#stuff from marshy

[sillymemes23]

silly illy stuff

[marshmellowtea]

what if. what if i made a dedicated chrissandrarobert blog……..

[literaryvein-reblogs]

some words for worldbuilding (pt. 1)

Air

billow, breath, bubble, draft, effervescence, fumes, puff, vapor

Arena

aquarium, bazaar, coliseum, field, hall, mecca, stage

Building

abbey, architecture, armory, asylum, bakery, bar, booth, cathedral, club, construction, court, department store, dock, edifice, emergency room, factory, food court, fort/fortress, framework, garrison, greasy spoon, hacienda, hangout, headquarters, hotel, inn, institute/institution, jetty, laboratory, mansion, mental hospital, monastery, mosque, museum, nursing home, office, pavilion, penitentiary, plant, prison, rampart, repository, ruins, sanctuary, shrine, skyscraper, stockade, storeroom, structure, temple, theater/theatre, treasury, warehouse, wharf

City

capital, metropolis, town, village

Furniture

altar, banister, bench, booth, bunk, cabinet, chair, couch, crib, davenport, dresser, furnishings, futon, jetty, lectern, partition, perch, platform, pulpit, rail/railing, screen, secretary, stand, wardrobe

Geographic division

area, county, desert, dynasty, kingdom, outskirts, quarter, sector, suburb, territory, tract, zone

Habitat

abode, ecosystem, environmentalist, habitat/habitation, harbor, home, land, nest, paradise, premises, refuge, settlement, tent

Habitat, human: accommodations, apartment, barracks, cabin, castle, condominium, convent, domesticity, dungeon, element, encampment, estate, grange, hacienda, home, house, housing, hut, jail, lodging, madhouse, monastery, neighborhood, old country, palace, prison, reservation, resort, sanctuary, shanty, suite, vacancy, villa

Habitat, rural: barn, burrow, conservatory, desert, farm, forest, grange, jungle, sanctuary, wilderness/wilds, wood/woods

Land

abyss, avalanche, bank, bay, bed, bluff, campus, cape, cavern, cliff, compost, cove, crevice/crevasse, dirt, downgrade, dune, elevation, estuary, expanse, field, fossil, garden, glacier, gorge, green, ground, gulf, harbor, hillock, inlet, knoll, landscape, lawn, lot, marshy, menagerie, mine, moat, mound, mountainous, nature, outlook, park, patio, pit, plateau, plaza, porch, prairie, projection, property, quagmire, ravine, ridge, savanna, shelf, soil, stack, table, trench, tundra, valley, well, wood/woods, yard

Nation

country, home, land, nationality, soil, state

Personal item

adornment, amulet, beads, best-seller, briefcase, cache, cargo, charm, contraceptive, disguise, effects, equipment, favorite, gem, glasses, handbag, jewelry, knickknack, luggage, marionette, memorabilia, necklace, novelty, object d’art, odds-on-favorite, paraphernalia, pledge, possession, pride, puppet, purse, resources, ring, souvenir, stuff, supplies, sustenance, thing/things, trappings, trifle, valuable

Planet

cosmos, Earth, galaxy, moon, planet, sphere, world

Region

capital, commonwealth, quarter, region, settlement, suburb

Room

alcove, attic, bath, bedroom, boutique, cellar, den, enclosure, foyer, gin mill, hall, lavatory, loft, outhouse, parlor, restaurant, saloon, shop, stage, store, tenement, theater/theatre, vestibule

Shape

angular, beaten, billowy, checkered, concave, conical/conic, crescent, curly, deformed, elliptical, flat, gnarled, kinky, misshapen, obtuse, round, shapeless, spiral, straight

Vehicle

camper, conveyance, motorcade, transport

Vehicle, air: aircraft, armada, blimp, dirigible, helicopter, shuttle, UFO

Vehicle, land: ambulance, bicycle, car, cherry-picker, dolly, excavator, model, traffic, truck

Vehicle, water: armada, boat, craft, fleet, sailboat, yacht

Water

abyss, aqueduct, basin, beach, blackball, brook, cape, channel, condensation, creek, deep, estuary, fountain, gulf, heading, inlet, lake, oasis, pond, promontory, reservoir, sea, spray, strait, tide, wash, wave, whirlpool

NOTE

The above are concepts classified according to subject and usage. It not only helps writers and thinkers to organize their ideas but leads them from those very ideas to the words that can best express them.

It was, in part, created to turn an idea into a specific word. By linking together the main entries that share similar concepts, the index makes possible creative semantic connections between words in our language, stimulating thought and broadening vocabulary. Writing Resources PDFs

Source ⚜ Writing Basics & Refreshers ⚜ On Vocabulary

[phantasm-ae]

cw: fluff, drabble

HEADCANON: Soap accidentally joins a cult, much to Ghost’s headache

PAIRING: Ghoap

they were supposed to be doing recon.

In. Out.

Quiet.

Minimal contact. No eyes. No chatter. No interference. Nothing out of the ordinary.

A sleepy village somewhere up in the Carpathians. Lovely land it was. Foggy in the mornings. Cold. A bit damp but green as hell in the afternoon. Quiet too. Silent and peaceful in the kind of way that made you wonder if sound should have ever existed there to begin with.

But like Laswell briefed. Some bloody shady bloke took advantage of the isolated land and marsh. Housing and smuggling in some illegal arms and explosives disguised as relief shipments.

So of course. Ghost and Soap got sent in to scope it out.

It was a simple recon.

Ghost didn't mind it. Not really.

To be fair. He thought this was the most peace and quiet he was going to get all quarter.

No gunfire. No close-quarter scraps in stairwells. No dodging fucking shrapnel or sprinting through burning compounds. Just trees. Wet and mossy soil. The occasional crow. Marshy terrain and birdsong. Simple stuff.

Ghost likes simple stuff.

Ghost liked watching. Recording. Mapping routes while he let Johnny mutter observations into the comms. Having tolerated it to the point that he didn't even scold him anymore for it. Christ, even his chatter was low today -- something about the fog making him "mysterious" or some shite. No matter though. They'd done the hard part already anyway. Mapped the village, tagged the supply route, confirmed that the relief trucks weren't carrying food indeed but enough military-grade plastique to level a city block. All they had left to do now was confirm the time of the next drop, pass it up the chain, and exfil.

