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monstersdownthepath · 3 years

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Demigod Dossier: Velstrac Demagogues, part 1

Pictured: Aroggus, the Abbey-Maker

Lawful Evil Mad Artists of the Shadow Plane

The Complete Book of the Damned, pg. 120~121 Additional information is also present in Adventure Path: Return of the Runelords: The City Outside of Time, pg. 74~79

Our second-ever Demigod Dossier, now fully in-swing! The Velstrac Demagogues are the rulers of the Shadow Plane and all the lives within, though many of said lives within aren’t really fans of them. Natives to the Netherworld find the presence of the Velstrac an annoyance at best and a threat to their lives at worst, and would much prefer if they went back to Hell where they came from, but unfortunately for everyone everywhere they don’t appear too eager to throw themselves into the jaws of the inferno just yet. Instead, they’re busy throwing themselves into the jaws of one another.

The Demagogues represent the pinnacle of a specific subset of the Velstrac’s twisted senses of ‘art’ and ‘perfection,’ either because they’ve mutilated themselves into something wholly unlike anything else that can, did, or could exist, or they’ve pioneered a form of artistry that other Velstrac couldn’t even conceptualize in the first place and gathered a fandom. It takes some very twisted, alien forms of thinking to become a Demagogue and get others rallied behind you, even moreso because the Velstrac themselves are, putting it kindly, completely out of their gourd. When your audience already expects the insane and outlandish, you have to go even further, and many of the fiends you’ll soon see have.

We’ll only be covering four in this initial post, with the rest to be saved for later...

Demagogues view mortals as little more than primal clay to be shaped, and thus see little worth in investing true divine power into them, worshipers receive Boons that are are relatively simple: a trio of spell-like abilities, each of which may be used 1/day. Boons are normally gained slowly, at levels 12, 16, and 20, however entering the Evangelist, Exalted, or Sentinel Prestige Classes can see the Boons gained as early as levels 10, 13, and 16. Note that while they are Lawful Evil fiends originally from Hell, they are not devils, thus you cannot enter the Diabolist Prestige Class to obtain their Boons without DM fiat.

Aroggus, the Abbey-Maker

Demagogue of Possibility, Revenge, and Sanctuary Domains: Evil, Law, Protection, Trickery Subdomains: Deception, Defense, Fear, Tyranny

Obedience: List the names of those who have wronged you until the writing covers a page, then consume the parchment. Benefit: Gain a +4 profane bonus on saving throws to resist compulsion effects.

What a completely normal, sane, and healthy thing to do! As the first of the Demagogues to flee from Hell, Aroggus is EXTREMELY angry at the devils for locking them up in the first place. Angry enough to want revenge on the whole of the diabolic race, as well as the Asura... Angry enough that he hasn’t yet even started getting around to enacting his revenge, instead just constantly thinking about and refining it as if no iteration of suffering is perfect enough to match his fury.

True to form, he wants you to ruminate in your anger rather than doing anything to enact your vengeance, blacking out a page with the names (or just one name) of all who’ve wronged you no matter how petty or insignificant the inconvenience they may have caused. Unfortunately, no two ways about it, you’re going to look insane (in the literal definition of the term) doing this every day, especially if you only have one or two people who’ve wronged you enough to get onto your list. Scrawling their name, front AND back, until the page is filled and then eating it is behavior that will raise eyebrows no matter who you’re adventuring with. Best to keep this one behind closed doors. Make sure you have a glass of activated charcoal after, because all of that ink day after day (unless you write with, I don’t know, berry juice or blood) is going to do amazingly terrible things to your constitution.

The benefit is good. Compulsions are typically Save-Or-Suck effects, so having more Save means less Suck for you later on. It’s useful at any point in your adventure, so I can’t say anything bad about it! My only wish is that it was a little stronger, since some other gods give +4 vs compulsion and charm effects.

Boon 1: Nondetection Boon 2: Forcecage Boon 3: Imprisonment

Nondectection is a good spell for those times when you need to sneak by diviners, hide magic items from scrutiny, avoid the gaze of a Paladin who’s a little too judicious with Detect Evil, or to add another layer of shroud over Invisibility and the like. It’s a spell that’s a pain to prepare every single day, but useful to have when you need it... but you only have one casting of it per day, so using it wisely is paramount. Ironically, it combines well with your own Divination to find out if you’ll even need it later. More often than not you won’t be using it at all except to idly ward yourself when going into town or diving into a dungeon.

Forcecage is a completely different animal, the offensive and defensive applications of the spell simply mind-blowing, to the point that keeping this to just one paragraph to save space is going to take some herculean effort on my part! So, the basics: Forcecage has two versions, both of which halt all movement through them: A 20ft square of force bars that allow spells, projectiles, and line-of-effect through, and a 10ft cube that blocks line-of-effect and all forms of magic and supernatural abilities. A Forcecage is effectively invincible (having Hardness 30 and 20hp/level) and impossible to move, so anyone trapped inside without the ability to teleport is likely to stay there for the spell’s duration. Also, to put it simply, shoving enemies in the cage is the main point, but if you cannot, a 10ft/20ft square is an enormous roadblock to stop up narrow passages with.

Which leaves Imprisonment, a portable hole you can shove all sorts of problems into, which will likely create new problems down the line if the target had anything you needed on them. I recommend knocking out a foe, stripping them of their valuables, and then shoving them into their baby jail for all eternity! With the Freedom spell being the only means to undo Imprisonment (even Wish and Miracle fail), you’ll have no actual way to undo the spell against any target you cast it on for one or two more levels, if at all (depending on the party composition). Make sure to use it only when the villain has no MacGuffins, or is a powerful recurring threat. Imprisonment works on anything and everything capable of failing the Will save (take note, anyone wanting to fight Kaiju, Great Old Ones, or Spawn of Rovagug), which gets a -4 penalty if you know the target’s name and some facts about its life, so famous villains are even more vulnerable to being thrown into the Eternity Marble!

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Barravoclair, Lady of the Final Gasp

Demagogue of the Elderly, Fatalistic Insights, Resurrection Domains: Death, Evil, Healing, Law Subdomains: Murder, Restoration, Resurrection, Undead

Obedience: Practice breath control, holding your breath until you nearly pass out. Benefit: Gain a +4 profane bonus on checks to resist drowning and on saves against inhaled poisons.

A hell of a step down in terms of unhealthiness in terms of Aroggus, and significantly less suspicious, too. Breath control is practiced by people of all stripes, from athletes to explorers to simple monks attempting more profound meditation. While ‘nearly passing out’ is skirting an edge most people won’t approach, it’s not exactly as dangerous for you as, say, inhaling water or eating poison every day. Without any materials needed, the Lady of the Final Gasp is one of the simplest and probably the single cheapest Obedience ritual one could ask for! There is a minor caveat in that races who can’t breathe can’t technically do this Obedience at all, but those aren’t the audience Barravoclair wants anyway.

Unfortunately, the benefit is as weak as the Obedience is easy to do. Drowning is unlikely to come up as a danger unless you’re physically dragged into the water by a monster (which means holding your breath likely isn’t an option anyway), and inhaled poisons are the least common poison type in the game. Against the odd Catoblepas or Green Dragon it will come in handy, but it’s protection from injury poison you really need, which the Lady of the Final Gasp doesn’t provide.

Boon 1: Speak With Dead Boon 2: Resurrection Boon 3: Soul Bind

Alright, let’s face it. Some days, you need Speak With Dead to keep the plot running smoothly. Whether your overzealous DPS kills everyone in the room, your Fireball-lobbing Sorcerer kills everyone in the room, or your summoner’s unchained beasts kill everyone in the room, chances are at some point in your career you’re going to save the party a lot of headaches by being able to pull answers from a corpse. Having Speak With Dead available every day will likely not matter 80% of the time (meaning you can typically use it at your leisure just before going to bed), but much like with Water Breathing and spells like Remove Curse and Neutralize Poison, having it for those 20% of times you need it can keep the wheels spinning and stop unneeded side quests.

... And speaking of side quests and things you’ll need once in a blue moon, Resurrection? For free? Even 1/day? With the hefty cost of 10,000gp for the normal spell, even a well-off party will feel the impact every single time they have to use Rez, but the removal of the cost ups the power level of the spell by a margin so enormous that it doesn’t really matter what Boon you get before or after this one; THIS boon rewards worship of Barravoclair enough to justify putting up with her empty benefit. Even without factoring in the ability to raise party members, you can now curry favor with people of all stripes and demand all forms of insane payments for your ability to raise centuries-old dead at no cost but time... or do your work for free and call in favors at a later date. Do note, however, that you’ll also need someone else on standby to remove the negative levels/stat drain caused by the resurrection process.

I said it didn’t matter what the third Boon was and I stand by it. Unlike with the free Rez above, Soul Bind’s enormous cost still makes its use as anything but a once-per-campaign finisher of an annoying enemy irritating and unfeasible. Spell-likes normally require no components, but Soul Bind operates in a gray area of the rules in that its focus component becomes the subject for the spell, meaning that a DM can very easily and very rightly say you DO require the gemstone whose value must equal or exceed the target’s HD x 1,000. Binding even a simple 5 CR creature requires the tall order of a 5,000gp gemstone, and if you want to use it on a target that’s worthwhile, it gets expensive fast. It’s way cheaper and easier to just hire a Cacodaemon.

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Fharaas, the Seer in Skin

Demagogue of Experience, Murder, and Patterns Domains: Evil, Knowledge, Law, Repose Subdomains: Ancestors, Fear, Memory, Souls

Obedience: Study the interior of a freshly severed limb. Benefit: You are immune to bleed effects that deal 6 damage or less.

This Obedience is deceptively simple for what its implication is. You’d best get yourself a Sack Of Rats or have access to a lot of disposable prisoners (or the Regenerate spell)! But thankfully, there’s some wiggle room in the wording: ‘freshly severed’ means no cheating and using Gentle Repose on the same arm over and over, but it ALSO means you can carry around a single corpse and slowly slice it apart, as the limbs themselves don’t have to be fresh, just freshly cut off for the purpose of the ritual. Also, you can use the bodies of Undead, Constructs, and any other creature that technically has severable limbs! Though Fharaas, the Seer In Skin, will likely punish you if your ritual doesn’t involve the examination of actual flesh.

You’re going to look really weird, is what I’m saying. At least if someone barges in on you, you can claim you’re inspecting them for something or other. Infection, signs of magic, etc, whatever you can come up with to blunt the blow. You can cover yourself moderately well by being a butcher or a hunter in your day job, as the severed limb doesn’t have to be human, or even sapient (hence why I suggest a Sack Of Rats), letting you freely slice up and examine your kills.

Bleed effects are fairly uncommon in the grand scheme of things but are also a pain in the neck to deal with in the middle of battle, so this giving a +4 bonus aga--wait, sorry, hold on no, this isn’t a bonus to saving throws? Or skill checks to heal bleed? It just... Stops them if they deal 6 or less damage? You don’t even have to make a save?

Okay. Okay, alright. So you’re just immune to bleed, then?

More or less, really. There are very few monsters that deal more than d6 bleed damage with their attacks (be warned that higher-level ones can sometimes stack their bleed!), and this ability also works on the rare but dreaded stat bleed, and off the top of my head there are NO monsters that deal more than a d4 dice in stat bleed damage. My main problem is that it doesn’t reduce the bleed damage you take by 6, so taking even 1 more point of bleed damage makes this ability useless. Still, though it’s fairly narrow, being effectively immune to a dangerous and irritating status ailment at level 3 or so (when bleed is at its most threatening) is well worth taking up butchery.

Boon 1: Keen Edge Boon 2: Vision Boon 3: Foresight

Keen Edge is a spell you absolutely want to slap onto any vaguely pirate-y or hoity-toity party member you may have, as cutlasses, rapiers, and scimitars all leap from a dangerous 18~20 critical range to a terrifying 15~20, meaning they threaten to critically strike 1 out of every 4 attacks instead of just once every other fight or so. With a duration of 10 min/level, the enchantment will likely last multiple fights even if you only have it 1/day, but unfortunately it refuses to stack with any crit-boosting enchantments or feats the wielder may already possess, lessening its usefulness as your adventure goes on and your martial party members pick up increasingly fancy gear and pad out their collection of feats. Still, it’s useful for when you get it, and will remain useful for several levels after.

Vision is a whole different beast, and a dangerous one at that. It operates as the Legend Lore spell but vastly accelerated, allowing you to scrape the public consciousness for any information it may have on a specific person, place, or thing. I’ve complained about the general niche uses of Legend Lore before, but Vision grants the information in a much shorter time (a single standard action) at the cost of a potential for failure and a slap of fatigue whether you succeed or not. I don’t like 1/days that do nothing on a failure, but since Vision is purely a downtime spell (unless you need to know the boss’ weakness or info on the Evil Doom Artifact right now immediately), it’s not as much of an impediment to lose out on whatever information it could give you. That being said, the DM will likely have ways for you to do whatever plot-relevant research you need anyway, so Vision is more of a way to speed up the process than anything.

Which leaves Foresight, a spell whose main benefit relies intensely on DM cooperation, as I’ve ranted about here. Mechanically it’s fairly unimpressive, but if the DM reads the spell carefully, they should realize it gives whoever you cast it on a 6-second glance into the future at all times. Whatever horrors befall the victim 6 seconds from now should spring into your mind before they happen, making you the best trap radar on the planet, and the spell’s warnings for the best ways to protect yourself will urge the DM to grant you information about the enemy’s capabilities you may never otherwise know... but what do you expect from 9th level magic? It SHOULD be filling you in with details you’d never figure out!

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Inkariax, the White Death

Demagogue of Preservation, Absolute Cold, and Solitude Domains: Evil, Law, Void, Water Subdomains: Fear, Ice, Isolation, Slavery

Obedience: Inventory your collection of hoarded knickknacks, reciting your unique name for each item as you do Benefit: Gain a +4 profane bonus on saving throws to resist effects that would petrify or paralyze you.

God, finally, someone normal. At worst you’ll look like someone with a few obsessive issues, but at least you won’t look like a menace to society as you lay out your, I dunno, marbles or bone dice or dolls or what have you and make note that they’re still there, cooing to them with names only you know. It’s fitting for Inkariax, of all the Demagogues, to have an Obedience that requires no self-harm, physically or psychologically; unlike all the rest, he was born perfect and doesn’t need to chase after it. Instead, he pursues finding perfection in others, freezing and collecting people and items he believes represent perfection in whatever unusual way he desires that day (having perfect posture, or a perfect scream, or a perfect pair of eyes, etc). Much like him, you’re encouraged to expand a collection of whatever you deem perfect and desirable, which you’re often going to do just over the course of normally adventuring. I’ve yet to see a player character that doesn’t start amassing all sorts of junk in their pockets the moment they get a Bag of Holding or similar.

Indeed, you can just pick up whatever catches your fancy, be it stones, sticks, or severed bits of an enemy, though I’m sure Inkariax will ever-so-slowly raise a disapproving eyebrow if you just pick up any old junk. Make sure to curate your collection now and then! Being able to perform this Obedience with anything you happen to gather is especially helpful if you’re ever separated from your collection (always a danger) and need to start again, but note that each item you gain in your collection must have a completely unique name. That’s only really a danger for especially RP-heavy campaigns, but in such campaigns Worship of the White Death isn’t for everyone who just names all their collected bird feathers Jeffery. Start getting in the habit of stretching out your inventory sheet with names for all your items!

The benefit you get from lovingly counting up all your stolen statuettes and dusty books is resistance to two of the worst status effects in the game. While petrification is relatively rare it typically appears in Save-Or-Suck form, which makes protection against it far more valuable than, say, protection against something like the far more common fatigue or exhaustion. Paralysis is an ailment just short of a death sentence by itself, costing the victim their turn at best and their life at worst, so even a +4 between you and that is something you need to cling to with your entire being.

Boon 1: Sleet Storm Boon 2: Sequester Boon 3: Microcosm

Sleet Storm is a very simple spell with a decent number of functions. Its Long range means that any enemy in your line of sight can potentially be a target, letting you lash out easily at ranged enemies or dangerous casters by creating a 40ft-wide and 20ft-tall area of concealing sleet that’s impossible for any vision to pierce (except the rare and niche Snowsight or Fogcutter Lenses). Anyone inside will have to rely on Tremorsense or Blindsense (though the jury’s out on if the splashing of the sleet would confound those, as well) to navigate it, and 40ft of difficult terrain can feel impossible to clamber through when you start right in the middle of it with no idea which way is the way you need to go. It’s one of the strongest vision-blockers in the game due to its immunity to common tactics that thwart lesser spells (Gust of Wind, True Seeing, etc), forcing enemies to either blow their valuable uses of Dispel Magic or suffer for its entire duration. My only complaint is that you only get it 1/day and that it screws over your party just as hard if you use it incorrectly.

