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hivefleet-hellbender · 1 year

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Out in the desert, no one can find you... (Hex Tiles 1)

A sharp wind whistles through the desert dunes, bringing no reprieve to the travelers following the thin paths left out in the sand. Don't drink from the river — the plants that grow along its shores contain toxins that could leave a grown man coughing up blood, and chemical spills float through the current. A faraway road carries the rare drone-tank, long abandoned from any sort of human use.

My newest hobby, to distract myself on months when the purse is a bit too tight to be buying plastic crack from Games Workshop, is to build modular hex tiles! It's super easy — I pick up a hundred of these wooden MDF tiles from Amazon for $10 (they're advertised as 2", but they're 1.75" from tip to tip, and each side is 1"), grab any spare craft supplies I have lying around, and get to work! They're super quick (this first batch of one hundred took me around a week) and they open the door to a lot of cool experimentation. A lot of this is inspired by the work of u/Marcus_Machiavelli over on Reddit, who makes these fantastic modular hive city components that I hope to someday be able to emulate.

I'm making these for two purposes, neither of which I've put in practice yet but I'm hoping to get to do at some point. They're for:

Any mass-battle games played at 6mm. This could also work for Adeptus Titanicus or the upcoming Epic reboot that Games Workshop is working on.

Tactical TTRPGs like Lancer that are played with large beings, who can operate on a 6mm scale.

Once I get some games in with them, I'm sure I'll encounter future problems and reassess how I approach them. But for now, this is what I've got!

I Hate Sand

The first set of tiles I made, to serve as the backdrop for the rest of them, are these sand tiles. I chose to make this a desert (and thus make a bunch of sand tiles) because I already had some sand lying around, and because it's really cheap and easy to work with. Be careful though! Anakin was right; sand sucks. Try and pick up a finer grain than what I went with, apply the sand in a more-controlled location than I did, and secure it better than I did too. But here's how I did them:

Coat the surface of the hex with a mix of PVA glue and water.

Sprinkle on a light dusting of gravel or small rocks.

Apply a thick coat of sand on top of the gravel.

Knock off excess sand and recycle it for next time.

Spray with 1-2 layers of varnish. (I would recommend a sealant instead, but I didn't have any at the time)

For the ones with little paths on them, I painted the path on with White before applying the gravel or sand, and it shows through well enough! The paths are unnecessary — they're a fun experiment, but I don't think I'll be making more of them in the future.

The Gurgling Creek

Making the river tiles was a bit more involved, but still pretty easy. The method I came up with I think looks a lot better than just painting on water, and is a lot easier to work with than resin or water effects.

Use some kind of texture gel to build up the riverbanks, trying to have them end around 1/4" on the sides of the tiles where you want your river to connect.

Paint a strip Black where you want the river to flow, running from one edge to another.

Apply sand as before, everywhere except where you painted the black. (If you're worried about fucking this up, you can swap the order)

Varnish (or use sealant) as before.

Take some gloss mod podge and mix it with a light blue paint, and apply in large goopy quantities everywhere you want water to be. Leave overnight to dry. (If you want the river to be less cloudy, apply many thin coats of mod podge instead, letting each layer dry before applying the next)

As an extra, stipple green along the edges of the water and use a dark green wash to create patches of vegetation.

The river pieces are my favorites, and I'm the most proud of them. The tiny bridge was a thin strip of balsa wood, painted white and then washed black. It turned out fine.

I did a solid mix of straight river pieces and curving river pieces. If I was going to do it again I'd make more curving pieces than straight river pieces, because the curving ones make more sense for how rivers work.

The Road To Nowhere

These road tiles turned out really well, perfect for a run-down highway in the middle of nowhere. Here's how I made them:

Take a piece of corkboard and cut it down to be 1.75" long and 1" wide.

Glue it on a hex with the two edges of the corkboard touching two sides of the hex.

Go at the edges with a knife, making it all worn down and busted up.

In some of these spots, I fucked up and glued the corkboard on wrong. To fix that, break off a chunk and reposition it so it'll connect correctly. This will look like a big fat crack in the middle of the road, which is perfect.

Coat in a layer of mod podge or PVA glue. Leave to dry.

Once dry, paint the cork entirely Gray.

Drybrush White onto the corkboard, focusing on the edges and exposed spots.

Paint two thin yellow lines along the middle of the road. (These are optional, but they do a lot to make the 6mm scale convincing)

Apply sand, as before, onto the ground and up the sides of the road, so it looks like the road is emerging from the sand. Maybe apply some sand in a couple spots in the cracks to make it look like the sand has gotten in there.

Varnish and/or sealant, as before.

Apply a Black wash to the road. (There's a lot of tricks here! If you want the yellow stripes to be more vibrant, you can only paint them on after the first black wash. You can also target spots of sand on the road to make it look like it's asphalt runoff, soaking black into the cracks.)

Apply a second Black wash to the road.

The bridge was a bit more complicated, and took some finicky positioning and a trip to Kung-Fu Tea.

Take a boba tea straw and cut it into 1" segments, then cut them in half, gluing them to the middle of the hex as culverts.

Take corkboard and glue it over the culverts, bending it so it meets the two edges you want the bridge to run along. If it breaks, that's okay — this is a crumbling, middle-of-nowhere bridge.

Use texture gel and spare corkboard to fill in the gaps.

Use texture gel to define the steep edges of the river. Apply a little bit in between the culverts.

Do all the road steps to the road part of the bridge, and all the river steps to the river part of the bridge.

I'm exceedingly proud of the bridge hex. It turned out perfectly, and feels very emblematic of what I want this project to be like.

Why You, Too, Should Make 6mm Terrain

6mm terrain is amazing to make. Mistakes look like part of the landscape or the brain smudges them over due to the small size, and small changes look like fascinating little details. It really opens the imaginative space and I absolutely adore working at this scale. Plus I'm developing a ton of experience with various materials I've never worked with before, so I get to enjoy the triumph of carving foam or corkboard. It rules! I might even try to make a 28mm bridge after the success I had making a 6mm one.

My future plans for this project include cliffs, craters, 3D-printed shantytowns, and overpasses. But all that is for a later date — for now I'm gonna rest on my laurels, and spend the rest of the evening reconfiguring various tile combinations and cackling like a mad scientist.

#6mm #epic 40k #terrain #warhammer 40k #terrain building

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bluedragonfairy2000 · 9 months

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Ok since no one else has done it yet I thought I would provide a list of all of the staffs used in AVM 33

Warning Spoilers Below:

Alright I’m going to do this in order:

Diamond staff: Blunt weapon/possible creation (destroyed the majority of a brick wall. It is assumed that it can also create diamond blocks but this has not been confirmed.)

Netherite staff: Blunt weapon/possible creation (destroyed the entire brick wall and a large portion of the surrounding area. It is assumed that it can also create netherite blocks but this has not been confirmed.)

Obsidian staff: displacement/creation (didn’t destroy any of the wall but did push several of the bricks back in a dent formation. This staff can also create obsidian)

Bedrock staff: displacement/creation (seems to be a stronger and more accurate version of the Obsidian staff. It only sent a 3x3 chuck out of the wall and off the screen before pushing a larger portion of the wall away from the bast when TSC pointed at a larger section of the wall. This staff can also create bedrock.)

Wool staff: creation (can create anything that is made out of wool, such as carpets and wool blocks. It is unknown if it can change the color of the wool, though I assume the wool is stuck being whatever color wool is placed into the staff.)

Cobblestone staff: creation (can create anything that is made out of cobblestone. This includes blocks, slabs, stairs, and walls. Given my initial assumption about the wool staff it can be assumed that any stone block should work in roughly the same way only replacing the material with whatever stone block is used.)

Oak wood staff: creation (can create anything that is made out of oak wood. This includes logs, planks, slabs, stairs, fence posts, and even doors. Going off my initial assumption I would assume this works for each type of wood individually.)

Crafting table staff: creation (This staff needs to be supplied with raw materials. However, if these materials are supplied the staff will absorb them and instantly craft whatever the user is thinking about. It is assumed that it can also create crafting tables but this has not been confirmed.)

Furnace staff: cooking/smelting/possible creation (will instantly cook/smelt any item you wave it over as long as it is something that can be typically cooked/smelted in a regular furnace. It is assumed that it can also create furnaces but this has not been confirmed.)

Enchanting table staff: enchanting/possible creation (can add any enchantments to any item or person regardless of what the item is or what enchantment it already has. An extreme example is when Yellow added Flame aspect to some carrots that Red had so he could use them as flaming projectiles. It is assumed that it can also create enchanting tables but this has not been confirmed.)

Brewing stand staff: projectiles/possible creation (can brew and and dispense splash potions of any potions that the user knows. It can also shoot out a ray of colorful potion smoke which seems to only be able to blind a target. It is assumed that it can also create brewing stands but this has not been confirmed.)

Note block staff: projectiles/possible creation (can create musical notes which can damage targets while also being quite pleasant to listen too. It can also make a musical staff which can increase the amount of notes and damage that a target has to face. It is assumed that it can also create noteblocks but this has not been confirmed.)

End portal frame staff: teleportation/possible creation (can create space like portals that a user can user to teleport wherever they want. If a user gets trapped in between these portals the will be lost in a space themed pocket dimension. It is assumed that it can also create end portal frames but this has not been confirmed.)

Spawner staff: creation/summoning (can create/summon any mob the user can think of even if the mob is a hybrid of two separate mobs. These mobs seemed to be loyal to whoever summoned them. It is assumed that it can also create spawners but this has not been confirmed.)

Bone staff: gardening (will instantly place bonemeal on any plants the staff is directed towards almost instantaneously growing whatever crop it is directed towards. It is assumed that it can also create bone blocks but this has not been confirmed.)

Magma block staff: blunt weapon/projectile/possible creation (can both be used to hit users and set them on fire or can launch flame charges at a target. It is assumed that it can also create magma blocks but this has not been confirmed.)

Piston staff: transportation/possible creation (can be used to push someone or something either away from the user or the user can use it to launch themselves in a direction. The pistons arm can extend over great lengths. It is assumed that it can also create pistons but this has not been confirmed.)

Campfire staff: projectile/possible creation (launches a large flaming burst at the target. This burst can also be used to fly around like a rocket. It is assumed that it can also create campfires but this has not been confirmed.)

Anvil staff: blunt weapon/possible creation (this staff is far too heavy to be normally used. However if one were able to lift it and use it the blow would likely be enough to knock some unconscious if not kill them out right. It is assumed that it can also create anvils but this has not been confirmed.)

Dispenser staff: projectiles/possible creation (this staff needs to be loaded with ammo to work. Any ammo will work but some of the more effective ammo are arrows, fireworks, eggs, and snowballs. Once loaded this staff can fire the projectile and an alarmingly rapid speed toward the target. It is assumed that it can also create dispensers but this has not been confirmed.)

TNT staff: projectile (this staff lights and launches a block of TNT which each swing. These blocks will land near a target and explode after a minute.)

Redstone staff: charging/projectile/possible creation (this staff can send any redstone device that it is pointed at into overdrive. However the user must be careful as at higher intensities this staff can produce a extremely destructive lazer beam. It is assumed that it can also create Redstone blocks but this has not been confirmed.)

Lapis staff: transportation/possible creation (this staff will cause the user and anything else that it is directed at to float. This staff can also shoot out a intense magical beam as an attack. It is assumed that it can also create lapis blocks but this has not been confirmed.)

Command block staff: control/possible creation (This staff allows the user to instantly set any command that a typical command block can produce without having to type it in. However the user must know how a command block works for this staff to function. It is assumed that it can also create command blocks but this has not been confirmed.)

Lucky block staff: unstable (This staff is highly dangerous and it is advised to never create or use it to to it’s unstable nature. This staff can summon lucky blocks. It can also transform any item or target it is directed at into any random item or target that can be found in the lucky block dimension. Warning the lucky block in the staff can turn into a random block at any time. This will give the staff whatever properties that block usually gives the staff until the luck block changes back. The luck block staff may also become sentient due to the instability it causes in the lucky block dimension. In which case your best case scenario is to run and hopefully find a way to separate the luck block from the staff. If this happens to you, good luck!)