Simple stuff.

Ghost liked simple stuff.

Except.

Soap had vanished.

And not even a full vanish. Not at fucking first, no.

He'd waved Ghost off with a "Just takin' a look doon tha' alley. Be two ticks". That was 47 minutes. Ghost wasn't counting, he lied

Which, in fairness, wasn’t new. The Scot had a habit of getting chatty with strangers like it was a pub crawl and not a classified mission. One smile and he’d have half the village offering him tea and stories of their dead uncle who once fought a bear.

Ghost let it slide the first time. Maybe even the second.

But when Soap didn’t check in at the designated mark time, and Ghost circled back to their last known, only to find bloody flower petals on the ground and Johnny’s comm unit hanging from a goat’s horn like a charm --

Yeah.

That’s when Ghost knew things had gone tits-up.

He radioed in twice. No response. Trying not to panic as he commed in the others that were on overwatch. Nothing. No chatter. No static. Just that eerie bloody silence he once found peaceful now absolutely making his skin crawl.

Christ alive, he muttered to himself, checking the signal booster on his belt. Still working. Which meant someone -- or something -- was jamming them.

Brilliant.

Ghost moved low through the underbrush, keeping to the tree line just east of the village. He could see the flickers of firelight now, smell the smoke and roasted meat wafting from the square. Bells and flutes. And singing. There was...singing?. High-pitched and melodic, like an old folk lullaby if it had been raised from the dead and set to a waltz.

Then came the faint sound of drumming. Bells. Laughter. Maybe a chant.

He followed it. Past a moss-eaten gate, under a canopy of gnarled trees and tangled ivy, until he stumbled onto the edge of the village square --

And froze.

Because there, at the center of a crowd of villagers dressed in wool and lace and something straight out of a pagan fever dream, was Soap.

Soap. Soap. Johnny.

Barefoot. Shirtless. And absolutely bedecked in garlands of lavender and whatever passed for sacred herbs around here. A sheer golf sash draped around his torso. Mohawked hair full of twigs and shiny bits of ribbon like a demented maypole. Someone had smeared.... pollen? across his cheeks in thick, ceremonial swipes.

He looked like a Druidic Eurovision contestant.

Ghost blinked. Slowly. Like maybe, maybe this was one of those near-death hallucinations soldiers got before bleeding out.

Nope. Still blinking. Still alive. Still watching his sergeant sway side-to-side while a pair of old women -- possibly priestesses, possibly just nosy -- danced around him chanting in Old Romanian. Or maybe Welsh. Ghost couldn’t tell. One of them was holding what looked like a chicken.

And the worst part? Johnny His Johnny was grinning.

Somewhere in the pit of his stomach, something warm unfurled. Dangerous. Worshipful. Like awe, if awe had teeth. Ancient. Sacred. Divine.

Beautiful.

“Oi, Ghost!” Soap beamed. Spotting the massive and tanking hulk within the treeline. Arms outstretched like a man greeting an old friend to his wedding. “They made me a god!”

At that Ghost blinked. Fever dream fading like some bloody smoke in the wind.

"They what?"

“Not a real god, obviously. Just the reincarnation o' one. Sorta. It’s a bit vague. They said I ‘carry the blood of thunder’ and somethin' about ‘the sacred thighs o' the mountain ram,’ but I might’ve misheard that bit—”

"Johnny. What did you do."

“I helped an auld woman carry some firewood and smiled a wee bit too much I ken?. Apparently, that was enough.”

Ghost’s gaze shifted to the villagers. All wide-eyed. Adoring. Bowing. One of them was cradling a goat dressed in ceremonial beads. Another was preparing a bowl of paint or possibly blood.

A high priestess approached, eyes glowing with zeal. “The Horned One’s bridegroom is with us! The prophecy is fulfilled!”

“…Bridegroom?” Ghost echoed, horrified.

Soap whispered out of the side of his mouth, “Right, aye, slight hiccup — turns out they think I’m meant tae marry their goat god. But here, look at this necklace they gave me!” He held up a hideous pendant shaped like a horned moon and something that might’ve been -- was that teeth?

“Johnny,” Ghost growled. “We are leaving.”

Soap looked genuinely torn. “I mean. I could rule this village for a bit. The wine's naw bad. And they're dead fond o' my arms”

“They’re trying to marry you off to livestock.”

“Tae be fair, the goat's just symbolic -- "

“Now, Johnny.”

Deep down. Deep deep down though. Simon wanted to keep him here. To watch him. Because -- God, it wasn’t just the adrenaline. It was the comfort of seeing Johnny so... happy. So untroubled.

So.... alive, that at that moment, Simon didn't care if it meant he'd join him in the middle of a bloody cult. Changing his mind. Just for a second, maybe two -- because honestly, who wouldn’t want to sit back and watch his Johnny at the center of it all? Grinning like a bloody sunbeam, spinning under those ridiculous garlands and chanting women, eyes sparkling like he'd found some secret purpose among the madness.

That thought immediately evaporated the moment Ghost overheard "ritual. blood letting. and sacrifice". Yeah fuck that. No longer was Johnny the blessed warrior -- they were ready to make him the bloody sacrifice.

And one look around the perimeter. Eyes narrowed. Brows furrowed and a palm reaching for his pistol. The villagers’ excitement turned from adoration to something darker, more sinister. The chants shifted. The smell of incense became cloying and oppressive.

Yeah fuck that. Let's fucking go.

So they fled. Cult hot on their trail. Waving candles. Aiming spears and throwing holy relics -- "holy hell was that me underwear" "shut the fuck up and run straight" -- half-carrying an inebriated Soap, who had gotten wine drunk on their ritual nectar. Slurring "Yer just jealous 'cause they liked me better than ye"

Ghost didn't respond.

Didn't stop running either. Having to haul Johnny in to a forced piggyback. His arms burned, but he didn’t care -- nothing was going to slow him down, not while that bloody cult was chasing them with torches and chants.

Johnny, still drunk out of his mind, draped himself over Ghost’s back like a dead weight, slurring out random bits of nonsense between giggles and hiccups.