Sequester is as niche a use spell as there ever was for players, requiring a bit of forethought about what or who you’d want to hide with it. The target must be willing or inanimate to be affected, so tricking an enemy via Charm or Dominate into accepting the spell can keep them fresh as a daisy for weeks at a time if you ever have a reason to do such a thing. More often than not you’ll use it to conceal items you seriously don’t want seen or detected, such as a Bag of Holding or similar loaded with your collection of knickknacks or emergency supplies, a particular hostage, an NPC you need to keep alive, or your phylactery if you’re a Lich. If you’re especially sadistic, using it on an item someone else needs and throwing it into a well or a hoard of other objects will keep them occupied for a while. If you’re a more martial character, using it to hide your armor is viable, making it seem as though you’re invincible when enemy blows bounce straight off, or even your weapon to confound your enemies who seem to be taking wounds from an unseen item. Your mime routine will be killer, literally! Just... Just don’t drop the thing, because in the heat of battle you’re never going to find it.

Microcosm is one of the best spells you can hurl into a crowd of commoners or a swarm of foes meant to gum you up instead of actually threaten you. Its 30 HD limit will mean it likely will only strike one or two creatures capable of actually threatening you, but it’s brutal even then. The spell is permanent, trapping your victims in an illusory world in which everything goes right for them even as their bodies starve to death in the waking world. Anything with less than 10 HD is automatically affected with no saving throw, the spell easily mopping up mobs, while anything with 11~15 HD escapes automatically after 10 min... per level you have. On a successful save. There’s Save-Or-Suck, and then there’s the immensely rare Save-And-Suck! No wonder Microcosm is ONLY on the Psychic’s list! Anything with more than 16 HD is unaffected if they succeed their save, but all their allies are likely in an everlasting dreamland now. The big issue is that the HD restriction is way tighter than you may think; creatures, especially at higher levels, usually do NOT have HD matching their CR, but if you’re mainly battling level-appropriate Humanoid or Monstrous Humanoid creatures, Microcosm is fairly reliable in such battles, as those foes typically have HD that roughly matches their CR. But if you’re up against, say, Dragons or Outsiders, good luck bud.

Side note: Microcosm and Sequester used in combination make for excellent ways to start your own morbid collection of living creatures, just like your icy master! Just make sure you have some non-Divination means of seeing them, as Sequester blocks even True Sight.

#Pathfinder #dungeons and dragons #Demigod Dossier #Spiritual Spotlight #Sinister Spotlight

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the-fae-folk · 3 years

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How to Build a World?

Some time ago, I answered a writing question as Quoth the Raven that dealt with how to go about Worldbuilding for your story (Found Here). I’ve now rewritten the piece because I was struck with inspiration for a much more poetic form. I rather like it this way... ______________________________________________________________ Every story has to start somewhere. Some start with an endless void, a dark abyss where spirits drift over the waters, an egg which has not yet hatched to reveal the universe contained within. But in my opinion the best beginnings are found on a blank page.

Sing an ode to the whiteness of a screen, to the sterile form of an unfilled notebook amidst a pile of notebooks you keep buying but never write in. I call upon thee, oh Muses, let the divine speak into the shadows and let there be light. Fountains may spring up from the deeps and the oceans pay homage to the moon above. I am but a humble supplicant to the gods of paper and ink, where multiverses of verse and prose are crafted from words alone.

A world must be made through the number seven. Seven days, seven dwarfs, seven epochs, seven sins, seven virtues, seven founding principles of building a world.

The First is of Magic. All worlds begin with magic in a way. You can call it by any name you desire; Nature, physics, deity. First a word is spoken, a rule, a way of being. Whether the universe is filled with blinding empty light and shaded to sight by suns of shadow and fires that burn black enough to repel the light of night, or if the endless skies are oceans where planets drift in bubbles of air and stars keep the endless ice of the galactic abyss at bay with their warmth.

It is a question of how your world works, a list of rules that cannot be broken by even you as the rest of the pieces fall into place. A willing suspension of disbelief is a fragile thing. If it breaks, you are dashed to pieces beneath the weight of fallen expectations. A reader betrayed is rarely forgiving to those who have broken their own laws.

So write, write of the shifting of stars and the fundamental forces of love and duty. In your canon proclaim the laws of wind and gravity, atoms of justice, and the blessed radiation of whimsy and wonder.

But once you have finished, and the last law carved upon the last stone atop your own Sinai, you must heed them always. From gods to grains of sand on a distant shore, none can break these commandments.

When you speak a second time, it is of Place. Of mountains and mayhem, of vast oceans where secrets lie forgotten far beneath the waves.

Reach out your hand to carve canyons from the paragraphs on the page, riverbeds that flow swift and pure into great lakes and down into silent aquifers below the very earth itself. Whether one sun, or seven, or none at all, this world must be made known through careful descriptions and prose.

And as long as it does not contradict your rules, you can have islands that fly through the skies, glass rain, giant geodic structures that have never seen the light of a single day. What of glaciers that chill the whole land into an ice age? Or a supervolcano that belches molten glass from its summit?

Then, as your world is forming, think on the third principle of building a world. Life.

Deep down in the depths of the darkest seas you might form creatures so alien they defy the very mind, drifting on currents and living without sun or sky, only in eternal shadow and crushing pressure. Or you may begin on land instead, with green skinned goblin-like folk who live among the trees and speak in song and melody as they hunt the fire breathing dragonflies. Perhaps even the sky might be your dominion. Pods of whales that swim among the clouds, blowing geysers of wind high into the abyss of blue and white that turns to stars at the highest heights.

Each living thing lies in connection with one another. Eating, growing, changing, moving. Flowers make bioluminescence in forever darkened woods and caverns. Gas filled balloon-like pods could carry creatures high into the sky with them, letting them escape from predators.

Here and now your pen is the fountain that begets creation, your mind is the tree from which all life springs. This world is your garden to cultivate, your Eden cradled between life giving rivers.

Wherever you touch there will be life. In the most scorching of deserts, in the deepest caves and wells, in the furthest canyons, upon the coldest glaciers. And as long as you remain true to your rules of reality, your world can take even the most whimsical of forms. Trees whose roots tangle among the clouds and whose boughs hang down towards the distant earth below, people who can see colors that neither you nor I have ever heard of. Each new thing makes your world more complex, more real, more connected.

Perhaps you know what comes next? In truth it has already begun, for your fourth is of Cognition.

It may be that somewhere in your world there is a creature or plant, perhaps many, or even all, who have tasted that forbidden fruit and became more than they were, became aware that their eyes had been closed and for the first time knew that they could open them and look.

What might it be like? To look out at the world and for the first time see it anew? Before there was survival and safety, food and mating. There was no time for beauty, no time for dreaming, no time for such things when every moment was needed. Yet at some point, there was time, and someone stopped to look. And everything changed.

Most creators prefer the humanoid form when building cognizant peoples, though not all, some few might choose different shapes. Plant, reptile, insect, or even stranger forms the likes of which might not be found here in our world, but only in that world of their making.

But the shape isn’t the important thing. No, what is vitally important is the manner of cognizance. How is it that your people understand the world? What are they aware of? What things can they hear? Or touch? Taste? See? Smell? Or perhaps they have senses that can only be described in roundabout ways to readers who will never entirely understand what it is to perceive in such ways, like blind men who try to know what it is like to see.

Now it is time at last for your fifth. This is the culmination of all things thus far, the laws of reality, the geography, the life, the cognizant peoples… Your fifth is Culture.

Peoples gather together. They make laws to protect or to divide, to ensure and ensnare. They farm or hunt for food, creating new ways with new generations. And best of all they tell stories. Oh those stories. These are the things of which culture is made. Stories that are woven into tapestries or painted into murals, songs are composed to evoke the emotions of such stories, even food is cooked to be eaten as the stories are told.

But there are other things which can affect your peoples and persons. Where do they get their clothing? Animal hides or plant fibers? Perhaps wool or cotton? And how is it obtained? Technology? Magic? Labor? Do the people even wear clothing at all? For some might not find it necessary if they are perfect for the place they dwell in their world.

What foods can they eat? Would you or I even recognize it? Let alone be able to digest it without agonizing pains in our stomachs? A fruit that glows might transfer its glow to those who eat it, giving them light to see in the dark and energy to live another day. Certain beasts are only slaughtered on certain days of the star calendars, for festivals and holy feast days, for ceremonial reasons and never secular ones.

Here is the most dangerous part in your journey, for the building of culture can become a mire or a maze, a labyrinthine pit from whence you can never escape no matter how much you build. Every detail begets another, and cultures are more than any one person can make. World Builder though you are, you still have limitations of your own.

So you look to the sixth, which is history. From whence did they come? And where do their journeys go? And of course, what happened at every step in between? Kings and emperors to the feuds of petty farmers. Did the dragons lay claim to the seven clawed mountains in the forty ninth century or did the Arch Astronomer falsely claim they did so that he might turn his people’s thoughts to southern trade?

Culture takes time to move and once it begins it will not stop. From the grand world point of view to the shortsightedness of individuals, each and every step will be important. Religions and wars, cataclysmic events, heroes, and even plagues. Everything that arises when you add time to the world you have created is history. The world is a living breathing thing that will move on its own if you let it.

The seventh day arrives. Some deities might rest, seeing that all is good. But not you, for your world is made in slavish worship to the Story. A world built so that it might contain, for good or ill, a tale of your telling.

So write, prideful one. Your hubris has driven you to follow in the footsteps of the gods themselves, building a world where before was nothing. It is time to look closer, to follow a single strand of thread in this tapestry you have woven from dreams and shadows.

Now that you have crafted for us an entire world, tell us your tale. We are listening.

#quoth the raven #writing #worldbuilding #prose #worldbuilder #creation #worlds #7 #seven #rewrite #how to build a world

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botwstoriesandsuch · 3 years

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Melting Ice and Warmth and Words

The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild

Teba x Saki, 8505 Words

I made this fic for @zzariyo for my server’s gift exchange event! Hope you enjoy, I had a lot of fun with it :3

In which Harth is the gay best friend(TM), Teba is a god damn fool, and I become a lesbian for Saki. Also this was slightly based on a post about how Saki threatens Teba with a sword.

This is the tumblr version but check it out on AO3 if you prefer

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"Historians probably hate you," Harth mumbled, as he tested the weight of his bow. "This is, what, the third time you've stolen priceless artifacts?"

Teba continued flipping through the pages. The sound of rustling parchment melded with the crackling fire behind him. A soothing mix of leather and pine aromas filled the Flight Range.

"It's not stealing if no one knows it exists," Teba countered, not bothering to look up.

"Yet."

He shrugged. "Yet."

Another sigh filled the air, and the two of them went back to their respective preparations. Harth set down his Swallow Bow and went to fill up two sets of quivers, while Teba continued poring through the personal history of a dead Champion.

It had been a day or two since he had found yet another artifact from a century ago. The depths of the Flight Range, and the expanse of the not-so-well-kept records in the library hid all too many secrets, to which Teba had taken full advantage.

This journal was worn, cracked smoky leather showing its fragile age. Although in comparison to its two predecessors—Revali's Diary and The Great Revali's Diary respectively—this journal was in much better condition. Other than by the contents of the pages itself, Teba had discovered you could decipher the chronological order of the diaries based on how sophisticated the titles were. The more extravagant ones being more recent, that is.

The warrior let out a huff after perusing through another paragraph of dark, cursive writing. He continued digging through the pages with an aura of frustration. Harth, ever one to press his buttons, glanced back.

"So if you don't plan to inform everyone else about your latest finding, yet, what exactly are you doing with it now?"

Another turn of the page. "The same thing I've done before. Searching for clues."

A smirk formed on Harth's face. "Hm. You know these days it's hard for you to read a cookbook properly without help."

"Shut up will you, I'm trying to focus."

A shrug, and then a beat of silence; the two of them basked for a moment in the piercing wind that cut through the Flight Range. The flickering shadows cast by the fire only served to add to the almost haunting beauty that tonight brought. The chilling midnight moon was a barely distinguishable sliver, white against white in the brewing storm. Teba could only long for the soft hammock of his home. Although, it's not like he would be relaxing anyway.

Nearly all hours of the day, if he wasn't practicing with his bow, he was poring through a damn book. It definitely wasn't out of a passion for reading, but more of a desire to spite his superiors.

Elder Kaneli had yakked his beak off about how the "bow of Champion Revali is our last physical connection to our valuable history" and thus was not to be taken out of its chest, ever. So there went Teba's dreams of dissecting it and constructing a masterful bow of his own.

Kaneli had said that a "young Rito like yourself shouldn't spend so much time out in the cold." So there went Teba's desire to devote himself to archery, shackled by the Flight Range's new "curfew," which was essentially a bedtime.

And, years ago, after a teenage Teba had found the very first diary of the Rito Champion, showing it off to the respected elder as quick as he could, Kaneli had beamed in his rocking chair and said, "Oh hoo! We shall get to storing it immediately!" So there went Teba's achievement, gathering dust in a box for a good three weeks before he had just decided to start sneaking into the records at night to pore through it. "Preserve the paper's integrity" his ass, he knew the librarian just hated him for that time his makeshift bomb arrow had caused her tail feathers to smell burnt for a month.

At nearly every turn, there was always something that hindered Teba's progress towards getting clues about how to master Revali's Gale. If that wasn't enough, Kaneli had been nagging him more and more lately about settling down and relaxing. Just a few years ago, Kaneli had been all about training him to be a mighty warrior, but nowadays the elder just couldn't seem to shut up about "exploring new pastimes!"

So here he was, with his new pastime. Reading, like the thrilling warrior he was.

Teba rolled his eyes after skimming through another paragraph. He hurriedly turned through a few more pages, the rustling parchment catching Harth's eye once again.

"So how's the research going? Is it just brimming with inspiring details about how to command the wind?"

Teba chuckled, although there was clear bitterness in the tone. He held up and flipped the journal around, so that Harth could read the contents written within.

"You tell me..."

~The Eighth of Nayru's Moon~

Once again, that little knight has failed to so much as acknowledge my presence. He probably wouldn't know charisma and impeccable skill if it was shoved right into his perfect face— and goddess believe me, I have tried as such.

Just today, I was— formerly assumed alone— at the Flight Range, practicing my Gale, when from the corner of my eye I saw him watching me. His face, an unfortunate yet predictable bland block of carving wood. Even after witnessing my masterful abilities? HA! His dead gaze borders on blindness.

To think, the King is looking to appoint him as the princess' personal guard. I should think someone as unperceptive as he would do better as a cleaning maid. Forget the quick instincts of battle, I'm sure he'd be dead in an instant. He just blankly looks and looks, and stares and stares. All he ever does is stare at me, unassuming... with those striking blue eyes of his.

Too striking. Distracting even. If he dares show his stupid, atrociously awful face at my Flight Range again, I might just have to nip his poorly drawn bowstring myself. Followed by a legendary duel to the death, of course.

Then again, if he for some reason stops by tomorrow, I wouldn't mind that much.

Harth leaned back and gave Teba a smirk. "So, that's a no on the Gale research then?"

Teba let out another huff, snapping the book closed and getting on his feet. "Nothing but boy troubles in this one. He has to have kept more entries out there that could actually be useful to me."

Fiddling with an arrow shaft in one wing, Harth went back to filling the quivers. He let out a laugh. "Ah, I'm sure it's not all useless! At least now you know you're not the only Rito in history who's terrible at flirting."

A scoff. "The hell is that supposed to mean?"

"That was literally about as straightforward as I could have been with this topic."

"Well do me straighter."

Harth proceeded to have a coughing fit for five minutes.

The sounds of wheezing laughter and less than polite comments from Teba echoed through the Flight Range.

"Hylia, I may not be looking for a wife, but I hope one day I adopt or something just so I can tell my grandkids how much of an idiot you are," Harth finally said, at the end of their colorful banter. "But yes, thank you for proving my point. A Boko skull has a better grasp on charisma than you."

The warrior crossed his wings over his chest, looking away. "Well sorry that I've been focusing on my strengths rather than dabbling in immaturities."

"Remember when you were in the infirmary and you tried to tell that nurse, Saki," he snorted, "You tried to tell her she had nice posture–"

"Shut it. Shut it and quit your grinning before I shove you into the fire and use the arrows as kindling."

Another laugh echoes, and the most Teba can do is narrow his eyes. But after a beat, he perks up and looks back in his direction. "How do you know her name?"

Harth raised an eyebrow. "Saki? Well I don't know, she treated me during that Ice Talus accident a month back. I probably just asked for her name at some point, you know, like a normal person." He shook his head. "Spirits above, Teba, you've probably been in that infirmary more than I have. Have you really not gained the social skills to ask for someone's name?"

He stared at the very interesting and engaging wooden floor, shifting his weight between his legs. "I don't have to answer that."

"Oh, woe is you. Kaneli never gave you a pep talk about how to make friends?"

"HA! I think our conversational topics peaked in the days where he actually encouraged my archery training. Less 'pep talk,' more 'lecture,' nowadays."

"Alright, alright, save your daddy problems for breakfast, Teba."

Teba glowered much in the way a Lynel would to its soon-to-be-dead prey, feeding Harth's amusement.

