#Grand Isle Repair Parts

[jellyfishinajamjar]

Using my limited knowledge of anatomy to come up with places on the Boiling Isles

Tail Reef. The Titan’s tail is underwater, but the first few vertebrae are only slightly submerged, and so form the base of a coral reef

Ilium, named for the Illiac Crest which forms a mountain ridge at the Titan’s hips. Home to the Hip Grand Prix, where racers fly between and under the hips and back

Aortown, a mining town at the Navel, where the descending aorta splits into the common iliac arteries. In the past it was a very rich mining site for Titans Blood, and now is a major overland shipping town, due to the large and sprawling tunnel network cut through the veins

Big Toe Island, on the Titan’s left foot, pokes above the water line. Largely isolated from the rest of the mainland

Leg Pit-stop, a hanging city which dangles in the empty space between the upper and lower parts of the leg that makes up the Knee. Serves as a trade post and dry dock for merchant vessels going from the left leg to the right arm. Docked vessels are literally hoisted out of the sea by pulley so they can be repaired

Radial Valley, formed by the dip between the radius and ulna on the left arm. A largely untamed wilderness separating New Plam Stings from the body, except by sea. With the left arm now raised, traversing the 80 degree monster packed slope is the only way to reach cities distal to the forearm

The Peak, a formerly submerged pointer finger on the left arm that now represents the highest point on the Boiling Isles. Due to the altitude, it is effectively unreachable, as anyone trying would have to climb from New Plam Stings up the finger, and due to its submersion in the Boiling Sea it has no native plants or animals, and due to elevation the air is so thin that you have to bring your own oxygen. Expeditions to reach The Peak have so far met with failure, thought that hasn’t stopped people from trying

[imaginethathaikyuu]

tis the damn season

atsumu miya x fem reader 

the first fic in a series i like to call “Me Writing Whatever The Hell I Want” (a working title) hope u like it or dont idk im not ur boss!!!!!!!!!!

synopsis: Running away was easy when you were chasing hazy dreams of a big city that was destined to be yours, when your rear-view mirror showed nothing but your hole in the wall hometown. But now it’s all waiting tables and failing auditions. You were still running, but somehow, these winding roads always lead you back to Miya Atsumu - a man you’ve loved and left, until you return home for the holidays. 

tags: friends to lovers, exes to lovers, angst without a happy ending, established pre-relationship, friends with benefits, reader lives in Undisclosed Big City lmao who has celebrity dreams, atsumu is ur good ole southern boy (sort of), canon divergent, not edited, light nsfw, beginnings of sex but isn’t very detailed 

word count: 4220

song inspo  (tis the damn season by taylor swift)

-

i won’t ask you to wait if you don’t ask me to stay… 

. . . 

The soundtrack of this early morning replayed in your head as you made a hazy drive to the neighborhood’s hardware store, cutting left onto the correct street and forcing the car’s back tire over the curb you couldn’t miss. 

The replay of events looping in your mind? A whirring, then a splashing, then your father’s booming voice shouting curse words at anyone who could hear them. Your name was laced in there somewhere with demands for you to get to the kitchen, and you couldn’t tumble down the stairs fast enough to see what in the hell was going on. 

It was your first day home for the holidays, and already it was a catastrophe. 

Somehow your dad had busted a pipe underneath the kitchen sink and a strong stream of water was spraying halfway across the room because of it - your feet landed in a shallow pool when you finally reached the first floor. You didn’t have time to think of any questions before the man at fault, who was on his knees with his head hidden under the sink relentlessly trying to turn the water off, sent you out the door with more shouts, telling you to go to Miya’s Hardware and buy… something. 

“A connector?” You were talking to yourself, thinking out loud as you finally parked, but it didn’t help you remember. All you could do was walk inside the store and hope someone knew what you needed. 

It’d been years since you had been in this shop, but it looked just the same as when you were following your dad through its isles. You didn’t even bother browsing now, though - you went straight to the back of the store to the counter, expecting to see a familiar, perhaps older, face eager to help you. 

That isn’t what you found. 

“Well, hey stranger.” 

That voice rang in your ears like you’d just heard it through a megaphone pointed directly at you. Something about it was so warm, but it left you with a shiver down your spine and goosebump ridden skin. You could feel the hair on the back of your neck standing up, and you hadn’t even turned in the direction the words came from. 

But you didn’t have to look in order to know just who it was. “Atsumu.” 

“What in the hell are you doing back in town?” His voice rang with excited confusion; it carried the same inflection as anyone who’s happy to see you. Like nearly forgotten family members at a reunion before it all goes to hell, or the way the tone of your father’s voice changes when you tell him you’re doing well and mean it. People don’t speak that way often. 

He pulled you in for a hug and you gladly reciprocated, already forgetting that you were supposed to be in a hurry. 

“Home for the holidays. How have you been?”

“I’ve been alright,” he replied. “I’ve missed you.” 

