#that green thing is SUPPOSED to be a cataclysm but now that im looking at it im. not sure if that translates well BUT WHATEVER | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

shadowsblades · 5 years

Text

VALEERA’S RP PLOTTING CHEAT-SHEET

Want new-and-exciting plots for your character? Long to reach out to more of your followers, but don’t know where to start? Fear not! Fill out this form and give your RP partners both present and future all the of juicy jumping off points they need to help you get your characters acquainted.

Be sure to tag the players whose characters YOU want more cues to interact with, and repost, don’t reblog! Feel free to add or remove sections as you see fit. Template here.

Mun name: Rachel OOC Contact: IMs, Discord

Who the heck is my muse anyway:

Valeera Sanguinar is a blood elf spy loyal to the Wrynns. Sometime after surviving the fall of Silvermoon, she fought alongside Varian Wrynn in the gladiator pits and later escaped and helped restore him to the throne. Valeera acted as an advisor and bodyguard to Varian throughout Wrath of the Lich King, Cataclysm, Mists of Pandaria, and Warlords of Draenor. Following Varian’s death on the Broken Shore, Valeera pledged herself to his son and the new High King of the Alliance, Anduin. Valeera also worked alongside the Uncrowned, a secret organization of rogues affiliated with both the Horde and the Alliance, against the Burning Legion.

Points of interest:

blood elf working for the Alliance (not that she will ever admit to it)

undefeated gladiator Champion of the Crimson Ring

previously possessed by a dreadlord

Shadow of the Uncrowned

no pants, ass right there

huge green orc daggers

much hair, very blonde

little armor, very red

What they’ve been up to recently:

In canon:

discovered Mathias Shaw was being impersonated by Detheroc

worked with the Uncrowned to defeat the Burning Legion's assassin Akaari Shadowgore

carried messages between Anduin Wrynn and Baine Bloodhoof regarding the meeting between the Forsaken and their human families (which lead to many deaths, rip)

assisted Baine Bloodhoof to return Derek Proudmore to Jaina (which lead to Baine’s arrest, soz)

On this blog:

compliant with everything in canon

I have plotted with @lightsblade that Valeera was involved in the negotiations between the blood elves and the Alliance during MoP, and during that time also became sexually and romantically involved with Lady Liadrin. Although her loyalty to the Wrynns and overall emotional reservedness has made things slow going, they are involved still and Valeera makes frequent visits to Quel’Thalas. Now that the Horde and Alliance are at war again, that places Valeera in a fairly precarious position, torn between her new home in Stormwind and the home she fled from as a child.

Where to find them:

Stormwind

pretty much anywhere on Azeroth because spy

Current plans:

This blog is still pretty new and I’m still on my first thread with most people, so I’m still getting a feel for the relationships Valeera has with other canon and original characters. I would love to plot more things with people, be that pre-established relationships or a relationship we can build towards in threads.

Desired interactions:

Other Uncrowned / Rogues: Although Valeera primarily works as an independent agent, there’s every possibility that she has made contact with other rogues and maintains a mutually beneficial relationship with them, facilitating the exchange of information that would be difficult or time-consuming for Valeera to obtain herself.

Sin’dorei: As Valeera becomes more involved in activities in Quel’Thalas, she’s likely to be interacting with other sin’dorei, but given that she is closely affiliated with the Alliance, those interactions might not initially be very pleasant. There’s also an opportunity for Valeera to reconnect with other sin’dorei she may have known prior to the Fall of Silvermoon, such as teachers, neighbours, and other orphans.

Alliance leaders: Valeera has been embroiled in Stormwind’s political affairs for a number of years now, meaning she should have some kind of relationship with the other Alliance leaders, particularly those that also live in Stormwind. I’m intrigued by how Valeera and Alliance higher-ups perceive and interact with one another.

Quel’dorei in Stormwind: Valeera’s only connection to her culture while living in Stormwind are the interactions she has with the high elves. While most likely limited and antagonistic, there’s potential for a really interesting dynamic.

Offered interactions:

I think Valeera’s mobility and neutrality offer ample opportunity for interaction. As above, she can be found pretty much anywhere, and unless your character is a demon or annoys her, she’s usually not inclined to attack.

As above, your character could be a source of information Valeera is seeking or they could be looking to trade information with her, you could catch her lurking somewhere she isn’t supposed to be, or simply meet her as she travels between two points.

If your character, canon or OC, is in a position of power, Valeera might be involved in carrying messages between them and Varian/Anduin.

Apart from being a spy, Valeera is also a hero. If your character is in some kind of trouble they don’t deserve to be in, or if there’s an enemy lurking about, she'll most likely try to help out.

Current open post/s:

None, but you can find a meme to send here (feel free to send anything that looks like something to start a thread out of, just not those headcanon memes or drabble memes) or just jump right into my IMs to yell at me.

Anything else?:

I reply pretty quickly because I get excited, but I don’t expect the same from you.

I’m making my way through the World of Warcraft novels and comics at the moment, but I definitely don’t know everything there is to know and I probably don’t even know what I don’t know. If I get something wrong about your character or the lore, please help me learn!

Tagged by: pickpocketed from @necroarchy

Tagging: @lightsblade, @ladywindrunner, @themorningfell (on Airlia or on any of your other blogs), @anierous-sunblade, @wclfcrown, and anyone else who would like to!

