#plot shit

[superlativesamsara]

Caution: Automated check-in ping has not received a response for two consecutive check-in periods.

[kasuaalipelitelevisio]

Like why did they have to make tubbo and techno be in good terms. C!Techno is bit of a dickhead. Tubbo hold grudges please.

[maritimemelancholy]

“Contact Light”

The voyage was deafening and breathless- your landing flatly broken on the soft, enveloping jade grass of an unfamiliar world and its alien coldness. Your body felt empty- your nerves alight with a dancing blaze of numbing pins and needles throughout. Your thoughts were not coming easy, but your contact was light, and you manage, somehow, to pick yourself up to your knees as a small trickle of blood and dirt falls from your face onto the grass below. Your eyes battle to focus- to finally process the alien environment around you. Mountains. Jagged, impossible mountains.

The horizon of impossible peaks seems to stretch on forever, like a great, serrated, unbroken plane beyond which a rippling sky of lilac and turquoise dwelled. Their summits reach defiantly to the heavens, and their barbed, curving faces pierced violently into the crimson clouds of the troposphere. The clouds break but do not dissipate. As if alive, the light shines through their red vapor like a bleeding wound. The sight commands awe, and you are afraid.

Your first thoughts upon landing on the soft, enveloping grass of the plains are drowned heartily in fear- fear of the unknown. The awareness that you are alone. That you were not only alone, but that you were further, more obscure, more isolated, and more inaccessible than any before you, living or dead, had ever been- and that there was no soul- no life on or from Earth that could possibly help you or even offer you the small, comforting familiarity that you were born on the same rock in space. The endless wilderness, the open grass, the sharp wind, and the cool, unyielding world beyond the mountains howled in unison with the understanding that you should not be here- and that you were not their own. As you looked down at the unnatural contrast of your bright blood on the planet’s soil, you agreed.

You muster the strength to stand on your feet- a defiant act of human strength at the rate your body is already failing you. You feel the weight of the planet pulling your legs down, unsure if it was an unearthly gravity or an unprecedented hubris that was punishing you, and you stand to take your first, full breath in your new atmosphere. The only world you had ever known- the only world in which you knew you could stand and survive, was one of soft sunlight and warm brine. You have, nevertheless, left that behind, and what you thought would be the first, gentle breath is a sudden, sharp shock of pain. As if instantaneously upon breathing, your body’s senses return to you. The commanding feeling of being human sends your knees careening back to the floor, your lungs forcing you to cough up more of your blood as payment for your actions.

The pain forces scalding tears to well up from your eyes, the control that you momentarily thought you felt roundly taken from you as your blood continued to evacuate your nose and mouth. Blood that, apparently, served no purpose to your body anymore, and was thus rejected. Your hand grasps desperately out for the gilded, golden box that launched you here, hoping that the catalytic properties of its material would grant you some merciful reprieve from the onslaught. The box and its construction, while immaculately crafted, was never meant to be used to such extremity and with such reckless abandon. To accelerate one’s self to another room was traditional- even another city, another province, or another country- but not to another solar system. Not to another planet. That decision was on you, as well as the energy that it demanded- to be extracted directly from your atoms, willingly or not.

Despite everything, however- despite the planetary laws of Earth, despite your mortal limitations, despite whatever will the world around you now wished to impose, and despite your own fear, you were here, and you were still here. Your decision to arrive here was your own, and for the fact that you did survive, you had yourself to thank. Simple, perhaps, but sometimes, as it were, just having the audacity to survive was the best first step that you could ask of yourself. As you finally managed to gain control of your body and compose yourself, you knew that you were, at least, thankful for that.

Rising once more to your feet, your body aching- but your own- you took another breath, letting the air once more fill your rattled lungs. You lost nearly everything you owned, you lost your ship… you lost your planet, just to stand here. You have paid in far more than blood for this opportunity, however vast and unnatural it was, and you will not allow it to be squandered or taken from you. The world was yours to explore.

It was time to move.

[kamimuse]

“What did you come here for?”

[ask-gangreen-snake]

'time for a visssit.' Snake's boots crunch loudly with every step in the dirt and gravel road that leads to the house. It was never really a 'home'. Especially now that it's been foreclosed and the house is falling apart. It hasn't been a home since his mom died. It still wasn't one when many years later his father got put away for armed robbery and just about a count of everything else in the book. He hasn't been here in years. The house stands like an omen, and even though it's midsummer, the tree that stands next to the house is rotten and has leaves falling off of it. The windows are broken and boarded, and the tin roof has pieces falling off. Funny, the outside of the house looks like the inside felt for a long time. Snake stops his trip down memory lane, and loosly grips the metal baseball bat he brought with him. The end taps the ground with a dull 'tamp' sound. Snake starts towards the front door. Time to get to work.

[skullvis]

"You kept saying that name while you were sleeping..." Doodle comic to help plan out ideas. In the middle of drawing I felt like giving up but I finished cause I think doing little sketches of what I also want to write about will help me think of how I want to write out a scene more!

[aatgm]

as a bit of a reference for myself: Ava lives in a small town in southern Colorado, near the border with New Mexico. Mostly corn out there. They have to get to a mountain off the coast of Maine. They change routes a lot due to getting chased by things, have to cut through Oregon and turn around in Washington, then drive along the Canadian border and up into Maine over the course of about twelve days.

[crownedwithashes]

Murderer’s Conscience

Rowan came upon the scene of destruction in Haafingar with a heavy heart. They hadn’t even the slightest chance, and it was all thanks to him. His order. But this was the way things had to be. Kill, or starve out his own. There weren’t enough crime-related opportunities to gather blood rations otherwise. 

He felt scoured raw by guilt. Here lay possibly more than a dozen young vampires, sacrificed and slaughtered for his clan’s benefit. He’d always preached hope and the possibility of change, acceptance of newcomers to the clan as long as they let down their arms and swore loyalty to him like everyone else. This act was bereft of all three. 

The identities of the truly dead were no more; their fate was to remain ash piles until the wind cast them elsewhere. That drove the knife deeper. Maybe his men dealt the majority of killing blows that night, but every drop of blood was on his hands. And this was just one site.

His coven was angry with him. There was anger in him too, but self-directed. He couldn’t bring himself to feel the same toward them. He was frustrated, though, at the way his vampires exchanged glances with each other when he walked the castle halls, waiting until he was gone to whisper. He still heard what they said, including their less than kind opinions of him. The discretion was a mere formality. They’d not dare speak the same way with him around; contrary as they were, fearlessness wasn’t at play. 

Not all opposed his actions, but it was to a point that he felt concerned. Could there be a usurper in the works, idealizing the power his throne provided?

Only time and thorough watch over his subordinates would tell.