His voice felt more like home than your four bedroom walls did, the charming drawl and depth in his words immediately reeling you in. It was familiar. You had spent a long time trying to forget about that familiarity; too long learning how to straighten out your words and lose any hint of the small town you came from. But Atsumu - he sounded like the epitome of this place. 

He didn’t give you time to reply, for one reason or another; instead he decided to push you back by your shoulders and get a good look at you. Up and down and up again, likely noticing every change you had made to your appearance in your time away. 

“Are you still wearing your pajamas, or is this a new… trend?” 

You looked down at yourself, “Shit,” and closed your jacket tight over the old graphic t-shirt you wore, but nothing could cover your pink polka-dotted pants. And you’d have been hit in the face with embarrassment if the image of your dad and the broken sink and a flooded kitchen didn’t smack you first. “Shit, no, um… I need something to fix a broken sink. Are you… do you work here now?” 

“I do - and you’re gonna need to be more specific.” 

“I don’t know, Atsumu,” you laughed, slowly realizing the bizarreness of what you were about to tell him. “I woke up to my dad shouting and water shooting out from under the sink, literally flooding the kitchen. He told me to get a part for the pipe… a connector, or a couple, or something - I don’t know.” 

“...A coupler?” 

“Yes!” 

“...He didn’t happen to tell you what size to get, did he?” 

The look on your face must have been a good enough answer for him, because he took off into a random aisle and left you wondering just how many sizes of couplers there could be. 

“This one will probably do the job,” he said as his path rounded the counter. “If it doesn’t, then, I can ignore the return policy for you. Just this once, though.” 

“Thanks, ‘Tsumu.” You made your payment and he slid your product over the counter as his elbows landed on it, leaning down to make himself comfortable. Like he thought he’d be there awhile. 

“How long are you gonna be in town?” 

“Two weeks. Why do you ask?” You knew why - you just wanted to hear him say it. 

“We should catch up.” 

He was grinning and shrugging and fidgeting with his fingers, just like he always did, and you would never turn down any offer he made you. 

“We should. I’ve got to get home, but are you free tonight?” 

“We close at six,” he said. “I’ll pick you up at seven.” 

“I’ll be looking forward to it,” you said, meaning every word. You wondered if he knew that. 

“So will I,” he replied, and then you made your way out before you convinced yourself to stay. 

It’d been three years since you last spoke to Atsumu. In that time, you had done a lot that felt like nothing, living in a different city that felt worlds bigger than this town - that city was a place you had once convinced yourself was all yours. You had pulled off running away effortlessly. 

But it didn’t matter how much time goes by between your meetings with Atsumu. There was something there that you could never shake, the hold you had on each other was anchor tight. Ten years could pass and you would speak to each other like it had only been one day. You’d have world ending fights and one of you would always come crawling back, letting the other win as long as it meant things would go back to normal. 

You couldn’t describe it. You never tried, you didn’t need to. The unspoken acts between the two of you didn’t need to be explained. It was something akin to a best friend with all the benefits included and most of the strings attached - confusing and nerve wracking but still so comforting. 

Atsumu was the closest thing to home you had in this town, and somehow every road always leads back to him. With a few detours on your part, of course, because you just couldn’t stay away too long. Even moving across the country didn’t change that - not like you thought it would. 

You just barely missed the turn into your driveway, being so distracted by your thoughts. So much was rushing back, so much that shouldn’t be - it isn’t a big deal, it’s just Atsumu, but it felt grand, like this was some massive reunion. 

But it wasn’t. You were only here to celebrate Christmas with your family. You weren’t even planning on seeing Atsumu, let alone meeting up with him or rekindling any kind of flame that was once there. 

And it was such a rush that you couldn’t even question why he was working at his father’s store - or why he was even in this town at all. What happened to the dreams he was chasing? 

For what felt like the first time in your life, you had questions for him. But you’d have to wait all day to ask them. 

. . .

You were thankful to come home to a dry floor and a calmer father - he finally figured out how to turn the water off and decided to fix the pipe later. You knew he’d inevitably be paying someone more qualified to repair it, but your mind had no space for that problem. 

You were still trying to figure out how you’d meander the night with Atsumu by the time he was picking you up, and when the two of you arrived at his home you still hadn’t found your answer. 

Easing into this would be best, and once alcohol was introduced to the equation it would turn into a slippery slope. 

Nothing was hard with Atsumu. You knew that - that’s why you couldn’t figure out why you were having such a hard time talking to him. 

A lot had changed. Not between the two of you, not exactly. You were right back where you were three years ago: on his couch, sitting too close to him, laughing at something he had said that was only funny because he said it. 

But your lives had changed. Your worlds had changed. His mind had very obviously changed, and because of it all, you couldn’t keep pretending that the two of you were teenagers again. 

You had to bite the bullet and ask the question that was on your mind, completely knowing that he could throw a hard hitting question back at you.

It came out more effortlessly and lighthearted than you expected. “So… what happened to playing volleyball?”