#❛ can't stay out of trouble; can you? ❜ ❪ ooc ❫#this is half crack and half serious oops #and also took me Weeks to do #but fr i want to plot with more people #hmu in my IMs or I'll put out a plotting call in a bit if you're too shy to make the first move

1 note · View note

fadedstarlight · 6 years

Text

the stars will sing for you, one day. hope is what dreamers rely upon, so don’t lose it. even if it means the end of everything you know.

a crumpled tee shirt, plastered directly to her face. an exhausted arm brushes it aside with a disgruntled moan, the moan of someone who was having a terribly nice dream and was woken up by the most inconsiderate rays of morning grace. thanks, morning, she mutters to herself. comforter pushed aside, beads of sweat rolling off the bangs matted to her temples, may allows her body the respite of cool floorboards, chilling her aching body. wait, why is my body aching? where is my home? where am i? startled eyes, dizzy from the relentless waves of heat, burst open with fervor known only to the insane and the driven. there were a lot of questions, of course. that’s human nature. staring up at the ceiling, a small fan twirls daintily. this isn’t right, she keeps saying to herself. this can’t be right.

no answers can be fulfilled lying face-up on the floor, so in a flurry of movement, may was upright at last. tenatively, she made out the visage of fate that lay before her:

a half-eaten pizza. thrown lazily over a laptop.

why is there a pizza here?! i don’t even like pizza!

may took this opportunity of pure speculative confusion to observe the furnishings around her– a bed with no frame, laid at the end of the room with pastel flowers adorning the comforter; a small, yet thoughtful rug that looked incredibly soft if layed upon, if there weren’t a black cat sitting directly in the center of it, enjoying the sun; a desk with the aforementioned pizza laptop at the other end of the room; and a communist flag pinned to the wall with two small knives.

cool.

i need to find a fan.

PROLOGUE

1 maybe this is the beginning of something new.

maybe this is the end of something ancient.

maybe this simply is.

2 she can’t do it alone.

be strong, may. be strong. run fast, head high, legs pumping– as long as you are going away from what you once were. that, dear, was a fate worse than death.

i don’t think death itself envies you, to be honest.

3 if you keep walking, maybe eventually possibly you can wake up from this and it will all be better.

but you know, you can’t outrun fate.

fate has its own tendrils that operate on their own terms and own laws and own everything and it doesn’t give a shit if it hurts you. because it has a job. and it’s doing a pretty great job at that job, and it probably doesn’t like that job but it doesn’t have a choice because its fate bosses tell it to do that job or else it’ll lose its fate job in its fate cubicle making a fate wage so it can feed its fate family. and they have their own fates, too, forcing them into this fate paradox that never seems to pause or contemplate why it does that, as if that too has a fate that it was predestined for.

my head hurts,

i really need some coffee. when was the last time i had something to drink? it was a day ago, probably. it’s not like, out here, i have much to go off of in terms of resources. if the winter chill nipping at my fingertips could be as filling as they are annoying, i’d never have to eat or drink anything again. now i’m hungry too. i am kind of wandering the wilderness, so i suppose i’m not too surprised. but i still am. in an apathetic kind of way. like, i will be conscious of what is happening, think to myself, oh, well i should do something about this, and never actually act upon it. even now i feel like im just watching a movie of someone else who just so happens to be traversing the alaskan landscape in search of something that isn’t there, wondering what their motivations are. gnawing on popcorn, sucking down heaven’s nectar and in the calming embrace of separate souls, lapping up the emotional buffet such a connection offers to one so malnourished. certainly sounds good right about now.

but i’ve accepted that, after about the nineteenth mile of uninterrupted walking, i understood that my entire existence was to never be ‘good’. good is the term that people never meant for anything say to quantify their meaningless lives by trying to find purpose in purposeless things. they have to do something for 80 years before they kick the bucket, right? grass doesn’t have things to look forward to, to aspire to be, to discuss, yet here it is, frozen and pale in the face of winter’s countenance, tenderly caressing its neck with its white-hot temptation. and grass doesn’t hurt anybody, either. all grass ever did was be green and be eaten by things who like hurting other things. grass has feelings, too, but no one cares. because it’s grass. and we are people, but honestly, we’re so much worse than grass. grass deserves more good its life than we have ever had. grass hasn’t killed other grasses. grass just wants to be the best grass it can be and it tries so fucking hard to be that. its grass parents must be so proud of it.

i wish i were grass.

4 stars wink at me sometimes. their flirtatious personalities are intoxicating, which makes it all the more heartbreaking when i realize the distance between them and i. i wish i could be up there with them, and succumb to their allure, be subject to the countless stories and thoughts, their transcendental banter, their flaws and fears and fate all lined up for me to gorge upon with all senses in wide-eyed stupor. the stars have their qualms about the universe too, i’m sure. but to be a celestial body must have its perks, too. for one, you never have to worry about not having enough time. you’re the largest measurer of time, only trumped in its universal dominance by the ones who set them there at all. also, you’re friends with other stars, whether they like it or not. your galaxy would be, essentially, a set of unbreakable friendships. you’re all orbiting each other, invariably destined to meet in a cataclysmic reuniting. it’s poetic: tragic and moving and short-lived yet unmistakably important to those involved, for they are foreverchanged with unmistakablelove. those were books i was writing on before i began this wandering journey into eternal oblivion. i doubt they’ll get finished, but it’s the fact that i tried at all that makes it powerful.

5 now, as i wrap my cardigan around my knees and crush the life out of these frozen leaves with my weight it must bear, i contemplate the purpose of my existence as an individual among individuals. is it true that some are destined to live in the solitary confinement of their shadow, as a mere instrument of mimicry? that is all i have become. to serve the whims of another, willing to destroy the whole of my being just to catch another glimpse of him, to prove i have life worth living, pulsing throughout my chest. but now i sit, cracked, with my split soul, breathing life into these leaves, similarly cracked, and similarly dead, and similarly subservient to me. this is hope leaving my body. i can feel its warmth pour in drops at first, yet slowly collecting into a technicolor pool, paled slightly by my tears added to the mixture. i like pastels anyway.

it has been pouring since the encounter. whatever it touches lives again. my goal is to find the man. and hug him. and let the torrent of tears stain his jacket, and my soul to drench him in his ignorance, to heal him, for he is the broken one, not i. i am not cruel. i am not beyond help. neither is he. no one is evil. he is confused. i am confused. we are confused. i will heal him.