Ghost didn’t say a word. Not even his usual irritated and annoyed muttering. No retort. No counter. No comeback. Just pure silence until they were finally back at the safehouse. Simon bolting the door behind them. Soap collapsed on the floor, still wrapped in ceremonial fabric and wearing a crown of herbs.

There was a beat of silence.

Then Soap, grinning to himself, murmured, “Wee bit romantic, is it no? Bein’ dragged aff the altar by a masked-up loon.”

Ghost finally turned to him, gaze burning through the skull of his balaclava.

“Next time,” he said flatly, “I let them marry you to the goat.”

Soap winked. “Thought ye already had me spoken for.”

Ghost only narrowed his eyes.

"Aye. might as well be. I’ve been stuck with you long enough to be your bloody husband.”

Soap choked.

masterlist

[sunlightmurdock]

The beaten path | Rhett Abbott

spookweek masterlist

Prompt: getting lost in the woods | sent out to the old barn with Rhett one evening, the two of you aren’t alone in the woods.

Warnings: themes of horror and violence. being stalked by something. supernatural stuff. impersonation. It’s a bit of a spooky one! wc: 1.7k

”He’s such a jackass,” Rhett kicks through dirt and leaves, shaking his head and biting out his words through gritted teeth. “Too fuckin’ old to do it himself, and god forbid Perry gets off of his damn ass.”

The flashlight shines off into the darkening woods up ahead. He squints into the shadows, twisting his neck to check back the way he had come. After the storm that had been tearing through Wabang the past two days, it’s a wonder that the ranch held up as well as it had.

All that’s out is the generator. And the part for that generator is way out by the old barn, and the road is blocked by all the tree fall, so he’s the idiot who has to head out there on foot. 

Your fingers curl around his bicep, tugging him back until you can loop your arm through his and hug yourself to his side. Stuck on the ranch for two days yourself, you’re glad to get out of that house for a while — and to have him to yourself, too. 

He had warned you not to come.

You had been all bundled up in his bed already, warm and half naked between his sheets, eyelids drooping. 

But, you had insisted on coming with him. Now, frost nips at your nose and your cheeks, the Wyoming winter creeping in before the leaves have even finished falling. Rhett feels you turn your cheek toward his shoulder, slowing his pace to keep you with him. 

He shoots a glance towards the sky, catching the last glimpses of amber and orange as the sun disappears behind the Tetons. Can’t go another night without power, not when Amy’s already sick. She has a cold and the road will be clear enough for them to go to the pharmacy in the morning but no, this expedition had been urgent anyway. 

“Is it much further?” You ask him, bundled in an old Carhartt from their hallway closet and a pair of his thermal socks, already thinking of how good it’s going to feel to tear it all off and slip under his flannel sheets again tonight.

One glance backward and the truck seems so small, so far away at the end of the dirt path.

He stops to take a quick look around. He knows these woods like the back of his hand. It’s a mile and a half the long way around, but it could be longer if the path is messed up. 

You’d be there and back in fifteen minutes if you cut through the trees. 

He knows better. If it was just him, he’d take the long way around, risk the fallen trees and the hour-long walk that should have only taken twenty minutes. But, he can feel the way you’re trembling against him.

“Nah. Not much further. This way.” He mumbles, turning his head and kissing your temple softly. He unwraps you from his arm and drapes it around your shoulders, hugging you close as he steps off of the path and turns his light toward the trees.

It’s marshy and darker again, where the woods are denser and the ground is wetter, more uneven. Your boots slip in the mud every other step, and your breath comes out in clouds in front of you.

A city girl by Wabang’s standards, Rhett knows that you haven’t ever found this property to be particularly welcoming. Hell, it isn’t. 

Its harsh winters are designed to kill. The air gets cold enough to make it feel like your lungs are screaming when you suck in a deep breath. The ground freezes solid, the grass disappearing and leaving the living with nothing. It’s like even the soil goes back when the trees become bare. 

Draped against him, it’s not the autumn chill that has you shivering.

One more glance backwards and the truck isn’t visible anymore, just trees for as far as your eyes can see.

Turning forward again, the scene up ahead is darker already. Gnarled trees, twisting and looming, the sunlight has faded and the last glimpses of it have disappeared from the canopy above.

You swallow. Your shadow lurks on the chilled ground, looming taller than usual. Wet leaves stick to your boots, mud caking your soles. Each twig that snaps echoes through the silent landscape, each of your jagged breaths sounding amplified through the cold air. 

The wind wails through the trees with a low moan, mist passing through the gaps in the dark. 

There’s a comfort in knowing that Rhett knows this land. A solace in the way he perseveres through the harsh environment, seemingly unfazed. He works in the dark all the time, and he’s been lost in these woods more than once.

That’s why he knows when to stop.

Dead in his tracks, the flashlight stuck on the path up ahead, his breath caught in his throat. His fingers gripping onto your shoulder so tightly that it feels like he’s made of stone.

Your head whips towards him, eyes searching over his face. His jaw is set and his gaze is fixed, his entire body rigid.

“Rhett?” You whisper.

“Go back to the truck.” He breathes, his voice even quieter than your whisper, “Don’t turn around, I’ll meet you there.”

Your face wrinkles, turning to look into the trees, trying to see what he’s looking at. “What? — Don’t mess—“

“I said I’ll meet you at the truck.” 

An icy sensation crawls up your spine as he turns his head to look at you. His blue eyes struck with a dead kind of fear, a type of resignation.

Your heartbeat thuds in your chest, your boots slipping in the wet ground as you stumble a few steps back. It’s silent for miles. Too silent — no birds, no more wind, nothing but the sound of your breathing.

He turns his head once more and it’s like you’re alone.

If he’s fucking with you, you’d never forgive him. It’s even worse, because you know that he’d never be able to fake that look in his eye. You’ve never seen him so afraid.

Your instincts scream at you to run. All of the alarm bells in your head are ringing at once, and it’s like Rhett can tell.

“Go slow. Quiet.” He whispers.

One foot falls back, and another. You stumble back the way you had come until your back hits a tree. You take one more look at your boyfriend, staring off into the trees ahead, and swallow the rising, swelling lump in your throat.

The wet ground shleps under your trembling feet, threatening to swallow your boots with each wobbling step. Your hands drag across jagged back, feeling your way through the trees. 