"Anyhow, you needn't go so hard on the guy, he just doesn't want you to kill yourself, which is especially relevant tonight." He turned around and picked up the now fully stocked quivers. "Now that you've finally managed to tug your beak out of that book," he tossed one to the huffy bird, "Let's go slay some monsters."

Teba's earlier expression morphed into stern concentration, emotion dripping away in favour of a practiced warrior's focus. He grasped one of the arrows and inspected the tip. "Fire arrows? Wouldn't bomb arrows be more effective on monsters?" The night seemed to turn colder to match his more serious tone.

The charcoal feathered Rito slung his bow and quiver onto his back, speaking quickly as he worked. "Not necessarily. We want as much vision as we can, can't risk getting blind-sided by even one of its attacks. Explosions would give even more cover to an already invisible foe." He also mumbled something about how he barely had the income to afford them.

There was a moment of silence as Teba calculated and turned over Harth's words, before putting the pieces together. He gave a confident nod as confirmation.

"So… have you ever slain a Wizzrobe before?" Harth asked.

The warrior smirked to himself, turning towards the exit with bow and quiver. White against white as he stood on the snow covered landing.

"Not yet."

- - - - -

Thunderous sounds in a frozen tundra; it came after the ripple of footsteps.

Jaded peaks weathered grey, the sky couldn’t be distinguished from the land. The snow had pounded harder and harder as they flew, flurries coating the feathered fletchings on their arrows.

Harth landed first, walking around on the open, frigid expanse. Teba did a sweep of the surroundings from the air. Nothing.

The base of the Hebra Mountain Trail— just under the shadow of the South Summit— this was where the last attack was. Hopefully it was where the final one was too.

There had been three travelers total; two Rito, one Hylian merchant. Minor injuries. Most all ran away at the first sign of frostbite. It was normal for the occasional monster attack to come up every now and again, and it just wouldn’t be worth the resources to hunt down every Lizalfos and Bokoblin that happened upon some unfortunate soul. By the time anyone lives to tell the tale, the beast has probably already moved miles from where it was last seen. The Hebra wasn’t exactly the most accommodating of places to enjoy long term.

And so that was the excuse. Save the supplies for bigger threats. An Ice Talus, Hinox… Hylia forbid a Lynel. A Wizzrobe would probably be off dancing in the sunset by now, and thus, no warriors should waste supplies looking for an “unnecessary fight."

Teba remembered scoffing when he heard the news— a scoff apparently so spiteful, that it had earned him a rare glare from Kaneli.

“Don’t do anything stupid, Teba. You won’t be recklessly going off alone to find it, understand? I mean it!”

Teba perched on one of the cliffs, getting a clear view of Harth below, surrounded by white on white on white. Harth turned his head and gave a thumbs up in his direction.

Well, that was one half of the instructions followed. The “stupid” part is still up in the air, though.

Teba unslung his Falcon Bow from his back, resting a fire arrow on the bowstring’s serving. If someone were to look up at where he crouched, they would be greeted by a piercing golden gaze; a pair of cold suns that sent you shivering.

That was the intent, anyhow. A warrior with a gaze like fire. Like lightning, like metal, like suns, like steel. That’s what he’d been told in the past, so he might as well use it to his advantage.

Still… he remembered once how someone had compared them to honey.

“What?” He had been taken aback by the sudden observation.

“Or like butterscotch… I use it a lot when baking. Oh! I’ve seen gorgeous dandelions like it too.” The nurse—“Saki?” Did Harth say?—tended to the wound just below his eye. “You should be thankful the color is so pleasant, the sight is probably what caused that Moblin to miss its mark!” Saki smiled and for the first time, Teba understood what it meant to call something “the sun.”

“Make sure you don’t use those eyes of yours to go looking for more trouble. Or else…” She had narrowed her eyes playfully. Noticing him just staring at her in silence, she cocked her head to the side, curious.

“Sorry, was there something you wanted to say to me?”

Yeah, but I’m not sure what. All he could really notice at that moment was how relaxed her posture was around him. Usually, he was surrounded by his fellow rigid warriors, or the stance of someone that looked in his eyes and saw fire. So…she was a nice change of pace.

Too bad his communication skills could be trumped by a deflated octoballon. Teba's sigh manifested into a small white puff in the cold air. Nevermind that now.

He had to stay focused. Teba would cut no corners when it came to using Harth as bait. However, he couldn’t deny the somewhat pissy mood he was in. No Gale, no practice, no clues, no fights. Sooner or later the village might just strap him into a rocking chair and say it was for the best. What a joke… At least killing off a dangerous creature would help let off some steam— ice? Magic ice…water…arrows… fuck.

Teba rolled his eyes at his own incompetence. Can’t even be a decent wordsmith in my own head. Harth was right.

A sudden flash of movement and his mind immediately crashed back to reality. Eyes instantly trained back to the ash colored Rito on the ground, who had now turned and aimed his bow at the horizon. Not even a second after the movement was made, Teba had an arrow nocked and aimed in one practiced, fluid motion.

Harth had two arrows nocked, aiming towards an unseen target obscured in the haze of snow.

Black against the pale of midnight’s frigid sheet of snow. If Harth could see something, it would no doubt also see him. He stepped forward, Swallow Bow unwavering in the wind

Teba adjusted the draw of his bow, training its angle to match Harth’s movements and ready to release at a moments notice.

The crunch of talons on snow. A small patch of dead bushes just a few paces in front of Harth.

One step.

Two…

Suddenly, an arctic fox dashed to the right and disappeared into the snow.

A draining silence. Steady, freezing breaths condense into puffs of clouds out of Teba’s beak. There was still a knot of tension in his chest, but he could start to feel it ripple out, like a patter of footsteps as a mix of closed off fear and anxiety walked out the door. Still, he didn’t falter his draw. After a moment, he saw Harth put down his bow and sigh. The Rito turned towards Teba’s direction to give him a smile and a shrug.

Harth met his gaze.

Then, the expression on his face suddenly morphed into shock.

Teba didn’t think twice.

He snapped around and let gravity take him, loosing the already nocked flame. The hiss of fire flew and connected with its target with a satisfying crack! Midfall, he could hear Harth shout a much too late “Behind you!”

The fire arrow hit rock, crumbling stones clash against snow. The burst of flame roared like thunder on the cliffside. Although the creature wasn’t hit, the area of effect was still large enough to singe at the tips of cloth.

A pearly white robe that faded deathly blue. The glow of ice and dark silhouette. A shrill cry escaped from the Wizzrobe that had stood, wand in hand, behind Teba’s perch just seconds ago. Even in distress, it wore a chilling grin.

Bastard. You won’t get another chance.

Another flame nocked and loosed with lightning speed.

The creature laughed, as if in pity, and twirled in its step.

Gone.

Teba gave a flap of his wings to stop his momentum. His talons safely connected with the ground, and Harth was at his side at once.

“Are you alright!? Are you hit?!” Harth started to inspect his wing, but Teba continued staring at the sky, “S-Say something, dammit! Teba we need to—”

He held up a wing, the gesture with an unspoken tone of “shut it.” Teba readied another fire arrow and pointed into the air. He whispered.

“Listen…”

His eyes narrowed in concentration, trying to discern sounds from the muffle of wind. Harth pressed back and covered Teba’s blind spot, nocking an arrow of his own.

The wind was unaccompanied. The dead bushes shuddered a tempo.

And then the midnight sang.

Like the pleasant echo of a music box…a lullaby that seemed to twinkle against the brink of night and day. A ripple of footsteps. A sparkle to his left, skipping like stones, as if the wind was water. There was a faint laugh, but Teba was the one to smile.

Gotcha.

The Wizzrobe had barely manifested before the fire arrow flew. A burst of orange connected with its frail arm, and the creature shrieked. Harth quickly turned and fired his own shot, the arrow nearly lodging into its face, but arching low and hitting its torso instead. The Wizzrobe panicked while the two Rito went to reload.

“Go for the face!” Harth shouted as he went to grab two arrows from his quiver. “It’s the only part that’s not protected by that stupid magic robe!”

As if on cue, the Wizzrobe had started laughing to itself, its arms flailing wildly as the flames that engulfed its person suddenly disappeared. It gripped its Blizzard Rod in both hands, starting to twirl with a sickening grin.

Teba aimed for the sky. “Move!”

Harth shuffled back in obedience as fire soared. The arrow crashed into a giant sphere of ice that hurtled from the heavens, shattering into pieces just a few feet above their head.

The impact caused them both to fly backwards, the bow knocked out of Teba’s grip.

Hmm… fuck.

Teba crashed hard, tasting dirt and snow. Luckily Harth was able to get in position to fire an arrow.

Its arc through the air was cut short by multiple more icy spheres hurtling down around the Wizzrobe.

Harth cursed under his breath. While they were far enough away to avoid the barrage of ice magic that would no doubt freeze them with a single touch, it would be nearly impossible to get close enough for a kill. Teba picked himself up and crouched beside Harth.

“How much fire total?”

Harth shook his head and stared at the ground. “I was so concerned with not arousing suspicion…sneaking out to fight was one thing, but—”

“This is no time for regrets. How many fire arrows, dammit?”

Harth let out a huff. “I bought a bundle of five and split them between us. The last fifteen in each quiver are regular ones. Although at this angle I doubt they would be of any use.”

Teba’s eyes sat calculating for a moment. “So I’ve used two. One hit, one miss. And you—”

“I landed the third just earlier on its torso. The forth…” He turned in the direction of the shower of ice. He could see it smash against the wooden remnants of an arrow. “I used just now.”

Hylia forgive the less than polite words towards the spirits that Teba spoke.

Harth gave a nod towards Teba’s quiver, while handing him his Swallow Bow. “Here. I gave the extra to the best shot around. I’ll distract it while you make the last shot count.”

Teba scoffed. “You and I both know you can’t just adjust to a new bow on the fly and expect to be accur—”

“Well if you’ve got a better plan, I’m more than happy to hear it!”

Teba grimaced. Always life and its impossible instructions.

The warrior slung his quiver in front of him, indeed confirming the last fire arrow nestled between the regular ones. He took the Swallow Bow in hand and gave another glance towards the Wizzrobe.

Its earlier spell had stopped now, and it was now skipping all too happily towards them. The ripples of its chiming steps seemed to glow brighter and brighter as it approached.

Tsk. What a gloat. It’s not even bothering to sneak up on us anymore.

Harth gave a flap of his wings and hovered. “I’ll lure it near the base of the mountain trail, and you flank. Do what you must, it’s all you.” He took to the air and began taunting the Wizzrobe, attracting its attention.

Teba cursed. He harshly slung the quiver back around him while taking up the bow. In the motion, a journal dropped into the snow.

“Crap, the…” He trailed off, observing it for a moment. The words on the page it had opened up on caught his eye.

~The Twentieth of Starset Moon~

I hope a Wizzrobe carries me off before I see him again. I envy their magical ability to disappear from sight at a moment’s notice. Maybe then I wouldn’t embarrass myself so in front of Link.

I've always called my eyes a mere jade. A simple enough descriptive hue, and on occasion it would serve as a masterful segue into a pun about how the best warriors have a gaze that can pierce like stone. But no, he just had to call it, “grass.”

“Actually, I’m fairly certain that the hues of Hyrule’s earthly flora are much lighter than the color of my eyes.” I had said. “Like I previously stated. Jade, or emerald works. Jagged jade if you are akin to alliteration.”

Curse my arrogance as my response only caused him to elaborate. “It’s not just the color” he had said. “It’s like a sensation. I like just looking at fields. To lie in them, and smell, and be in comfort in the grass and outside.” He shrugged like nothing was wrong. “Your eyes give me that comfort.”

Hylia is a cruel goddess to curse us Rito to become round puffballs whenever emotions get the better of us. THANKFULLY, he didn’t notice as he then started to ramble on and on about his—slightly concerning—knowledge about the flammability of plants. How flaming weapons and flint produced different embers. How any fire arrow can become a bomb arrow with enough kindling. How you could tell the flammability of certain flora based on the shade of green. He noted how my own eyes were not the most flammable, so… there’s that compliment, I suppose.

There was a roar in the distance as ice crashed onto the earth. Teba snapped the journal shut again.

The Wizzrobe had cast another spell, a blur of charcoal feathers could be seen dodging the attacks.

Teba stood sifting through his thoughts as quickly as he could. Whatever power above had caused him to stumble upon this entry…he’d have to thank them later when he had the time and the faith.

The idea was obvious in hindsight. If he couldn’t guarantee a shot at a small target, then make the target bigger.

The warrior took the fire arrow in one wing, and the journal in the other. The diary was old and dry, and obviously it had a much bigger surface area than an arrow tip.

So he quickly took the very last fire arrow and pierced it through.

It burst into flames in an instant. It certainly wouldn’t pierce anything, but with the bigger area of impact…combined with a new reckless plan, there wouldn’t be any need to.

He smiled and took towards the air.

“Uhh, Teba???” Harth yelled as he saw his friend approach, flying closer with a flaming book arrow in his beak. “What are you— fuck! Ay! Over here, princess!” Harth tugged at the Wizzrobe’s robe, luring its face towards Teba.

He couldn’t talk with the arrow and piece of flaming historical documentation in his beak, but he cocked his head in such a way to signal to Harth to turn.

“But?! Its face!” A fierce shake of his head in response. “Dammit Teba!”

Harth soared around the creature in a semicircle, avoiding its bursts of ice that make the feathers on his neck puff. The Wizzrobe turned to wave its wand, it’s backside now exposed to Teba.

The warrior quickly unslung his quiver and threw the leather strap around its neck, the weight of the arrows falling on the other side towards its chin.

“TEBA WHAT THE FUCK!?”

The Wizzrobe halted its midair dance, turning in the direction that the new weight had come from. The Blizzard Rod was already starting to glow.

“That’s right!” Teba shouted, as he took the flaming book arrow out of his beak. “Show me that ugly grin of yours!”

He gave one last flap of his wings before letting gravity take him, nocking the arrow on the Swallow Bow. As predicted, he couldn’t fully compensate for the difference in the bow.

Its weight was all different, the string strength was all wrong, the grip was much more loose than he’d have preferred—

Through the haze of snow, and paper, and his own pale feathers, the Wizzrobe’s shining grin greeted Teba in full.

White on white.

He narrowed his eyes.

“Catch!”

The arrow loosed.

The flaming book seemed to soar in slow motion, or perhaps that was just on account of its weight. It arched high, nearly on path to connect with the creatures gleaming teeth, but the strength just wasn’t there and it bowed lower still to the Wizzrobe’s neck.

FWOOSH!

The journal was destroyed on impact, paper glowing and fluttering. The creatures’ attire was set alight, but all it did was laugh like it was an inconvenience. Like a party trick it had already gotten tired off. It started to try and pat itself down, but…

“Let’s see you laugh now, bastard.”

The quiver’s leather wouldn’t catch on its own given its natural resistance. But with the flutter of dried parchment…

All it took was one fiery page, and the arrows caught. The Wizzrobe suddenly suddenly shrieked, but the sound was muffled and cut off by sputtering and the sound of what Teba could only assume was suffocation. The bundle of arrows glowed like a campfire, the flames engulfing the creature's neck and already licking at its face. It attempted to remove the quiver wrapped around it with both arms, tossing the Blizzard Rod into the air in panic, but it was already too late.

The giant necklace of kindling roared in the Wizzrobe’s face, and in seconds, the icy beast was reduced to mist. The wind its grave, as the last of its magical robe rippled in the night.

Teba landed on the ground, eyes bright with unexpected happiness as he cheered.

“WOOOOO! Did you see that!?! I can’t believe that worked holy fucking shit, take THAT asshole.” He shouted into the air with a rare show of relief. THANK YOU Champion Revali and that Hylian knight arsonist! Gods, who knew reading would be so—”

“ROD!”

“Wh—” Teba turned in time to see Harth flapping towards him. But closer still, Teba saw the blur of the Blizzard Rod falling through the air, just seconds away from impacting the ground.

Hmm…

Gravity surely wouldn’t simulate the effects of waving a magic ice wand around, right?

SHING!

Fuck.

A burst of ice exploded from the rod’s impact, Harth slammed into Teba just as he could feel the cold travel to the tips of his wings.

The two Rito crashed into the snow, and Teba was able to taste the delicious flavours of snow, stone, and dirt for the second time. He propped himself up with a wing that was now faintly aching. He had a bit of a coughing fit, as Harth got up.

“Teba…” he trailed off, still in a bit of shock. “Wh…Where the hell’d you get a crazy idea like that from?”

The warrior had the strength to shrug with one shoulder. “New hobby?”

Harth playfully shoved Teba back into the snow as they both laughed.

Teba stared up at the frozen sky. It was already fading blue, the brink of night and day tipping towards a yet unseen sun.

That wasn’t so bad. Just a few arrows, a quiver, a book, and we’ve got justice for our village. If we hurry we can make it back before breakfast and Kaneli’s none the wiser.

Harth stood over him and offered a wing. “Alright, let’s go grab your bow and get out of here. I think I can feel my tail feathers freezing off.”

