#theilludenswrites

[theilludens]

finally got around to the writing thing

Flowers crowd around the stone. It’s granite, which is nice, a good rock for something that’s meant to be there forever. He knows he’ll visit it for forever. The blossoms are purple, several shades of amethyst, and lavender, and violet. They’re twined tightly around each other; the colors contrast the cold grey of the rock. They’re hyacinths. (something, something, flowers meaning sorrow and mourning, you understand.)

He’s not dead. He’ll never die ever again. Yet here he stands.

Eh.

Whatever.

(a short look into living forever and dying once, and thinking too hard about it)

[theilludens]

“If that happens again, I’ll kill you,” Tubbo hissed. Tommy patted his shoulder, a stupid grin still plastered on his face. He tugged on Tubbo’s arm, intent on leading them back to the shop where the zombie had just crawled out of. Tubbo muttered a curse and let the blonde pull him along, shifting the bulk of his weight onto Tommy, slinging an arm over the boy’s shoulder.

tubbo and tommy scavenge for supplies and try to avoid waking zombies (with varying levels of success and a bit of magic)

Part 5 of Tales from the Wasteland

5.6K words

[theilludens]

knocks on the atrium glass

howdy! its me! here's the obligatory intro post bc i forgot to make one earlier!

im towns or illu

i use any pronouns (including neos)

this is my writing blog where i post a lot about minecraft men

main genres are dystopian, sci-fi, and fantasy

you can find me on ao3 as theilludens

current fandoms: mcyt + podcasts (dsmp, hermitcraft, the life series, the magnus archives, red valley, midst, and critical role)

here’s a quick breakdown of my tags for original vs fandom stories, a lot of time i use tags a way to track inspiration or things that match a story's vibes/concept

edge of the world, wbb!, where sunflowers grow - are my dsmp fanfic tags

tmiu, after the collide, waywards, isle of the lost, lost in wanderlust - are my original stories

feel free to take any of the concepts that i may spit out and write or draw them but let me know if you end up doing it (seeing what other people create is cool)

anything i write should be under the tag #theilludenswrites and original posts tagged #illu.txt

you can catch more of me on my main blog @marstowns and my ask box is always open so feel free to say hi

[theilludens]

“Something in my head wants me to kill you,” Technoblade had said after killing a zombie that’d tried to grab Wilbur from behind. “I know you’re human but it wants you to die. And I have to keep telling it no.” His grip was like iron pulling Wilbur forward so he couldn't stand behind him. “I can’t stop thinking about the wound in your chest and that glass arm, and it makes me want to put my sword through your skull.”

“Anyway, to keep that from happening?” Wilbur had asked. A nervous laugh clipped the end of his sentence. Technoblade's eyes dropped away from him, staring at the sword in his hands.

“No.”

wilbur and technoblade travel through the tunnels in hopes of making it to the surface, things don't go that well

hey! i did the writing again! check it out!

[theilludens]

Waterlogged memories and moss-covered lungs, words curved with an accent long dead to this land. The Forest God had died where they were born. 

The river pools around their being. Empty palms await the feeling of fresh toadstool and spreading vines. They hack more water from their aching chest, lungs burning with the action. A shaking body sends ripples through the water. 

Maybe they’d die that way. Most likely they’d live. The world held onto them too tightly to let them die like that. Caged by fate's current, they were destined to drown over and over by fortune’s hand and still find themself reaching the surface with sputtered gasps for air. 

Rough skin will be wiped clean of dirt, foggy thoughts will fill their mind. The god will be left with nothing to do besides gather the scraps and start again. 

Bloodied nails dig into the rocks on the riverbed and with whatever last bit of strength remains the god pulls their aching being onto the land. They heave a breath of air into clean lungs. It smells of sweet leaves. Their skin smells of salt. The god drags themself further away from the rushing current, fingers digging into the soil. Shakily, the God of Forest stands. Time to collect the pieces.