Netherack staff: creation (can create and summon netherack. Little else is know about this staff but it is assumed that it acts similarly to the Cobblestone staff.)

Bookshelf staff: projectiles/possible creation. (This staff can create and launch paper and books at a target. It can also be assumed that this staff create bookshelves but this is not confirmed.)

Dripstone staff: creation/weapon (can create large stalagtites and stalagmites to attack foes. This staff can possibly also create dripstone blocks but this is not confirmed.)

Grindstone staff: weapon/possible creation (This staff seems to act as if the grindstone at the end of it was a buzzsaw. As such this staff can cut through opponents and blocks as long as it makes contact. It is assumed that it can also create grindstones but this has not been confirmed.)

Beehive staff: summoning/possible creation (can contain and release many bees, including hybrid bees It is assumed that it can also create beehive, which may already contain bees, but this has not been confirmed.)

Ice staff: creation (can create ice and freeze opponents solid)

Head staff: creation (can create whatever head is placed inside the staff.)

Lightning rod staff: projectile/possible creation (can summon lightning to attack foes It is assumed that it can also create lightning rods but this has not been confirmed.)

Herobrine staff: enhancement/projectile (this staff can give it’s user the powers of Herobrine himself. It can also release Herobrine heads as a projectile.)

Skulk sensor staff: enhancement/possible creation (this staff uses nose vibration to detect when danger is near and it will drag it’s users out of harms way. It is assumed that it can also create skulk sensors and possibly other types of skulk, but this has not been confirmed.)

Cobwebs staff: projectile/creation (this staff shoots out cobwebs that can either be used to stick things in place or can be used to swing around on the spider webs like a grappling hook. Can also create cobwebs)

Bell staff: unknown/blunt weapon/possible creation (the effects of this staff are mostly unknown but when used as a blur weapon it makes a bell chime as it hits the opponent. It is assumed that it can also create bells but this has not been confirmed.)

Emerald staff: blunt weapon/possible creation (this staff doesn’t seemed to have any unique properties. The only use I have seen makes it look like it is a weaker version of the diamond staff. It is assumed that it can also create emerald blocks but this has not been confirmed.)

Wither skull staff: projectile (shoots out wither skulls that can likely apply the wither effect.)

Red Mushroom block staff: creation (shoots out miniature red mushrooms, possibly can create larger red mushrooms.)

Snow staff: projectile/possible creation (shoots out snowballs. It is assumed that it can also create snow layers and blocks but this has not been confirmed.)

Smooth granite staff: creation (seems to act similarly to the cobblestone staff)

Cauldron staff: absorption/possible creation (this staff has been seen able to absorb potion effects. It likely also can absorb water, lava, and powder snow due to being a cauldron. It is assumed that it can also create cauldrons but this has not been confirmed.)

Amethyst staff: creation (can create amethyst blocks and can likely create amethyst clusters. Warning amethyst are good at refracting light.)

Iron block staff: creation (can create anything made of iron, including blocks, iron chains, and likely much more.)

Barrier staff: creation (can create barrier blocks, barrier blocks can prevent anything from being placed in their location. They also can be used as a sheiks to block projectiles. If they are force into a space they can break through any block in their way, including bedrock.)

Quartz staff: creation (can create and manipulate quartz blocks.)

Other staffs from season 3

Source block staff: creation/destruction (gives the user all the powers of someone in creative mode.)

Gold block staff: blunt weapon/possible (seems to not have any special properties. Just seems to be a weaker version of the Diamond staff. It is assumed that it can also create gold blocks but this has not been confirmed.)

The Nexus staff: unstable/destructive (this staff can only be created by combining two source blocks together. This increases their creative and destructive powers but makes the staff itself highly unstable. It is advised not to use this staff as it’s effects can trigger a collapse of whatever area you are currently in.)

#minecraft #animation vs minecraft #avm #avm yellow #avm blue #avm green #avm red #avm tsc #rip beeper #lucky blocks #alan becker #ava alan becker

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not-a-space-alien · 6 months

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Tinytopia Chapter 5: Endless Rebirth (Part 1)

Story Masterpost

On AO3

Thanks to my beta/sensitivity reader @appelsiinilight!

In this chapter: Marcy starts to refocus her efforts on life at home, just in time to receive yet another visitor.

Warning: This chapter features a dog mauling that goes slightly above the intensity usual for this story.

***

Out in the park, a young borrower wobbled through the grass. Dirt stuck to his fur and under his fingernails, and he wandered around lost until a tree nearby turned and bent over to scrutinize him through the knots in its trunk.

“Oh, hello?” the borrower said, backing up nervously.

You seem lost, whispered a voice like wind creaking through branches. What are you doing here?

“I don't really know,” the borrower said. “Sorry. I'm all alone, though. Hey, what are you? You're the only talking tree here, I think.”

The tree creaked and swayed for a moment. Then: I am a dryad, and I think I know where you should go.

***

Marcy’s first act as a full-time housekeeper was to take stock of everyone who was already in the house. They’d been managing mostly fine without her, but Moon was right. There were more little creatures running around, and if this was going to be Marcy’s main focus, she could spend her time thinking of ways to make life here better for them.

Thistle had always known Marcy was smart, but he was awed to see her in action. She was a bundle of nerves, of course–she always was–but now that her attention was fully on things here at home, it became obvious just how passionate she was and how hard and quickly she worked. It seemed like her failed PhD program was forgotten almost instantly.

The first step was to help Thistle, who also seemed similarly overwhelmed by everyone new showing up, make his guest book. It was a large book for Thistle’s standards, but small for Marcy–the size that a human could write in it, albeit with some difficulty, and allow plenty of room for denizens with tinier hands to write without being overwhelmed. It was a good compromise–and Marcy got something from the craft store that would be a bit sturdier than a notebook, a bound book with blank pages and a cover ready for decorating. Thistle put off ramping up his sellable art projects for just a bit to decorate it. It didn’t take too long.

Then he went around and made an entry for everyone. Marcy at the same time made a note of their wants, needs, and habits, in case she could spot anything that could be coordinated or made better for everyone.

Thistle insisted Marcy be on the first page. Then the other humans: Teddy and Colin. They were here first, so might as well go in chronological order.

Teddy and Colin were the owners of the house, so it was important to make sure they were okay with everything going on. Well, Colin was the owner of the house, but he mostly cared about using the house to make Teddy happy. Both of them had been pretty gracious about everything, but Marcy would still need to ask permission for major changes. They worked alternating schedules, sometimes on the weekends and sometimes off on weekdays.

Mochi was put in the basement when none of the humans were home–that was just for safety. Marcy’s continual presence there would be good for her, too–the cat would have to spend less time locked away meowing mournfully to be let out, since Marcy could make sure she didn’t pose a threat to any of the tiny creatures.

Then there was Thistle, of course. He was the star of the show, in Marcy’s opinion. He was usually awake at 9 or 10AM until about midnight. He slept either in Marcy’s hand or, more recently, he’d taken to sleeping with Moon on the desk or nightstand in Marcy’s room. He alternated, wanting to sleep with them both but knowing Moon wasn’t comfortable sleeping on top of Marcy yet. He spent most of his days in the living room: his art supplies were on the floor, his little painted castle with his clothes and knickknacks was there, and he could hop up on the couch to watch TV when he wanted to. He made paintings and drawings and clay figurines and sold them all online. He had his silkworms there, too, for petting and taking their silk and the occasional snack. He would practice flying when he had someone to help him–which would be a lot more often now that Marcy would be home basically full-time.

Jewel, of course, spent all his time in the fish tank. He’s been warming up to socializing more, albeit slowly–very slowly. He was free to keep his own schedule, although he was mostly limited to sleeping at night when no one was in the living room with him to keep him awake. Sometimes Colin would talk him into letting himself be scooped up and taken out for various social activities–Colin was really the only one he trusted to do that, although he was starting to open up to Marcy and Teddy a bit more, too.

Violet and Petunia had been given permission from the humans to live in the walls and very rarely came out–they were by the far the most introverted members of the household. When Thistle wanted to get ahold of them, he usually walked over to this little crevice in the dining room baseboard, stuck his head in, and yelled for them. If he did that for long enough, it would summon Violet eventually. He had managed to get them to come to a few social gatherings, but never for very long at a time. Violet always acted like she had places to be and important things to be doing, although maybe that was just because she was jittery, in more or less constant motion. Petunia always loved coming out, although even she would start to obviously lose her stamina for socializing after two or three hours and start to nod off.

Severa spent most of her time occupied with whatever activity Thistle was doing, seeing him as her main source of nourishment now that she no longer hunted and relied on their bond to sustain herself. She didn’t seem to have any strong preferences about socializing or activities, just sort of letting herself be subjected to whatever everyone else around her wanted to do. The only exception was when Petunia came out, because she prioritized fawning over the baby above everything else. She spent most of her time in the wooden house Thistle had helped her put together and decorate, which was on the living room floor beside his own. Every time anyone gave her a gift she did not know how to properly use, she simply put it in there, so that she had a sort of miniature treasure hoard that she slept in like a dragon. But she’d also stuffed the wooden house full of fluff and blankets to make it a proper nest. Thistle could tell it was because she was half-hoping it would host an egg or a child someday, but for now it made it very cozy for Thistle to sit in with her when he felt like it. He was getting more comfortable around her–he wasn’t scared to sit in her coils anymore, having complete confidence she wouldn’t attack him.

Moon kind of wandered around. They were sure to always keep a window cracked open for him, so he could visit without feeling trapped in the house. He vanished into the night outside sometimes, but he spent a lot of time bathing in the moonlight on a windowsill or roof. Thistle kept asking him not to go out and seduce anyone else and Moon assured him he wouldn’t, just that he was often seized by wanderlust that he needed to get out of his system. He complained endlessly about the light during the day, but he’d shifted to more of a half-diurnal, half-nocturnal schedule to spend more time with Thistle. He made himself at home wherever he happened to be–and spent more time than not hanging around Thistle–but apparently felt no need for a house or nest to call his own. He had his magical shrinking wardrobe that seemed to carry every possession he thought worth keeping.

And now Marigold and Córva were here. Marigold was healthy enough that it was probably okay to leave him alone, but Thistle was still loath to leave him for any long amount of time. He spent most of his time in the living room next to Thistle’s house, passing his time doing the exercises the vets recommended for him, writing in Pixish or drawing, watching TV, or reading on Thistle’s phone–Thistle had convinced him to start learning English, although he didn’t seem to be very excited for it. They’d set up a baby gate to keep Mochi out of the room–Marigold was clearly afraid of her, although she’d shown no major signs of aggression around him. Córva hung around outside, mostly in and around the lovely little birdhouse Colin had built for her, and she would swoop down to meet Marigold whenever Thistle wheeled him outside. Teddy brought birdseed out for her, which she always ate happily, though she didn’t seem dependent on it, thankfully, since she was still a wild bird and could come and go as she pleased.

That just left Trilloras, the social-phobic dryad. Planted out in the yard. Thistle had stood by her sapling and begged and pleaded for her to come out over and over again, but nobody ever got any response from her. Marcy was starting to think maybe she’d imagined the whole thing, but Thistle and Moon always confirmed they’d seen Trilloras, too.

He really wanted her to sign the guest book, though.

“Come on,” he whined, lying out in the grass. “Just for five minutes. I won’t tell anyone!”

No response.

“You’re living in our yard, you know!”

No response.

Thistle groaned and rolled over. Marcy retrieved the guest book from where it lay in the grass beside him. “We could just try again tomorrow, hm?”

Thistle kicked his feet. “Why won’t she just come out, though? Ugh!”

Marcy scooped him up. “Come on, if she doesn’t want to sign it, she won’t sign it. It’s not the end of the world.”

Thistle crossed his arms and let himself be ferried back towards the porch.

Marcy smiled at him.

“What?”

“I just think you’re cute.”

Thistle blushed to the tips of his ears. “What am I doing that’s cute?”

“You have so many friends back in the house, but you’re stuck on making one more out here.”

Thistle crossed his arms. “It’s just not right that she’s in our yard and won’t talk to me. Right?”

“Just be patient.”

Marcy stopped. There was a borrower on the steps. Looking up at Marcy with ears twitching and tail lashing. He was young, fresh, and bright-eyed.