Teba shivered, reaching out to get up. “Yeah, no kidding. It’s almost like it—GUH!” He crumpled to his knees.

“Teba!” Harth propped up his back as he went to inspect him. He gasped when he saw his wing.

The black feather accents were laced with ice, the very tips of his wing were already starting to become glassy and stiff. Teba held back a yelp as he felt the ice grow further up his wing.

“Oh shitshitshit, that Blizzard Rod still got you.” Harth frantically went to remove a piece of cloth from his armour to wrap it around the ice. “Try to keep that warm. Uh. The mountain lodge is nearby, maybe we can get a blanket? Oh shitshitshit….”

Teba mumbled something incoherent as he felt the ice grow further.

“Guh… We can just keep this incident between us like planned, yeah? Kaneli is gonna be pissed that I blew up his quiver.’”

“Idiot! Get on my back, you could lose a wing!”

“It’s not as bad as it looks. I could probably still fly.”

“Your feathers are snapping off, fuckface!”

Harth tried to get Teba to stand, but stopped when he started to hiss in pain. The cold on his left wing was starting to course through his whole body, and he shivered.

“Ok, ok. Maybe it’ll warm up when I get in the air. I’ll just start flapping a lot to keep the blood flowing. That’s how that works, right?”

“At that rate, you’ll not only be brainless, but wingless too.” A sudden voice echoed.

The boys looked up to see a set of pink feathers descend from the air. Harth’s eyes glowed with both immense relief and confusion.

“Thank Hylia, Saki….wait, what are you doing here, I—”

“Shhhhh…” Saki took out a sword, causing further confusion and shock to come to the boys. “All you need to know for now is that I was by the Hebra Trailhead Lodge when I heard a commotion that I can only assume you two fools caused.” She tried to press the blade against the ice on Teba’s wing.

Teba’s eyes darted between Harth and Saki. The feathers nearly everywhere on him but his left wing started to puff up given how close she was. He could smell a mix of nutmeg and warm safflina from her.

“I…uh…” Teba was rapped in the head with the broad side of Saki’s sword. “Ah! Hey—”

“Don’t move, before I decide on amputation.” Both of the warrior’s eyes widened. “Just joking! Ahaha… for now anyway.” Her cute little chuckle echoed in the air.

Saki finally put down the blade. She shook her head, the curls of her hair bouncing above her shoulders. “It’s already too strong to scrape off.” Harth’s head was turning left and right above them, like a child trying to get a peak of the action. Digging through the satchel on her shoulder, Saki took out a few heads of sunshrooms.

“Hold these, we don’t want that ice magic seeping in any further. It can spread to the blood faster than you think.” Teba’s beak was still agape when he obliged.

The pink colored Rito gave him a soft smile as she tucked a wing under his neck. She expertly flipped the Feathered Edge in her wing, so that it’s blunt side was aimed at Teba,

“Now, if your muscles move and contract any more, it’s just gonna cause any of the ice inside there to snap, effectively paralyzing you. We need to make sure there's no chance of that happening.”

Saki leaned down and pressed her head against Teba’s for a moment, planting the Rito equivalent of a peck on the cheek. “Take that as my premature apology.” Saki said. And that was the last thing he heard before he saw the swing of the blade’s hilt and everything went black.

- - - - -

Teba awoke with the sun in his eyes. He blinked, adjusting his gaze before identifying a blur of pink feathers in front of him.

“—and no doubt they’ve discovered you’re missing by now if she hasn’t said anything already. I’d fly back myself to inform the elders, but…” She trailed off, fiddling with the bandage.

“I could do it. You’ve probably already got your plate full with—gah!” A broad side of a Feathered Edge whacked Harth’s head.

“No. You need to keep that cut warm and toasty and uninfected. This bind won’t hold in those strong winds, and we can’t have the Tabantha skies blowing dust and grime into it.” Saki used her blade to cut the excess bandage on Harth’s neck, to which he slightly gulped.

Teba tried to sit up from where he lay. The Hylian style bed creaked under his shifting, and he muttered something about missing hammocks.

Saki suddenly stood, eyes lighting up to see Teba. “Oh good! You’re awake, let’s see how you’re doing.” She rushed to hold his wing, to which his heart immediately jumped into his throat.

“Saki, I—” Teba attempted to be articulate, but was distracted by the tenderness of her touch, and the sudden sweet smell of nutmeg and vanilla in the air.

“Stop moving your wing, Teba.” Saki examined all sides of his wing with a practiced eye. “I made the elixir in time to counter any frostbite, but you should still rest for at least another hour to make sure all the ice inside is truly melted.”

He couldn’t hide the surprise on his face. “You…remember my name?” It had been a few weeks since he had last seen her in the village infirmary. Usually he only saw the older doctors tending to patients.

“Well of course.” Saki cocked her head and gave him a warm smile. “I remember all my stupid patients.”

“Am I included?”

“Yes, Harth.”

“Nice.”

Teba’s eyes widened when she unsheathed her blade again. So much was happening so fast that surely if he wasn’t coddled in bed right now, he’d be snapping bones from the whiplash.

Saki held the metal near his wing. “The ice on your coat has softened by now, so I’ll just scrape it off,” Her blade gleamed with her bright smile. “Stay still!”

The warrior’s eyes continued to flicker between his wing, the blade, Saki, and Harth. Looking out the window, he saw the crisp blue sky glowing above a now serene and pleasant white snowfield.

“I don’t understand. Where…how long have….” He trailed off, but looked back at Saki. “What are you doing here?”

Saki stopped for a moment. “I…” Her shoulders sagged a bit as she paused. “Well…I know the elders said not to engage with the Wizzrobe incident. But…” She fixed her eyes on his wing.

“I’m a part of this village, and I care about its people. Those who are hurt, were hurt, or could be. I don’t like standing by when I could be helping.”

She looked back up and met his gaze. A pleasant blue that greeted the sun. “You understand, right? ‘We risk our lives everyday, might as well use it for something worthwhile.’ That’s the excuse you told me when I first met you.” She brushed a feather under one of his eyes. “Although, you were half unconscious, so I don’t blame you if you forgot. So anyhow! I stayed here in case any travelers came by with wounds or injuries. Keeps my heart at ease rather than just cooping up at home.”

Saki went back to removing the thin bits of ice on his wing, humming to herself. Teba savored the moment for what felt like a century, heart fluttering every time she glanced up to check on him.

Harth finally quipped in, tone playful. “Guess you’ve pretty much got the same mindset as us “fools,” eh, Ms. Saki?” He kicked back in his chair and crossed a leg over his knee. “Birds of a feather….heh.”

Saki snapped her head around to glare at Harth. “Actually,” the tone could cut steel, “The difference here, is that I had the common sense to not go out looking for a fight. I had the basic logic to understand that fighting a monster on its own turf would be reckless and idiotic. I had the brains to gather further supplies than a mere five fire arrows. And I actually had the decency to inform someone of my whereabouts should anything unexpected happen, rather than having the arrogance to think things would always go according to my own plans.”

She sighed again. “I hate to make Amali worry, but I’d rather stay here to look after you two while she informs someone to come pick you both up.”

Harth shut his trap real quick after that, to which Teba would have probably laughed if he wasn’t also scared of the possibility of getting the same treatment from her.

After a few more minutes, Saki finally finished up and patted his wing. Teba mustered enough courage to speak.

“Thank you…for everything.” He tried to prop himself up in the bed. “I can probably fly back in this condition. Kaneli’s probably gonna kill me twice over if I don’t get back soon.”

“Yeah, wouldn’t want to piss daddy off,” Harth snickered.

“Fuck off, Harth.” Teba and Saki quipped simultaneously. Teba however, was a bit taken aback by how calmly and sweetly she had spoken. The thoughts were knocked out of his brain when Saki rapped his skull with her blade again. “Ow! Would you—”

Saki pointed the blade at his throat. She was so close he was sure she could hear his heartbeat fast…and it wasn’t just from fear.

“Firstly, no. Neither of you boys will be leaving anytime soon so long as I’m here. You will be staying in bed,” she glared at Harth, but kept the blade on Teba, “And you will be keeping your tail feathers glued in that chair.” Saki turned back to Teba with a sweet smile.

“You will be staying here for the next eight hours, not so much as scratching the tiniest itch on that wing. Then, when someone comes here to pick you both up like I discussed, you will keep seeing me for at least another two weeks so I can monitor your injury. And perhaps when that’s all done, I will think about baking you a pie in celebration of your heroic feat tonight.”

She pressed the Feathered Edge a bit closer to his throat. “However, if this turn of events does not come into fruition…let’s say, if for some completely silly reason either of you decided to leave this cabin and fly home, well. I will just have to make sure to give you a reason to stay bedridden for another month. Do I make myself clear, warriors?”

The boys nodded as quickly as they could.

“Wonderful! I’m so glad we’re on the same page!” Saki's smile and tone was so quiet and sweet as she sheathed her blade once more.

Teba could still feel his heart thumping against his chest. There was a pleasant silence as the lodge was filled with the crackling of fire, and the occasional chirp of a morning bird. He stared at the way Saki’s eyes dazzled like a delicate sky.

Saki clicked her tongue. “Oh you poor thing. You’re still freezing aren’t you? Your feathers are all ruffled up.”

On instinct, the feathers on his neck—and pretty much everywhere else over—puffed up. “UH. Oh! Yeah. Cold. Very cold…yes.” He looked away and started coughing. Saki got up to get something by the fireplace, while Harth did his best to hide his snickering. Teba silently mouthed “help me” to Harth, which only further hindered his attempts to hide a laugh.

The pink Rito flashed one last pleasant smile at the two of them as she made her back towards the door. “Alright, I’m just gonna grab the firewood outside so I’ll be back in a moment. You’ll be alright, right? Nothing’s still aching or anything?”

Even muscle in Teba’s body seemed to melt at the way she curiously cocked her head to the side with a smile. The best he could do was mumbled out his thoughts before he had the chance to think them through.

“With you looking at—after me, I think I’ll be fine.”

Saki chuckled and Teba felt a combined feeling of pride and embarrassment. As she closed the door, Harth looked back at him.

“Very smooth. Quite the wordsmith.”

“Shut it, fuckface.”

- - - - -

TWO WEEKS LATER.

“What do you want?”

The doctor grumbled rudely as Teba did his best to not seem like a complete idiot. “Uh…Saki?”

“You want Saki?”

His mind shifted to a daydream. “Yeah…” Whenever her name was mentioned he couldn’t help but smile, but that fell away when he snapped back to reality. “WAIT, I mean— no. I don’t want— I mean not no, I just didn’t mean it like— I just.” Teba grumbled some more. “Where she is. I want where she is, or… need. I don’t want. I’ve never wanted— I just need the location. Her location, currently. Which is not here. Where is she. Please…”

Teba put on his best smile despite the fact that he felt like his body was suddenly on fire. Perhaps that was a habit learned from the Wizzrobe incident.

The doctor shook her head. “Kids and their incoherent rambling— She's coming back from Slippery Falcon last I checked. Baking another Get-Well-Soon fish pie, I assume.”

“Ah, great! That’s fantastic. Yes. Yeah! Great. Thank you so much, Una—”

“Get out already, Teba. This place is for the sick and injured. Not the…” she glanced at him with a raised eyebrow, “awkward, and alive. Both of which are actually quite surprising to see from you…”

He managed to give a weak mix of a scoff and a nervous laugh before promptly leaving.

Descending the many steps of Rito village, Teba’s mind raced with thoughts.

Just gotta not fuck up one conversation. Just a simple question! Just...quick little hang out...thing. Yeah. Yep. I can do that. She’s seen me blabber worse when I’m unconscious, so what’s one sober conversation. I’ve killed things! Why am I even stumbling over a few words? Tsk. Yeah. I’ve seen monsters and beasts and blood and blades, I've got this. This is doable, I can do this.

He suddenly bumped into a pink colored Rito at one of the turns, and she laughed as she fumbled with the honeycomb and butter held in her arms.

“Oh my! Well, good morning, Teba.”

I can’t do this.

“And where are you off to this lovely morning?” Saki tilted her head curiously, to which Teba’s eyes immediately dilated.

“…uh…I…” Was it just him or were her feathers slightly fluffier than usual? “I just wanted to…say hi.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Well.” She gave him a cheerful wave with a free wing, clutching her ingredients close to her chest. “Hi!”

“Y-Yeah. Hi…” Teba just stood there as Saki continued walking up the stairs behind him.

Fuckfuckfuckfuck do something, idiot I don’t have—

“Actually Teba…” Saki suddenly turned back around to face him. He quickly leaned a wing against the railing to seem casual. “If you’re not doing anything right now…do you mind helping me with something?”

Teba felt like he responded just a bit too quick. “Yes! Definitely. I can do that.” He coughed, and held out a wing. “You want me to hold something for you?”

She beamed. “Yes! Come on.” She shifted her baking ingredients in one wing, and used her free wing to hold his. Saki dragged him along as their feathers intertwined. Teba’s soul immediately left the mortal realm and his physical body was left stumbling and sputtering.

“WAIT! I—I DIDN’T MEAN! UH—I MEAN SURE— IF YOU’RE OK—BUT THIS ISN’T—”

“I have something heating up upstairs, so hurry along now.” She spoke quickly, not really having the extra confidence to look him in the eyes. But at this point they could both feel each other’s feathers poof as they held wings.

Carrying a mix of honey, Tabantha wheat, and butter, they both eventually made their way to the public kitchen where a fire was roaring.

Teba started grumbling apologies, but Saki cut him off by shoving a wood spoon and a bowl into his chest.

“Your rebellious nature won’t apply to cookbooks, yes?”

And with that, they got to it. Teba’s mind was still processing the events of fifteen minutes ago so while he stared blankly at Saki, he struggled to do the basic task of mixing.

“Here,” she held his wing and adjusted his grip on the spoon. If she wasn’t a pink Rito she might have blushed. “Try not to fling the batter out the window.”

They both started to gain just a bit more confidence as they continued working. Teba started to tease Saki a bit as he held the bowl with the salmon filling above her.

“What’s one little taste? It’s all gonna be eaten at the end, isn’t it?”

“Don’t you dare, it’s still raw!”

“Just one little dip.”

“If you stick one dirty little feather in that bowl I swear I’ll—”

Teba continued trying to dance around her, but she eventually got it back after a quick whack in the head with a spoon.

The morning flew above them, and the shades of a blue day were laced with clouds of white. The shadows of the hut spun across the floor like a spell. Eventually, the aroma of savoury fish with hints of butter filled the air. Teba grabbed a fork.

“This Get-Well pie was for me, yeah? So let me just—” Saki slapped his wing.

“Not yet, gosh.” She stole his utensil. “You forgot the most important part!”

Saki pressed the edge of the fork on the plain face of the fish pie, giving the little fishy a simple, honest grin.

“There!”

“That’s a bit creepy.”

“What?! No…it’s cute! A joyful little fish!”

“You know that this is just gonna be decapitated by me, yeah?”

“It’s about the sentiment, Teba. Hush.”

True to his word, Teba used a knife to take the first bite, decapitating the little creature. Stuffing his beak, his eyes immediately lit up. The flaky crust paired perfectly with the soft meat, the taste and texture beyond amazing.

Saki tilted her head, curious. “Well? How is it?”

“Mmmbfhbgm. Myeah. Yum.”

She clapped. “Oh I’m glad! I actually ignored the ratio a bit and put a bit more butter, so it’s good that that worked out.”

“What happened to following the instructions and rules?”

She narrowed her eyes and crossed her wings over her chest, playfully. “I don’t know… What happened to that priceless journal from Master Revali that was found to be missing from records a few days ago?”

“Damn. Fair enough, then.”

Saki suddenly gasped. “Oh my gosh. I’m so sorry I completely forgot about the time. You usually sneak off to practice Master Revali’s techniques by now, don’t you?” She went to grab a napkin. “Here, you can wrap this up and take it to the Flight Range, I didn’t mean to keep you for so—”

Teba went to grab one of her wings. “Hey hey! It’s ok. I’m still supposed to keep off the wing anyway, right?”

Saki scoffed, but didn’t pull away. “Oh, like you’ve been following that…”

“Better late than never?”

“Mhmm…”

Teba finally let go, and they stood in front of each other for a bit. Saki played with the curls of her hair, avoiding his gaze. Teba felt his feathers fluff up again, as he mumbled something.

“Hmm?” She looked up.

“Oh. I…didn’t say anything.”

“Ah, Right.” She looked away.

Fuck.

The warrior struggled to find the right words. In an effort to do anything but stay silent, he went to hold her wing again. Both of their feathers immediately floofed in response.

“S-Sorry. I should have—”

“No, it’s alright.” She kept his grip. “It’s alright.”

They both looked in opposite directions, Teba coughed again while Saki fiddled with her hair. The warrior continued screaming in his own mind, begging for some form of suitable and understandable words to come out of his beak. When he turned to speak, Saki cut him off with a soft smile.

“You know, Teba. You don’t have to say anything.”

His beak opened and closed for a few moments, confused. Finally he settled on his thoughts. “Can I try?”