6 you ever have those dreams that seemingly go on for decades, that build their own narratives and relationships and struggles that become all the more important than your own as you reside within them for those few brief hours of rest? where you remember every detail of your fictional love’s morning routine, as it was your favorite part of waking up, watching them dance while brushing their teeth, and sing in the shower way too loud letting yourself join in and not caring about the fact that both sound like a duet of cats dying in the rhythm of california gurls? where you remember the pain of losing imaginary loved ones, those ones whom your entire being was poured into, that made you the best fictional person you could possibly be. where you wake up in tears because you died crying, in a hospital bed, not sure what would be on the other side, and it just so happens to be that this actual, tangible life was the alternative, even though you would probably prefer a legitimate death without this purposeless, lifeless existence you actually inhabit being a purgatory for the next 60 years. those dreams have been appearing to me more and more recently, and i’m sure there’s a reason for their occurrences. maybe its because of this crisp wilderness air constantly barraging me with endless strokes of its mighty wind, or the fact that i haven’t seen another person in three days, or eaten in almost two, or the fact that i’m kind of disintegrating before my very eyes. the puddle my heart has left keeps a nice warm patch on the ground where the grass has been reborn, but aside from that i am cold. very cold. i can see some lights in the distance, kind of like a hazy sea of distant fireflies, gracefully following their own solo lines while maintaining the integrity of the whole symphony simultaneously. it’s rather pretty. if it weren’t for this hypnotic flurry of flickering, i would pass it. but i am intrigued. what stories will lie here, who knows. i can only pray they will leave me more answers than questions.

7 as my eyelids rush to meet each other as soon as those faint, flickering lights form distinct rectangles, i find myself feeling oddly at peace with everything. as i give in to gravity and the earth whispers my name, may, may, lay your weary head upon my shoulder and allow me to bear your burden, all things become so very obvious. alike the situation that placed me here, skull against skin against upturned earth, i succumb to alluring temptation once more, with the knowledge that my limbs, although leaden, have lead me farther in this time alone than they ever had in the life i lead before, and that was a comforting thought. maybe this all was a worthwhile endeavor, as the crash of footstep berates my sensitive ears with their screeching calls.

if i had known he would be the stars, and the grass, and the earth, and all other things, maybe i wouldn’t have come here. it’s all intertwined, there’s no escaping this or that or anything or nothing because even absence leaves a gaping hole in my chest that leaks out like a starving child begging for sustenance, as tears flow and fears grow and lives are snuffed out, one by one. i would rather take their place, there. some of those starving people who will never have a chance could have a chance if i allowed them to have it. i’ve wasted my life, on things that never really mattered or cared, but they could have done something amazing, gone on to change the world forever, instead of having the soul sucked out of them as life pours out of their eyes like tears so similar. i wonder if anyone feels the same way about me, that i could be something great if i were only capable of and given the chance. i think about that a lot. the possibility of something else, of renewal, of happiness. it’s simply a thought, but it’s a thought worth thinking of.

8 i was asleep for a day, i was asleep for a thousand days. time is a petty quandary anyhow.

what was true was the tears – millions upon millions of tears begotten by the tortures of millions upon millions of demons locked away in one solitary skull. sleep was never my friend; sleep never attended birthday parties or called late at night to make sure arteries were intact or laughed at dumb jokes or anything like that. sleep was the listless vixen that cloyed at my mind, always tempting me to the brink of exhaustion but ever allowing me to partake, never allowing me anything but the utter agony of lack of control. but this was especially horrid, as the role had been reversed. now lady list had her tendrils firmly secured, her jaw relentlessly locked on my consciousness. left to her mercy once more, the agony poured from my eyes in steamy globs one after another as the pain throbbed in my temples because the temple of solitude within my mind had been breached ad neverendum. i was forced to play out the pain of my past as her poison passed through my porous brain, a catalyst for the horrors of the may that once experienced them to be rejuvenated with enthralled vigor once more. i was worse than dead. it should have left me there, to die in my own pity, convulsing and confused and scared. but that would be too convenient. eventually, her poison drained from the wounds i had inflicted myself, numerous and agonizing in their own right. i had to. it was required. i couldn’t stand the thought of it all anymore. you can only handle so much.

we’re only human.

well, most of us.

9 my eyes, shrouded with glistening stars that swirled around nauseously as i took in my surroundings, danced across this unfamiliar environment. scuttling feet enveloping my senses, in all senses but sight: no matter how hard i tried to focus on the brittle tile that sent shivers cascading through my body, no clarity ever emerged. i was left with a vague sense of the location i was residing within: the floor of a tavern. freezing, filthy. i was apparently dragged inside with no real thought as to my condition or situation: for if these fumbling buffoons were to realize the seriousness of my predicament they would surely be healing my every wound and bowing their head to the bobbing of mine, attempting to raise my upper body. neither of these conclusions were to be fully realized, though i thought myself a queen for a time: to control all things with but a mere breath, to flaunt one’s ability and status with crooning grace and fullness; capable of destroying the lives of those around me but being empathetic enough to allow their lives sustenance for another day, and letting the reaper grow thin and his scythe rusty due to my own diligence. i would be the master of mortality, able to move any single, simple soul to accomplish this countenance’s humble requests. one could actually compare these actions to those of

UP. AWAKE,. I, I FEEL, COLD. . WHERE IS MY HEART? ? IT’S BEEN BLEEDING ALL OVER THIS DAMNED FLOOR. MUDDYING UP THE BOOTS OF THOSE UNACCUSTOMED TO SUCH LOWLY TRIBULATIONS THAT ONE OF MY OWN STATURE MUST ENDURE. SO SORRY, , MADAME, MISTER, I SHALL ALL AT ONCE CLEAN MY PLACE AND PERSON AS TO BE AS TRIFLING OF A INCONVENIENCE AS POSSIBLE, I MOST WHOLEHEARTEDLY ASSURE YOU THIS IS COMMONPLACE FOR PEOPLE WITH ISSUES SUCH AS MINE OH YES PLEASE DONT TOUCH IT YOU’LL BURN YOURSELF. YOU’LL BE DAMAGED. WHYA RE YOU STARING/? AT ME LIKE HTAT? OH I MUST HAVE BEEN INTRUSIVE MY SINCEREST APOLOGIES I SHALL PACK MY BELONGINGS AND GO PLEASE SIR FINE SIR MOVE ASIDE, ,,, WHY ARE YOU STANDING THERE, UNMOVING AND UNBLINKING AS IF THE WORLD HAS NEVER GRACED YOU WITH AN IMMOVABLE BEAUTY SUCH AS I? HOW RUDE OF YOU, I SHALL