“Oh, hello!” Marcy said, keeping her voice low. He must be new. She'd never seen him. That was a different one, right? “Don’t worry, I won’t hurt you. Do you know Violet and Petunia?”

The borrower rubbed his hands nervously.

Thistle leaned over Marcy’s hand, peering at the unknown borrower curiously. “Do you speak English?”

His mouth struggled to form words, then he nodded. “Yes,” he said bashfully. “I’m just shy. Sor-sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Marcy knelt down, letting Thistle off into the soft grass. “It’s great to meet you. What’s your name? I’m Marcy, and this is Thistle.”

The borrower clambered down the stairs, hoisting himself with his strong arms. “My name’s Jax.”

“It’s great to meet you. Do you need something?” Obviously it would be fine if he didn’t–Marcy would be excited about any magical creature staying here for any reason at all–but since borrowers seemed so shy, it felt… odd to see one approach so openly and directly, and with no apparent goal, as a complete stranger.

Jax stopped by Marcy’s shoe. Thistle gave little jumps of excitement but said nothing.

“A dryad told me this is a place where lots of different magical creatures live in peace,” Jax said. “Even predators. Is that true?”

“Yes!” Thistle shouted, excited. “Yes, it’s so true! You can come live here, too!”

Marcy turned back towards Trilloras’s tree. “A dryad told you that?”

Jax followed her gaze. “A dryad far away. Is that a dryad too?” His tail swished excitedly.

“Yeah, but she doesn’t want to come out and talk,” Thistle said sourly. “You talked to a different dryad?’

Jax nodded. “And she said everyone lives in peace here, even predators! I wanted to see it for myself. A bunch of different kinds of creatures living together! Even predators!”

How would a second dryad have known about their house, and why would it have told this random borrower to come here? It was... strange. Confusion overtook Marcy's excitement briefly.

“You’re welcome to see it!” Thistle cheered. He didn't seem to care about the details much at all, too excited about the paradise they were building. “Yes, yes! Come on inside!”

“Er, we just met Jax,” Marcy interjected, noting Jax’s demeanor. “I don’t know if he’d be comfortable coming inside just yet.” And this whole thing felt...fishy.

Jax nervously swished his tail.

“We could bring someone out here to meet you,” Marcy said. She had all day, after all. She could bring Severa and Moon and Jewel and Violet out one at a time and just watch them all talk. The thought made her giddy. This was so much better than a PhD program. “Did you want to meet… A predator?” He’d sounded so excited about it.

Jax nodded. “That sounds lovely!”

“Okay. Wait right there. Thistle, wanna come so you can translate?” There was still a bit of a language barrier between Marcy and Severa, although they’d both been working to close it. But best not to have any misunderstandings.

Thistle nodded, and Marcy picked him up. “Okay. Wait right there, Jax. We’ll be right back.”

Marcy went inside and found Severa upstairs, looking out the second-story window. “Who were you talking to?” she asked.

“There’s a new friend!” Thistle said. “Another borrower! Do you want to meet him?”

Severa flicked her tongue out. “Yes, as long as he also wants to meet me.”

“He does!” Marcy said. “He…”

She trailed off, because something caught her eye out the window behind Severa. Oh no. Oh, no. Buster, the neighbor’s dog, was trotting right towards their front yard.

“Shit!” Marcy dashed away immediately, leaving Thistle and Severa in the dust. She leapt down the stairs as fast as humanly possible, nearly falling if not for the bannister. She threw the front door open just as Buster started to bark.

Jax was standing in front of the dryad sapling, examining it while biting his finger. His ears swiveled as he heard the dog rapidly approaching.

Apparently Jax did not possess very good survival instincts, because he turned to face the dog barreling towards him with its mouth open and teeth exposed–and did nothing.

“Shit!” Marcy shouted, sprinting over. “Jax, run!”

It was too late. Buster reached the borrower and snapped his jaws around him. The tiny, furry body disappeared with a pained, high-pitch squeak.

“Buster!” Marcy shouted. “Drop it! Fuck! Drop it!”

She tried to reach out to grab his collar, but he dashed away from her like they were playing a fun game. “Drop it!” Marcy screamed. The image of Jax’s body disappearing into that maw was burned into her brain.

After an agonizing minute of chasing him in circles as his tail wagged, Marcy finally managed to catch his collar. “Drop it! Drop it!” Tears streamed down her cheeks, blurring her vision, but she refused to let go or give up. She forced Buster’s head towards the ground.

Buster finally opened his mouth and let the drool-covered bundle drop into the grass.

“Shit!” Marcy said, seizing Jax immediately. His body ragdolled in her hand, and oh God, there was so much blood.

She clutched him to her chest and went back inside, slamming the door.

***

They made an emergency call to Lalitha and Jaden, but it was obvious Jax was dead on arrival. Thistle tearfully pressed his ear to Jax’s chest to listen for a heartbeat. Severa checked his pulse and smelled him over for signs of life. Moon tried what healing magic he had, but the borrower’s body was so ravaged by the dog’s enormous teeth that he’d probably died more or less instantly.

Colin blew his lid when he found out what’d happened. He stormed to the neighbor’s house immediately, and the volume of his shouting at her could be heard even all the way from Marcy’s bedroom. He couldn’t very well say that Buster had murdered someone, though–so he settled for saying Buster had killed a small animal Marcy had been fond of, which wasn’t exactly a lie, and that this was the last straw and if he saw Buster loose on the lawn again, he was going to call animal control.

The neighbor promised to keep a closer eye on the dog, then got away from him as quickly as possible. Colin was still fuming when he got back to the house.

He decided it was finally time to put up a fence. Their property was big enough that they couldn't really fence in the whole thing, but Colin had enough handyman know-how to put up a fence at least around the immediate vicinity of the house. Chainlink was the perfect option, since it'd allow small creatures to slip through but block bigger ones. The humans all had to pool together their money to get the funds for it, but they all agreed it needed to be an immediate priority. Marcy still walked around looking shellshocked, and she constantly stayed in the same room as Thistle, hovering protectively.

Not even Violet had any success getting ahold of Jax’s family or friends, so they buried his body in the backyard and had a little funeral themselves. Marcy set up a little grave with a headstone, and they all stood around looking very solemn.

“A damn shame,” Teddy said. “No little critter deserves that.”

“Yeah…” Thistle said. He was crying mightily.

“Does anyone want to say anything else?” Marcy said.

“Um,” said a small, unknown voice. “I could. Who are we mourning?”

All eyes fell on the new voice–which was–

It was Jax. Just standing there at his own funeral. He looked just as fresh and bright-eyed as a few hours ago before he’d been mauled to death. Not even a tear in his clothes, or a hair out of place.

Marcy blinked at him. “Uhhh-” She looked from the grave to the new Jax, as though trying to figure out how he might have crawled out of the little shoebox coffin they’d made him. But no. He’d clearly come from a different direction, approaching while they were all looking at the grave.

“You're dead,” Severa said bluntly.

Jax blushed. “Um, no, I'm just fine. See?” He did a handstand, tail wiggling in the air.

“Hey, uh, Jax…” Thistle said. “You're not… actually a borrower, are you?”

Jax inverted himself upright sheepishly.

***

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#g/t #gt #gianttiny #fairy #giant/tiny #size difference

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bts-hyperfixation · 6 months

Text

Sensual Synthetics

Tired of your family getting on at you for not having a partner, you drunkenly lament to Taehyung. Your friend suggests you purchase an escort android through his favourite service.

Chapter 1

Chapter Two

Taehyung doesn't return your call for a couple of days.

In the meantime, you and Jimin have fallen into a bit of a routine. He awoke you each morning with an enticing breakfast, seemingly favouring baked goods. After the first two days, you allowed him to go grocery shopping for you to buy necessities. Apparently, he thought necessities meant baking supplies. Not that you were complaining as you munched on perfectly prepared croissants and tarts.

Then he would clean up after himself and try to busy himself with other tasks he thought could be of use. The first couple of days this was useful, like organising your bookshelves and cleaning the blinds. Lately though, he had turned to sorting buttons in your craft drawer and unstuffing and restuffing cushions, anything to keep his idle hands busy when you couldn't think of anything.

If there really was nothing he would pop himself back into the charging pod and power down for a little while. You took this time to look at him shamelessly. While you were definitely becoming more comfortable with his presence, it was still bizarre to see him when he was charging. His eyes revert to their original blue, reminding you of what he really is.

It's almost easy to forget he isn't real when he is working around the house, but moments like this force you back into the reality of who he is... what he is.

Taehyung calls just as your fingers itch towards the lock to wake Jimin up, shocking you out of your thoughts.

"Good afternoon beautiful, I see you tried to call me?" He asks as soon as you answer.

"I tried to call you a week ago asshole..." You point out rolling your eyes.

"Well, I thought I'd give you time to get accustomed to your new lover, didn't realise you would miss me so much so quickly. Do I need to come around and teach robo boy had to keep you... satisfied,"

You can tell by the tone of his voice that he is waggling his eyebrows at the microphone. You contemplate hanging up the phone, but that won't answer any of the questions you have so you resign yourself to a little more teasing. He doesn't disappoint, wasting another few minutes on all the android puns and innuendos he can think of, some of which begrudgingly make you giggle.

"Are you quite finished?" You ask when he finally takes a breath

He goes silent for a moment before confirming he is in fact finished.

"Wonderful, now on to the reason I called. I have no idea what I'm supposed to do with him." You admit.

"Well, I'm sure I just gave you some very colourful suggestions."

"Yeah, no, I'm not at all comfortable with that. But like on a regular day-to-day basis, there are only so many things he can do. My house has never been cleaner or more organised and if I leave him charging any longer his batteries are going to break." You lament.

"Then give him a hobby. They can learn new skills reasonably quickly. Or use him for more personal matters. If you're really going to be that uptight about the sex thing then you can always do other things like massages and cuddling, they make great pillows. Also if you really intend to take him to a family function does he know anything about your family yet?" He suggests

"No, I guess not. That's a pretty good idea, I should prepare him to meet my mother. Thanks Tae,"

"You're welcome princess, I'll talk to you soon okay?"

"See you soon," You hang up and toss the phone on the couch.

You spend the next half an hour coming up with all of the information Jimin might possibly need to know in order to survive your family.

Finally ready, and satisfied you'll have something to talk to him about, you open the latch on Jimin's pod and release him back into the world.

"Hello Y/N-ah," He smiles and his cheeks pinch up, almost erasing his eyes completely. "Are you having a good day?" He asks cheerfully.

"Yeah, I mean a pretty average day..." You answer with much less enthusiasm.

"How may I be of service to you?"

"Well, I thought we should talk about the real reason I ordered you in the first place."

"Great, I was wondering why you had hired me. Obviously, I am thrilled to be here, but you seem uncertain." He comments.

You lead him over to the sofa and produce a notebook full of information for him to read. He flips through the pages instantly taking in the information and then waits patiently for you to speak. You relay the conversation you'd had with your mother and how it was an ongoing issue within your family. You didn't mean to go into quite as much detail as you do but you can't stop yourself from monologuing your frustration when you realise what an enraptured audience you have.

He listens intently, offering nods and noises of affirmation in places he deems appropriate. When you do finally calm down he weighs up the information you gave him in order to relay his mission back to you.

"So, if I understood correctly, I was drunkenly purchased to serve as a boyfriend figure to appease your family at an upcoming family gathering?" He questions.

You blush at his use of the word 'drunkenly', but it's not exactly untrue.

"Your mother sounds as if she may be the hardest to please. However, the tone you used to describe your cousins suggests that they are the people you would like to impress the most." He states as if it's obvious.

You don't remember even suggesting any of this was for their benefit. Jimin must see the confusion on your face and clarifies.

"The octave of your voice went a few notches higher, suggesting discomfort when you spoke of them and their relationships. It made it seem as though you might want to show off for them. Am I wrong in my assumption?"

You think about it for a moment.

"I guess you aren't. It would be nice to not be labelled as the single cousin for once," You think.

"Noted. Now I think I have enough information to 'survive' your family as you have put it. But what about you?"

"What about me?"

"If I am to act in place of a partner, I should know more about you right? I don't think your family will be impressed if I only know the order of the socks in your drawer and how you like your shirts ironed," He points out as if the thought should've been obvious.