Finally, you turn on your heel and head back for the path. It was right behind you. You couldn’t have strayed that far. You walk, and walk, and walk until you’re practically jogging. 

Your eyes grow glassy with burning tears, your nose stinging from the harsh cold, your palms damp with sweat. Your head whips to the left, and then to the right as your body spins in a clumsy circle. The path couldn’t have been this far away.

Maybe you had gone the wrong way. The darkness swallows any remaining light as it glimpses through the gaps in the trees — every direction looks the same. Gnarled, twisting shadowed figures for as long as you can see.

Your mouth falls open, your voice catching in your throat, his name falling silent on your tongue. Something tells you that you don’t want to go making a whole lot of noise right now.

Even so, a sob threatens to wrack its way through your throat. You clamp a hand over your own mouth, shuddering back a sniffle as you force yourself forwards. 

Walking, and walking and walking. Darkness around you pulsing like something living, deafening silence filling the air — like there’s nothing really living around here at all. The leaves caking your boots feels like they’re weighing you down, the wet mud pulling you in further with each footfall.

Hot tears spill along your freezing cheeks. Your breath comes in shallow gasps, muffled by your palm. 

The silence is broken as the wind tears through the trees with a whistling howl. Your steps grow heavier, fighting against the wet mud. You sprint until your legs burn, your chest heaving, choking on your tears.

Finally, there’s a glow in the distance. Headlights. Rhett. You gasp out, struggling for breath, rushing for the treeline. Breaking out into the light, your body trembles.

He’s standing by the driver’s side door. Illuminated just by the beams, his figure sunless and hard to see. His shadow stretches out far beyond the hood.

His back is to you. He’s facing the Abbott house, three miles back the way you had come.

You wipe your streaming nose, catching the tears on your jaw, sniffling hard.  “… Rhett? — Rhett, what the fuck was—“

Your voice stops as instantly as Rhett’s footsteps had. It’s like a kick to the chest. 

Rhett’s head turns. Real slow, like the hand of a clock, ticking, ticking — ticking until he has turned enough to be watching you over his shoulder. Peering at you through the driver’s side window, and then the windshield of his old truck.

His eyes are dark and hollow. He doesn’t have the flashlight anymore. There’s something different about him, but maybe that’s just the dark.

The words are caught in your throat and you can’t manage to say anything further.

He moves swiftly, stepping out from beside the door, putting both hands onto the hood of the truck. He steps into the shadow cast by the headlights, darkness falling over his face.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” His voice comes out softly, familiar, almost amused.

Barely visible, an indistinct form, creeping out from around the hood. Inching towards you. 

Long, slender fingers curling across the headlight and casting shadows over your face. Shadowy legs that follow. He steps into the beam of the headlights once more. 

A bent neck, and yellow, lifeless eyes. A wide-stretching smile.

It braces on its legs, dull, hollow eyes growing wide with a sudden excitement, unblinking. Its tight lips peel back across its face, baring sharp, bloodied teeth.

You had taken a wrong turn after all.

[blingblong55]

Little lover- Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

Based on a request: Hi! I absolutely love your stuff! I would love to kindly ask for a kyle x reader where he refers to her has an angler fish(big scary fish from Nemo) while they’re crocheting cause they’ve got a reading light dangling from their head🤭 (this is definitely me right now as I crochet) ---- F!Reader, fluff, established!relationship ---- A/N: in this one, reader has glasses. I love to think this man is a good lover through and through and I want to love him out loud

Sunday, what a sweet day to enjoy the home you live in with your loving boyfriend. Well, it'd be a nice day to enjoy if he wasn't snoring on the sofa. So you wait, you watch him breathe and smile in his dreams which turns out to be beautiful, far more than beautiful.

As the day sets to the late evening, you grab your yarn and a reading light that you hook onto your glasses. You put some Billy Joel and lay back as you set the mood to inspire the next few hours you'll spend crocheting. There are occasions when you just turn and watch him, it's mesmerising to a lover like you how comfortable he is by your side. You run your hand through his hair and go back to your stitch.

Time passes and without you noticing, he wakes up and sits up. His skin is so warm it's comforting for a sleepy man like him. Kyle stretches and wraps his arms around you before kissing the side of your head and chuckling a little. "I know what you'll say, so out with it, babe," you tell him as you try to concentrate on your patterns. "You're my little angler fish, ya know?" he smiles and brushes your hair out of your face. You hum in annoyance, secretly enjoying his comment but he can't know you love it.

Kyle buries his face on your neck and inhales your natural scent, he closes his eyes and sighs in contentment. "God I love you," he mumbles as he gives your skin open-mouthed kisses. "I love you too, Ky," you turn your head just a bit and kiss his forehead. It's moments like these when he is just a simple man, holding his sweet little angler fish and telling her how he feels.

The poets must be jealous…he knows they are because not even their rhymes can get them love like this. It's so raw in a way that makes sense to those who ache for it like he once did.

A/N: I love him and I think he and autumn skies match so well…thank you for letting me indulge in my love for him. I know this isn't so long but I just needed to get this one out of my system before I wrote more for me than for you

Tags: @goldenmclaren @moonsua1 @frazie99 @saoirse06 @vampsquerade @alxexhearts @tiredmetalenthusiast @jinxxangel13 @strangepuppynightmare @enarien @luvecarson @coralwitchdreamland @strawberrychita @queen-ilmaree @Llelannie @bbyfimmie @avidreadee123 @talooolaaloolla @skelletonwitch @bittermajesties @1234beeandpuppycat @sparky--bunny @honestlyhiswife @ikohniik @who-can-appease-me @ghostwifeyy @konigssultwithghost @pinkblossomsworld @kaoyamamegami @nobodys-coffee @the_royal_bee @soapybutt17 @asianbutnotjapanese @a-goose-with-a-knife @foxface013 @thegreyjoyed @mychemichalimalance @marshiely @noodlezz-bedo @alexaseeraj @trinthealternate @azkza @gh0st-hunt2r @VampyTheGoth

[the-void-machine]

fuck you roblox oc time

passportguardian83: benrey hlvrai but... roblos... ye... i might separate him from benrey but idk

KleptoManiac NO, THEY ARE NOT MAFIOSO FROM FORSAKEN. they steal stuff (their design is still a WIP)

marshy b. flufford: my regretevator OC!!!!

lore doc: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1Zkx5LaplmNGo4tcJ-GxAheYUyDVvtxg8HN_lHF6nB48/edit?usp=sharing

also im gonna make an oc who used to work at area 51 and contracted the missing texture virus but like a way worse case than infecteds

[ilikeloons]

Okidokie, some more editing content - my non-photog moots avert your eyes.

