Solid colors, more than a little moody. Shades of red and grey, black.
Sarcastic, kind, practical, realistic (maybe verging on cynical), compassionate
Roses, weapons, staircases, skyscrapers
EMMA ROSE
[Crimson Skyline}
I am crimson: the soft petals of a rose in late spring and the same red that stains in the wake of a fresh wound. I am black: the warmth of the ink that flows freely from a pen and the vast cold emptiness of a starless night. I am gray: the quiet stillness of dawn’s first breath and the heavy grief of gathering storm clouds. I am a paradox: both thorn and bloom, both ink and blood, both beauty and violence.
How is the second part of lab rät, free bird doing?
Thanks for asking! As for how it's going: it's not, lol. The second part of Lab Rat was always an "if" and not a "when". This isn't to say that I don't plan on coming back to it at some point - I would definitely love to - but at this point I do have way many WIPs, lol. I'm waiting to see if I finish those before starting on Part 2.
Her favorite colors are: purple (any purples), powder pink (honestly just "powder" colors in general), mint green (any mint greens), and whatever the heck you call this color lol. She also likes colors with a beach theme/aesthetic. She also likes neon+black color schemes. Take your pick
Evie is constantly anxious over everything she does, questioning every move she makes and every way she words something because she always worries if something comes across as hurtful. At the same time, she loves to embrace and own her identity– her gender, her sexuality, her interests, etc. Berry High is of course healing for her, and allows her to feel more comfortable with socializing and taking initiative. A big part of her arc is more or less about accepting that imperfection is unavoidable, and that what matters is the effort one puts into making things go right. Love (no matter what kind) is imperfect and requires effort. Stability is imperfect and requires effort. Being skilled at something is imperfect and requires effort. Being popular (as in respected) is imperfect and requires effort. In the words of Aiden, "[you] can worry about everything that might go wrong, or put [your] effort into making things go right. What happens, happens. You can only learn and move on."
Evie likes cute shapes like hearts, stars, moons, butterflies, flowers, smiley faces. Evie also loves cats. I also associate Evie with the Air Attunement from The Elementalists, I did the test as her and felt it was fitting. She does also like shiny/sparkly/glittery/glimmery/metallic things.
EVIE AYANA
[Whisper of Dawn]
She stands with anxiety clinging to her skin like morning mist but as the first light of day breaks through the horizon, so too shall she. A new beginning whispers its gentle assurance: that the darkness fades with the light and that her fears, her doubts, her worries shall fade away too.
The colors I think green, blue and yellow oh and the Aurora boreal lights in blue and green
Optimistic, compassionate, caring
Boats, raccoon, angels wings, bees
MUGEN KAPLAN
[Aurora's Voyage]
One thing I learned from the northern lights is that despite its undeniable magic, it remains indifferent to those who seek it. It knows it's longed for yet, unapologetically, it’ll hide behind the clouds or simply refuse to appear. Maybe that’s nature’s quiet lesson: to exist as you are, to shine when you will, and to never dim yourself for the sake of being seen.
Little flower, keep blooming.
You were not given gentle soil, only cracks in a jungle too harsh to hold you. Yet you rose through the cold stone, defying the world that told you to wither. The storm tried to claim you but you drank the rain and wore it like armor, waiting for the light to return. They called it a battle, but to you, it was life.
Little flower, keep blooming. You are proof that even in the harshest place, life can still be beautiful.
First thing I thought of when I read it for some reason. Feel free to add any other words if thats difficult to build off of
(Fic title game)
Hmm I would totally make this NHO related if I knew them well enough, but alas.
But as a secondary idea...
Season 7, Jungle gang. Vines running along the ground, trailing the footsteps of its residents.
Grian leaves early on, unsettled by the vines overhanging his hobbit hole and the sensation of being watched at night. The mountain is colder, and windy, and it's where he feels alone, more comforting.
Scar takes longer. For a time, he dances around the vines, builds a village with hanging lights easy for them to creep down along. After seasons tangoing with the vex, certainly a waltz with the creeping ungrowth isn't much at all. (Grian doesn't mention when Scar runs off to the plains, halfway through the season. There's a certain understanding, between them.)