And maybe it should've been.

"I'm not sure where to start with information about me. Normally when you date someone the information comes out naturally on dates, you know by spending time together?"

"Then perhaps we should go on a date! That sounds like the best way for me to get to know you, and from what I know they sound like fun!"

"You can have fun?" You state, confused.

"I can experience many emotions," He nods.

"Seems like there might be a lot for me to learn about you too, maybe a date's not a bad idea after all..."

________________________________

Your date ends up being a walk around the neighbourhood.

You show Jimin the area you live in and he listens to each anecdote you tell him as if they are the most interesting stories he has ever heard. In return he occasionally talks about aspects of human life he has thought about and researched in the time you've left him to be by himself.

You feel a little guilty for all his free time when you realise one of those emotions he can feel is boredom, but he reassures you that he finds ways to occupy himself by searching the web while he is idle, much like a human would.

He talks about the things he has researched with such passion that you forget these interests have existed for only a few weeks and not an entire lived lifetime.

You don't notice when his hand slips into yours as you lean towards the duck pond, your arms swinging together as you continue through the parkland around the corner from your apartment.

"So, is this a typical date activity? The articles I scanned suggested we share a meal or maybe watch something?"

"Sometimes people go to restaurants or the cinema... Dates tend to take a lot of different forms. I like this, it's low commitment." You shrug.

"Low commitment? But we already live together, I was under the impression that was very committed"

You blush and stutter for a response, only to turn and find him chuckling at you.

"You're not funny," You nudge against his shoulder.

"Your clearly flustered response suggests otherwise." He notes, studying you.

"Shut up, it does not..." You grumble.

"Oh? Am I wrong? Then perhaps my programming needs an update?"

He looks puzzled that his joke didn't land and you just shake your head smiling fondly.

"Come on, I think it's time to head home I still have some work I need to complete today."

He nods and pulls you by the hand, leading you a much faster way back to the apartment that you had never seen before.

Masterlist

#jimin fic #jimin smut #bts fic #bts smut #android jimin #robot jimin #android au

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darkdemeter · 9 days

Note

Hi idk if I sent this request your way,if so feel feee to ignore it.

But could you write a death x reader but the reader is an oldest sibling too? Maybe their (3) younger siblings are in Haven with the makers while their big sibling travels with death for supplies.

I was thinking that the reader could be a foil to death,they have an excelent relationshipp with their siblings, their younger siblings always try to act all tough when Deaths around to "make sure he doesnt hurt their big sibling"(its harmless though).

And ive always hc Strife being the second oldest,and its clear him and death "hate" eachother(or at least dont get along). So maybe the reader has more affinity with the sibling that follows them in the birth order.

Maybe during their travels the reader swaps "sibling advice" with Death(more Like they talk and he listens. I dont think he'd Open up much about his relationship with his siblings). I think the reader would be like "talk to them like adults,dont underestimate them,sometimes you gotta accept they need to get hurt to learn a lesson" that kind of stuff.

And I think the reader would also share how it kind of felt like their childhood was taken away from them and replaced with the duty to take care of their siblings (and that they would still accept taking care of them,they just wished they had more time to experience their childhood). just sharing those kinds of stories to Bond with Death.

Maybe after the supply run they return and Death watches from afar as the reader and their siblings are just chaotic forces of nature and play around and give the makers a stress ulcer lmao. Maybe he gets a little sentimental and hey maybe he puts the reader's advice to the test (with strife or with any of his siblings really)

Also,one more bit of info: Death has confirmed hes the eldest but thats about it, And the reader's siblings are all close in age to the reader,just a 4-5 year gap. (I imagine the reader being in their 20s)

(Pd: I wanted to request this since its heavily based some Real life experiences of mine as an older sibling! And the idea has been going around in my head like a DVD screensaver.)

As always take your time! Your writing's amazing!!!! Have a nice day!!!

THE BONDS BETWEEN KIN

◤✘DARKSIDERS REQUESTS | CATALOGUE Death x GN Reader

NOTES ↳ Firstly, HAPPY BIRTHDAY JER!! Wishing you the best day and I hope this makes for a well waited gift! 🎉 I agree so much with the hc that Strife is the second oldest (or that he and Fury have this sort of opposite twin energy?) Writing this was actually a unique go because *LORE DROP! Demeter here, I am the youngest of my siblings. WARNINGS❕ ↳ a mixed concoction of fluff and angst — some profanity — Death is a bit grumpy at the start — we got a wholesome ending! — I think that’s it?

✎ 4.9k ────────────────────────

Everything moves together in sync with each other. Hammers and mallets pound posts and pieces into place, platforms rise and lower at the controlled helm of a steady rope. Crafts are honed and day by day a further stretch of home is made. Humans engage and tidy and work, doing what they must and can for each other; for survival. And that’s what you must do with the pale rider.

He stands idle by Haven’s entrance like an outcast, back set against the old and creaking oak that overlooks a jungle of branching pathways. To those around Haven, he is walking trouble; he is Death after all. So when nobody goes out of their way to greet him or offer him a piece of hospitality, he returns the favour by not batting an eye their way. Most of them keep away. Most of them shrink away in fear of him.

Most…

The flicker of burning amber slims finely into a narrowed glare as he watches you from that darkened corner of Haven. His hands tense against the cold skin of his arms that are squarely crossed over his chest, huffing and tsking his tongue to himself as he waits for you.

Things haven’t been the same for any of you since the apocalypse, so you do what you must for what remains of your family, keeping them safe and well supplied. You can’t bear to see them go hungry or cold, you can never settle with the heartbreaking thought of them going without a place to lay down their heads out of risk of being compromised. You never could, now that you think of it.

They understand why you must go, you’re one of the stronger and healthier humans who can hold themselves well enough in a fight or two. It still didn’t make the going away part any easier. Not since your parents died.

“Alright, I’m off.” Your announcement only bears furrowed brows and sunken frowns. They fear that this time you won’t come back.

“Do you really have to go?” Your youngest sibling cannot hide the slight tremble in their voice. Despite their old enough age to know how this new world works around them, therein lies the terrible and voided feeling of abandonment.

“I’ll be back before you know it. I promise.”

You know Death has this habit of watching you, you feel it even now, the way his piercing eyes bear a weight that almost forces your body to be pushed forward. You notice it too whenever you’re with your siblings, silent and watchful of how you play and mess around, how you coddle them like newborns whenever they’re in fear and how attentive you are to their wounds, troubles and failings. Not so much like him. With his siblings, he is coarse and ruthless, very rarely shedding that toughened exterior to be kinder. It’s how he was raised to be. And so, it’s only natural for him to continue to be that way.

In comparison, you hold your ground when scolding your siblings when they do something wrong or dangerous, but nevertheless you temper your strict lectures with a level of care and love. You tell them to not go outside after dark because it’s dangerous and you don’t want them getting hurt. You correct them if their sense of play converts into discord. You don’t spit venomous judgment and tell them how it must be done, you guide and show them how it can be done. You’re a mender of broken things, a leader to lost and hopelessly wandering ones.

You keep balance within the confines of your family, and Death keeps balance on the outskirts. Out of reach from you. Sometimes he feels like he envies the way you and your siblings get along. But that’s not right, it’s not envy. He can’t explain it, not even to himself. It’s just this insecure feeling that he’s done everything wrong by his brothers, that their so-called brotherhood is naught by an empty shell of petty lies, spite and disagreeable alliance.

And Strife… he scoffs to himself at the mere thought and pictured recollection of that sibling. He thought Fury’s relationship with him and their brothers was a demon stirred nest. His estranged kinship with Strife was an entire beast all its own. The two of them always butt heads, caught in a state of arguing with no hope of a middle ground, even when there are options. The two can never seem to be on the same page.

It’s one of the many sad reasons he admits is why he seeks solitude rather than the companionship of his kin; the very and actual last of his kind.

Sighing, he pushes himself off the tree’s wall and stares sharply in your direction. There you are, still attending your younger ones with gracious and overbearing care. You spoil them with lavish affection, grabbing each one and embracing them tightly and peppering them with a treasure trove of kisses that they can miss you by.

The youngest is given a tad more than the others. The baby of your little clan, much like War is of his own.

Death stalks over with a harrowing crunch under each step, it’s noticeable like a literal announcement that the reaper has come for your soul. An ice cold chill runs down your spine and pricks along your skin with goosebumps.

Each of your siblings are torn from that tight and warm embrace you supply them with, a halo that hovers over them all protectively, and they each visibly tense up. If he didn’t find your stern eyes in that moment, he would have questioned why they all puffed up like a murder of fat crows. But he bites his tongue, he bites down the passionate stir of sarcastic aggression.

“Are you finished?” he questions instead. His tone has a harsher bite to it then he cared to let on.

“Yeah, just… give me a second.” It’s a second more you ask for. Surely the reaper can spare you that. He rolls his eyes, a fiery haze lacking direct and knowing pupils that flow about in the carved out sockets of his mask like wild fireflies.

Knowingly, you direct your gaze to your siblings. You see through their toughened charade easily because you know them — each of them an open chapter within a book. They mean to hide their worries and carry on as if your going away doesn’t leave them haunting around Haven as ghosts that float anxiously until you inevitably return. As if something to prove to Death, they hold their heads a little higher and furrow their brows a bit harder with determination.

“We’ll get to work on those tasks for you,” says your middle sibling, the youngest nodding in agreement. You huff quietly to yourself. “Alright. Take care of them now. Stay out of trouble and be sure to help out the Makers when they need it. I mean it.”

The rise of your brows makes it fundamentally clear that you will not hear another tale of your siblings running amuck rather than helping the Makers.

“I’ll keep them in check for you,” assures your second oldest sibling.

Your nearance in age makes it easy for you both to converse often and come together for the better. That’s what Death has come to understand. You pat their shoulder with a smile, proudly fond of their commitment to ensure things run smoothly in your absence.

You turn to Death, daring to meet the soul-shuddering cold of his gaze and gruffly, he saunters off with you not far behind. A chorus of voices familiar call after you in bidding you goodbyes and reminders to stay safe.

Out of all the survivors in your little enclave, you’re really the only one that embraces Death’s skulking presence, his quiet and brooding nature that leaves him on the looming outskirts as he remains watchful and vigilant. His trips are usually short and few in between his other priorities, to what accomplishments you have little idea, but your company is at least familiar to him. Still, you can be subjected to the brutality of his cold shoulder.

“So what has your scythes in a twist this time?” you ask, your eyes highly observant of your surroundings. He only grumbles in response. The voided silence is only occasionally disturbed by a drawled caw that circles from above, Dust languidly surfing through the air.

“I’d wage a penny for your thoughts, but you don’t strike me as the gambling type.” He’s scouring some corner of the area, sifting through a bundle of half splintered and damaged crates in search of supplies.

Years ago, this exact spot was a graveyard of a small and docile park, smothered ankle-deep in ash and decay. Now, the trickling resurgence of growth sprouts freshly, the sunlight dances in soft haloing rays through the crackling rubble. Flowers are beginning to bloom. Much like Humanity in a way, the world itself is slowly finding its footing again in this changed world.

You wander over to him after dragging a sorted amount of supplies that you already found. The sun would be setting soon and it was best to remain close in numbers.

“C’mon,” you chide with a wistful breath of air and you join him at his side. “I know that burdened look when I see it. Out with it, Horseman.”

“It’s nothing that concerns you.” Your lips purse sharply, brow slightly raised higher than the other, a pure visage of ‘Oh really’ on your face.

He continues to ignore the idea of looking at you and instead focuses his search on the crates before him. A Horseman reduced to a lower task, he’s almost brought into the far past of his youthful days, a time where he saw worlds conquered and thousands slaughtered.

However, he only had himself to blame for offering to go with you, noting how despite your skills, you wouldn’t last out here by yourself. Not without him.

Shaking his head with a short tut jabbing in his throat that pulls tight on his vocal cords, he catches movement out of the corner of his eyes. You walk forward until you situate yourself against a fallen structure, half sitting on it and cross your arms. It’s not too long after that Death’s feathery companion lands beside you with a throaty warble, bristling his feathers into a puff.