Before/After stills and additional deets below.

This video is about 10-15mins of editing sped up. I go back and forth on settings a lot to make sure I haven't overcooked it.

The before image is a little flatter and cooler than I'd prefer - and the green cast from light filtering through the trees made for a pretty dull initial image - specifically muddy yellows and oranges. I do really like the roundness of the lighter patch of water and the organic shapes of the leaves in the foreground around the heron. Gives a nod to the marshy area this lil heron dwells in.

Image Deets:

Nikon Z7II

Nikkor 800mm 6.3 Z series lens

1/1000 | F6.3 | ISO 5000 | 800mm

Edits focused on pulling out warmth and contrast in the image, removing the stick that cut through the beak (I can live with the one through the middle of the bird but don't really like that either), and pulling out some of the noise. This is a little noisy at 5000 than is standard - it was a really weird lighting conditions.

LMK what else you'd like to see/know about - love yappin about stuff like this.

[skyward-floored]

Or tell me more, anyway, I should say BAHAHA

Somehow I saw your first ask but didn’t see these ones?? oops asdskfbdjdvsdnd

Anyway certainly! I noticed you wanted to know about the third Zora group in swamp Link, so I’ll ramble about Zora for a bit if you don’t mind XD

So the reason Hyrule is so marshy is because hundreds of years ago, the Hylians and Zora went from being good friends to bitter enemies, and a war broke out, one that included a lot of warfare involving flooding and blocking rivers and destruction of dams and stuff like that. The swamp was probably half it’s current size before everything went down.

Anyway after the war, the Zora sort of separated, and now there’s three groups, though two are more similar than the third. There are swamp Zora (traditionally known as River Zora, though that’s kind of incorrect since there’s more Zora upstream), upland Zora, and sea Zora.

Swamp Zora live in the, well, swamp, and can handle both fresh and saltwater for as long as is necessary. Their scales come in shades of green, though their fins can come in more colors like red or blue, and most colors adjacent to them. They’re more stocky than other Zora, and not as tall.

Upland Zora live in Zora’s domain much further upriver, at the base of the mountains. They’re much more regal, and consider swamp Zora to be rather simple (in a negative way). They have a reputation for being stuck up, and only thrive in freshwater (though they can handle short amounts of time in brackish or salty). They tend to come in pastel colors, light blue and green, pink and grey. They’re bigger than swamp Zora, but are more slender, more like the Zora in tp for example.

Sea Zora live out in the ocean, though they have a settlement closer to the bay that’s near the swamp. They’re bigger than swamp and upland Zora, and come in very bright, bold colors, orange and pink and green and blue... pretty much every color you can think of. They look a little more like upland Zora, but tend to act more like swamp Zora, in general.

So yeah! That’s the general gist of them all. I’m still working stuff out, and deciding things, but yeah. I also have a little art of them, but again, still working on designs, and honestly I’ve drawn better ones XD Plus they’re not in color so that’s kind of a bummer.

[fullmusicbardsquared]

uhmmm. lore basics (more specific stuff is the tag #goodei's world) on the cultures of goodei's world (except the 4th because IDK)..posting this so people can ask questions about them! and they do not have to be Serious questions, they can be questions about opinions, disagreements, approaches to life, (I love cultural questions!), questions about things I haven't figured out yet, or just silly questions (because "silly" questions make you think in more creative ways!). I don't have the knowledge to answer biological questions in depth, also, so if you catch an inconsistency/impossibility you'll have to work with me to solve it /half-joking. yayyy!!

[-] & other stuff

for context - when I say an earth word like "trees" or "mammals", I am using that as an analogy for the thing's role or thing's qualities.

[-] is essentially the god of goodei's planet. I cannot discuss the origins of It for spoiler regions, and I do not have the origins given to It by the various peoples decided yet. in the story's modern day, [-] does not actually interfere with or contact anyone on the planet, except for Goodei herself. in the distant, distant past, ~millions of years ago, it did.

the cultures of the world are not different ""species"", and I don't even wish to call them subspecies. [-] took a species of the planet and split it, played with it, until they were 4 distinct things. they are genetically all the same species, but culturally & biologically extremely different from each other.

(I am not good with geosciences) Goodei's planet is smaller than earth, and made up of a supercontinent. it is generally cool, and actually cold as you approach the northern pole. grasses & flowering plants don't really exist yet, and if they do, it is in a small localized area. trees (softwoods) are in the cold, & ferns / other marshy plants pretty much everywhere else. most of it is similar to peat bogs, but there aren't many actual Wetlands. there is a desert near the center - by human standards it only gets up to 70 in the maximum summer peak, but that's bad enough for them.

all of this cultural information is speaking in idealized broad strokes, and individuals are never the "perfect example".

the titannali

the titannali are the smallest (in numbers & distribution) culture on the planet. they are a religious culture, based around the idea that [-] is a Neutral Observer that watches (and can judge) and only interferes in times of intense calamity (so never). obviously, they're not omnipotent like [-], but they can still try to pattern their lives by Its example - and so the titannali prioritize historical precedent and recording practical information, passing it down (generally orally or more recently with writing) for the future. they acknowledge the ravages of time and that some things are forgotten forever, though. when it comes to unfamiliar things, they are extremely curious but rarely dive deeply once they've gotten the general idea. emotional bonds are not held in much regard at all, neither high nor low.