run run run. run. run run? run, yes, yet my legs waver and mind shakes at the onset of actuality. this is not good. i must change course, find solace in the upstairs rooms, where i will surely pay for my intrusion into somehow. these awestruck peoples have been stagnant since my arousal, how peculiar– and this is coming from me! each step is as if my whole soul is to be thrust into the heat of a battle, and each cell inside my body are the unwavering yet unwilling soldiers who understand their demise is necessary and inevitable in order to protect those who admonish them on home soil as their greed stockpiles as quickly as complacency grows. i have been here for hours, it seems, attacking these cursed slopes that haunt my every movement, as i clamor up their taunting, unnervingly pearl-white faces. my chest heaves and my screams are apparent, but they are wholly necessary for the process at work here: yet still oblivious onlookers seem more interested in the past than present. the solid oak door moans as loudly as i: please, come inside me, come in and never leave, you are mine and always was. i was always one to give into temptation. the door swings with greased hinges, carrying me as momentum forces me to land on the bed directly in front of m-

ow. now i’m unconscious again, aren’t i? who knows how long i’ll be trapped in here. it’s pretty rank, too. i never much cared for it. i’d trade it out for a new one in a moment if i were able to, but those sorts of things are only what can come true in fantasy, and not reality, this reality of cracked and flowing hearts and polished white floors and hungry doors waiting to consume their next meal. this is reality. and i try so hard to convince myself that yes, reality is something worth fighting for, and here i am, at its mercy once again.

at least the floor is warm now.

1 note · View note

cheerioss · 4 years

Text

corn, mazes, and- umm... was that supposed to happen??

omygoooood im so very late for halloween. but hey, better late than never right?? hehe im totally right :> this is yet another adventure of sprinklebug and gummy chat so prepare for sprinkles!! hehe

reposting cuz idk it was super weird for me.

—

Corn mazes were fun. You find your way around tall rows of corn to the other end with your friends after some trick or treating. Sometimes there’s a scavenger hunt with the biggest stack of candies as the reward, or mini games and puzzles to solve, all while meeting dead end and spooky monsters who try to steal your candy. Paris had one set up every year, and this time was no exception.

It had the same spooky craziness that all corn mazes had for halloween; the mayor went all out this year especially. This halloween, however, the heroes had been invited to partake in the scaring of maze navigators. And they wholeheartedly accepted because, what is halloween with the same old boring scares with nothing interesting like their favourite heroes attempt to steal your sweets? They wanna have fun anyway.

Hawkmoth seemed to have agreed, as there was no akuma floating around that night. Yet. A hero must still be on the lookout. Villians never give then a break, even if it is for halloween.

Gummy Chat was there first, dressed as Tuxedo Mask, or the cat version anyway. He had the super suit on, so all he could do was wear a cape, a top hat with holes for his cat ears, and a white mask over his black one. His eyes still remained green and cat-like as ever, not like he could do anything about it. He did try to add a bowtie, but the bell was there, which made it pointless. He was fond of that bell though, and figred it would make his outfit more original.

The hero was pacing by the entrance of the maze when he saw Sprinklebug arriving. Sprinklebug, who was currently wearing a big sprinkle shaker as her costume. Like no seriously, she just had on a giant bottle that said “RADIOACTIVE SPRINKLES”. She also covered her hair in sprinkles, the pastel specks in stark contrast to her black hair.

“Uhhh… Sprinklebug? Did you run out of ideas?”

“Hey kitty. And no, I didn’t run out of ideas. I’m SPRINKLES!” She wiggled in delight, sprinkles falling out of the sprinkle shakers that were in her hands which Chat didn’t notice either. She then got a good look and Chat’s costume and then asked, “Who are you wearing right now though?”

“Did you forget? I told you just last week that I was coming as Tuxedo Mask! Or should I say… Catxedo Mask? Get it? Cuz I’m a cat?”

One blink, two, three. And then…

“Catxedo? Really? That makes no sense and shows how much of a weeb you are!”

“Hey! I took forever to come up with that!”

“Uh-huh. Sure.”

The banter went on until the person-in-charge of the maze spotted them. (hehe pun totoally not intended) He– well they think he was the guy from the ice rink– went over the rules and how they go about managing the maze, as well as safety precautions. And then they were left to roam the maze to plan out their positions and stuff before the first maze navigators arrived. They then decided they will pop up at random places to increase the scare factor.

Time to have some fun.

—

Sprinklebug and Gummy Chat were having the time of their lives. They’ve managed to catch many off guard, the kids loving it and begging for a picture taken with Paris’ beloved heroes. Previous akuma victims came to give their thanks yet again, returned with “We’re just doing our job to keep Paris safe.” Sprinklebug squealed over the little ones who dressed as her, gushing over the sprinkles on their cute little heads.

They tried to solve the riddles they found. Sprinklebug thinks Chat’s answers are ridiculous, but when he gets them right she claims to have known all along. They still made no sense though. Got to know the nice popcorn lady, who gave them a genorous amount of cinnamon sugar popcorn as thanks for their protection everyday.

Even their classmates came to the maze, Alya practically begging for an interview. The others just stare in awe. (Woah duuuuuude! Marinette and Adrien are missing out on so much!) No one noticed the super duo momentarily tensing, and their nervous chuckles are taken to be just humble embarassment.

Everyone was happy, no dark evil butterflies are fluttering, and everything was good.

That was until some popcorn came raining down on everyone. Accompanied with screams that just harmonised with the maniacal laughter of a figure floating in the sky. Ah, sprinkles, and here they thought Hawkmoth loved halloween enough to leave it alone.

“Sprinklebug, Gummy Noir, where are you? Hand over your miraculous NOW!”

It brings them relief that they need not hide to transform. Chat can finally live out his dreams of doing the cape thing and being all cool with his top hat. Sprinklebug was worried about her sprinkle costume getting ruined and it’s hard to fight in it, so she’s gotta find another way.