He cranes his neck and the flaming core of his stare meets yours, intentionally ignoring the lazy bird that chirps a velvety purr while you absently pet a finger along his back. He sees that same look you give your siblings when you’ve caught them in a lie.

The amount of times he’s given Strife that same pressing look and still, he never yields any similar results that you do.

Death sighs to the wind that carries it up in the air to be discarded and forgotten much like his many attempts to reconcile and temper his brothers. Every turn had been for nothing in the end.

“Your siblings giving you trouble, Death?”

You sound sincere and it almost visibly shakes him. So genuine in your knowing, in your concerned question. His chin falls with a steep incline that you read as an affirmative nod. Yes, you know just which brother in particular that Death’s mind is tormented by, leaving him bitter and lonesome.

“My younger siblings do things that drive me crazy at times. There’s times where we fight, there are days where it’s hard to juggle the roles. I want to give them a promising world yet I have to also be realistic. I always let them know that my intentions for them are sincere. That I want what is best and most safe for them.”

Death is silent. He can hear the inaudible but…

“But… there are times where I have to stand on the sidelines and let them do their thing. I have to watch them fall so I know they can get back up on their own feet. Because when I’m not around, I want to know they’re going to be okay without me.”

“And yet you coddle them to no end,” he remarks. You hear the rasped judgment in his tone and you chuckle to suppress the thin layer of tears coating your eyes.

“I do,” you admit with a nod, “I do, yes. What I’m trying to say is that it’s not easy being the oldest, okay? I know what it’s like. All the responsibility shoved on the shoulders, made to be the lookout, the judge, jury and executioner. To be gentle yet stern and understand when and what was necessary.”

Death stands to his full height after he moves a few crates aside, possibly littered with some supplies you can take back to Haven.

“I have noticed… you treat them more like soldiers than anything. Especially Strife.”

“I do not—”

Your lashes beat fast at the sudden defense he fronts and he catches himself, eyes thinning into a glare. Either way, you know you have him there. And he knows it too. He joins you, leaning against the structure while crossing his arms and undoubtedly scowling under his mask.

“You try to hold them back from their capabilities and mold them into compliance. More than anything after everything that’s happened, they need a brother. I think you’ll find that if you talk to them, really talk to them, that you can find common ground. A stable union.”

He turns his head in your direction but doesn’t exactly meet you. His raven locks fall over the white contrast of a bone and placid visage, the dimming orange of sun emits a glowing aura around him and the wind gently breathes through his hair.

He almost looks thoughtful, heavily seated in an internal channel that studies your words like ancient scriptures.

Perhaps humans did have a shred of intellect. His shoulders jump as a low and gravelly note comes from his throat, it sounds almost like a dry chuckle. It still brings a hopeful smile to your face that he’s found something useful in your advice.

“How exactly did it all fall on you to look after them?”

It’s a loaded gun more than a question, so heavy with a leaded tale of many days that seemed uncertain and scary. Your body slumps forward a little, lips pulled in to sink your teeth into them. “My parents weren’t around a whole lot, they were kept busy working longer hours each week to bring in enough money. My dad’s job had him travelling a lot anyway and…” You pause, rolling your tongue over your teeth.

“Meanwhile, I was left to look after my siblings. I was the one who made them dinner, got them washed and ready for bed and checked if they brushed their teeth. Some nights the power went out and I’d have the flashlight pointed at the ceiling to make shadow puppets. Kept them from getting scared of the dark.”

You swallow thickly. “I did… everything I could for my little bear cubs. I’d get into the shittiest of scraps with kids who shoved them around. I’d sneak out of school during lunch period to make sure they were doing alright in their yard.”

It’s a flurry of memories that come back to you. A series of events cataloged into your mind, to remember the good and the bad, how much worse things could have been, but also something else.

“Do you blame your parents for it?”

Immediately you shake your head. Out of necessity or because you truly don’t blame them. “No. I love those kids with everything I have. However… I paid the price by giving up my own childhood for it. Instead of typical teenage sneak outs or going out on dates, I stayed home on the couch helping the kids with their homework or heating up enough popcorn so we could all huddle up together and watch a movie. I taught myself how to ride a bike so then I could teach them how. I was never really taught by my parents when they were around. They would just vaguely explain it to me, then go about their own thing.”

Instead of a soul shredded and marred into something heinously bitter, you stiffened your upper lip and rolled with the punches. In the forced haste of time that hurried you to grow up, you saddled up with the responsibilities that were your parents, not yours.

The bottom lids of his eyes flinch, a minute action but heavily betraying his thoughts as you both stare at one another.

He’s almost… bothered by your story. As though he finds it unfair.

You shrug with your brows rolling with a lax coil as you shove off that small grief. “But it is what it is. I didn’t get the chance to experience what my childhood could have been. It would have been nice, I would have liked to enjoy it while I had it, but I’d trade it all a hundred times over if it meant they grew up knowing they were loved and appreciated, that everything they did was acknowledged.”

You have to take a break before the bubbling writhe of tears come undone. Clearing your throat, your fingers pluck the frayed rips in your pants, annoyed at the little imperfections that those rips represent. But then you smile. You remember those fights started on the sidewalk as a bully gave your youngest the roughest shoulder they could muster. You’d knock noses, bust lips and pack bruises if it all meant that your siblings knew you always had their backs.

Sighing shakily, calmed, you continue, “That’s what being human — and older sibling — is about. You’d give anything for them, to see them safe, see them smile and to see the world at their fingertips.”

“You’ve raised them well. I cannot see any other doing the task better than you have.” Your brows bevel in the center, a smile tugged at the corner of your lips. “Thanks, Death.”

He can take your response any way he likes, but you’re glad that you had someone to unload the burden to. Someone who can in some way relate. You and Death have much in difference but you see many other alignments that match up. Almost two sides of the same coin that flips round and round in constant motion. A never ending cycle, a duty never entirely complete.

With a glance towards the setting sun, you push yourself up on your two feet, disturbing Dust’s placement that sends him flying to the winds, and you begin to sift through Death’s collected supplies. “Just talk to him like a brother, Death. Because in the end all you have is each other. And when shit hits the fan, you need them on the sidelines of the ring.”

Death hums, a steep sound that reverberates in his chest and rumbles in his throat. He straightens his posture and his eyes follow you closely, watching you with the keen intent of a hawk. And he nods. Not the sort of evasive or dismissive bob of his head, but an actual bow of his chin that then rose up. Your lips grow wide into a grin.

“Now, shall we get this stuff back to Haven?”

Your name is shouted in burstful happiness, relief trailed in whimpers as your youngest sibling runs to you. The other two keep their pace cool as they approach, aware of the pale rider’s presence next to you while you both unload the cargo of supplies.

Placing down a crate, you replace its company with that of your eager little bear that engulfs you boldly that it knocks the wind from you a little. You huff out a short laugh. “Hey, I wasn’t that long. I promised I’d be back.”

“I’m just glad you’re okay.”

“See that you’re both in one piece,” remarks your middle sibling, earning a soft jabbing elbow to their rib by the other.

“Yes, we’re both alright.” You glance to Death then. “Thanks for helping me out with the supply run. Should do it again sometime.”

Death had found the actual events of going through supplies mundane, funnily enough he thought he would die from how boring it was. No, it was the nature of your little talk that kept his mind occupied.

“Try not to run out of supplies so soon,” he retorts dryly and you chuckle. “We’ll try but more humans are being found by the day. Maybe we’ll need some extra hands onboard soon enough?”

Death’s lips curl into a slight sneer to what you allude to behind the mere suggestion. His eyes roll far around in his skull and he shoves his shoulders down, releasing the tension from them as he moves swiftly to spin on his heel.

“Be seeing you around, Horseman,” you coo over your shoulder, your attention becoming a stolen relic by your thieving siblings.

He stands at Haven’s inviting gateway and stops in his retreating advance. Something compels him to linger in the shadows of the tree’s abode, a place he finds so hostile and uninviting to his very existence, but among it all there’s you. You always offer a greeting nod of your head, a direct line of contact with his eyes as you acknowledge him. Your eyes don’t shakily follow him like he’s a phantom to be watched and feared, you embrace the gloom and grim of his company.

You won’t admit it anytime soon, but you always have this sense of anticipation. And when he’s not around, you find yourself missing him.

Death hides in the now blackened corner where he stood earlier that day, his eyes flaring and dimming depending on his concentrated intrigue as he watches you. You and your siblings organise your collected haul into piles.

“What’s this? What’s this thing do?”

“You know what that is, you cheeky little thing,” you chuckle as your little siblings begin their cycle of mischief.

“Huh, look at this. It looks just like you.” You gasp at the second oldest, mouth agape that cannot portray anything but that insulted fun. “Oh really?” You quip before you both engage in a small scuffle.

You become entangled in playful headlocks and knocking the other back with reserved and non-lethal blows.

Before Death’s eyes, all four of you are causing the type of trouble you had warned them about before you left. Between the mockery of fights, you hold them tight to you and ruffle their hair affectionately. When Ulthane marches over, his eyes bearing the fearsome darkness of a scolding glare, he begins to bark and roar with fuming irate. Your siblings had gotten up to no good, and what you once warned them about, you now indulged in their mischievous plots.

A small stone Ulthane kept in the back and higher stacked crates to indeed keep mischievous and curious humans out of reach from, was now the prized toy of a game of Maker-in-the-middle. Instead of throwing high given his advantage there, you duck low and keep your throws to the sides.

Laughter fills the air around you as you play around, getting a little too rambunctious but otherwise it's all an exchange of kinship, a bond strengthened over the years. Death wonders if you allow yourself these luxuries now to make up for your lost childhood, and maybe you did, but it lights a feeling in his chest that it almost swells with an unknown fire.

By the time he finally moves to take his leave, he lets out a slip of a chuckle, gentle and tenderly adoring. Out of all the humans, Death holds a more softer regard for you.

Strife doesn’t bother in entertaining his older brother’s arrival, his gaze set on the distant view of Haven from this afar camp that he refers to as The Exiled Point. A fitting title he named in spite of Death and their recent confrontation with each other.

He doesn’t pay any mind to the thunderous fall of steady footfall moving towards him. Strife is far too engrossed at his post, keeping watch here, no longer hindered by the need to wear the robes of his disguise in order to fit in around the humans. The closest he ever felt to belonging somewhere.

“Strife.” The gunslinging Nephilim only scoffs with a venomous whistle flowing against his masked tongue.

“You gonna tell me to pack up and leave again?”

The kinship is strained between them. Ever since that distasteful argument, the two have grown further apart, barely sparing the other so much as a shouldering glance. No hint of remorse, no intent to mend their breaking brotherhood.

“That’s not why I came up here.”

“Then what is your business here, Brother?”

Death’s head falls slowly forward and his shoulders sag down. He tries to think about how you’d react, what you would do in this situation. What would you do?

“I… wanted to see you.”

Strife cocks his head to the side, body jostling with a sharp and jagged laugh that hints at his still writhing anger. “Well, you’ve seen me! So you should be on your way. I dunno, go and see the humans, go out and protect the balance. After all, what help could I be? I’ll just be a danger to everything.”

Death raises his foot to rest it atop the cut down stump beside Strife, the moonlit winds bellowing the flowing scarves and waisted tabards of the brothers’ armour. Both set their sights to the faint glow of Haven’s lights. A soft beacon in the foggy distance.

“What I said to you was unfair.”

Strife clicks his tongue that runs over the sharpened tips of his fangs. “Still doesn’t change what you said. You don’t get it, man. When I was down there with the humans, I felt—”

Strife feels his heart rap hard against his chest. Within the blaring glow of flittering gold, tears shimmer. He wanted to yell, he wanted to cuss and roar at Death to mount up and ride away, to never come near him again. He wanted what he had seen the humans have with his own brothers; but he couldn’t.

Death shakes his head, voice sullen. “At the time, I thought I was doing what was necessary. What was safe for the humans. But I see now that I didn’t make the right choice. I treat you like a soldier, I talk to you with scorn and hatred because it’s all I’ve known. But first and foremost, you are my brother, Strife.”

With a loud, bellowing sigh that forcibly drags Strife forward to slump in his posture as he sits on a perched rock, he takes a moment to reflect. It hadn’t been fair at all that day with that fight.