She nodded. “If you really want to.”

Saki wrapped her wings around his shoulders, looking up at him expectantly. When he looked into her eyes, all he could feel was the embrace of a summer’s wind. It was blue. Cerulean. Perhaps teal, or a comparison of sapphire. There was a romantic simile in the world somewhere that he didn’t bother to find.

This close, he could see her eyes dilate, and count small imperfections on her beak. Teba stood as still as ice, before breathing out a bit in relief. He allowed himself to smile, and held her hips and swayed to some unknown rippling melody. Perhaps for just this moment, he accepted it. His words didn’t matter as his gaze lit up sweet and gold and honey. Finally, as they swayed and danced in warmth, the sun to the sky said,

“You look nice.”

#reblogs appreciated!#Teba: I'm gonna go get justice for my village so that no one else gets hurt!#Also Teba: *nearly dies on multiple occasions*#Teba is just the 'this is fine' meme and i love him for it #botw #breath of the wild #legend of zelda botw #loz botw #botw fanfiction #teba x saki #tebasaki #yes the fried chicken couple #teba #saki #saki botw #harth #harth botw #teba botw #botw gift exchange

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blackjack-15 · 4 years

Text

Doubly Dubiously Designed — Thoughts on: Danger by Design (DAN)

Previous Metas: SCK/SCK2, STFD, MHM, TRT, FIN, SSH, DOG, CAR, DDI, SHA, CUR, CLK, TRN

Hello and welcome to a Nancy Drew meta series! 30 metas, 30 Nancy Drew Games that I’m comfortable with doing meta about. Hot takes, cold takes, and just Takes will abound, but one thing’s for sure: they’ll all be longer than I mean them to be.

Each meta will have different distinct sections: an Introduction, an exploration of the Title, an explanation of the Mystery, a run-through of the Suspects. Then, I’ll tackle some of my favorite and least favorite things about the game, and finish it off with ideas on how to improve it. In this meta, a section in between The Title and The Mystery will be The Historical Background, where we’ll dive into a what a mess HER made of this game and its history.

If any game requires an extra section or two, they’ll be listed in the paragraph above, along with links to previous metas.

These metas are not spoiler free, though I’ll list any games/media that they might spoil here: DAN, mention of SSH.

The Intro:

Holy eff, what was this game?

With Danger By Design, game #14 and our penultimate Jetsetting Game, Nancy kisses Blue Moon Canyon goodbye and flies off to the land of fashion, francs, and fabulous found fripperies — France.

Yes, it was a struggle to come up with so many f-words that made a mad sort of sense.

DAN is a case where they had two or three ideas for two or three different games, and then someone got high and was like “what if we smushed them all together and don’t make them gel together at all”…only none of the ideas were fully formed, so what you get is a tornado – heh — of different things whirling together, but the second the momentum dies, you can see that nothing is actually part of anything else.

There are just too many ideas in DAN to make a game that has an emotional (not to mention logical) payoff, and too few of them are actually used throughout the game to make a game that’s interesting. Add in the fact that the characters are flat in a way that they haven’t been for 10 games and that Nancy seems to have no concrete motivation for anything that she does, and you’re left with a uniquely frustrating experience — and one that fails to take advantage of its unique location in any meaningful way, unlike the other Jetsetting Games.

The Title:

DAN is based off of Nancy Drew Files: Death by Design, which is objectively a more enticing title, though not accurate to the game’s story at all. As it stands, Danger by Design is a pretty good title; it clues you into a vague danger, it establishes not only that it’s about fashion — design — but also that the plot is being orchestrated by players that aren’t immediately visible — design.

I would actually hazard to say that DAN’s title is the most successful part of it; it doesn’t have any gaping holes, it’s catchy, easy to abbreviate — it’s only small problem is that “danger” is a super common mystery title, and that there have already been several other games with “danger” in the title — Stay Tuned for Danger, Danger on Deception Island — so it could improve from a series-naming standpoint. Otherwise, this title does all that it needs to without extraneous detail.

The Mystery:

Summoned to investigate why a famous French designer has suddenly gone crazy, Nancy’s going undercover for the…at least third time in this series so far. The designer, Minette, has taken to wearing a full-face mask with a discomforting lack of air holes and firing employees like most people eat mini-MnMs.

All at once, out of a tube, before they melt and discolor your hand. Or something.

Minette has been running behind, and Nancy is supposed to figure out what’s causing her temper tantrums and slipping schedule, amid threatening letters and insistent phone calls to the moulin where Minette houses her studio. Amy Grunhild, her boss, is wondering what’s up with her behavior and hires Nancy do to some old fashioned snooping.

Once in France, however, Nancy finds out there’s more than meets the eye, both with Minette and with the moulin. Nancy somehow finds herself in the seat of international espionage, a historical futz-up of epic proportions, several fashion faux pas, a mint shortage, flooded catacombs, and the highly graphic murder of the French Language.

As a mystery, let’s be honest: DAN is a mess. A good ol’ Southern may-yuh-suh. The A-plot (Minette) and the B-plot (Noisette + History) intertwine maybe once on the surface and then basically are separate games, no focus is given to anything so it feels jumbled and messy, there’s not enough to do and too much space to do it in…the list goes on.

The focus is honestly the part that upsets the mystery the most; by the time Nancy’s down in the catacombs for the nth time, Minette is pretty much a distant memory, but when Nancy’s trapped with the stained glass, you’re reminded of Noisette suddenly and rather uncomfortably. There’s no clear mystery — there’s in fact at least two very unclear mysteries — and so there’s no clear story.

Now, let’s get to the players who contribute to the mess.

The Suspects:

Minette — real name Tammy Barnes — is supposedly an up-and-coming fashion designer, but is tackling projects that are more what a seasoned professional would handle (like making a dress for the First Lady). Her fierce rivalry with designer Hugo Butterly feels like a looming spectre overhead, and her timetable has begun slipping more and more since she donned the mask.

Why she, an inexperienced plus-size designer is designing a gown for the First Lady (who in 2005/6 was a small, petite woman), neither I nor anyone else has any ideas.

The real reason Minette’s timetable is a disaster is because remnants of the East German Police – no, stay with me here — are threatening her into making the First Lady’s dress complete with electronic bugs so that they could hear what’s going on at the National Summit.

Minette’s the closest thing we get to a culprit — she’s the one we fight at the end — but she’s also a victim of blackmail and threats herself, and I do find it odd that, unlike in other games, she’s not treated as a victim at all; Nancy never teams up with her, never helps fight her enemies, and is never really sympathetic at all. With Minette’s personality, it’s not a shock that Nancy doesn’t sympathize, but I do find it a little odd that the blackmail thing is just kind of glossed over.

Heather McKay is Minette’s only long-time employee, who vents her frustration with her boss by sending her threatening letters every so often. Absurdly young for her position — Heather is at most 23, given her graduation date from Waverly Academy — Heather also designs her own fashion on the side, hoping that working for Minette will give her the contacts she needs in order to be a successful designer.

Heather’s designs also happen to be hideous — did HER have no one with any fashion sense at all working on this game?

As a culprit, Heather would have been interesting, but unlikely; as the person closest to Minette, she’s already the most suspicious, especially since she could be delaying Minette to make her desperate and then offering to step in and “save the day” with one of her own designs. As it is, Heather ends the game far more successful than she should be, and avoids any taint of having worked with Minette.

Dieter Von Schwesterkrank is the red herring — I mean, the German fashion photographer centered in Paris, and the great-nephew of Noisette Tornade’s Nazi lover, Hans Von Schwesterkrank. Originally dating Minette in order to explore the moulin and find Noisette’s treasure, he found he had somehow developed actual feelings for her by the time she broke the relationship off.

As a culprit, Dieter would have been incredibly dull; he barely has enough personality to fill a teaspoon, he’s the obvious red herring due to him and the conspirators both being German (not to mention the German occupation of France in World War II, where the historical background is set), and he would get nothing out of messing with Minette, as his job does better the more that fashion designers thrive.

Jing-Jing Ling is an Australian (and presumably also part-Chinese, given her name) “plus size” (by this game’s standards; I talk about this later) model who was tricked into a contract with Minette and is Nancy’s roommate during Nancy’s time in France. A chronic liar with an interest in circuitry and engineering, JJ also spends her time baking and eating cookies —yeah, because that’s how a model keeps her size 12 (American size 10) figure, wow — and being easily duped into giving up an autograph via a game of Hangman.

The wet dream of both the catacomb-climber Zu and of Joe Hardy himself, JJ is my preferred culprit if I had to choose just from the cast; outwardly friendly while also outwardly manipulative, with the perfect excuse for going out at all hours of the day and night — Minette is an eccentric, remember — and smarter than she seems. She’s also related to both the “Secrets of Paris” plot (through Zu) and the Minette plot. Her being the culprit would make this an entirely different game, however, and so as the culprit in the current game, she’s an iffy choice at best.

Rounding out our physical suspects is Jean-Michel Traquenard, owner of the easiest to pronounce yet most mangled name of the whole game…and editor of Glam Glam Magazine. He’s also the only Frenchman in our suspects, and one of three probable Frenchmen in the entire cast (Zu and possibly Lynn Manrique, judging by her last name).

As a character, Jean-Michel is unique and memorable; as a culprit, he’s a non-entity. While he could have been more than just a place to see a photo and get a sprig of mint without painting bad replicas of famous paintings for 22 hours, he sits comfortably at Café Kiki, not caring three straws about the havoc happening both in the fashion world and in his city.

There are so many phone characters in this game (most one-off, but still), so I’ll run through them briefly.

Zu is an explorer of the Parisian catacombs, who helps Nancy get down there to explore once she gets him the aforementioned autograph from JJ. He’s fun to talk to, and necessary to the plot, but doesn’t show up quite enough. An interesting twist would have had him be one of the existing cast, but no one quite fits the bill.

Lynn Manrique is a one-off historian who wants to talk to Minette about the moulin and Noisette, but who keeps being blown off. She gives Nancy a bit of info, then promptly disappears again.

Hugo Butterly is another brief phone character, giving about as much information as you’d expect from a hoity-toity fashion designer. His convo with Nancy is mostly to rule him out as a suspect. He would have been a cool option for also being Zu. Ah well.

Prudence Rutherford, in all her glory, shows up as a phone friend here, and is one of the most memorable parts of the game — not shocking, as she was just as enjoyable in Secret of the Scarlet Hand. Here, she’s sent off a request to Minette for a few outfits that of course Nancy has to put together.

Sure, what Prudence wants is an eyesore, but a delightfully Prudence eyesore. Perfect for a woman who’s good friends with P. G. Krolmeister.

Finally, let’s talk a bit about the woman who started part of this game.

Noisette Tornade — literally “hazelnut tornado” in French, which is the oddest name ever – was a member of the French resistance during World War II. Though loyal to France, her boyfriend Hans was loyal to his native Germany, and their relationship resulted in Noisette being seen as a traitor.

Though acquitted, Noisette remained bitter towards those who distrusted her, and hid the treasures of Paris that she had saved for the rest of her life to punish them.

Interestingly enough, when you’re playing this game for the first time, you really do feel like Noisette is supposed to be a sort of tragic hero…but Noisette is not a good person, or a moral person. Even after being exonerated and elected as Director of Public Works for the rest of her life, Noisette is too bitter to restore the art to the country, and refuses to believe she might have acted in the wrong by knowingly and deliberately harboring a Nazi.

Perhaps in early planning stages (and I say planning very, very loosely), Noisette had been executed and was supposed to be a tragic figure who did nothing wrong. But Noisette wasn’t a good person, and any points she might have gotten for saving art disappear when she decided that because she was suspected due to the fact that her boyfriend was a freaking Nazi, the city would pay for it — forever.

The Favorite:

There’s some good stuff in DAN (even if most of it doesn’t come to fruition or feel deserved), and they do deserve to be mentioned.

Jean-Michel is by far the best character that this game has to offer, and he’d still be pretty good in a game that was a bit better. Apart from his painful pronunciation games with Nancy, he’s a lot of fun to talk to and has a great character design. A larger than life character needs a larger than life wardrobe, and Jean-Michel delivers.

My favorite puzzle in the game is the Prudence costume design; while it’s not a hard puzzle and doesn’t really make you feel very accomplished as a puzzler, it is a whole lot of fun and a way to design some of the ugliest outfits known to man.

My favorite moment in the game is anytime Nancy spends time in JJ’s apartment; it’s so well designed and homey without being ugly or kitschy. Baking cookies is prolly the best moment — I wouldn’t call it a puzzle, it’s more like just a task — because it just feels nice and relaxing.

The Un-Favorite:

It’s a small thing, relative to the rest of the things wrong with this game, but I hate that a size 10 (size 12 in France, which converts to an American size 10) is defined as plus-size in this game when in 2006, the year this game was released, a 10 was nowhere near a plus size. It’s a small detail that they very easily could have gotten right, and they didn’t bother to even check.

My least favorite moment in the game is easily the Minette fight that turns into Nancy trapped with Noisette’s artwork. Nothing quite illustrates the fact that they had no idea what story they were telling and no idea how to end the game more than the fact that we go from a slo-mo kung-fu fight to a hall of French artwork and no one’s quite sure which one is supposed to be the climax.

My least favorite puzzle is the catacomb puzzle; while the catacombs are cool to explore, navigating them is a frustrating experience, only made worse by the fear of getting lost – or the rats stealing things that you really, really need.

While most things in DAN bother me to some degree, the game is so uniformly disappointing that not a lot of things stand out over each other, so we’ll move on to where the actual work begins.

The Fix:

This is one of the few games that, in order to have a cohesive plot, storyline, and motivation for all (or even any) of its characters, needs a complete re-write to the setup along with changes to the “plot” progression itself.

The first big problem to fix is the reason Nancy’s there in the first place. It doesn’t make a lot of sense that she’s there to figure out what’s wrong with Minette — she should have a lot of specialized knowledge in order to be an assistant to such a major designer — and the justification is flimsy.

There’s also the problem that our historical characters aren’t heroes, so to try to “exonerate” Noisette when France already cleared her of everything except bitterness is, quite frankly, not a very heroic endeavor. Having this B-plot marginally tied to the A-plot by the fact that the Germans are the bad guys in both really isn’t great either — and certainly isn’t enough justification for the writing to be this bad.

To fix both of these in one fell swoop, shift the story in the past slightly.

Perhaps Noisette and Hans are still involved, but Noisette manages to turn her boyfriend against the Nazis and they spy on behalf of France, including saving France’s art from the hands of the Nazis and hiding it. The French government, however, doesn’t trust either one of them, and executes them for treason against the French state. Noisette and Hans carry the location where they stored the art to their graves, believing it to be unsafe with German sympathizers still around, but leave clues with friends and around the city, wanting it to be found in due time.

Cut to 2006, and Hans’ descendant Dieter Von Schwesterkrank has found evidence that Hans and Noisette were loyal to the French cause and were executed unjustly. The evidence is enough that he believes it (perhaps a work of art or two deemed ‘stolen’ by the pair has turned up in the family, but without any provenance, causing issues of authenticity), having always heard growing up that Hans was working for the French, but he knows that no one else will unless he can dig up more.

He tries to seduce Minette — an actual Frenchwoman in this version — into letting him hang around the windmill where Noisette and Hans once lived. He accidentally falls for her, but she breaks it off due to the external pressure, leaving him both heartbroken and unable to search more.

Having gotten the phone once in the moulin and been subject to one of Prudence Rutherford’s calls, he learns about a hotshot teen detective in America named Nancy Drew who’s worked undercover before and will take any job.

Needing her help, Dieter writes Nancy, telling her that he’s got a job for her and that he’s just trying to figure out how to get her a visa to come to France. Using Heather’s crush on him, he mentions an intern from the States that he’s heard of that can supposedly handle any boss, no matter how obnoxious — and the wheels start spinning.

Once Nancy gets to France and gets the low-down on Minette, she goes to visit Dieter to get her real assignment — to balance working for Minette while finding proof of Hans and Noisette’s innocence.

With those changes in place, the game can proceed relatively unchanged in the order of events, albeit with more importance given to Dieter and less on pointless minigames with Minette. As Nancy tries to find out more about Noisette and Hans, she also notices Minette acting strangely: refusing to talk to people, communicating through emails and instant messages, falling further and further behind.

Zu changes from a wacky one-off character with an obsession to the expert in the catacombs and their use by the French Resistance during WWII; Lynn Manrique from a simple historian to a French Art historian specializing in identifying forged works of art and in art trafficking during the War.

Instead of Noisette’s plotline getting swirled into Minette’s, Minette’s issues are swirled into the larger plotline of proving Noisette and Hans’ innocence through finding the missing artwork and, along with it, the proof that they were working on behalf of France all along.

In the interest of not changing too much, the bad guys can still be fringe German extremists looking to destroy Noisette and Hans’ hard work (or perhaps who have a personal grudge against Hans in particular) and so threaten Minette, but rather than threatening a world summit through a bugged dress, they’ve been stealing fabric, designs, unpicking stitches — whatever they can think of — to delay her collection in the hope that she’ll think that the moulin is cursed and move to a different location, allowing them to search the building top-to-bottom to find the art that they suspect is hidden inside.