Chat went ahead first. “The name’s Gummy Chat, but since Gummy Noir has a nice ring to it I juuuuust might consider forgiving you for that.” His cape billowing in the wind while he stood tall with his staff held out in front of him, touching the ground and in both hands.

He only got popcorn thrown in his face as a reply.

The villian, Popcorn Lady as she called herself, didn’t seem to be doing anything much other than talking about how her popcorn is the best, so Sprinklebug simply wrapped her yoyo string around the popcorn tart, that was popping popcorn kernels like mad when Popcorn Lady threw them in. She tugged it into the nearby corn, giving the machine a whole ton if corn to pop. Not that she noticed.

Then a quick snap of the popcorn scooper (it was obvious where the akuma was) while Chat was carrying out distracting duty and the akuma was purified. No lucky charm or cataclysm needed! Gee, Hawkmoth must have been lazy or out of creativity juice today. That was the lamest akuma yet! the sprinkled heroine thought. The purple fog disappeared to reveal the popcorn lady from earlier right as the popcorn machine burst open in an extemely humongous explosion of popcorn.

Everyone popped their head out of the mountain of popcorn. They were super confused about what just occured. Kim was apparently swimming around in it, not caring in the slightest.

“Oh, deary me, I’m sorry! I was pretty upset about someone insulting my popcorn.”

“It’s okay, Mrs. Blaise. We can’t help but feel upset when an insult gets thrown our way sometimes,” Sprinklebug reassured her with a smile, tone slowly becoming cheery. “But lile I always say we should just have some sprinkles and move on! Also is this supposed to happen?” She gestured to the popcorn around them with her head. Chat shrugged to the best of his ability.

“Huh. I’m not sure if Miraculous Sprinklebug is gonna work on this big mess here since I don’t have a lucky charm, but before that… you know what this needs?”

“Oh no… Here we go again…” came the muffled groan of Gummy Chat.

“SPRINKLES! Radioactive sprinkles everywhere to brainwash everyone and make them my minions!” She then proceeded to throw her sprinkles around the pile of popcorn they were stuck in, her best evil laugh filling the air as she tried to look as evil as possible. But if you ask anyone, she just looks more adorable then anything.

Best. Halloween. Ever. Even if the akuma was one of the worst Hawkmoth has come up with. (Chat still says Mr. Pigeon was the worst.)

#sprinklebug #gummy chat #adventures of sprinklebug and gummy chat #spooky but not actually spooky #miraculous ladybug #miraculous #ml #mlb #chat noir #ml ladybug

0 notes

purrincess-chat · 7 years

Text

Crackmas 6.2

So, here is the actual Day 6 for Crackmas! I didn’t post one yesterday, so today you get two! This one is rated T just for strong language, but I hope you all enjoy some wisdom teeth shenanigans and a partial reveal. Aka Marinette.exe has stopped working.

Day 1 Day 2 Day 3 Day 4 Day 6.1

AO3

In hind sight, when Alya convinced her to volunteer to deliver Adrien his homework for the day since he had his wisdom teeth out, she expected it to be a quick visit. She didn’t expect Nathalie to leave a very drugged and delusional boy in her hands while she went to fill his prescriptions, and in her defense, for most people it would have proved a very simple task. Just watch him and make sure he didn’t fall down the stairs or something in his anesthesia-induced haze. But Marinette was beginning to realize that she wasn’t most people, and life had a way of shaking things up just for her. So as Chat Noir raced them through the city on a manhunt for Hawkmoth, she slowly accepted that her life would never truly be normal, but she supposed she should start from the beginning.

It all started when she rang the bell outside Adrien’s giant fortress of a house, and Nathalie answered. She expected a similar situation to the one encountered on his birthday, stick it in the mail box and leave, but to her surprise, Nathalie requested a favor and opened the gates. Cautiously, she approached the front door where Gabriel’s trusty assistant was waiting for her.

“I hate to ask this of you, but can you watch Adrien for a little while? I have to run to the store and pick up his prescriptions. He should just be sleeping, but if he wakes up, just put an ice pack on his face and make sure he doesn’t do anything,” She explained in a rush.

“Uh, okay?” Marinette nodded, and Nathalie seemed relieved as she unlocked the car parked in the lot and waved her inside.

“I’ll be back in an hour.”

An hour. What could go wrong in an hour?

Marinette felt a giddy grin creeping over her face as she climbed the stairs up to Adrien’s room. An hour alone with Adrien! Of course he would probably be sleeping the whole time, but she could admire his unconscious face. She bet he looked like an angel. Although she didn’t expect a response, she knocked a couple of times on the door before pushing it open and peering inside.

“Adrien?” She called, tiptoeing in.

She spotted a blond mop of hair on the bed, a small smile curling on her lips as she crept closer. His cheeks were a little swollen from the gauze shoved in them, but he was still the most handsome human on the face of the planet. Not even intensive oral surgery could make him look bad. Maybe he wasn’t human. She often described him as more god-like with how unnaturally pretty he was, and if she was being honest, she kind of hated him a little for it. In an envious and admiring way though.

Adrien shuffled a little and hugged his pillow tighter, and Marinette pressed a hand to her lips to stifle a giggle. It was probably weird, now that she thought about it, to watch someone sleeping, but she couldn’t pull her eyes away from him. She longed to reach out and touch that silky smooth hair of his, but she feared that doing so would wake him. And she really didn’t want to explain why she was creepily looming over him while he slept, let alone why she was stroking his hair. Then again…He was pretty heavily medicated, so maybe just a quick touch…

Hesitantly, she reached a hand out and brushed his bangs back from his face, daring to caress his cheek with the back of her finger. His skin was smooth and perfect and warm against her touch, and she could feel his breath tickling her flesh as he slumbered. But in an instant his eyes flew open, and she jerked back with a shriek.

“I’m so sorry! I was just – uh, Nathalie had to go to the store, and um, I wasn’t trying to-” She fumbled as Adrien shot forward and blinked at her a few times in confusion. His eyes widened, and he leaned forward to cup her cheeks in his hands, squishing them together with a pensive frown. “Adrien?”