They were both ready to kill each other if the Makers, War and Fury hadn’t intervened. If you hadn’t stepped in to keep the brothers from ripping each other apart. You didn’t agree with Death’s decision then, after all, you had gotten on well with Jones. With Strife.

But Death was the eldest, the leader of the fabled Horsemen. Who was Strife, the second eldest, to fight and argue? Who was he to disobey an order?

“I’m sorry, Strife.”

It sends a volting freeze through Strife’s entire being, his muscles tense and his unresting spirit freezes. It feels like his heart has stopped beating.

Not once has Death ever been sorry. The only time he ever expressed a shred of guilt and remorse was for their fallen brethren, for Absalom…

Strife finally shifts to look to his side, meeting Death’s eyes. A steadfast silence passes between them that slowly begins to mend the wounds of their drifting apart. His golden eyes dart and waver behind the visor, his lips tugged and twisted into confused sneers and parted, forgotten sentences.

“I cannot take back what I’ve said. I cannot promise to coddle you like a newborn, but I wish for our brotherhood to become stronger. I want the bond between us to become so powerful that it will take more than a mere disagreement to tear us apart. You — and War and Fury — are my kin. Because in the end you three are all I have.”

Both are settled into silence again, listening to the low howl of the wind’s carrying gusto. Their sights retrain their focus on Haven, as if the kindle in which they both knew that was you, brought them together. A far off thank you that you won’t know of until you see them again.

A small, genuine and high-spirited laughter burns in Strife’s chest, soon joined by Death.

“So am I still in exile?”

Death curls his fingers into a tight fist and much like he’d seen between you and your siblings, he punches into Strife’s shoulder. “You never were. You always had a place to belong with us.”

As time goes by in a passing of shaded midnight, moon gliding slowly through the sky, two brothers that watch over Haven become three and then four with Dust finally perching himself comfortably on Death’s shoulder. Each of them embrace the cool winds at their backs, basking in the quiet contentment of their renewed bonds. And all because one human had the answer all along that finally united the four Horsemen not as soldiers, but as a true brotherhood.

#STRIFE SEPTEMBER #headlinesxcomics publishing #happyfic hour #gn reader #darksiders fanfiction #darksiders #darksiders x reader #darksiders death x reader #darksiders 2 #darksiders death

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signalhill-if · 5 months

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I've got an idea...

I've been toying with the idea of creating a Signal Hill TTRPG or running a campaign in the universe for a while, and even though it's worked every time I've done it, it hasn't worked out for out-of-game reasons.

I've also been thinking about text-based roleplay for a while, but it's not something I have much experience with. Those large RP servers with mods and rules have always intimidated me, so I've never joined one. But recently my partner has been playing in one, and I've been getting a hankering for it.

I'm aware this might be a long shot, but would anybody be interested in a Signal Hill RP server? It would be...

Play-by-post, with a mix of public events that people can jump into when they like as well as one-on-ones

I would not be an all-powerful game master, just controlling many of the important characters from the game

Set in the Signal Hill universe, but with the ability for players to supply their own ideas and craft it to fit everybody's vision

Likely small in scale, but if I get a lot of interest and can get somebody who's more experienced with this sort of RP to help me mod it I might be able to accommodate more players. Either way, the focus would be on getting a good group going and being welcoming to everybody <3

There would be systems in place like wealth, skills, and weapons from the game, but modified to fit the style of roleplaying

Rather than being a game master, I'd simply be moderating the server and playing the important game characters

There would be a process of applying and getting characters approved in order to ensure a good environment

I think it would be really fun to not only add a Signal Hill RP to my repertoire, but also get to meet some of you folks properly, get to see your creativity, and get to build a bit of a community (however small!)

And psst... if you really like this idea, and especially if you have experience with this kind of RP and wanna give me some tips, or help moderate, or just guarantee I wind up running it cause I'll be soooo excited that people are interested, DM me! My DMs are always open <3

#woo.... not sure how this'll turn out!#if i don't get any interest i get it #but i'm really hopeful #i think this would be such a fun way to get to expand the universe and have some fun with y'all y'know?#kinda nervous but also really excited that this is a possibility #poll

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i-write-boop-spoops · 2 years

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Steven Stone and his S/O living together headcanons

first headcanon of the year, so yall know it's gotta be with my boi steven!

just some cute domestic fluff. gn! reader, not proofread lol

Enjoy!

When Steven asked you to move in

Randomly one rainy day as you watched a movie

Cuddled up on his couch in Mossdeep

You couldn’t even fathom saying no

It meant a lot, him offering you his space, his time, for the foreseeable future

And it just solidified how strongly he felt for you

Plus, it was such a quaint litte home by the sea!!

Steven… well he’s never really lived with someone before

Sure, he’s lived with his father

But that was when he was a kid, in a huge mansion, with a flurry of nannies and maids

Totally different to two adults moving in together

So it’s definitely an adjustment

Though he’s still very excited!

His cupboards are so bare oml

In terms of both food and cooking utensils

You’ve barely placed your first moving box

Before you’ve dashed to the nearest grocery store

And bought a cart’s worth of pantry and freezer staples

(You’re also gone ahead and ordered MANY kitchen gadgets, that Delibird should be here with them by tomorrow)

Despite Steven insisting that it’s your home now

He pays for practically everything related to your house

He’s such a sly bastard about it too

Like he keeps ‘forgetting’ to set you up with one of the bills

Or he already has his card out by the time your cashier is done ringing up your shopping

While it is very nice to be looked after financially

Especially by such a stunning male specimen

You still want to contribute, even in a minor way

He does eventually relent and let you pay for the PokeStarFlix subscription and some milk sometimes

The house has a very specific feel to it

Fresh, slightly sweet, slightly salty air

Always a touch cold

Tidy and spare, but still cosy

Noticeably warmer and homier since you’ve moved in

Steven definitely likes having someone who cooks in the house

Whether you only know how to make ramen or are basically a god in the kitchen

There is just something just so wonderful about a homemade meal to him

Especially by the person he loves most in the world <3

You know he’ll be hugging you from behind as you tend to something on the stove

While he is forbiddenfrom even touching the oven

He does try help out by cutting veggies or doing the wash-up after

Of course, he would never pressure, or even expect, you to cook for him

He’s more than willing to take you out for dinner or have something delivered

Even hire a chef for a day

You think that last option is a little much but you appreciate the sentiment

Surprisingly, despite Steven being a wealthy heir and all that

He’s actually quite… competent about looking after himself and his space??

He cleans up after himself

Vacuums, dusts, mops, etc.

Even does his own laundry

He LOVES his steamer

Though most of his stuff is dry-clean only so his washing machine is not used too often

At first, Steven is firm on keeping his office as his space only

He has a lot of paperwork to do and rocks to inspect

You don’t mind, since you get the run of the rest of the house

This rule doesn’t last long however

He’s quickly come to love just having you around

He’s lowkey clingy like that

Your presence is so comforting to him

So, he starts encouraging you to come sit in his office

“It’s a quiet place to read,” he’d say

“There’s a socket for your laptop,”

“You can keep your craft supplies in there,”

“You’re beautiful and I really want you near me while I work,”

You don’t really need convincing haha

Making your own little corner

Which you decorate with your favourite stones and some of your work/hobby stuff

When you’re in there together, you tend to keep to yourselves, yet still relishing in each other’s presence

While you both sneak glances at each other

And occasionally get up to give each other kisses

Steven still travels from time to time

You were already used to this from before you lived together

But going from waking up to him every day to sleeping on your own for a week or more

Does make your home feel a little empty

And your heart a little achy

Enough to make you stop Steven from doing his thing?

Absolutely not!

You can’t not let the guy whose last name is literally Stone hunt for rare stones!

Or do his job!

Plus, he always invites you along, so it’s not like he’s intentionally ditching you

He even gives you the option of joining him on his trips a little later on if it suits better

It is nice after a long week to just hop on a plane and stay somewhere exotic with your hot, eccentric boyfriend

Relaxing with Steven is somewhat of a funny sight

You’d be in your favourite hoodie and sweats/leggings

Hair not done

And he’ll be in a crisp shirt and slacks

Freshly showered, shaven and styled

Even a waistcoat/vest!

To him, no blazer = fun, casual

His pjs are so fancy and formal too wtf

Though he is not opposed to getting matching carbink or tinkaton onesies

The quality of your toiletries after moving in? Out of this world

Steven gets the good stuff

Luxurious creams, hydrating lotions, masks that leave your face so soft

And he’s totally willing to share his haircare/skincare products with you

Or buy you the ones specific to your wants/needs

You love, love, love rainy mornings in Mossdeep

Waking up next to your silver-haired dreamboat

Snuggling under the covers

Listening to that gentle pitter-patter

Before eventually pulling yourselves out of bed

Getting yourselves presentable

Then you put together some breakfast while he makes coffee (about the only thing he can compentently make)

And you sit together and idly chat and just bask in each other’s company

Just very peaceful and lovely

Which is a good way to describe your home with him :)

#steven stone headcanons #steven stone x reader #steven stone fluff #steven stone #champion steven #champion steven x reader #champion steven headcanons #champion steven fluff #silver haired dreamboat

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goldenavenger02 · 10 months

Text

lies of omission

So when they returned to the Monastery, and Lloyd retreated into the study to make a plan on how to obtain the dragon cores before Imperium could find out about them and the power they held, Sora couldn’t stop herself from grabbing Arin’s wrist and bringing him with her into her own plan.

Find out what else Lloyd was hiding.

This is for all 64 of you who voted on my poll, and the 25% of you who wanted the story about Arin and Sora finding out about Lloyd's heritage. I hope you all enjoy this one :)

“Um, how did you just never mention that you’re the grandson of the guy who created Ninjago?”

“Eh, it never came up.”

Sora didn’t want to be angry; between working with the others to locate the dragon cores, still trying to figure out the depths of his abilities as well as the fact that she knew that she would eventually have to go back to Imperium to stop Beatrix, the last thing she wanted was to be angry with Lloyd.

But, it still simmered inside her like a steady flame catching onto dry timber because he was keeping things from her and yeah, she wasn’t a ninja super fan like Arin, but he still could have told them before it ended up just coming out like that.

With how much had been kept from her all of her life, she wanted to believe that Lloyd would be different, that she could finally trust another adult again, but this just proved to her that she was sorely mistaken.

Find out what else Lloyd was hiding.

“I don’t know, Sora,” Arin admitted as she picked the lock on Lloyd’s bedroom door, twisting the small piece of metal she carried with her for this exact reason carefully, “if he’s locking us out of his room, he probably doesn’t want us to go in there.”

“He’s hiding more than being the First Spinjitzu Master’s grandson, Arin,” Sora shook her head as she felt the lock click into being unlocked, “and I am sick of not being told the truth by others, especially when I’m supposed to trust them.”

“Was it really a lie though?” Arin asked as she twisted the knob, opening the dark room and allowing him to step in before shutting the door and pocketing the hand-crafted metal pick, “it’s not like we ever asked who his grandfather was.”

“It was a lie of omission, purposefully not telling us that,” she insisted as she put her hand on the wall in order to find the light switch, “how can we even be sure that my elemental powers weren’t passed down somehow like the others? Just because Lloyd had never seen it doesn’t mean that no one had ever seen it.”

“I guess you’re right,” Arin shrugged while putting his hand on the light switch and flicking it upwards while speaking, “after all, there was a whole elemental alliance during the Serpentine Wars and-whoa.”

Sora couldn’t even ask because when she turned around from where her eyes had been scanning Lloyd’s extensive bookshelf full of Starfarer comics at the foot of his bed, she laid her eyes on what had cut Arin off.

It wasn’t the vertical, cracked, wooden frame on his bedside table with a photo of an older man putting his hand on the shoulder of a much younger Lloyd or the horizontal frame of their teacher around the same age, but standing next to the much younger ninja and his uncle.

No, it was the haphazardly open scroll lying in front of both of them, displaying a drawing of a golden monster that had four arms, large horns sticking out of its head and glowing purple eyes.

“What the hell is that thing?” Sora demanded as she picked up the scroll, feeling the wear on the edges of it, not surprised that it was in a much older form of Ninjargon with how yellow it was.