I know that this Fix section seems quite long, but it’s all really worldbuilding and premise changes; once a few motivations are shifted and the villains’ objective changes from something that the player doesn’t care about to something that they will care about, the game improves itself rather quickly.

WWII isn’t my preferred time in history to learn about, but even I can acknowledge that passing off the French occupation as “ah those wacky Germans” and “seriously and actively dating an actual Nazi shouldn’t get you suspected as a collaborateur because That’s Mean and if people suspect you just hide French national treasures because that’ll show them” isn’t a great look, nor does it fulfill the “edu” part of “edutainment”.

#nancy drew #clue crew #nancy drew games #nancy drew meta #danger by design #DAN #my meta #long post #video games

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esabri · 4 years

Text

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flawsomesims · 4 years

Text

Pen Pal Project 💻 {📤 To: KC #2}

| 📑 Table of Contents/Information | 🦙 Main Blog |

📥 Incoming >> Letter from Chance Keener

AUTHOR’S NOTE: Mrs. Jessica Fletcher, who makes an appearance in this chapter, was taken from the gallery and made by maybethemoon1. I hope this isn’t too long? >~< I had a small idea for what I wanted for this chapter and it didn’t seem long in my head, but then I got the shots and was like, ‘oh, that’s a lot’ lol

Previous Letter

◤◢◣◥◤ ◢◣◆◢◣◥◤◢◣◥

I groaned in frustration, feeling my head starting to hurt as I stared at the screen of my laptop. I had been sitting there for nearly two hours and still only had about a paragraph written out. Why is writing so hard? But it can also be so much fun. Writing makes me happy and I know this is the path I chose. I don’t regret it, but it can get really frustrating at times!

I decided to take a break and headed out into the living room where my mom was sitting at the dining table, working on her schoolwork for college. I plopped down beside her, sighing dramatically.

She raised a brow, slapping the book closed. “What is it?”

“Writer’s block…”

“Didn’t you just have that?”

“Yeah…”

“Hm, well, just be positive and it’ll work out!”

I sighed heavily, letting my upper body fall onto the wooden table. “It’s not that simple…”

She hummed again before standing up, the chair’s legs sliding across the floor as she did so. “Alright, let’s go out to The Blue Velvet!”

“A nightclub?” My brow furrowed. “Ew,”

“Come on, it’ll be fun!”

“You know I’m a loner. I don’t do well with other sims,”

“Nonsense! You just gotta believe in yourself!” And with no room to argue, she grabbed my arm and tugged me up out of my chair and out of the house. The nightclub in question was on the other side of town, maybe a ten-minute car ride from our house.

“Go on inside, I’ll be right there, hunnie.”

I squinted at her for a few seconds before doing as she asked. I didn’t miss how she pulled out her phone and was talking in a hushed whisper.

Thankfully, since it’s the middle of the week and only noon, there weren’t too many people in the nightclub. Even so, I settled down at a table as close to the wall as I could find and tried to not may eye contact with anyone. Eye contact leads to conversation and I didn’t want that.

Two guys were dancing to the music pumping out of the speakers. Their moves were comical but I knew I had no right to criticize since I dance like a fish out of water. They looked like they were enjoying themselves and not at all embarrassed which I could definitely admire.

The song changed and my head snapped toward the speaker. It was my favorite song! The kind of song that instantly hyped you up every time you hear it, no matter your current mood. With the lyrics sliding through my mind and the bass pumping through my body, I did something I never thought I would ever do.

I started dancing in public.

I felt like an absolute fool and I probably looked like one, too, but the lack of guests and the beat of my favorite song took away my ability to care for the moment. The red-headed man turned his attention to the entrance when the doors swung open, his eyes growing wide as they followed someone.

I didn’t want to turn around in case it was a group of people or worse, a really cute guy.

The man rushed past me and shrieked ecstatically.

My mom, but… who in the world is she sitting with? That didn’t look like Lindy, her best friend. Besides, she should be at work right now.

Mom looked up and smiled brightly, waving me over. “Here she is! Hunnie, I want you to meet someone.”

Great, I thought, holding back a scowl. I hate meeting people, but I slowly inched closer until I could see the woman’s face. Several emotions flooded me at once.

Disbelief. Shock. Confusion. Excitement. Happiness.

I don’t know which was stronger. Sitting at the table beside my mom was my hero, my role model – famous author, Mrs. Jessica Fletcher!

“Oh… oh my grim,” I swallowed hard, trying to collect my racing thoughts. “Can I have your autograph?!”

“Of course!” The older woman smiled kindly as she stood, pulling a photo from her purse that she kept for such occasions. She signed it in her neat little scrawl before handing it back to me.

“A-And a picture?!” I stuttered. “If it’s not too much trouble!”

Mrs. Fletcher chuckled and nodded, leaning in as I took out my phone.

The sheer elation I felt from this encounter had me soaring over the moon and beyond. I don’t think I’ve ever felt as happy as I had at that moment.

“Now, come have some tea with us.” Mrs. Fletcher smiled, re-taking her seat beside my mom.

I could only nod, falling into the seat as I shifted between staring at her like a star-struck teenager and focusing on my hands so I didn’t look crazy.

We spent an hour just talking. Well, they talked and I mostly listened, but it was still a great time. Unfortunately, Mrs. Fletcher had to leave and the two of us saw her out. After stepping through the door, I watched the man that was just entering as we left. His head followed her, eyes wide as a saucer.

And then he started jumping up and down, making strangled noises like a baby trying to string sounds into words.

And then he fainted, his face smacking the floor.

The two women in front of me didn’t seem to notice, so I shrugged and followed them. After saying goodbye, I returned home, feeling more inspired than I had in a very long time. I went straight to my room, hanging the picture of Mrs. Fletcher above my desk before settling down.

Both animals seemed to sense my heightened mood and came into the room.

As I opened up wordpad, my fingers glided across the keyboard. After every paragraph, my eyes would shoot up to the picture as if to reassure myself that yes it really did happen. And then I would be filled with a renewed vigor I didn’t think possible.

After a while, the two pets got bored of just watching and listening to me type and cheer over a photograph, so they decided to keep each other entertained. It’s safe to say that Mist won the sparring match between them, as she so often does.

Hours passed.

My stomach growled at me. My brain begged for sleep.

But I kept writing and writing until, finally, I completed the short story I had set out to write.

“Mom!” I screamed as I held the printed manuscript in my hands, rushing out of my room.

She sprinted into the living room, her eyes frantic. “What?! What’s wrong?!”

“I finished my first book!” I cried happily, only to cry in pain a moment later when she smacked my arm.

“Don’t do that! I thought something was wrong,” She shook her head before smiling, pulling me into a hug. “I’m so proud of you!”

“I’m proud, too.” I sniffled, rubbing at my eyes behind my glasses. “But finishing a book is only half the battle. What if no one reads it? What if critics tear it apart? Oh god, what if Mrs. Fletcher hates it?!”

Mom smacked my arm again. “Stop being so negative! It’ll do fine and everyone will love it. Now, hurry up and send it off so we can get rich!”

I smiled, looking at the manuscript sitting on the counter. My very first book… how exciting!!

Stepping outside, I pulled the lid to the mailbox open and was about to stuff the manuscript inside when a letter caught my eye. Ah, my pen pal! This day just keeps getting better for me!

I switched them out and turned to head inside, something catching my eye. I scowled as Biscuit thrust the trashcan on its side, spilling the contents across the yard. “Will you stop being so troublesome?”

She only tilted her head at me and I sighed, heading inside and telling mom to go deal with her dog before sitting at the table and reading the letter. With a smile, I started to write my reply.

┌───────────── -ˋˏ ∵✉∴ ˎˊ- ─────────────┐

Dear Chance,

Don’t worry about the time it takes to write back, I know you’re quite busy. I’ll still be here, so no worries! The pictures you sent of Loma are adorable. It’s sad when pets grow older, they’re so adorable as babies, but it’s also a happy time because they are older and wiser and, hopefully, grow into less of a troublemaker haha

That’s a good quality to have. I tend to worry too much about what other people think. You see, I’ve just finished my first book ever! It’s just a collection of short stories, but I’m quite proud. My first thoughts were, ‘what if no one like them?’ even though I, myself, am pretty happy with the result. Musicals, you say? I’ve never seen one before, but I always hear good things about them. I’d love to see one of his stories come to life on stage one day.

My mom says thank you! She’s always wanted to be in the medical field, but she was only recently able to go back to school for it. She’s working hard, so I want to do the same with my writing.

Snowglobes are so beautiful! I got a small one for Winterfest one year, but Mist seems to love them even more than me. It didn’t last long, and we’re still finding those little glitter pieces around the house. May I see your collection? I’ll add a picture of my voidcritters, even though I only have four at the moment. I finally got my favorite one, so I’ll send you a picture of his info card, as well.

Wow, that’s incredible! It’s a shame that their mother was unable to keep them, but I just know they will have a wonderful life with your family. I have a sixth sense about people, you know? And I can tell that you’re both good sims. Twins… I can’t imagine having two babies at once, it must be so tiring!

I wasn’t sure where to fit this in, so I’ll just add it at the end here. The reason I was suddenly so inspired is because I met my idol today. Her name is Jessica Fletcher, a famous author! Maybe Kristopher knows her? She’s just as kind in person as she is on TV. I keep wondering if I’m going to wake up and find it was just a dream. I got her autograph and a picture with her, can you believe it? That’s all I have to report for now~

Until next time,

* Jennifer Plevins

└───────────── -ˋˏ ∵✉∴ ˎˊ- ─────────────┘

Satisfied with the letter, I attached the pictures I had promised before setting the letter inside the mailbox beside my manuscript.

◤◢◣◥◤ ◢◣◆◢◣◥◤◢◣◥

Next Letter

#sims #the sims #the sims 4 #sims 4 #ts4 #s4 #simblr #simlit #pen pal project #the pen pal project

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anuhesut · 5 years

Text

Makeup (SG)

* Writing this for a Carousell post because paragraphing don’t work there*

Eh, don’t think this is a very good place to ask about this. Also, 7 cosplay is a tad too much for a beginner. Perhaps shorten the list to be more manageable?

1st important thing: Know your skin type i.e. is it dry, oil, combination, sensitive?

2nd important thing: Good skincare. It helps to keep your makeup on longer.

3rd important thing: What works for other people may not work for you. Trial and error.

Now, look at your characters that you intend to cos: Shouta boys type? Sweet girl next door type? Cool ikemen type? All of them will require slightly more or less makeup items other than the standard list I will give below.

Basic list:

- Makeup primer (Some sunscreen also double as a makeup base)

- Foundation (Your skin type will determine what foundation brand and type that will work on you)

- Concealer ( To cover skin blemishes/ moles/ dark eye circles)

- Contouring powder/bronzer (Recommend to get matt

colour so that you can use for both genders)

- Matt brown eyeshadow palette (No pearl/shimmer so that you can use for both genders. Yes, male characters still need some eyeshadow. Also works as subtle shading palette)

- Highlighter

- Eyeliner pencil (Recommended for beginners)

- Eyebrow pencil

- Makeup setting spray (So that makeup don’t melt)

Additional (depending on character type and gender):

- Eyeshadow palette ( If your characters have vivid color eyelids i.e. red,yellow)

- Lip concealer ( Not the same as above mentioned concealer; this is to cover your lip’s color for male characters. Alternative: use a nude lipstick )

- Loose powder ( For setting liquid foundation )

- Blush ( For female characters)

- False eyelashes ( For female characters and feminine looking guys)

- Fake double eyelid eyeliner (Will explain more in Part II)

- Eyelash glue ( For above. )

- Lipstick ( For female characters or some bombastic color that some wacky character has)

Brands and where to shop?

Sephora is expensive, even to a working adult like me. I only go there to get NYX stuff once in a blue moon. Watsons/Guardian and Sasa are usually good enough, and sales are frequent (which means savings!) I will only recommend the items in Sephora if there’s no other equivalent outside at a lower price. Since I don’t do makeup frequently (usually only for cosplay), I don’t want to spend so much on makeup and rather throw the money on skincare.

Spend more money on foundation, eyeliner, and makeup remover items. I have used Daiso items for brow pencils, eyeshadows (for some sparkly effect) and highlighters, but prefer Japanese brands’ eyeliner. Most brands in Sephora tend to have pearly/shimmerly eyeshadows which I don’t use ( I cosplay guys 90% so sparkly eyelids not required) If you get a matte eyeshadow palette, you can use it for both genders and add sparkle when needed.

I don’t use mascara so nothing on that.

Brands @ Watson:

Silky Girl - Matt brown eyeshadow palette ( Works well enough for me close to 10 years. Didn’t need to invest in a Urban Decay palette )

Za - Powder foundation and concealer (Pretty decent coverage and tones are suitable for Asians because this is a Taiwanese brand )

Canmake - Glow Fleur Highlighter, any of their makeup base/ primer and shading products (I use a shading powder which is no longer sold locally, but the other two types sold here might work for you)

Cezanne - Mix Color Cheek (pearly), Highlight/ Shading Stick, Drawing eyelid eyeliner ( a very light brown liquid eyeliner for drawing fake double eyelid)

Maybelline - Hypersharp Liner (liquid, my favourite outside Japanese brand) & Instant age rewind concealer (very good for covering dark circles)

Revlon - Photoready Primer (silicon based primer so please use with silicon based foundation like Kate’s)

Kate - Base Zero liquid and powder foundation (very good coverage), Double eyelid remake liner ( for faking double eyelid; however have not seen it in a while), Brow mascara (when your character is blonde)

K-Palette - Eyeliner

Brands @ Guardian

Catrice - Single eyeshadow colors, eyeliner pencil, loose powder, matt eyeshadow palette (In fact I think you can try most of the items from this brand)

Brands @ Sephora

NYX - Matt lip cream (many nude colors), setting spray [ NYX has standalone shops at Westgate and Bugis Junction with a lot more products. Sephora has a limited range ]

Urban Decay - Any of their makeup setting sprays and eyeshadow primer (if needed i.e. need eyeshadow stay on more than 6 hours )

Sephora - wacky single eyeshadow colors (do not buy a palette just for one or two colors) and lip stains (if your character has wacky lip colour)

Brands @ SaSa

DUP - Eyelash glue

Brands @ Tokyo Hands

Chacott - Loose powder (extremely good in SG’s horrible weather. Recommend the light blue cool type)

What works on me may not work for you. Please test at the stores and also research online.

Beside makeup, you will need tools. 2 eyeshadow brushes (one for dark colour and one for light), 1 powder brush and maybe 1 eyebrow brush (if you decide to use eyeshadow colour as your brow colour). Eyelash curler is a must so that false eyelashes go on easier.

#cosplay makeup #Sephora=/=good cosplay makeup #Neither is expensive makeup brands

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mikesmithrhythmandrhyme · 6 years

Text

Thursday, 22nd February, 2018

I appreciate that this will be far too long for a context like Tumblr - it’s a busy place! But it’s the last in my series of response to John Clare (1793-1864).

Nearly 200 years on from John Clare’s poem, ‘February’.

There looks to be a nice coincidence of weather as I write this (see closing verses), the twelfth and final month of my poetic ‘visits’ to John Clare’s world as portrayed in his collection of twelve monthly poems - 'The Shepherd’s Calendar', published April, 1827.

Apparently it only sold a disappointing and dispiriting 400 copies.

A morning walk down Parsons Lane ... A fresh but gentle breeze ... A cloudless sky of richest blue, Filtering through the trees ...

A day when all feels future-bound, And dark night winter’s passed: When light is longer, stronger, And it feels like Spring at last.

The sun now feels a little warmer ... Higher in the sky ... Around us, simple signs of Spring, As paths more quickly dry ...

Snowdrops cluster down the lane, Glowing purest white; Daffodils are flowering To a yellowing delight.

Two blackbirds, in this path-side hedge, Are scoping out a site - A place of safety for their nest - Till instinct says - “That’s right!”

On such a day as this, I visit John Clare’s world once more - Where snow is gone from cottage tops, And cleared from cottage door.

The thatch moss of the cottage roof Now glows in brighter green, And eves are drip, drip, dripping Where the icicles hath been.

The sun peeps thro the window ... Childern mark wi laughing eye … It’s time to play outside again ... They know that spring is nigh.

Ploughmen whistle to their toils ... Shepherds stop to chat ... Gossips saunter in the sun And talk of this and that.

The milkmaid singing leaves her bed, Enlivened by the sun, As glad as happy thoughts can be, Believing ‘spring is sprung’.

The south wind murmurs summer soft .. Sun-beams on hedges lye .. A chance, at last, for maids To hang their white cloaths out to dry.

Ducks and geese douse in the pond Immersed in happy joys: Sheepdogs .. horses .. cats .. hens .. swine .. Alive wi summer noise.

Whist all around are John Clare’s birds - In tree-top, hedge or bush: Pigeon .. magpie .. jackdaw .. lark .. Sparrow .. crow .. wren .. thrush ..