“I nee ‘or ‘elp,” He mumbled around his gauze.

“Wha- Okay! What do you need? Water, ice, more gauze, soup, a loving girlfriend?” She listed, but he shook his head.

“No!” He snapped. “I nee your elp!”

“What can I do? What do you want? I’ll do anything!” She said, and he glanced around as if there could be anyone else in the room to over hear what he was about to tell her.

“I ‘aw Haw-moh,” He whispered.

“You what?” Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion, and Adrien rolled his eyes and leaned in closer.

“I s-aw Hawkmof!” He enunciated, albeit poorly, and Marinette pressed her lips together in a firm line.

“Oh yeah?” She said in amusement, pushing him back down gently. “What was he like?”

“Big,” Adrien said. “Scary.”

“I bet he was,” Marinette nodded in understanding. “Nathalie told me to put this ice pack on your face if you woke up. It’ll help the swelling, and your anesthesia should be wearing off soon, so just lay down and-”

“We ave t’ sto im, La-ybu,” He insisted, and Marinette shushed him.

“Uh-huh. You rest, and I’ll get right on that,” She patted his chest with a smile then turned to reach for the ice pack on his desk.

“Pla’ clawsss ou!” He punched the air clumsily, but it was enough to activate his ring.

“What the fuck?!” Marinette screeched as green light washed over the boy in the bed, replacing him with an all-too-familiar black-clad superhero. His eyes narrowed in on her.

“We have to go immediately, Ladybug,” He said, clutching her shoulders as she stared at him in shock.

“Holy shit this cannot be happening. You can’t be, no, no way!” She shook her head to clear it.

“Come with me,” He ordered. “I can’t defeat him without you, m’lady.”

“Okay, no. Adr-Chat-fuck! There is no Hawkmoth. You are on some seriously good medicine, and no, don’t pick me up!” She swore as he jumped out of bed and scooped her up over his shoulder.

“There’s no time. We have to hurry!” He said, reaching for his staff and leaping from the window as Marinette clung to him for dear life. Should she transform? What if Adrien remembered all this later? She couldn’t reveal her identity! Though the thought of falling from this height as a civilian made the option all the more tempting. It was just the drugs making him think she was Ladybug, and she wasn’t about to prove him right.

Nathalie was going to kill her. How the hell was she going to explain this? If she didn’t find a way to get Adrien back home soon then she’d get charged with kidnapping and thrown in prison, and when Adrien finally comes out of his haze, he won’t remember any of this, and she’ll forever be known as the person who abducted helpless Adrien Agreste after he got his wisdom teeth out. She needed a plan.

“Hey, uh, I think I saw Hawkmoth over there,” She said, pointing back in the direction they came from.

“He’s this way,” He said with a surety, and Marinette groaned a little as he continued to race across rooftops.

“Are you sure? I’m pretty sure I saw him over ther-”

“Shh!” He skidded to a stop and dropped into a crouch, setting her down and clamping a hand over her mouth. His eyes narrowed into a glare on a billboard across the way featuring an advertisement for the new insect exhibit at the museum. A bright blue butterfly took center stage on the image, and Chat was glaring daggers at it. “There he is.”

“Yeeeeah, let’s go get him,” Marinette said with a slight nod, and before she could stop him, Chat stood up and sprang across the gap with one hand raised.

“Cataclysm!” He called, raking his claws down the sign and turning it to a pile of ash. Marinette face palmed as he stood among the remnants with a triumphant beam. “I did it, m’lady!”

“Yep, you sure did, Chat. Now, let’s go home,” She called, gesticulating back in the direction they came from as Chat drunkenly hopped back over to her. He stumbled a little, falling into her arms, though he was a bit too heavy for her to hold up, so they crashed onto the roof where Chat gazed up at her giddily.

“Can I have a kiss?” He requested.

“Excuse me?”

“I beat Hawkmoth. You should kiss me,” He said matter-of-factly.

“Uh, maybe later,” She winced, as a tiny bit of blood trickled down his face. “You should get home.”

“Wait!” He whined, reaching a hand up to awkwardly touch her face. “I wanna tell you something.”

“What is it?” She asked, nervously glancing at the time. Nathalie would be home soon.

“I wanna tell you who I really am,” He said, brushing her cheek.

“Uhhh, go for it,” Marinette encouraged, and he closed his eyes as his last pad faded and reverted him back to normal.

“I’m Adrien Agreste,” He said with a hazy grin.

“Whaaat?” Marinette gasped overdramatically. “Chat, that’s amazing!”

“Mmmhmm,” His eyelids drooped a little, and his hand flopped back to his side. “I love you, Ladybug.”

She felt her face turn three shades of red as his eyes rolled back into his head, and he passed out in her arms. Adrien was in love with Ladybug. But Adrien was also Chat Noir. She pursed her lips in thought then shook herself. There was no time to think about it. She had to get Adrien home. Fast.

“Tikki, spots on!”

When Nathalie arrived back home, Marinette sat casually in Adrien’s computer chair, anxiously twiddling her thumbs. Adrien was sprawled out in bed snoring, not a single hair out of place, and there was no evidence to suggest that they’d ever left the house.

“I’m back!” Nathalie announced, peaking into the room. “Thank you for doing this. I know it probably wasn’t very exciting.”

“No, no, it was…fine,” Marinette cast a sidelong glance at Adrien then flicked her gaze back to Nathalie with a smile. “I’m happy to help, and nothing interesting at all happened. He just slept the whole time.”

“Good,” Nathalie relaxed a little. “And thank you again for delivering his homework.”

“Mmhmm,” Marinette nodded before casually strolling back down the stairs and out the door. She wore a poker face all the way back to her house and up to her room before she calmly picked up a pillow and pressed it over her face.

“AdrienisChatNoirholyfuckingfuckfuckfuck!”