The others don't notice. Not as much, anyways. Mumbo resolves to clear out the trees and build in a clearing, but it doesn't resolve the prickling in the back of his neck. He doesn't think of the vines covering his stone walls, creeping down to his home, might be their source.
Iskall keeps himself to the wings, building his tree high above the tops of the natural jungle. He crafts walls of thick oak and covers the canopy in leaves, shuts his belonging away in the trunk. He doesn't really realize it, but he feels a little safer, out of the Jungle's eye.
Stress doesn't mind the vines at all. She lets them cover her builds, keeps her arms spread wide and gaze watchful. She loves plants, and the vines certainly don't differ.
The vines aren't malicious, per se. But they watch. The Hermits all have their own, varying opinions about this.
(This is a spinoff drabble from my fic The Coding Conundrum bc with this title how could I not haha. But warnings for spoilers from ch14 and ch18 below the cut (though you strictly don’t need to know the fic to understand), and trigger warning for mentions of death.)
(Fic title game)
When the Watchers destroy a world, they leave behind Ash.
Grian knows more about the process than he really likes to admit. How the Watchers take a world and pull up the Void through the very bedrock of a server, using the burning, black nothing to make the air unbreathable, to kill the plants and dissolve anything that remained into a snowy ash. To thin the very air itself, to fill it with poison and suffocate any player lucky enough to survive Macan's swinging broadsword.
Usually, you need to combine the powers of both a natural-born admin and a Watcher to cause this level of destruction, one use their commands to break the bedrock, and one to pull and manipulate the void itself.
Grian had thought, now that he'd escaped, that Exae wouldn't have been able to destroy Evo. Apparently, he was wrong.
There had been many things that had been changed, deep inside him, when he'd been taken. The mask, the clothes, even the wings, once he'd been accepted. In the past few weeks, he'd shed them all; left the mask behind, burned his robes, cut off his wings.
But he cannot rid himself of the ability to breathe the poison, End-filled air of Evo. It is a burning reminder of what he cannot destroy.
Burying the bodies is backbreaking work. It looks like Macan had gotten to at least half the server, in their attack. He counts them as he finds them, closes their eyes and whispers their names. Mini Muka. Tomahawk. Salem. Zee.
Taurtis.
He finds their corpses scattered about the server, half-buried in the falling ash. The code of the world is broken, the chunks glitching in an out of reality at times, but Grian knows his creation, knows it well enough to find them from their lasted dredges of ones and zeroes.
He buries them at spawn.
Mumbo helps him.
Grian has never been more grateful for the existence of a single man in the entirety of his life. From noticing his disappearance, to getting Xisuma's help, to rescuing him and offering him a home and a shoulder to cry on and helping to find Evo and never ever expecting anything but friendship in return. Nothing but what Grian himself is willing to offer.
They bury the bodies together.
He doesn't know where the others are. Perhaps they escaped, made it out before Exae destroyed spawn. That's what Mumbo says, through the mask he needs to breathe here, optimistic comforts about Netty, his second-in-command, his replacement as admin, being among the missing. But it's also possible that their code is so destroyed that the trails that led him to the confirmed dead simply didn't remain for them.
It's hard to be optimistic, so Grian lets Mumbo do it for him, lets him whisper comforts about better places and escape. And then he lets him return to Xisuma's side, whispering something about plans as Hermitcraft's admin keeps his communicator open, practiced fingers throwing up protections to keep them from Exae's prying eyes.
He holds Taurtis' headphones in his hands, broken and frail in his hands, and grieves. He does not cry, but he stands there, looks out across these rudimentary graves, and grieves.
He'd let himself hope. Hermitcraft had been so extraordinarily kind to him, let him stay in their exclusive little server even though he'd only expected it to last a few weeks. He'd thought, that even though Exae had known about Evo, that his server would still exist, or that it would be intact enough for him to access the exit logs and find where they had gone.
Luck is not on his side, today.
Domrao had messaged him, back when he'd first escaped. An offer of refuge, a place to stay. They could go and live in his old creative worlds, or hide in the crowds of Wynncraft--Jumla or Salted had made it clear that he would always be welcomed there with open arms.
It's tempting. He might take him up on it. Maybe he'll stay on Hermitcraft. Or go off on his own. He's not sure.
Ash dusts the headphones, lands on his eyelashes and billows about with his breath. His home, once so vibrant and happy, is ash.