The dame oft stops her burring wheel To hear the robin sing ... Even bees are dreaming In their honey combs of spring.

Neath hedge and cottage walls, The gnats for play will flock together: And hopeful flyes will venture out To brave the mocking weather.

Though all’s so very different, yet - I know that with John Clare, We share that timeless fellow-feeling .. Spring is in the air!

But John Clare’s ‘mocking weather’ ..? We detect a gentle smile ... A warning that the Spring we crave (or 'in fact': unsure which) May be a little while ...

I watch our evening weather forecast ... Smile, too, when I’m told: ‘The end of February will be - Very .. Very .. Cold!’

Here is John Clare’s mocking weather - Alive and well today! Winter thoughts, just as we sensed That Spring was on its way.

Meanwhile, back in John Clare’s world, Frost numbs the stiffening stream ... No longer do the south winds herald Nature’s spring-time dream.

The plain soon wears its garb of white ... And icicles that fret* at noon Will eke** their icy tails at night Beneath the chilly stars and moon

Nature soon sickens of her joys And all is sad and dumb again Save merry shouts of sliding boys About the frozen furrowd plain

The foddering boy forgets his song And silent goes wi folded arms And croodling*** shepherds bend along Crouching to the whizzing storms

‘Very .. Very .. Cold!’ they say: Well, what will be, will be - Perhaps they’ve got it wrong - again! We’ll wait .. We’ll watch .. We’ll see ...

* fret = thaw ** eke = add to, enlarge *** croodling = to huddle, for warmth or protection

NOTES: i) The penultimate three verses are all John Clare's.

ii) The final paragraph of the Introduction to my copy of ‘The Shepherd’s Calendar’ - publ. 1964, O.U.P., and edited by Eric Robinson and Geoffrey Summerfield - reads:

“Here then is Clare’s most ambitious single poem - as he wrote it. It is the truest poem of English country life ever written, it is poetry in the mainstream of the English tradition of nature poetry, and it is poetry that is immediately accessible to the ordinary reader.”

#poem #poetry #JohnClareEnglishPoet #Nature #agriculture #rural #countryside #nineteenthcentury

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amillionsmiles · 7 years

Text

your hair was long when we first met (Pidge/Lance)

Summary: Pidge’s hair grows with the seasons. So do Lance’s feelings. A/N: feelings are hard, kids. written while listening to “No Promises” on repeat so that kind of explains the last scene, I guess. Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4

[Read and review over on Ao3] or continue under the cut.

FALL

Lance takes a sip of his coffee and immediately regrets it, the liquid scalding his tongue. His fault—his mug is programmed to alert him of the temperature of its contents, but sometimes he gets too lazy to look at the status bar and decides to risk it the good old fashioned way instead.

The door of the break room opens and Amara enters, blouse perfectly pressed as always.

“Hey,” she greets.

“Hi, Amara.” Lance lifts his mug in acknowledgement.

Amara moves toward the coffee machine, starting it up with a steady whir. Over the noise, she congratulates: “Good job on bringing in the top numbers again this month.”

Lance smiles, one shoulder pulling higher than the other as he shrugs. “What can I say? I’m competitive.” He remembers the Garrison, waiting for sim score postings with bated breath. The very first time he and Keith raced in their Lions, neck and neck.

“You’re going out with us tonight, right? We’re having a mixer with the tech team.”

“Wouldn’t miss it.” Lance winks, and it feels good, to be on top of his game again, to receive Amara’s answering smile and see her tuck a strand of hair behind her ear.

Somebody else enters the break room.

“Oh, good, Lance, you’re here.”

Pidge.

He stands a little straighter. Over Pidge’s shoulder, Amara wiggles her fingers in goodbye, slipping out through the door.

“What’s up?”

Pidge walks toward him, a data pad clutched in her hands. “I need a second opinion. We just had one of our technical writers redo the user manual, but I still want to make sure that it’s not too, you know, science jargon-y. And you’ve always been good at picking out that stuff…” She sets the tablet on the counter, swiping to bring up the file; Lance twists to his side, leaning over her shoulder to get a look. It’s muscle memory, this position—they might as well be poring over battle plans or a holographic projection of a planet.

His eyes swim at some of the paragraphs. Oh, god, what am I getting myself into— “I could take a look at it over the weekend,” he offers.

Pidge blinks up at him. “You’re sure?”

“Yeah, no big deal. Just send me a copy.”

“Already done.” Pidge brightens, typing in his work email, the data transmitted with a satisfying swish, and it’s comfortable, like this. Friends who trust each other’s opinions, coworkers who pick each other’s brains. Teammates.

Lance glances down at the lid of his mug, tries for nonchalant. “Hey, are you going to the mixer thingy tonight?”

“At Jolie’s?” Jolie’s, the bar just a few blocks away from their work, with the atmospheric blue glass lights and the karaoke stage for when you’re too many drinks in and feel like serenading the whole world with your feelings. Sales team already has bets going on who will be the first to drunkenly volunteer; currently, the majority favors Jeremy.

“Yeah.”

Pidge considers. “Probably. Are you?”

“You know me. Like I could turn down a party,” says Lance, nudging her.

She cracks a smile. “I’ll see you tonight, then. And thanks for looking over the manual, seriously. I owe you.”

“I’ll keep that in mind next time I need somebody’s account hacked.”

“I don’t do that anymore, Lance!” Pidge protests, punching his arm. Before he can react, she’s by the exit. He has half a mind to feign injury, if only to prolong their interaction for a few more seconds.

Instead, Lance raises his mug to his lips, taking a long sip.

His arm throbs. The coffee slides down his throat: still warm.

“Lance! You’re late!”

“Fashionably, I hope,” says Lance, shrugging out of his jacket as he follows Amara toward the bar. The lights cast everyone in a dark red glow, and for a second he’s back in Red’s cockpit, weaving through space. His coworkers spin toward him and away like dizzy stars.

Amara leaves his side, drawn by the noise coming from the pool table in the back corner. Lance orders a glass of scotch, then looks down the bar to see Pidge perched on a stool, dragging her index finger absentmindedly around the sugar-encrusted rim of her drink. Lemon Drop. Sweet with a dose of sour—classic Pidge.

“So, you come here often?”

She looks up, features relaxing when she recognizes him. “I was starting to wonder if you were ever going to show.”

“That boring without me, huh.”

“Actually, no, it’s been pretty entertaining. You missed Eric getting frisky on the dance floor.”

“Aw, man, seriously?” Lance mourns. “Please tell me you got a recording.”

“Obviously.” Pidge shoots him one of her secretive little smirks. “I can’t pass up prime blackmail material.”

“So you haven’t left behind your old ways after all.”

“I like having a lot of information at my fingertips,” Pidge justifies, and Lance thinks of the files she’d kept on their team, categorizing strengths and weaknesses. When he’d first found out, he’d felt a little betrayed; it hurt to think that someone close to him could pick him apart like that, lay him bare on a page. But he’d come to learn that it was Pidge’s way of caring: a constellation of data points that she drew close to herself, as comfort. They existed in the flesh, but also as facts and figures—indisputable, something nobody could take away.

Over on the karaoke stage, Jeremy has finally taken the microphone, launching into some ballad from ages ago: I’m all out of love, I’m so lost without you—

Lance bumps Pidge’s shoulder. “I challenge you to a duet.”

She scoffs. “Please, I’m way too sober.”

“We can fix that.”

Pidge finishes her drink, turning toward him. When she meets his gaze, her eyes are bright with challenge, and Lance lets himself tip a little closer to her gravity. The pieces will fall where they may.

Three hours later finds him standing on the curb, waving his goodbyes. A warm pleasantness sits in his chest, muscles relaxed.

“I had fun today.”

Lance turns, startled to find Pidge taller than usual. A glance downwards reveals that she’s wearing a pair of black pumps; it’s the first time he’s noticed them this whole night, and the thought does something funny to his stomach.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Pidge shifts from foot to foot. Lance resists the urge to smile, already anticipating the next nervous stream of words: “I mean, I like everyone, obviously, I wouldn’t be here otherwise, but you know me, it takes a lot of time for me to really get comfortable and open up and… it was just easier, with you around.”

Don’t read into it, Lance.

“How’d you get here?” he deflects.

“Took the rail link.”

“Yeah, you should probably call a ride to get back instead.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Pidge grumbles, reaching for the clasp of her purse, and Lance remembers the first time they got drunk together. It’d been after a diplomatic banquet on some planet with two moons. Gathered in the Castle’s lounge, passing around a bottle that was leagues better than nunvill, Hunk had teased Pidge about being the only one of them that had yet to reach drinking age, which set off another argument about laws in space until Pidge said, “Who’s gonna arrest me, the space police?” and grabbed the flask from Lance’s hand. Which was how Lance learned that, while he and Shiro got affectionate and Keith got contemplative (Hunk, too, but in a more incessantly questioning kind of way), drunk Pidge became grumpy and then sleepy.

The car pulls up. Lance opens the door for Pidge, watching her slide into the backseat. “Text me when you’re home safe, I’ll see you on Monday—”

“Lance.” Pidge’s voice is quiet, the barest trace of vulnerability underneath; and that’s bad, because the last time Pidge was vulnerable around him, Lance fucked everything up. “I want… I want you to see my place.”

He shouldn’t. Bad idea. But Lance has another weakness to add to Pidge’s ongoing list, after all these years: pent-up regret and zero resistance to a certain pair of beseeching brown eyes.

“Okay,” he says, and gets in the car.

Pidge is half-asleep when they finally arrive at her apartment building. Lance leaves the car door open behind him for her to squeeze out of, turning his attention toward trying to guess which of the windows above them is hers.

“Fuck.”

He whirls around. “Pi—Katie,” he catches himself at the last second, “are you okay?”

Pidge balances on her left foot, heels clutched in one hand, the other one rubbing her right ankle. “I’m fine, I just—what are you doing?”

“Come on, I’ll carry you the rest of the way.”

“Lance, the door isn’t that far, and there’s an elevator once we get inside—”

“Are you really going to turn down a free piggyback ride?”

“All right, fine,” Pidge sighs, sliding her arms around his neck. Lance hooks his arms under her legs, rising slowly to adjust to the weight. Nobody bats an eye at them when they enter the lobby. In the elevator, Pidge reaches over his shoulder to press the button for her floor, and her hair brushes against the side of his face, giving him a whiff of her shampoo. Coconut.

Several minutes later, he stands in the middle of her living room. Pidge is dozing off again, breath puffing warmly against his neck, and Lance keeps the moment to himself, soaking in his surroundings. Half-assembled 3D puzzle on the coffee table, a fuzzy blanket thrown over the arm of the couch. Over in the kitchenette, magnets from the local planetarium adorn the fridge.

Gingerly, Lance navigates through the darkness. With his foot, he nudges the bedroom door open, the mattress squeaking gently when he sits down on its edge. He deposits Pidge as slowly as he can, careful not to crush her when he leans back—she makes a soft noise as she untangles from him, stretching out on the bed. And it’s like one of those tragic Greek myths; he’s Orpheus, unable to stop himself from looking over his shoulder.

Pidge is curled away from him, toward the wall. Her hair has grown well past her shoulders, now; Lance wonders if she plans on letting it reach mid-back.

His job is done here. He’s seen whatever it is Pidge wanted him to see. Turning around, Lance starts to leave.

A tug on the back of his shirt stops him.

“Wait.”

Pidge might as well have turned an ice cannon on him, for what it does to his body. Lance swallows. “I have to go.”

“I know,” Pidge says, and he can hear her body dragging across the sheets, curving toward him. “Thanks for bringing me home,” she mumbles, words laced with sleep. “I had fun today.”

“You said that earlier already.”

“That’s not… I meant…” She makes an impatient noise, expelling air through her nose. Lance can’t help snorting in return; even when drunk, Pidge’s mind moves too fast to pin down.

“I was nervous about tonight,” Pidge finally confesses. “I was worried things might be weird.”

“Oh.”

“But hanging out with you was… normal. So I guess that means I must be over it.”

“Over it,” Lance echoes.

“Yeah.” She sounds relaxed. Happy, even—like a weight has been lifted.

Lance should be happy, too.

“Whatever it was between us, I don’t care anymore, I just—I just want us to be friends.”

There’s a spot of chipped paint on the wall across from them, right below the light switch. Indistinguishable to most other people, especially with the room as dark as it is right now, but Lance has always had a marksman’s eye. He should have seen this coming, probably. And he can do this: bite the bullet, keep the truth lodged in his chest, no exit wound.

“Yeah,” he says softly, proud of the steadiness of his voice. “Me, too.”

“Oh, hey, Allura—ha!” In the split second that Lance spared to glance over his shoulder, Pidge swept his legs out from under him, knocking him flat on his rear.

“Hey!” Lance protested. “Misdirection! Dirty move!”

“Oldest trick in the book,” said Pidge, beaming smugly. She pointed her staff at his chest. “You lose.”

“All right, fine.” Lance dropped his own staff in a gesture of surrender, showing his palms. He held a hand out. “Help me up?”

She rolled her eyes but reached down to wrap her fingers around his, grip firm.

Too easy.

Lance tugged.

Down went Pidge, a crash of limbs. Her elbow caught his side and Lance cursed, wheezing: “Ow, fuck, my ribs—”

“Language,” mocked Pidge.

“Who are you to talk about language, you’ve got the dirtiest mouth out of all of us—” But that thought cut short, because said mouth was now hovering only a few inches away from his.

In hindsight, perhaps this hadn’t been the greatest idea.

“Lance?” Some of Pidge’s hair had come free of her ponytail, curling in wispy clouds around her face. She’d decided not to cut it and it hung midway down her back, now. Lance was prone to tugging it on occasion, just to bother her. (“Why don’t you ever do that to Allura?” “Because Allura would kill me.” “What, and you think I wouldn’t?” “‘Course not, you’d miss me too much.”)

He swallowed. What were those lines from Legally Blonde? “Exercise gives you endorphins. Endorphins make you happy.” That was what this was, probably. Despite his better judgment, he reached up, tucking one of the loose strands behind Pidge’s ear. Something had been knocked out of him, in his fall—he took a breath but it didn’t quite fill his lungs.

“Right here.”

Here, in the slowly shrinking space between them—and then their mouths were touching, Pidge’s lips soft and slightly chapped against his, and this wasn’t a moment he’d dreamt of but his hands moved of their own accord, found the tie in her hair and pulled it free, gently, tresses spilling through the gaps between his fingers, Pidge pushing down on him until it felt like he’d sink straight through the floor—

Oh, god. They were on the floor. Of the training room. Where anyone could walk in—

“Pidge, wait.” Lance broke away, even more winded than before. “What are we doing?”

She blinked at him. Color was rising to her cheeks, but her voice remained remarkably level as she said: “I thought it was pretty obvious.”

“No, I meant,” he propped himself up on an elbow, gesturing between them with a finger, “this.”

Pidge sat back on her heels. Wary. “I like you, Lance.”

It should have been a no-brainer, after what had just occurred between them, but Lance still felt as if he’d been clobbered over the head. It must have seeped into his expression, because Pidge scowled.

“You don’t have to look so surprised. Objectively, you’re not… you’re not bad-looking, and you get me differently from the others, and you make me laugh, so really, out of everyone on the ship—”

And there were the words he’d been dreading.

“Don’t say that.”

“Say what?” Pidge frowned.

“You said: ‘Out of everyone on the ship.’ That’s settling. That’s talking like we’re never going to get back to Earth.”

Pidge’s eyes widened. “Lance, that’s not what I mean.”

“Think about it. We’ve been up here for what, four years? Spending time with the same company day in and day out, it might just be—” He made a halfhearted motion with his hand. “Cabin pressure? Stir craziness? Things get a little weird but that doesn’t—that doesn’t make me the one.”

“What makes you so sure you aren’t?” Pidge’s voice had gone dangerously quiet.

“I just—” He didn’t know why he was sabotaging himself like this. He’d been chasing a relationship for so long, it felt, and now here it was, literally in his lap. But the words came anyway: “What about all the places you haven’t been yet, and all the people you haven’t met? I don’t want that to get forfeited for… me.”

“Lance.” Pidge’s fingers dug into the cloth of his shirt, just above his heart. “It doesn’t have to be this whole future planned out. What about right now?” Her eyes bore into his. “Right here?”

It wasn’t that he didn’t believe people could have more than one love, over a lifetime. If anything, Lance believed in an abundance of affection. But something had shifted, and he didn’t know how to tell Pidge that he couldn’t talk about a here and now without wanting the promise of a future, and the yearning split him in two, because if— when —they got back to Earth, they’d probably be going after different things. A sadness overtook him, for something he hadn’t even lost yet.

Pidge mistook his silence for disagreement.

“You could just tell me, you know,” she said lowly. “If you don’t feel the same.”

And with that, she stood up. Her weight lifted from his chest.

He didn’t breathe any easier.

