little exercises were really useful for me because, unfettered by plot, convention, or any kind of tradition hovering over my shoulder, i was able to fuck around loosely enough to realize what i wanted this story to be. it was a very contrived kind of trial-and-error, an exploration of the characters, the story, but most importantly, the tone.

RESEARCH, PLANNING, AND VICTORIAN BOUGIE FASHION

this is a loose map of the castle and Important Locations within it, which i drew up at the start so i could keep track of where everything was and how i could get my characters from point A to point B. i wanted the story to have Some kind of internal logic, you know, even if that logic amounted to ‘a compass would function normally in this world whereas kageyama tobio would not’.

99% of my planning and organizing within those five weeks took place in this lovely dotted cat journal which my sister gave me for my birthday and i repurposed into a metaphorical Diary of Suffering while working on juno. i used it for everything from keeping track of narrative threads to clothing consistency checks, but the main purpose was this: each day at about 10 pm i’d crack open the cat book to a fresh page, stamp the date and the day of suffering at the top, and then write down a list of things i wanted to write, address, or fix today. then i’d sit at my laptop and write like a madman until about 7 in the morning. with breaks, of course, for sitting in the bathroom and staring at the wall and sitting in the kitchen and staring at the wall, but mostly i was writing. and complaining about writing. you were there, you probably remember that.

anyway, here are some pages from the cat book.

aside from the fact that my handwriting is complete shit, you can see that i made zero effort for any of this to be presentable. it was mainly a way for me to keep track of my thoughts because i have the attention span of an ikea wardrobe and tend to forget things as soon as i think of them. the lack of structure also mirrored the way that i went about writing juno. while i did proceed, for the most part, in chronological order, i had a lot of weird and useless revelations during lunch, which by this point was happening around 2 am, and in the 5 minutes before the exhaustion finally hit and carried me down to hell. i changed A Lot. again, to understand exactly how much the story evolved from day one onwards, please consult the big daddy document.

in the meantime, here’s something else.

once june sent over hinata and atsumu’s character designs i sat down like the fucking fool i am and spent 2 hours poring over a document about victorian and other fashion movements of the past so i could assign a noun, adjective, and verb to each element of their outfits. i don’t know why i did this. i certainly could have not, but i attempted to make sense of their ‘fits from a logistical perspective and that went into the cat book too. everything went into the cat book. the cat book is a relic of the past now, stuffed with artifacts such as the birth of oikawa tooru, and also his demise.

MEDIUM DADDY: EDITING, PROOFREADING, AND CREEPY MURDER CATS

i finished writing on june 26th, 2020, approximately a month after i’d first started planning, somewhere around may 27th or 28th. at that point i had about 90,000 words’ worth of story and no sanity left whatsoever, so i took a day-long break to stare at a wall and listen to taylor swift’s enchanted on loop.

and then i made a new document, which you can look at using the link above, and i laid out everything i had to do. i’d discovered a fuck ton of plot inconsistencies and general errors while writing and lying awake in bed at 9 a.m., sleepless in seattle, and now that i was free of the demon egging me towards the first finish line, it was time to Deal with them. i speed-scrolled through the draft, which was 200+ pages compressed into one google doc, because i like to tempt god’s wrath, and fixed up all the plot issues over the course of a few days. this was the fun part.

the actual, hard editing was the extremely un-fun part. i reread the entire thing, paragraph by paragraph, line by damn line, from start to finish, paying especially close attention to awkward phrasing, incomplete dialogue, and moments which had fallen flat in my haste to get on to the next one. this was really fucking terrible. i spent more time lying facedown on the floor than actually editing anything, but after a long time (about a week), that, too was done.

SMALL DADDY: TITLES, SUMMARIES, AND GOOD FUCKING BYES

i spent a good eighty days thinking about the title, though hilariously enough we ended up with something that was a blend of our names. june + elmo = juno, which is, all things considered, pretty perfect, but the process of picking the title was Hell, and i Did Not Come Up With The Title until about 2 hours before posting. you can take a look at the haphazard clusterfuck of my title-selecting process in small daddy, which is linked above.

so the title was a last-minute choice. so was the summary. and the chapter divisions. and actually all the songs in the playlist for juno. the day we dropped juno onto planet earth like a newborn baby pitched out of the sky, i spent an hour hunched over my laptop, cutting my 213 page google doc into chapters based on nothing more than a Vibe. two days before that, i also attempted to voice-act the entirety of juno, an affair which ended at the 20,000 word mark with a sore throat and the kind of exhaustion one typically wants to sleep in a coffin for 23 years to get rid of. so in all honesty, i did very little editing, which is why there are definitely minor typos and/or mistakes hanging out somewhere on that chunky ao3 webpage. but whatever.

my attitude by july 5th (was it july 5th? or 4th? somewhere around there) was basically whatever. anything so i could get finish this damn thing, chuck it out of the window, and never see another google doc until the next century. i’ve been asked a few times how exactly i wrote at a rate of roughly 2000-3000 words per day for four weeks straight, and my answer has always been this: i died. what died, you ask? my soul. my spirit. my Will To Live. i’m a creature of fixations, and juno was my fixation for june. will i ever be able to do this again? would i recommend this experience to anyone? is god real? the answer to all of the above is probably no. juno was a fever dream, and so is my cat book. and so are all the lattes i had. and so was my 9 am to 4 pm sleep schedule.