I have not decided where they originally lived or how they traveled so far apart, but now the titannali are localized to 3 town/cities - Birshore at the low edges of the northern taiga, Dewlou in the central desert, and (unnamed) in the south. Birshore is the most traditionalist by virtue of its separation, but the cold has given it a new appreciation for spring - Dewlou is more modernized and starting to be in closer contact with the piripsest.

tradition tidbits:

titannali names are organized like so: peer name (a name given by the other children at equivalent-kindergarten name and only used by those peers, that comes from either historical figures or nicknames. names may be vetoed if the childmitder finds they are too insulting), elder name (a name given by the attending adults after hatching, usually a descriptive name), and a last name (which is secret to them, their biological parents, and the childmitder, combining their parents's names together)

children are raised communally under the childmitder's watchful eyes and hands, and are taken to other authority figures to learn more specialized things about the world. at adolescence, they are generally apprenticed and begin to really learn & decide for themselves.

the titannali have vestigial 2nd-pair limbs, reduced to pretty much a limb & a grasping part.

biological women are generally taller &/or stouter than biological men, and while roles aren't strictly or officially divided at all, there is an association of women with material reality.

the werkmish

the werkmish are a culture disconnected from the surface, literally - they live entirely underground. they could be a colonizing force, but their relatively recent introduction to the surface & distaste for what they've experienced makes it unlikely in the present. underground, they rule supreme. they don't till or aerate the soil, because they are too big - they use, expand or create caves and networks between them, building more specific structures with layers of coelomic fluid. they believe this is their right, and they are the only people underground, so there is none to object. as they age, they gradually grow "shells" and are forced to cement themselves into the rock, and so the werkmish have decided to use the grandest caverns of the ground as chambers for each societal role, effectively creating counsels of arguers.

the werkmish are not religious compared to the other two, and consider [-] either not real, actively malevolent & biased (against them), or once extant but no longer around. pre-(unnamed power source), areas where the surface reached underground safely (typically through water, so extremely deep bogs, blackwaters, & sinkholes) were held in great spiritual regard and entered for ceremonies at night. they probably still are.

(I am not good with engineering or power so take this with oceans of salt) about 30 years prior to the current story, an intense drought swept the planet. underneath the bogs, fire smouldered and in the caverns, lit. of course many died, but as it dwindled to manageable areas, the great scientists heard through the youth about its reactions with the rocks and metals around, and the resistance of clay mixed with fluid. through experimentation, they developed water pumps, and with steam, better pumps for gases & water, digesters to remove unwanted things, and very basic turbines. all this allowed for warmer temperatures, more activity, and eventually an easier time reaching the unknown surface. unfortunately, the surface is unpleasant and mercurial, and so their empire will have to wait, as only the young can go up and only the disgraceful "failsons" or dumbass egotist amateur-naturalists want to.

tidbits:

they don't have sexual differences, being hermaphroditic, and would not distinguish gender among themselves. the ""settlement"" near Birshore (really more of a claim-stake) is assumed to be all male by the titannali because they are Stupid.

the rays of the sun cause patterns to form in their skin.

due to the slowness that encroaches at the age of "shell"-growing, it is encouraged for werkmish youth to pick a chamber to go to once they have decided on a loose "career", though occasionally their guardian/mentor will pick for them. names are generally [CHAMBER] (actual name)

the piripsest

the piripsest are the most widespread throughout the continent, an expanding empire, and the most radically changed from the original state - they are an external parasite (mechanism currently undecided) of (at least potentially) nearly every animal within a class similar to mammals. they correctly attribute this wide range to interference from [-], and also believe that they are [-]'s specialest little culture and that [-] is responsible for widespread successes and (if you are extraordinarily important/lucky) personal wonders. since it is hard to distinguish one host-animal from another with their senses, they are fond of ornamentation and specific houses will usually associate themselves with a specific pattern.

their most noticeable cultural trait is their class system, derived by host association - in order, small herbivores -> small domesticated herbivores (most common) -> small omnivores -> medium domesticated herbivores (appears most common) -> medium herbivores -> medium carnivores -> large herbivores (rich) -> large carnivores (absurdly rich). host animals can only be parasited while they are babies, and the pirips being hosted will ideally live in the host for a lifespan pretty close to that of nature. the hosts are still alive, but unconscious, and so the pirips must eat for the body and not just themself. domesticated animals are the most common, and paradoxically, animals with ideal traits are kept natural to be used as studs to make attractive hosts. access & rank is determined by wealth, which is irremovable in perception from class. since the piripsest were created millions of years ago, most plausible-host animals are stunted evolutionarily unless they are large - imagine if humans had to domesticate eohippus (or more recent early horse) instead of The Horse.

further details on their aristocracy are not complete yet. they are in great partnership with the 4th culture for their industrial skills.

the 4th guys

ill update this when I have ideas LOLLLL

[marshmellowtea]

i got food and they’re gone now so i feel better lmao

[alex51324]

Parker Dam Trip Report, Part One!

This ended up being a little delayed; yesterday was a bit Busy, plus I kept trying to post some videos I took, and it won't let me. :( One of them was Night Sounds In the Bog, and it is very good.

Another one is about the mystery of how the millipede knows which leggy to do next.

But anyway! Here are Activities:

Since Sophie couldn't hike, this trip was a little subdued. One of her main activities was Porch Nap:

Upon arrival we got unpacked, and Sophie started her first Porch Nap, while I took a little walk down the boardwalk, past the pond,

And to the lake:

Here you can see part of the lake and the dam. Note the bat box on the light pole.

The pond and the lake are connected by a culvert that runs under the road and parking lot, and there were three palomino trout hanging around it:

Pictured: the other two kept going too deep to be in the picture.

I didn't have my fishing stuff, but I decided to go back in the morning and try to catch them!

Spoiler: I did not.

But I did find a little friend when I was looking for a lost lure! Do you see the friend?

He is a snake friend. We were friendly from a respectful distance.

After attempting to fish, I came back to the cabin and did Hammock Nap:

The view from the hammock:

Because the hammock is green, and I was sleepy, at one point i decided that I was a little bug in a rolled-up leaf.

I woke up from Bug Nap at about 8 PM, and made supper on the fire:

Sweet potato, spinch, and flounder. It was pretty good.

The next day I went to the Elk Visitor Center. I did not see any elk--apparently autumn evenings are the best time, and spring afternoons are among the worst--but the visitor center was interesting.

Before we go any further, I would like to show you this, from the park nature center:

This is a taxidermy whitetail deer, a mature buck, mounted on a one-foot-high pedestal, with the photo taken at my eye level. This is our typical large wild mammal that is all over the place where I live.