#adrinette #marichat #marinette dupain-cheng #adrien agreste #my writing #crackmas

24 notes · View notes

ecotone99 · 5 years

Text

[FN] The Day of Night

little aside here, but hello! this story is one im quite proud of, and was in fact written for my writing fiction class at university. i hope yall like it, but it is a pretty rough draft so to speak; i know it can be fixed up, but i dont know what to change, so thats why i want to share it with yall. thanks for reading and i hope you enjoy!

The Day of Night

O, darkest day, O, Day of Night,

Thine Terrors bring man's nobl’st fight.

The rain will flood lands of no lords,

As legions arm with spears and swords.

O, darkest day, O, fearful night,

What reason have you for this blight?

As children die and soldiers tire,

You watch us suffer in your fire.

O darkest day, day of no light,

Your reign will cease before our might!

O, darkest day, O, Day of Night,

Your death is now! Behold our light!

- Ancient Ipiarian Hymn

“Tonight,” bellowed a cleric, “The Malice will bestow itself upon our humble lands, wreaking havoc in its wake! The day of darkness, the Day of Night, is upon us!” The cleric’s words were heard by all within the capital city of Grendar, as the Ipiarian man’s sun-soaked skin housed a practiced lecturer’s booming voice.

The vendors stood behind their wares with anxiety as the mothers herded their young ones out of the central marketplace. Soldiers hesitated as they climbed the stairs of the central dais to the old, white-robed man. They rest their hands on the swords mounted to their hips, but do not draw. The old cleric ceases his preaching.

“Oh my, I must be going, by the looks of things,” he chuckled.

“Don’t move!” Shouted one of the soldiers, drawing his longsword and pointing it to the old man’s nose. “We can’t just let you go free. This is not the first time you’ve scared the citizens with your… your… your terrible sermons!”

The old man stroked his snowy white beard and mumbled to himself, “Not terrible, per se, but I suppose they can be unpleasant…” He perked up and pointed his finger to the sky as he exclaimed, “I will no longer preach in the square. I apologize for the inconveniences I have caused. When you perish as victims of the cataclysm, beg not for my help!” With that, the old man began laughing hysterically, sending echoing reverberations through every home and alleyway before he snapped his fingers and— Poof! The geezer was gone.

The soldiers sighed and returned to post. It had been a long day, but the sun was now directly above; they were halfway home to their wives’ home cooking and… well, one is familiar with the home life. The day was looking to become much easier, until another Ipiarian man arrived at the square, stood upon the same dais as the cleric had before, and drew a sword from his hip.

The sword was like none the guards had seen; it had been set ablaze! — or rather appeared as such, anyway, as its silver blade shined brilliantly in the hot, golden light of the sun. The gold hilt had been ornately crafted, bearing swirls and small spikes in a beautiful, symmetrical shape further adorned with radiant jewels embedded into the fiery metal.

The man appeared similar to the old preacher who stood previously on the dais: a long, white robe, common leather sandals, a red rope serving as a belt tied around his waist, and the distinctly rich, desert-baked skin of an Ipiari. The man’s face, however, looked like that of a fairy-tale prince, with a firm, sharp jaw and blood red irises in his sky-gazing eyes.

The guards followed suit, looking to the sky above them. Now, where the sun once flew, a dark hole pierced the sky. The sun disappeared as its crown of light transformed into a swirling maelstrom of darkness. The black streaks whipped through the sky, revealing streaks of brilliant colors in the now violet sky. Deep blues and reds stained the heavens; gashes of brilliant yellows and greens cut through the sky above. The man then pointed his blade skyward, and shouted thus:

“O, Malahasi, fateful blade of legend, grant me the power to confront this evil! O, darkest day, day of no light, your reign will cease before our might! O, darkest day! O, Day of Night! Your death is now! Behold our light!”

As the you man’s voice rang in the ears of every man, woman, child, and beast, he gripped his sword with both hands and held it to his face, the blade dissecting his image. He let out a roar that pierced the heavens and the earth before his blade was struck by a blinding flash of purple lightning that hurled itself down from the center of the dark portal in the sky. The man began glowing a with a vibrant light and proceeded to levitate above the city.

“Soldiers! Now is your time! Gather all of your strength, all of your hope, all of your love, and use it to vanquish these armies of shadows as they approach. Defend your world, defend your country, defend your city, defend your family, defend us all!” spoke the flying man. The soldiers were dumbfounded by his command, but quickly obliged when They came.

The sky wept. A furious tempest suddenly arrived in the city, falling from a dark, cloudless sky. From the portal in the sky, quick jolts of black lightning came striking down all around through the city streets, leaving behind tall, slender silhouettes that bore sharp claws. The figures, known simply as “Them,” began running toward anyone they could find quickly tearing them down.

The front line of soldiers had all but become fodder for the armies’ bloodlust. The rivers that rushed through alleyways and down boulevards due to the unfathomable downpour became streaked with crimson as the blood of soldiers and innocents alike fell into the water. Thankfully, the remaining soldiers knew what they were to do. They drew their various arms – swords, spears, axes – as did the civilians –their hoes, rakes, pitchforks and knives. All as one, soldiers and their families began to grapple with the dark armies, with Them.

Our robed hero saw from above; the city had begun fighting back before he flew away into the portal in the sky. Even he, our hero of legend, knew not what lay before him through the unholy gate, but he knew he must pass through.

The hero had never before known a pain so severe as that which he felt passing into Their realm. His limbs were torn off tenfold, despite being visibly attached to his body. His eyes were blinded not by light, but by a maddening darkness that consumed all he could see. A piercing, deafening silence rang through his ears. As he felt these pains, he felt his very soul being torn from his body. Had he met his end? Had he come all this way to fail?

But, as quickly as he experienced this eternity of pain, it disappeared. He was standing on the stone dais in the center of Grendar again, red rain pouring down while bright, black flames consume the landscape around him. They, however, were not to be seen. The townsfolk were nowhere found. All that was before him was a silhouette.

He gazed at the shadowy figure, trying to understand what it was. It on another stone dais, opposite to himself, and held a longsword in its right hand. Clutching his own blade in his own right hand, the hero called out to the figure.