but what we made is real. the research, oikawa tooru, the 4 am conversations in which i was like ‘how the fuck do i end this’ and june was like ‘jade proposal’ (the proposal was her idea. all rise for twitter user atsuhinas. she is the mastermind behind all of the Inch Resting moments in this story; i just flapped a korok leaf in her direction and made sure the air circulation was working properly) are real as fuck, and looking back, there’s a lot i’d change, but i’m lazy. and college is starting. and anyway, i did write 93,035 words in just under five weeks, four if you don’t count the week of Editing Hell, so i think that’s pretty cool.

thank you for reading this to the end, and for following us on our journey through the enigmatic taylor swift gundam fic which quite literally consumed my entire twitter account for the five weeks i spent working on it. retrospectively speaking i really was butt-obsessed so i am frankly incredibly impressed with everyone around me for putting up with a Husk of a Man for a month. thank you for doing that. thank you for indulging my vague tweeting, and our butterfly dns, and for reading 93 thousand words of gay fanfiction set in a high fantasy world with epaulettes and galettes. on behalf of june, once again, we are incredibly grateful for all your support.

if you have any questions about specific aspects of the writing process, or anything you’d like to know in general with reference to JUNO, feel free to drop me an ask through my tumblr inbox, or through my curiouscat over here. i’m aware i didn’t cover everything, but there’s frankly too much to put in a tumblr post without passing away somewhere around the 56% mark, so let me know what’s on your mind, and i’ll try to answer that to the best of my abilities. but anyway, before i go, here are some

TAKEAWAYS

one: don’t try to write 93,000 words in five weeks. seriously don’t fucking do it you will end up jittery and sleep-deprived and you will leave all your friends on read for a month. pace yourself. set realistic goals. you wrote 2k this week? that’s fantastic. you wrote 4k in a day? you absolute motherfucker. i hope you’re taking a long fucking break tomorrow. your story will not run away from you, but if you run too fast, you will get tired, and then you will pass away.

two: you don’t have to know everything about your story before you start writing. in fact if you have a single camera shot of two characters holding hands under a rose garden awning, i think that’s fucking wonderful. if you look at big daddy, you’ll realize that my initial plot draft, and all the ones following that, are not perfectly aligned with the final version of juno. i improvised over half of the scenes in this motherfucker, and to be completely honest, some of the improvised scenes were the best. fucking oikawa tooru was improvised out of nowhere. he only got written in way later, around chapter 8 or something, because i realized i needed a plot device and a source of information to keep the playing table from toppling over. i Sat Down one day and was like ‘okay, it’s time to write oikawa into the introduction. because he matters now. he didn’t matter last week but now he does, and soon he’s going to be the fulcrum of the entire story, because it’s like that with oikawa tooru’. it’s okay to change your mind halfway. it’s okay to go back and rewrite entire scenes or segments. it’s okay to highlight 4 pages of fresh, sentimental writing, and hit delete. writing is a fluid process, and you Will make discoveries as you progress through your story alongside your characters. be understanding of that iterative process. be kind to yourself.

three: You Are That Motherfucker. you, me, your dog, your dog’s friend, your dog’s enemy, all of us are that motherfucker. i never thought i’d be able to write anything longer than the great big map, which was a much simpler, linear story in which the other main character did not appear in the current timeline until like the eighth chapter. juno was different. juno was the motherfucker, and i was scared shitless of it, and to cope with that fear joked constantly while writing that it’d never see the light of day.

but it did. it was a rocky process, and i was awake for 48 hours after posting it because of the sheer adrenalin stuck in my skull, but i got through it. and i wouldn’t have been able to do it without june, who stepped in when i flopped over facedown on the floor and dragged me to my feet like the badass friend she is, and without everyone else in my life, who put up with me talking about The Thing that i couldn’t really talk about, but juno’s up there now. forever, or until the internet collapses and civilization goes extinct. and if the nineteen year old clown with the attention span of an ikea armchair and an a level certificate from hell wrote the 93,000 word long thing, so can you. i mean this completely unironically and with every ounce of genuine emotion i can summon from the cracked asshole of my heart.

writing is hard. writing is scary. writing is an investigation of the world around you and therefore, by extension, yourself, and that kind of honesty is freaky. it’s like going skinny-dipping next to the president’s mansion. who’s going to see you? what if they take a photo? what if you lose your spot at university?

but don’t think about that. our world is overrun with stories the way cereal bowls are full of cereal, but it’s those stories that keep us all sane in the disgusting day-to-day muck of reality, so think about your story. what’s haunting you today? what message do you want to leave printed in font size 666 comic sans across the southern hemisphere of the planet? what will you be tomorrow?

a writer. you’re going to be a motherfucking writer.

#my stuff

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brunomarsnetworth · 3 years ago

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Bruno Mars Net Worth

Bruno Mars net worth and profession revenue: Bruno Mars is definitely an American citizen vocalist-songwriter and document maker having a net worth of $175 million. Bruno Mars has liked a large musical profession with many hits. Also, he frequently functions around the music of other musicians, providing excellent vocals. He or she is incredibly successful in fiscal terms at the same time, since he has sold around 130 thousand albums worldwide. This makes him among the finest-marketing performers in recent history. Mars shot to fame extremely rapidly right after his job was launched in 2010, and now he is identified among the most influential music artists and bands on earth.

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