This, on the other hand, is a taxidermy elk, a mature bull, mounted on a one-foot-high pedestal, with the photo taken at my eye level:

This was the best way I could come up with to convey the central discovery of the visit, which is that Elk Are Big.

Here is the taxidermy elk from a little further away:

This room also has a table with an elk pelt and several sets of antlers, which you are allowed to touch. Most of the sets of antlers were wider than my armspan, and the pelt would have covered a twin-size bed.

I went into this with the vague idea that elk are basically big deer, but I emerged with the understanding that they are

BIG

deer.

Anyway, the elk place also has large meadows planted with elk food:

And viewing blinds where you can watch the elk:

If you are lucky enough to be there when elk are. I need to remember to plan a fall trip up to this part of the state sometime, so I can go again and actually see elk.

The next day, Sunday, was lake day; I got Willow out for a trip around the lake, and then we had hot dogs in the big pavilion by the lake, and then I tried to fish, but a very large and rowdy youth group arrived for a canoeing outing, so I gave up and went back to the cabin and made shrimpy pasta:

Then I took my flashlight hike down to the boardwalk and made my Bog Sounds video that Tumblr won't let you see. In the morning, after we'd packed up the cabin, I went back and did the same recordings of the daytime sounds. Tumblr won't let you see those, either, but here are some pictures:

So the way the boardwalk goes is that it starts out in the woods behind the cabin area, and then there's this marshy bit,

And then a little stream that is very red from the tannins in the hemlock trees,

and then the pond! And as previously discussed, the pond connects to the big lake through the culvert under the parking lot.

The other side of the lake also has another little boardwalk:

which has nice views of the lake. Here I took a little video of one of the streams that feeds the lake, but, you know.

Then we went on the driving tour, which starts out with the octagonal cabin, and some signs about the tornado that almost destroyed it, along with actually destroying a stretch of forest, in 1985:

You can rent this cabin, and I'd like to stay in it someday, but it's kind of expensive because the park cabins charge by how many beds there are, and it has 12. Also, it has only an outhouse, which is not my favorite when it comes to hygiene arrangements.

I did the driving tour last time we were here, but I was glad I did it again, because Sophie loved it this time:

She was looking out the window, completely enthralled, the entire time.

And that was our trip! Next I will share some pictures of the cabin, but that will have to wait until tomorrow, because I have to be up very early for work.

[spacechild-glitchypix]

A lot of people are making a lot of public statements considering this is a situation that has pretty much nothing to do with them.

Look, I'm usually one to be pretty civil on conversations like this in public because I generally feel like people are less likely to listen when you're angry and shouting but I'm also acutely aware that none of you are really paying any attention. You're glossing over statements, you're intentionally reading Rose's statements and apologies in bad faith. If you aren't going to have the good graces to truly listen to either Kab or Rose then, respectfully, back away. You're not contributing anything positive to the conversation, you're talking in circles about points already being addressed and claiming they aren't because the answer doesn't suit your narrative

You can think Rose's comments made in the privacy of his own server are unprofessional until the cows come home but, frankly, his professionalism isn't any of your concern unless you're employing him. And, as for the biphobia comments, I'll speak as someone who was literally in those discord screenshots.

The stuff said in Marshie's post is true but, on a larger scale, this was a common discussion in this server. It wasn't started by Rose, it certainly didn't end with Rose, this was an entire server of queer people who were just sick of the heteronormative way some people would develop their MCs. And if you took that as a personal attack then I apologise but I can't help you with your own feelings. We never expected this to reach public eyes, none of us would've actually said this to a person's face about their own MCs. We're not bullies, our words were posted in a public setting without our permission, the fact you people seemed to have missed that (or even claimed that we apparently weren't private enough because somehow we were supposed to just know one of our members was leaking screenshots of our conversations which is a stance I have seen at least one person take) is honestly very telling.

No one should be expected to be 100% polite or civil in their own spaces (this also includes Rose's blog, before one of you fires blossoming-attorney's post at me), we're allowed to have areas where we can speak our own grievance with friends and be hyperbolic without having to worry about people taking our works out of that space to be put completely on blast to the public. Have none of you people ever complained about a boss before???

But more importantly than that, I just think the level of tone-policing and dogpiling and harassment being leveled at one of my friends over a racist smear campaign is fucking appalling. I don't care if you do not think this is racist because race wasn't brought up, if this wasn't racism then why is Rose the only person you people have thought to go after. Why is he the only person that was named, why did no one try to find anyone else in those screenshots.

This fandom is, quite frankly, a racist cesspit, the people who started this harassment campaign by publiclly posting this bullshit on a throwaway reddit account are scum, the people who pushed it without any sort of critical thinking should be deeply ashamed of themselves and every major artist in the community making a statement as to their stance on this whole ordeal needs to back off

This community has destroyed an incredibly important space where me and many others made a number of good friends for nearly a year over the adrenaline rush of jumping on a bandwagon. You've hurt one of my good friends and tried to get him fired from his job to further a racist smear campaign because you didn't like that he's an outspoken black person.

I hope you're fucking proud of yourselves

[marshiemonarch]

Sup Gamers

Welcome to whatever this is. I make art and play videogames, I sometimes make art of said videogames!

I like to talk to people so feel free to send me asks about anything!

---

Current interests

Deltarune, Undertale, MOTHER/Earthbound, Aphmau, Minecraft Roleplay (MCRP), Honkai Star Rail, Genshin Impact, Legend of Zelda

Interest will update every now and then.

All my UTDR art can be found here (does not include old art, you gotta dig for that stuff)

---

Other blogs

@marshie-arts (art blog)

@flowriel-au (ask blog for my stupid little Undertale AU from 2016 that I still love to this day)

@angelsgame-au (ask blog for my silly little Deltarune AU)

---

Small FAQ

Q: Do you have commissions?

A: My commissions are currently closed. I will post when I open them again.

Q: Can I repost your art on [insert website here]?

A: No, you cannot.

Q: Can I use your art as a pfp?

A: Of course! However, I would appreciate credit if possible (it's not necessary though).

Q: Can I use your art for [insert thing here]?

A: Unless it's a pfp or a private thing (wallpaper, lock screen, etc.) please ask first.

Q: Can I dub your comics?