“Who are you? Where are we? What is happening?”

The figure stood silently and opened its eyes, revealing glowing, crimson irises in its eyes as its mouth formed a sly smirk.

The figure spoke with a gravelly tone, “Merle, my boy, you know exactly who I am. You know exactly where we are. You know exactly what is happening.” As these words graced our hero’s ears, the shadow around the figure dispelled and revealed a terrible face.

Merle, our hero, gasped as he realized that he does, in fact, know who this is. It was his father, Gundren, the creator of the Malice in which they stood.

“You knew this day would come, didn’t you, Merle? The time has come for you to make your ultimate decision: will you surrender and die in dignity, knowing you can’t defeat me, or will you fight and die in humility after I smite you for daring to oppose me?”

Merle spoke defiantly to Gundren, “Father, you told me when I was a boy that, when confronted with an ultimatum, I can always forge a third option of my own.” And, with those words, he did.

Merle and Gundren leapt toward each other at impossible speeds, their swords ringing with a loud clang! as the blades meet between their glowing vermillion eyes.

“So, your death will be in vain, I see! What a spectacular son I’ve raised!” growled Gundren as he stepped back and reset his sword.

“No, father, yours will!” Merle lunged toward his father, blade pointed out at Gundren’s heart, when suddenly Gundren raised his sword to parry. Just as their swords are to connect, Merle invokes Malahasi’s magic powers and suddenly appears behind his father, swinging at his father’s exposed rear. Merle, however, is familiar with their weapons’ magical powers and swiftly turns around to block his son’s strike.

“That’s my boy! No matter how futile, you stand to your opposition with bravery! It’s just like when you were a boy,” shouted the deranged Gundren with glee. “To die in vain is impossible, is it not? Futility breeds honor!”

The son continued his attempts to teleport around his father, to swiftly redirect a feigned blow, to overpower his father’s raw strength, but to no avail. Merle found himself on an equal playing field with his father, their strategies always the perfect counter to each other’s. Whenever Merle would attempt to land a blow, regardless of the new fashions to do so he would formulate, his father always seemed to block or dodge in the nick of time, remaining unscathed. However, Merle was able to do the same vis a vis his father’s offense, always deciding the perfect way to avoid taking a hit.

The father and son exchanged swings, dodges, parries, and counters with their blades for a time immeasurable. Their lightning-quick dance of lunges, stabs, swings, back steps, flips, teleportation, and strategy continued for what must have been eons, or perhaps only minutes, before finally coming to a fateful close.

Merle and Gundren found themselves on their respective daises again as they once had when their battle began. The leapt toward each other once again, blades meeting directly in front of their faces as Gundren spoke to his son.

“Merle, when will you give up?” Gundren sighed before he continued, “No matter how honorable, how righteous, how glorious, how heroic your actions may be, they are still futile.”

Merle stepped back and lowered his sword, sulking on the dais he arrived upon. With a heavy sigh, Merle spoke with remorse, “I suppose you are correct. Malice truly is power. Had it not been for my own reservations, had I not refused to give in to my anger, my malice — perhaps then I could have won.” Merle tossed his sword to his father’s dais, landing with the blade pointing directly back at Merle, the handle ready to be clutched by Gundren.

“Son,” Gundren spoke softly, “It is time you join me.” As soon as he finished his sentence, Gundren lunged almost instantly toward his son, the point of his blade near to penetrate between Merle’s eyes. He would kill his son and claim Merle’s power as his own. Gundren would transcend his humanity— he would become a god!

As Gundren’s sword landed on his son’s skin, Merle disappeared. Gundren quickly swung himself around to face his rear, bringing his blade with him to cut down his son. To his surprise, however, his blade cut through only air and Merle’s blade was through his heart before he had time to even notice what happened.

“I’m sorry, father,” Merle whispered into his father’s ear, twisting his sword. “You were so close. Did you really think I would strike unarmed?” Merle chuckled as he asked his father the ridiculous question.

“No, son,” Gundren choked as a tear rolled down his cheek from one of his glowing eyes. “I am sorry. What kind of father am I to attempt my son’s own life in the name of— what, power? Some cosmic good?” Gundren sobbed as he continued, "I am not a god, I am a fool.”

Gundren ripped his son’s blade out his chest before throwing it aside and sitting down calmly on the ground. Before Merle could protest, Gundren smiled and closed his eyes before falling over limp.

The city – no, the entire world – fought back against them in a fierce war for an equally imperceivable amount of time. How long had these soldiers fought? To some, they felt as though the Malice arrive with Them merely moments ago, others must have been fighting for centuries. They were all but extinct, only a few shadows continuing to slaughter the humans with particularly futile determination.

Then, the storm stopped, the sky no longer weeping to forge rivers. The flames extinguished themselves instantly. The vivid colors staining the sky all retreated into the terrible portal high above, the violet hue following as the sky became a gentle blue once more. They fell to the ground and disappeared, leaving no trace of their monstrous form.

Men, women, children, and beast rejoiced as the darkness faded away, as life was restored to its true beauty. Citizens of Grendar whooped and cheered as Merle descended onto the central dais with angelic wings outstretched.

The Ipiarian man disappeared as quickly as he arrived. Nobody knew, nor has anyone known since, where he went. However, while Merle of Ipiar was never seen again, he would be immortalized throughout the ages as a mysterious, legendary hero who fought a foolish god before becoming a god of his own.

Posterity treated Merle’s likeness as nothing but sacred and awesome. Statues of his stature were raised in every temple and city square, novels were written recounting various authors’ own versions of his journey in The Malice, paintings captured the image of Their arrival and the final confrontation between Merle and his father, the once revered cleric and preacher Gundren, who once warned the world of the very evils he would later incite. Merle had unified the world and ended his father’s reign of terror.

O darkest day, day of no light,

Your reign has ceased before our might!

O, darkest day, O, Day of Night,

Your death has come from our light!

- Contemporary Ipiarian Hymn

submitted by /u/dtmijfeu [link] [comments] via Blogger http://bit.ly/2Iyvg74

#Blogger #Story

0 notes