Long-range fighting had always been Lance’s strength, and he understood it better, now. It messed you up so much more when you could see the hurt you inflicted up close. He could fix this—a few words and they’d be back on track, the misunderstanding smoothed over—but maybe it was for the best, to quit while they were ahead. To manage the hurt while they were still Lance and Pidge and not Lance-and-Pidge. They were going to get back to Earth, eventually, and she would go to her mom and he would find his way back to Varadero so didn’t it make sense, to not make any promises?

He didn’t want to be responsible for holding anyone back.

The training room doors slid shut.

#pidge #lance #plance #pidgance #flirtyrobot #voltron #my writing #otp: teenage dream meme team #ff: voltron

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writerspink · 5 years

Text

K-12 Words

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5.1

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include cage language base red brain building feast better built demolish excess leap tower ocean plains cold claw information scholar climbed woman worry strand heavy herd common ground damp pack choose president least increase half english invent class measure dash tremble object become doubt became bare wheels continued shiver engine core couple business stars week peak numeral brought nothing touch reached uncle symbols however rumor evening inasmuch (as) force curious heat career system valley dust flock spray robber practice lonely remember luxury warm heard calm rock frighten leader difficulty best gum cheer key support universe stream bit usually fish parade balance money note cliff stand proof you’re pale machine complete cool shown street today shy easy several search unit war power caught settle itself fuel mention fresh planet plane straight period person able direct space wood seal field circle lady board besides hours passed known whole similar underline main winter wide written length reason kept interest arms brother race present beautiful store job edge past sign record finished discovered wild happy beside gone sky grass million west lay weather root instruments meet third months paragraph raised represent soft whether clothes flowers shall teacher held describe drive appreciate structure visible artificial

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afraid absorb british seat fear stretched furniture sight oxygen coward rope clever yellow albeit confess passage france fan cattle spot explore rather active death effect mine create wash printed process origin rose swift woe planets doze gasp chief perform triumph value substances tone score predict property movement harsh tube settled defend reverse ancient blood sharp border fierce plunge consider terms vision intend total schedule attract average intelligent corn dead southern glide supply convince send continent brief mural symbol crew chance suffix habit insects entered nursery especially spread drift major fig diagram guess wit sugar predator science necessary moisture park ordeal nectar fortunate flutter gun forward globe misery molecules arctic won’t actually addition washington cling rare lie steel pastime soldiers chill accordingly capital prevent solution greek sensitive electric agreed thin provide indicate northern volunteer sell tied triangle action opposite shoulder imitate steer wander except match cross speak solve appear metal son either ice sleep village factors result jumped snow ride care floor hill pushed baby buy century outside everything tall already instead phrase soil bed copy free hope spring case laughed nation quite type themselves temperature bright lead everyone method section lake iron within dictionary bargain loyal resource struggle vary capture exclaim gloomy insist restless shallow shatter talent atmosphere brilliant endure glance precious unite certain clasp depart journey observe superb treasure wisdom

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prepared journey trade delicate arrived track cotton hoe furnish exciting view grasp level branches privilege limit wrong enable ability various moreover spoil starve dollars digest advice sense accuse pretty wasn’t industry adopt loyal suggested blow treasure cook adjective doesn’t wings tools crops loud smell frail wisdom fit expect ahead lifted deed device weight gradual respect interesting arrange particular compound examine cable climate division individual talent fatal entire advantage opponent wouldn’t elements column custom enjoy grace theory suitable wife shoes determine allow marsh workers difficult repeated thrill position born distant revive magnificent shop sir army struggled deal plural rich rhythm rely poem company string locate church mystify elegant led actual responsible japanese huge fun meat observe swim office chart avoid factories block called experience win crumple brilliant located pole bought conditions sister details primary survey truck recall disease radio rate scatter decay signal approach launch hair age amount scale pounds although per broken moment tiny possible gold milk quiet natural lot stone act build middle speed count consonant someone sail rolled bear wonder smiled angle fraction Africa killed melody bottom trip hole poor let’s fight surprise French died beat exactly remain fingers clever coast explore imitate pierce rare symbol triumph ancient cling disturb expose perform remote timid bashful brief compete consider delightful honor reflex remark brink chill conquer fortunate fury intend pattern vibrant wit

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capture remark western outcome risk current bold compare resident ambition arrest furthermore desire confuse accurate disclose considerable contribute calculate baggage literacy noble era benefit orchard shabby content precious manufacture dusk afford assist demonstrate instant concentrate sturdy severe blend vacant weary carefree host limb pointless prepare inspire shallow chamber vast ease attentive source frantic lack recent distress basic permit threat analyze distract meadow mistrust jagged prefer sole envy hail reduce arena tour annual apparent recognize captivity burrow proceed develop humble resist peculiar response communicate circular variety frequent reveal essential disaster plead mature appropriate attractive request congratulate address destructive fragile modest attempt tradition ancestor focus flexible conclude venture impact generosity routine tragic crafty furious blossom concern ascend awkward master queasy release portion plentiful alert heroic extraordinary frontier descend invisible coax entrance capable peer terror mock outstanding valiant typical competition hardship entertain eager limp survive tidy antonym duplicate abolish approach approve glory magnificent meek prompt revive watchful wreckage audible consume glide origin prevent punctuate representative scorn stout woe arch authentic clarify declare grant grave opponent valid yearn admirable automatic devotion distant dreary exhaust kindle predict separation stunt

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evade debate dedicate budge available miniature petrify pasture banquet pedestrian solitary decline reassure nonchalant exhibit realistic exert abuse dictate minor monarch concept character strategy soar beverage tropical withdraw challenge kin navigate purchase reliable mischief solo combine vivid aroma spurt illuminate narrator retain excavate avalanche preserve suspend accomplish exasperate obsolete occasion myth reign sparse gorge intense revert antagonist talon aggressive alternate retire cautiously blizzard require endanger luxurious senseless portable sever compensate companion visual immense slither guardian compassion escalate detect protagonist oasis altitude assume seldom courteous absurd edible identical pardon approximate taunt achievement homonym hearty convert wilderness industrious sluggish thrifty deprive independent bland confident anxious astound numerous resemble route access jubilation saunter hazy impressive document moral crave gigantic bungle prefix summit overthrow perish visible translate comply intercept feeble exult compose negative suffocate frigid synonym appeal dominate deplete abundant economy desperate diligent commend boycott jovial onset burden fixture objective siege barrier conceive formal inquire penalize picturesque predator privilege slumber advantage ambition defiant fearsome imply merit negotiate purify revoke wretched absorb amateur channel elegant grace inspect lame tiresome tranquil boast eloquent glisten ideal infectious invest locate ripple sufficient uproar

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apprehensive dialogue prejudice marvel eligible accommodate arrogant distinct knack deposit liberate cumulative consequence strive salvage chronological unique vow concise influence lure poverty priority legislation significant conserve verdict leisure erupt beacon stationary generate provoke efficient campaign paraphrase swarm adhere eerie mere mimic deteriorate literal preliminary solar soothe expanse ignite verge recount apparel terrain ample quest composure majority collide prominent duration pursue innovation omniscient resolute unruly optimist restrain agony convenient constant prosper elaborate genre retrieve exploit continuous dissolve dwell persecute abandon meager elude rural retaliate primitive remote blunder propel vital designate cultivate loathe consent drastic fuse maximum negotiate barren transform conspicuous possess allegiance beneficial former factor deluge vibrant intimidate idiom dense awe rigorous manipulate transport discretion hostile clarity arid parody boisterous capacity massive prosecute declare stifle remorse refuge predicament treacherous inevitable ingenious plummet adapt monotonous accumulate reinforce extract reluctant vacate hazardous inept diminish domestic linger context excel cancel distribute document fragile myth reject scuffle solitary temporary veteran assault convert dispute impressive justify misleading numerous productive shrewd strategy villain bluff cautious consist despise haven miniature monarch obstacle postpone straggle vivid aggressive associate deceive emigrate flexible glamour hazy luxurious mishap overwhelm span blemish blunt capable conclude detect fatigue festive hospitality nomad supreme

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exclude civic compact painstaking supplement habitat leeway minute hoax contaminate likeness migration commentary extinct tangible originate urban unanimous subordinate collaborate obstacle esteem encounter futile cordial trait improvises superior exaggerate anticipate cope evolve eclipse dissent anguish subsequent sanctuary formulates makeshift controversy diversity terminate precise equivalent pamper prior potential obnoxious radiant predatory presume permanent pending simultaneously tamper supervise perceived vicious patronize trickle stodgy rant oration preview species poised perturb vista wince yearn persist shirk status tragedy trivial snare vindictive wrath recede peevish rupture unscathed random toxic void orthodox subtle resume sequel upright wary overwhelm perjury uncertainty prowess utmost throb pluck pique vengeance pelt urgent substantial robust sullen retort ponder whim saga sham reprimand vocation assimilate dub defect accord embark desist dialect chastise banter inaugurate ovation barter muse blasé stamina atrocity deter principal liberal epoch preposterous advocate audacious dispatch incense deplore institute deceptive component subside spontaneous bonanza ultimate wrangle clarify hindrance irascible plausible profound infinite accomplish apparent capacity civilian conceal duplicate keen provoke spurt undoing vast withdraw barrier calculate compose considerable deputy industrious jolt loot rejoice reliable senseless shrivel alternate demolish energetic enforce feat hearty mature observant primary resign strive verdict brisk cherish considerate displace downfall estimate humiliate identical improper poll soothe vicinity abolish appeal brittle condemn descend dictator expand famine portable prey thrifty visual

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stance vie instill exceptional avail strident formidable rebuke enhance benign perspective tedious aloof encroach memoir mien desolate inventive prodigy staple stint fallacy grope vilify recur assail tirade antics recourse clad jurisdiction caption pseudonym reception humane ornate sage ungainly overt sedative amiss convey connoisseur rational enigma fortify servile fastidious contagious elite disgruntled eccentric pioneer abet luminous era sleek serene proficient rue articulate awry pungent wage deploy anarchy culminate inventory commemorate muster adept durable foreboding lucrative modify authority transition confiscate pivotal analogy avid flair ferret decree voracious imperative grapple deface augment shackle legendary trepidation discern glut cache endeavor attribute phenomenon balmy bizarre gullible loll rankle decipher sublime rubble renounce porous turbulent heritage hover pithy allot minimize agile renown fend revenue versa gaunt haven dire doctrine intricate conservative exotic facilitate bountiful cite panorama swelter foster indifferent millennium gingerly conscientious intervene mercenary citadel obviously rely supportive sympathy weakling atmosphere decay gradual impact noticeable recede stability variation approximately astronomical calculation criterion diameter evaluate orbit sphere agricultural decline disorder identify probable thrive expected widespread bulletin contribution diversity enlist intercept operation recruit survival abruptly ally collide confident conflict protective taunt adaptation dormant forage frigid hibernate insulate export glisten influence landscape native plantation restore urge blare connection errand exchange

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feasible teem pang vice tycoon succumb capacious onslaught excerpt eventful forfeit crusade tract haggard susceptible exemplify ardent crucial excruciating embargo disdain apprehend surpass sporadic flustered languish conventional disposition theme plunder ignore project complaint title dramatic delivery litter experimental clinic arrogance preparation remind atomic occasional conscious deny maturity closure stressed translator animate observation physical further gently registration suppress combination amazing constructive allied poetry passion ecstasy mystery cheerful contribution spirit failed gummy commerce prove disagreement raid consume embarrass preference migrant devour encouragement quote mythology destined destination illuminating struggle accent ungrateful giggle approval confidence expose scientist operation superstitious emergency manners absolutely swallow readily mutual bound crisp orient stress sort stare comfort verbal heel challenging advertisement envious sex scar astonish basis accuracy enviable alliance specific chef embarrassed counter tolerable sympathetic gradually vanish informative amaze royal furry insist jealousy simplify quiver collaborate dedicated flexible function mimic obstacle technique archaeologist fragment historian intact preserve reconstruct remnant commence deed exaggeration heroic impress pose saunter wring astound concealed inquisitive interpret perplexed precise reconsider suspicious anticipation defy entitled neutral outspoken reserved sought equal absorb affect circulate conserve cycle necessity seep barren expression meaningful plume focused genius perspective prospect stunned superb transition assume guarantee nominate

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install reticent corroborate regretfully strength murder concise cunning intention holy satire query confused progression disillusion background mundane abrupt multiple enormously introduce emulate harmful pragmatic pity rebut liberate enthusiastic elucidate camaraderie disparage nature creep profitability impression racist sobriety occupy autonomy currently amiable reiterate reproduce cripple modest offer atom provincial augment ungratefully expansion yield rashly allude immigration silence epitome exacerbate somber avid dispute vindicate collaborate manufacturer embellish superficial propaganda incompetent objective diminish statistics endure ambivalent perpetuate illuminate phenomenon exasperate originality restrict anxiety anthropology circumstances aesthetic manufacturing conventional dubious vulnerable reality precedent entity success term critical repair underscore stepmother republican hesitantly classic wary contents prediction immediate invoke notorious implicit excluding input skeptical foster element punish frank humanity profound dessert orthodox substance disappear encourage neighborhood elder superfluous naive ascertain complacent resilient deafening military tend prudent glare acceptance skillfully induce monster beam gullible conciliate vessel petty cantankerous disclose archaeology anecdote disdain electronics substantiate subjective tourism advisable joyful incredible provocative psychological ruins discipline condone indifferent misfortune judgmental industrialize tasty assume astute mission mar protective definitely escape oppress shocked virtual zealous endorse qualification hostile eccentric abstract disparate geographical scrutinize generalization tolerate activity claim dogmatic influential obsolete extol implausible subsequent resource chronic benevolent improve confidential ambiguous seriously dearth perplex hatred throughout dine contemporary evoke essentially economic flagrant obscure alleviate eloquent dreaadful clumsy sympathy victim condemn vigor condescend spontaneous quell reprehensible substantially sleeve equivocal ironic decry errand articulate progressive eradicate refreshments elicit aspiration recently exemplary bribery theoretical disingenuous partisan revere particle nostalgia self-aggrandizement debunk tyranny rhetoric hierarchy warning whimsical venerate commend assert miserable awful vibe constrain undermine explicit differentiate compliment scrupulous contempt erroneous ideal refute imply cynical rash presume insight revival vary delay renounce indignant offensive temperate circumstantial export peep logo advertise suppress distort chunk convoluted denounce overwhelming fertility rigorous acquire arrogant university antagonize profitable indulgent strategic breathing idiosyncrasy profession frugal discern accommodation adversary incredulous disturbance digress social belie roam smug continual pertinent voluntarily elite subtle blame sincerity lick horror censure involvement candid infer futile impetuous exploit bewilder sustain diligent sincere protect sealed musical empathy callous parenthetical insure acorn sarcasm seize sacrificially allege emphatic irrelevant progress diplomatic stunned improvise deride reconcile meticulous deject scientifically incontrovertible pressure justify gloomy depict supplant endurance analogous diary bolster slip contemplate pesticide glow religious advocate negligent creator lament fundamental embrace throne inherent inferior valuable thrive trivial pretense reserved capricious refresh refusal flight boost explanation coherent prevalent tenacious official royalty assassin rub poach delete

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warrant circumscribed somewhat explosive optimistic mandate previously detract opinion intuitive feasible intimate persistent humble simplicity tempt deliberate painful unethical fundamentals discrepancy remorse pessimistic possibility conclusion acknowledge impregnate soberly creation paralyze suitability oblige tranquil medal arbitrate pacify illusory susceptible vibrate vengeance infection democratic stressful grave speculative sample identification stifle obligation revenge organization namely mediocre practical scream weaken consensus affectionate deficient treacherous console isolation ingenious memory melodrama despair awestruck composition regret recommendation celebrity decision devoid opaque ornamentation longevity participate dread restore interrogate aid accordingly mislead embarrassment optimism domestic apt funds virtue geography fundamentally thoroughly press despite horrible chilling rental esteemed disappointment innovative contemplation assign popularize haunt deafen serene percent estrangement suffer extravagant throng estimate comment priesthood mass dreadfully promote periphery animated saying relate clarity triple derivative succeed distortion register suicide improvement discreet inquisition probable curative incident praise convenience baffle covet dreadful genuinely weary undisturbed disgruntled humility renown nonchalant monopoly comedy vague decisive inconsequential announcement fabricated nevertheless vigilant scarce neglectful hushed attainment tedious explode snatch pslm agency sentimental tension adhere meanwhile sacred avert conformity likewise challenger accessible responsibility peril contact event roast fallible catastrophic competitor violate resolute deceive exaggeration discredit intolerable approve paste dimly novelist demeanor norm politician satisfaction obvious vehicle reservation defer involve restoration crush audible assistant backpack attain inanimate commemorate confrontation emigration parasite disperse quantitative laughter policy vulgar occasionally repay effective eulogy starvation empty therapeutic overall immortal encompass inappropriate opportune engagement illustrate turmoil observatory classification expression reminiscence comedian invention depress remedy protagonist gesture texture diplomatic election prolong conducive emotional invigorate curiosity expressive %

K-12 Words was originally published on PinkWrite

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