“I think it’s an Oni,” Arin supplied as he walked forward to examine the illustration closer, his eyes squinting with concentration, “but the Oni aren’t gold, they’re as black as the deepest darkness you’ve ever seen.”

“Arin, you’re speaking in gibberish,” Sora cut off her friend’s ramblings while pushing the scroll into his hands, “what is an Oni?”

“They’re demons who only want to destroy. They invaded Ninjago when I was a little kid, and turned everybody into stone with their darkness,” Arin insisted as he tried to read the ancient language, “but the ninja vanquished them with the Tornado of Creation. They’re supposed to be gone.”

Sora’s heart dropped as she continued to look at the illustration and her stomach dropped just thinking about fighting that thing…even with help from Riyu, there was no way that she was anywhere near ready to fight a demon who only wanted to destroy, especially not one that was different enough that it worried Arin.

“Can you make out any of the Ninjargon?” Sora questioned, stuffing her hands into her pocket as she leaned over his shoulder even though she was fully aware that it was way out of her league.

“Only one phrase, and I’m not even sure if it’s right,” Arin admitted, his voice shaking as he spoke, “the descendant of light and darkness”,”

The fear on her best friend’s face was enough to make her worry that he knew exactly what that meant, but she knew that she had to ask regardless, her mouth going dry, “Lloyd is the grandson of the First Spinjitzu Master-”

“-and the son of Lord Garmadon.” Arin confirmed as he put the scroll down, “we need to get out of here, now-”

“What are you two doing in here?”

Lloyd’s voice was stern, quite a few degrees above any of the annoyance that Sora had heard before, only making her fears that he was going to unleash the entirety of whatever the hell she and Arin couldn’t translate on them.

But when the two of them turned around, she was mildly relieved that he looked exactly like himself, albeit pissed off as he continued to speak, “this is an invasion of privacy, you two.”

“We’re leaving now, Lloyd,” Arin insisted, grabbing onto Sora’s wrist and trying to pull her out, but despite her fear, her anger took over and she refused to move despite Arin’s insistence of “Sora, let’s go.”

“Why didn’t you tell us that the First Spinjitzu Master is your grandfather?”

“I already explained this, Sora,” Lloyd sighed as his eyes continued to scan the room, seemingly trying to figure out what they had messed with, “it never came up.”

“It just never came up?” Sora scoffed as she reached for the scroll, making sure that it unrolled itself where Lloyd could see it in all of its horrific glory, “or did you want to keep this from us, like everything else that you haven’t told us?”

Sora expected Lloyd to lash out at her, to tell her to get out of his monastery, even just to scream at her for violating his personal space; so when his muscles tensed and his face froze in a mix of what looked like guilt and fear, she almost felt bad for not leaving when Arin tried to pull her away. Almost.

“Arin, I need to speak to Sora. Alone.” Lloyd finally spoke, his fists still balled up in what looked like stress until Arin left the room, when he only moved to pull the worn scroll out of her hands.

“My parents hid everything from me,” Sora’s anger was bubbling up now, unable to be stopped as she started to shout, “everyone hid everything from me in Imperium and I thought you were different, Lloyd!”

“Sora-” Lloyd started, but her yells cut him off with a violence that scared her in the deepest parts of her beating heart.

“Ever since we met, you’ve been honest with us. You told us everything, and now this!” Tears were starting to prick at her eyes against her will, the signs of where she had grown up starting to push through the exterior that she had built, “I wanted you to be different, Lloyd. I needed you to be different.”

“Do you really want to know everything?” Lloyd’s voice was filled with a comforting tone despite the numbness in between the lines, but when Sora nodded, the last thing she wanted to hear came out, “then you’ll have to wait.”

“But why?” She demanded, starting to feel the fire burn in her chest again, “why don’t you want me to know?”

“It has nothing to do with you, Sora. It has everything to do with me,” and with those words, the fire was instantly extinguished with confusion, but her lack of questioning allowed him to continue, “I’m not ready to talk about it. I don’t fully understand all of it, nor did I ever want it to happen. I can’t stop you from doing your own research, nor would I ever dissuade you with how much your ancient Ninjargon needs work.”

Despite the heavy air around them, she couldn’t help but smile briefly at the mild jab at her awful translation skills before letting out the apology that had built up despite her anger.

“I understand, and I’m really sorry for digging through your stuff, but can I ask you one question? After that, I’m done prying. I swear.”

“You can ask me whatever you need to, Sora,” Lloyd insisted, his gentle, calloused hand resting on her metal shoulder, “whenever you need to, even if I’m unable to answer.”

“Are you an Oni?” She couldn’t hide her voice trembling and given Lloyd’s slight slump of his body, he definitely heard it as well.

“The First Spinjitzu Master was half Oni and half Dragon, so are Garmadon and Master Wu, but my mother is human.”

“So you’re Oni, Dragon and human?” Lloyd’s nod was all the confirmation she received to which she couldn’t but speak while the pieces clicked in her head, “that’s why you’re the conduit, because you’re part dragon.”

“Yeah, that sounds about right,” Lloyd agreed before waving her toward the door, the scroll still in his left hand, “I’ll be out to talk about the plan in a few minutes. You should head downstairs.”

“Okay,” Sora nodded and headed toward the door, only to stop and say, “and Lloyd? I get the whole “shitty parents” thing, so you can talk to me too.”

“Does this mean you still trust me?” Lloyd’s voice was soft as he looked up from the scroll, his green eyes full of genuine questioning.

“Yeah,” Sora agreed, no longer harboring the anger that had built up inside of her once he she had processed his reasoning for his own lies of omission, “yeah, I guess it does.”

#lego ninjago #ninjago #my writing #fic #angst #dragons rising #ninjago dragons rising #sora ninjago #arin ninjago #lloyd garmadon #oni-dragon hybrid lloyd #friendship #trust issues #every single ninjago character needs therapy #but especially these two holy shit #sora and lloyd #shippers dni #parental issues #cannonical bad parenting

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musingmelsuinesmelancholy · 5 months

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Some post sabbath musings on ritual and altered states of consciousness. Brief mentions of sexuality and rape in the third paragraph. I’m in my head a lot, lately I have been struggling with “letting go” during ritual.i focus too much on saying the right thing, doing the right thing and it takes me out of the moment. It can be hard to loose myself in ritual. Not that proper technique and ritual execution aren’t important.

Engaging my senses more is helping. I’ve found whipping to be great, chanting tends to make me feel a little silly (I think I’ll get over it eventually), repetitive movements (particularly those that limit blood supply or breath- like treading the mill) are phenomenal. Entheogens truly have helped quite a bit, especially paired with the whipping and movement. Though I do worry about using them as a crutch.

Re-enacting myths/folklore or things I’ve dreamed is new to me. So far it’s been pretty helpful but, like with chanting, if I start thinking too much about what I’m doing I feel silly and it takes me out of the moment. Remembering these are things that spirits have shown me or led me to brings me back into the moment.

I used to be completely adverse to the idea of nudity in ritual. (for myself, idc what other folks get up to) started experimenting with that too, I’m liking it so far and honestly it’s pretty helpful in engaging my physical senses more in order to induce ecstatic states. (Nudity + whipping + flying ointment *chefs kiss*) Allowing myself to express sensuality and sexuality in ritual (though these won’t be the focuses of my practice, mine isn’t a fertility or sex based craft) is not only helpful in engaging my senses, but also very healing. Since my assault it’s been a challenge to be comfortable in my body and to allow myself to express myself as a sensual being.

To me the beginnings of flight often feel like that plunge on a roller coaster, or going down a steep hill. A kinda falling sensation. Sometimes it’s the most natural thing for me to just let go, give into it. Other times I fight it. After a few years I’m noticing it’s fear creeping in when I fight it- perhaps I can find I way to use the fear rather than struggle against it? Finding mirrors and water helpful in flight too, esp if I can gaze into still water reflecting moon or starlight. Very eager to see how experimenting with the point at which the sea and horizon blur together goes.

#traditional witchcraft #witchcraft #magic #witch #tradcraft #animism #occult #spirit flight #transvection #sabbath #sabbaths #walpurgisnacht #May Day #traditional witch #ecstasy #ritual #trance

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revelisms · 1 year

Text

Little Numbers

Jinx has a lot of things she doesn't like—and, mainly, she doesn't like thunderstorms. Silco, slowly, is learning how to navigate that.

Rating: G | WC: 1.5k | Oneshot A lil' semi-sweet morsel of a character study, set early after Act 1. Features Jinx brainstorming a new invention, talking about her and Vi's papa, and asking Silco about his past. Silco is still figuring out how to be a Dad™️. Full story below and on AO3

They've something of a routine, in this.

He's come to expect it, over the months; on days like these, most of all. Past a spider-spiral of jade glass, glossed with gold, brews a storm: the rains speckling off the windows and battering over the roofs, a haze of gloom laid about their streets, like an old god stirred from the tides. It rakes its claws off every storefront and tile; leaves its footprints in polluted pools on the cobbles, with each howling stagger through the Lanes. It skews his office to gray tones, and ripples the walls with water-shadow.

A kindred spirit, in its own way. A comfort. But not for her.

The child dislikes the rain—much as she dislikes sunlight or the color lemon or the feeling of water in one's boots. Those menial things, though, can be corrected: a change of environment, new paints, fresh clothes. Contrary to the superstitions of those paid by his coin, however, he cannot control the weather.

A storm will oft send the girl into a reclusive fit. Ill associations, perhaps. He knows, best of all of them, that memory's a wry devil. With a sorceress's charm, she weaves sensation into the most stubborn edges of one's nerves; she steals things that were once cherished, and tarnishes their taste to rot; she encases, cages, and gnaws at the mind.

In his case, the work and the drink and the walks through the night's chill do enough to abide her.

Jinx—as she is now asking to be called—is still finding her ways.

On the rare, rain-drenched instances she will emerge from her den, brave the firecracker of the thunder to peel up the bar's varnish-slick steps, he's learned to find her here: her quiet tinkerings echoing from the underbelly of his desk, her small head at his knee, a gargoyled hunch in the cave-cover it provides.

He tends to think of the girl in feline terms: a spatting kitten clawing up the curtains. On these days, she's more akin to a pup at his feet—one he has to remind himself is there.

He shifts in his chair, pen in hand. She's brought a closet's worth of crafting supplies with her: papers, pens, metal parts, screws. His own work, housed in a series of reports, is similarly cluttered: steel mills, imports, distilleries, bullets. Cogs and wheels of his own toolbox.

"I see you're...working on something new." Rain smatters; his pen scratches. At his knee, the girl rifles through a set of oil-crayons. "Another invention of yours?" he wonders slowly, slicing the quill into three sharp lines.

1-5-7.

A code for Sevika: a blessing in order, with a red string. The mills were up thirty percent from the last quarter, but their chief of operations was getting skittish. Not all saw the promise in supplying disputes across the water.

He could bend their workers' ears, differently.

A small, paint-spackled hand twists around the front of his desk. With it, a splatting page.

The girl has her own codes, he's found. Music or mantras or poems, when the words won't seem to come to her. A color palette of emotions, when she isn't quite sure how to box them in, herself. He's picked up enough on their patterns. Blue means happy; yellow, sad; green, nervous.

She retreats her hand, quickly. In silence, he muddles over what he's left with.

No talking today, it seems.

Scrawled on the page: a flash of neon-pink.

Her penmanship spears through the paper, jagged lettering and punctuated swirls. It has a touch of carnivalesque charm about it. Bold, vibrant, uneven.

Gilby — Gilbert — Gilly? Like a smokie bear-BOOM! He's gonna be pink and red. See?

Underneath, she's drawn a ghoulish rendition of what appears to be a pipe bomb, with extra wires atop the head and a set of welded ears. The face wears the signature scowl she so seems to favor. Scribbled along the sides sit two claw-tipped paws.

Curiously, Silco cocks his head. She's gone so far as to outline the very chemistry she intends to use to stage the explosive. A viper-sharp mind in that little head of hers.

He hums. His pen scratches in a quiet response. A line jetted through smokie—above it, a thin respelling. Beside her drawing, he leaves notes of his own, in his sliced, sloping script.