A: Yes, but you MUST give proper credit and link back to the original (also I would love it if you sent them to me when they're done)

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Important tags below vvv

[montammil]

June of Doom Day 7 - "What happened?"

| Nightmare | Isolation | Stumbling |

Characters: Lawrence, Marshall

For once, I decided to make Lawrence the super emotionally vulnerable one lol.

CW: Parental whumper, stockholm syndrome, nightmares, death (in nightmare), yandere whumper

...

Lawrence woke up with a jolt. He'd been in the middle of a nightmare, but then realized his blankets were tossed onto the floor. His hands were shaking as he rubbed his eyes, pushing his sweat-soaked hair from his face.

He clutched his own beating heart and tried to slow his breaths, which turned to pants as the anxiety gripped his lungs.

It took a few minutes for him to finally calm down. He ran his fingers over his wet cheeks. It had been a while since he had such an awful dream.

He didn't even remember what it was about until he thought of Marshall.

Those green eyes that normally shone so bright were dull in his hellscape of a dream. The light in them was snuffed out, and Lawrence screamed so loud in his dream, his throat felt sore in real life. He scrambled out of bed and hurried into Marshall's bedroom, slamming open the door.

He was expecting to see his boy there, sleeping as restlessly as he usually did, but his bed was empty.

Lawrence froze for just a moment, and then felt back on the verge of a panic attack.

"MARSHALL?!" he cried, racing out of the room and stumbling down the hall so fast he nearly slipped and fell. There was no way, he wasn't gone. He couldn't be gone. His nightmare wasn't reality.

He frantically opened the doors, ignoring how loud they slammed into the walls. It didn't matter to him in this moment.

He continued screaming his name, but was interrupted by the sound of the toilet flushing and a door opening. He let out a strangled sound and bolted for the bathroom.

Marshall emerged, rubbing his eyes blearily.

He was just as Lawrence had left him hours earlier: in a loose pajama shirt and sweats, with his thick brown hair tangled from sleep.

Lawrence ignored the puzzled look on Marshall's face as he tackled him into a hug, letting out a choked sob. Marshall tensed, but relaxed in the embrace, patting his back awkwardly. He let Lawrence fuss over him, looking him over for injuries.

"What happened? Am I in trouble? I was just using the bathroom," Marshall anxiously explained. His eyebrows shot up. "Woah, are you crying?"

Lawrence sniffled and pulled away, pressing his palms against Marshall's shoulders. "You're okay. You're okay," he repeated. Marshall was sure he had completely lost his mind. He ran his fingers through Marshall's hair. "God, don't scare me like that ever again, do you hear me? Please, please, never do that again."

"Uhh, okay... sorry." Marshall learnt the best way to avoid getting scolded or worse was to just go along with it. Even if he had no clue what he did. "Did you have a bad dream or something?"

"Yeah... wanna sit on the couch, watch a movie?"

"It's two in the morning."

Lawrence put his arm over his shoulder and led him out of the bathroom. "So? We can make hot cocoa, you love that stuff. And what ever movie you want!" Marshall looked hesitant. "Please, kiddo? I don't want to be alone right now. We can sleep in extra late tomorrow, and I can even bake you those madeleines. And I can even make--"

"Okay, okay! No need to bribe me." Marshall gave him a lopsided smile.

Lawrence returned the smile. He had been so terrified to go to sleep ever again after that. The thought of losing Marshall drove him mad. He couldn't stand the thought of losing his child to anything.

They settled on the couch with their cups of hot cocoa, a warm blanket, and one of Marshall's favorite movies.

Marshall hated to admit it, but he was genuinely worried over his captor. He scooted closer, to lean his head on his shoulder. "Do you wanna talk about it? The nightmare?"

The blond turned his head towards him. He pondered it for a moment. "It was about you." His grip on the mug tightened. "You don't need to hear about it, Marshie. I don't wanna traumatize you."

Marshall resisted the urge to tell him he didn't do a good job at that. "No, I want to. If, um, you're willing to tell me."

"I..." Lawrence trailed off. Marshall didn't know if it was a good idea to press him further or not, but Lawrence then went on, "I don't know the details, but you were hurt. You were crying, and there was a lot of blood. And I couldn't do anything to help you. I just had to watch you--" His voice cracked and he cut himself off. Marshall's eyebrows knitted together. "But then I woke up and you weren't in your room, and I thought maybe that was it, that it had all happened in real life."

"Oh." Marshall stared at the TV screen, not knowing where else to look. It hurt to look at the pain in Lawrence's eyes.

Lawrence wiped his eyes with his sleeve. "I'm sorry. You shouldn't be listening to this, I'm supposed to be the one comforting you." He laughed, but it came out as more of a strangled sob.

Marshall didn't know what to do. He put his mug down on the coffee table and turned so he could hug him properly, wrapping his arms around his torso.

"I'm okay. See? I'm here with you. Nothing's gonna happen to me. Not if you're watching over me," he reassured. He cringed internally at the words, but he knew that would make Lawrence feel better. And that's what he needed.

"Oh, Marshall." Lawrence embraced him back. He pressed his lips against his temple. "I would never let anyone hurt you. You know that, right? You know how much I love you, don't you?"

He swallowed nervously. "Yeah, I do."

"You're all I have," he murmured. His nails dug into the back of Marshall's neck. "I'm never, ever, going to lose you. You belong here. Right here, in my arms, where you're safe." Lawrence's possessive behavior was no longer scary, it was just plain annoying. It made Marshall's stomach churn. "Where I can protect you. From the bad people out there."

Marshall didn't view Lawrence as a bad person, but misunderstood. He was delusional.

Marshall knew he could be cruel and controlling, but he wasn't some villain from a superhero movie. He was a man with problems and needs, like everyone else.

He didn't believe he had stockholm syndrome... he was just an empathetic person. That's what he kept telling himself.

Lawrence's grip tightened. "You know that, right? And--and if anyone tried to hurt you, I'd kill them. I would. I'd do anything to protect you."

"Yeah, I know. But no one is coming after me, and if they did, then you'd be there to keep me safe." Marshall yawned. He hoped Lawrence would get the hint, and thankfully, he did.

He released Marshall from the crushing hug and sat back again. "Right. I would. Don't forget that. Ever."

[gelarshiesprofruitboarder]

marshie !!!!!!! (in some outfits from stuff i based his design off of)