Lovely colors. Consider a chlorate mixture — will better suit the size.

He slides the page back towards the edge of his desk, and returns to his reports. A thin set of fingers tiptoes over the varnish: slips the paper back out of sight.

Another rumble of thunder bleeds through the streets. His pen sweeps down a second sheet. Not a moment after, he finds his work again interrupted. A series of stars have been added across her page.

Sawdust or sugar? Why is it better? How did you learn about chemistry?

Silco leans into one elbow, with a low breath. He has half a mind to send his reports to the girl; see if her sharpness for equations extends to analytics.

Instead, his thumb slips her candy-colored questions farther over his wall of numbers, careful to avoid smudging her work. A gust of wind batters the rain against the windows. Beneath his desk, an incessant tick-ticking of metal. He scratches in his responses, lamplight glimmering on still-wet ink.

Sawdust. This design will have a greater reliance on pressure than combustion. From working the tunnels, then the doctor, then the tutors he knew of.

And so their routine begins: a question to a response, a response to a question. With each tradeoff, another smattering of doodles appears—some pink, some blue, some black.

Did you like school?

She's drawn a small galaxy, now, complete with star-shine and moons. He does his best to write around them: neat boxes of black lettering.

What I could get of it, under the company allowances. They hadn't much care for an educated workforce.

The company hadn't much care for anything, beyond bodies sloughing through that black earth, doing as they were told. Huddled in the barracks, his lamp tucked beneath his sheets, he used to read stolen books cover-to-cover and back again: histories, economics, folktales.

What was your favorite part? Literature.

The girl scribbles a violent response, to that. He lifts his brows, patiently, fingers laced. Gives a dull huff to the slash of pink she slides before him.

UGH!! Borrring! Did you ever write anything? Boring for you. Started with union pamphlets. Some essays stuck in the press.

A light thwunk of her boot hits the floor.

What about geology? I like geology. What's your favorite rocks? Consequence of the trade, less than like it. Minerals, not rocks. Covellite, jasper, bloodstone.

Each mineral hosts their own illustrations, by the time she turns the sheet back to him: a blue comet, a red heart, a green hand.

What were the mines like?

His pen idles on the page.

"Am I to answer that in stanza, or in a speech?" he muses, dryly.

Beneath his desk, a small sound, like an animal stifling a hiccup. After a moment, Jinx speaks. "Papa worked in the mines."

She hardly ever mentions her parents. When she does, it is with the same veneration that she speaks of her sister: like something too far gone to touch; something feared and worshipped, in turns.

Silco thinks of his own father, nigh-nonexistent father, with a lineage stripped from him since birth, and feels his nail bite into his thumb.

He thinks of Vander, for a short, vile moment—and then he doesn't.

"Then you know of it, enough," he mutters, regathering himself.

A feather-light touch toys at the clasps of his boot. "Papa hated them."

He is back in them, briefly. Back in that hellish chill, dry as death; in the red-lamped glow signposting ten-meter intervals in the pitch; in the feel of the rock at his back, a crawlspace of a work path, ore and diamonds rattling in his carts; the smell of sulphur and sweat and dust in his lungs, thick as sludge in his throat.

His pen twitches.

"Most the lot of us did, child," he says, far quieter than he intends, "and most hadn't a choice."

Jinx says nothing to that, for a long moment. She makes no move to retrieve her sheet, either. But he feels her shift: a firmer pressure at his knee, her tinkerings forgotten.

He lingers over her drawings.

Pink. The color of her shame and anger.

Silco drags his thumb against the ridges of his fingertips, worries over the hard calluses the years of that labor had left: scar tissue too deep to fade. In the silence, his reports tether back his attention. Still, Jinx sits.

He marks three sharp lines: another code for his right-hand. A gloss of green light begins to break through the gray. "These wretched things in life," he finds himself murmuring, "we all must endure. But we are stronger, for having endured them." His other hand loosens from his temple, finds the soft crown of the girl's head, and rests there. "Remember that."

Jinx draws in a small breath, picking at a piece of tin.

For minutes, she doesn't say a word. Then, quietly: "Okay."

The rains lighten. He returns to his work, leafing through new proposals and policy drafts.

At his feet, the child scribbles.

Pink and blue, and pink and blue.

#arcane #arcane fanfic #silco arcane #jinx arcane #silco & jinx #crime dad daughter duo #these season 2 tidbit ideas hit me like a truck #listen i just hhlskfj #i love lil jinx so much #and complete awkward crime boss dysfunctional dad silco #totally at a loss for how to Do This #but also just seeing so much of *himself* in her #and almost reapproaching his inner child as a result #writing

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justsomerandomfanfic · 2 years

Text

Stitches - Thorin Oakenshield X GN Reader

Title: Stitches

Thorin Oakenshield X GN Reader

Additional Characters: The Company (Mentioned)

Modern AU / Magic AU

WC: 1,602

Warnings: Death mentioned, The Hobbit storyline mentioned, slight angst, and fluff

Pulling the thread and needle through the fabric, you let out a sigh, tying the thread and cutting the excess string. Placing down your craft supplies, you hold the finished plush in your hands, holding it up to stare at your masterpiece. You had been making a plush of your favorite Hobbit Dwarf, Thorin. It took a couple of months, but you were done. Staring into his black, shiny eyes, you smiled. He wasn't perfect, being your first plush you've ever made, but he was yours. His dark brown hair, made of felt, was sewn to his flesh colored fabric head. You made his beard with the same brown colored felt, and even braided brown yarn to make his braids. You gave him stubby limbs, and dressed him in a poorly fashioned outfit that looked sadly nothing like the one in the movie.

Overall, you were very proud of yourself, and decided to go out and get yourself a small treat for your great feat. So, placing the Thorin plush on your bed, you scooted off the mattress and grabbed your bag, before putting on your shoes and leaving your home. You wandered the streets, making your way to the nearby café, where you had bought yourself a small mocha. Walking inside the building, you took in the atmosphere. It was warm and cozy, with soft music playing and colorful lights decorating the walls. It gave you 70's vibes, which was nice. You ordered your drink, before leisurely making your way back home, occasionally sipping your drink as you did so.

Unlocking your door and entering your home once more, you kicked it closed behind you. Sitting your cup of coffee on the kitchen counter, you hummed a simple song as you toed off your shoes, taking them off and setting them neatly by the shoe rack. Heading to your room, you almost had a heart attack. There, standing in your room, was a person... A man... Who looked very similar to Thorin. The same hair, stature, and even though his back was turned to you, you knew it was him. You watched The Hobbit too many times, not to instantly recognize the Dwarf. But, how? You asked yourself. What magic was this? You didn't even think magic was real in your world.

"Uh... Hello?" You spoke up, startling the man as he turned around to look at you, eyes slightly wide as he stared at you with his deep blue eyes.

"Where am I? Who are you?" He commanded quickly, and you couldn't stop your heart from skipping a beat; he sounded just like Thorin, and looked just like him too.

"You're in my home, and my name is Y/N."

Thorin seemed defensive, looking at you skeptically, "Why am I here?" He asked, before looking around your room. "I recognized this place, for only a fleeting moment, but the last thing I remember was the feeling of being cold... Numb. Thinking back, my mind is a blur."

You frowned, realizing what he meant. The only understandable conclusion was that your plush of Thorin had come to life, and the last thing Thorin remembers was his death. But, how could that be possible? That world was fiction, so there’s no possible way that a toy could come alive… Right? You shook away those thoughts, trying to push them aside as you began answering Thorin's questions.

"Well, I had made a... A doll of you and I think you came to life." You said sheepishly, rubbing the back of your neck, as Thorin looked up at you once more.

"What do you mean?" He asked, "I am confused."

"Me too." You answered, "I have no idea what is happening."

"Then we are in agreement." Thorin spoke, before taking a seat on your bed. "You say I was this doll that you made. And the last thing I felt was numbness, a cold chill..." Looking up at you, he frowned, "Am I dead? Or has some... magic sent me to this world?"

You had a loss for words, "I- I don't know. I'm sorry. All I know is that I finished making a plush of you and then left for a coffee. And when I came back you were here and my plush was gone." You ranted, running a hand through your hair.

"You made me..." Thorin muttered, repeating his words, "So, you know of me?" He asked, and you nodded.

"Yes, in this world, you are a fictional character -- a story book character. Someone made you into a story a long time ago and then they made a movie about you and your Company reclaiming Erebor." You explained and Thorin closed his eyes, taking in a deep breath.

He clenched his fists as he quickly opened his eyes, "I do not understand what this place is or why I am here, or what happened to me to have brought me here..." He began, staring at your bedroom floor, "But, you must help me get back to my Company."

You bit your lip, "Thorin... I don't know if I can. I don't even know how you are real right now..." You sighed heavily, “Honestly, I’m freaking out right now.”

Thorin raised an eyebrow, "What do you mean? Why can you not help me?" You could see he was growing upset.

You sighed, running a hand through your hair again, "Like I said, in this world, you are not real." You paused, before heading to your shelf and pulling The Hobbit DVD off the shelf, you offered Thorin the case, where he could see a picture of himself on the cover. "Well, now you're real, but I'm sorry... I have no idea how I can send you back."

Thorin was quiet as he stared at the DVD case, staring at himself. You sighed, hesitantly making your way over to him, sitting beside him on your bed. "Look, I know it might sound crazy," You began softly, "But maybe there’s a reason you were sent to this world." You wondered and Thorin looked over at you.

"What do you mean?" He asked, and you bit your lip, looking down at your socked feet.

"Uh, maybe something in the world or the universe wanted to give you a second chance." You spoke, unable to look him in the eyes.

"A second chance?" He asked, and you nodded before sighing shakily.

You swallowed thickly before speaking, "You died, Thorin." Thorin looked at you, shocked and you continued, "So that's why the last thing you remember is feeling cold and numb... You were on that frozen river."

Thorin looked back at the DVD in his hands, and you waited patiently for him to speak. He finally did, after several minutes of silence.

"Thank you." He whispered, causing you to look up. Your brows furrowed in confusion. He looked down at the case of The Hobbit once more, "I'm starting to remember... I remember my Company... and Bilbo." He looked back up at you, his sad blue eyes staring into yours. "Are they alright? Did we reclaim our homeland?"

You felt the tears well up in your eyes, "Yes, you reclaimed Erebor." You nodded, "The battle... Many were lost."

"As with every great battle." Thorin interrupted as you nodded again in agreement. "But what of my kin?" You stayed silent, and that was all he needed to hear. You both stayed silent for another long while, and the tension in the air was thick. But, eventually, Thorin broke the silence. You went to open your mouth to say something, but he quickly stood up and walked over to the window. "I am stuck here... In this world." He spoke, turning to face you, as his expression was hard to read.

You shrugged, "I don't know for sure that you are stuck here, Thorin." You began, standing up yourself, and walking over to him. "But, you are more than welcome to stay."

"Thank you," He stated, as he looked out the window, watching as the sun set, casting him in a beautiful orange hue. You followed his gaze and smiled sadly, looking away, before clearing your throat and looking back at the Dwarf. "May I stay here tonight?" He asked, and you nodded.

"Of course, um... Do you want anything? Water? Milk?" You asked, gesturing towards the door, wanting desperately to do something, anything to help Thorin.

"Water will suffice. Thank you." His tone was polite and formal, and you nodded before leaving the room to fetch your drinks.

When you returned, he was still looking out the window and, upon seeing you enter, his eyes lit up. You handed him the glass of water which he gave you a small sad smile in thanks. You sipped your drink, standing awkwardly near him, before he spoke up.

"You say this is my second chance." He began, voice deep as he continued, "Maybe Mahal sent me here after my death... To give me this second chance?"

You hesitated before responding, "That would explain a lot..." You mumbled.

Thorin smiled slightly, and you saw his eyes dart across the room. "It will take time to get used to this strange place. It seems we are going to be spending a lot of time together." He took a sip of his water.

"Yeah," You agreed, before smiling to yourself, "We'll figure this out, okay, Thorin?"

He nodded, staring back out the window as the stars began to fill up the sky. Deep down, he missed his home, his family. But, he knew that this place with you, he'd be able to find comfort.

_______________________________________________

Let me know if I should make a Part 2

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