Atsumu scoffed. “You still remember that pipe dream? Nothing happened, it was just childish.” 

You didn’t like his answer, so you pressed him. You worked up the courage to start this conversation, so you were going to get to the bottom of things. “You said you wanted to catch up - I know you, Atsumu. You get what you want and you wanted to play volleyball. You were going to be a pro, you were good.” 

“I know you know me,” he said, and the smirk on his lips didn’t go unnoticed by you. “I wanted to get drunk and chat, not start up a fucking therapy session.” 

You sat patient and waiting, eyes on him, refusing to go without the answer to your question. You were teasing, really, eyeing him up and grinning as you watched him struggle. The problem was: you didn’t expect the answer you’d get. 

“I - I had the chance.” There was a scratch in his throat that wasn’t caused by the whiskey he’d just swallowed. “I was being scouted and playing my ass off and there were talks of being on an Olympic team one day, but… shit happens, and that’s it.” 

“What shit, Atsumu? You didn’t just give up, did you? Were you scared or something?” 

You didn’t realize how close you were to him until his hand came down to rest on your knee, and both of you focused on that touch as his next thoughts became words. “Dad got sick. And ‘Samu had just opened the restaurant, and… there were bills to pay and the store to run. Even though I wasn’t his preference, Dad had no choice and left the legacy of Miya’s Hardware to me, so - that’s where I am.” 

“Oh. I… I had no idea - I’m so sorry.” 

“It’s fine. You were already long gone by then - don’t say sorry.” 

“I’m sorry,” you said, and you hugged him without thinking, but he hugged you back all the same. “I’m sorry, ‘Tsumu.” 

“It’s okay,” he told you, but you didn’t feel okay. You were sure he didn’t, either. “It’s not your fault.” 

You pulled away from him just enough to look at his face, and you hadn’t noticed the distance in his eyes until just then. As you looked at him, you realized it was only familiar to now. It wasn’t there years ago, when you got to look into those eyes every day. 

“I should’ve been there for you.” 

“Don’t worry about it,” he said, but his words were dangling on an edge. He didn’t quite mean them. “You were off in your own dream. I got through it.” 

You only nodded. You weren’t sure what else to say after that. 

As Atsumu sat back against the couch, he brought you with him, tucking you under his arm against his chest. His lips on your forehead made you close your eyes and for a second, it was like you were both nineteen again. You could’ve been, if time would only slow down or freeze or go back - what wouldn’t you give for that? 

“I’m done talking about me,” he mumbled. “I wanna hear about your life now.” 

You laughed, but quiet, “My life’s been fine.”

“Only fine?” 

“You don’t see me on the big screen, do you?” 

He laughed this time. “Not yet. One day, though. Have you gotten used to the city yet?” 

“Oh… I don’t think I’ll ever get used to it, but… it does feel like home now. It’s so different from living here.” 

“I bet.” 

“I try not to romanticize it, but - I don’t know. It feels good, even if it’s not what I thought it’d be. The lights are pretty bright. Blinding compared to here.” 

His response was a nod, and that was it. If he had any questions or comments, he held them back. 

A break in the silence came soon, though. “You know,” he said, quiet, with a small laugh that was humorless, “I’m not as good at getting what I want as you think I am.” 

“That’s not true,” you replied, and you were setting up an argument you weren’t ready to make. “You got me.” 

“Did I?” 

“What do you mean?” 

Silence lingered, and after too long you sat up and looked at him, and that got him to talk. 

“Nothing,” he insisted. He pulled you closer with two fingers holding your chin, and you didn’t resist. “Nothing, baby. Let’s just… just be quiet for a while.” 

There wasn’t time for you to say anything else. His lips were on yours the moment he got his last word out. And even though you expected him to kiss you, it still made you gasp. 

You couldn’t describe how much you missed kissing someone you wanted to, and Astumu’s kiss was like finding home. His lips were like candy, sweeter than sugar; his bite was a freezing shock that always pulled a giggle and a whisper of his name out of you. He knew how to kiss you, slow and deep with a hand on your jaw to keep you there, never leaving you wanting more because he gave everything you could ever need. 

It didn’t take long for his kisses to trail down your neck, or for his shirt to come off, or for your back to land on the couch. You had already reached euphoria just seeing him hovering over you, eyes soft and hair askew; you didn’t need anything but this. You’d never want anything but this. 

You did what you always did - trailed your hand down his torso, over his golden skin, stopping just after every freckle or scar or mark. This time, you were looking for something new. You didn’t find anything. You didn’t stop until your hand landed on his waist, and there, you squeezed - 

“Stop, you little shit,” and he laughed, right along with you. A real and genuine laugh - you hadn’t heard that song in a long time. “Why do you always do that?” 

Finally he moved down to press his chest against yours, his hips locking in place between your legs. A perfect combination. 

“Why do you always give me the chance?” You were still laughing, not able to get over the cute sight. Atsumu was always so ticklish there, right on his waist, and when you made that discovery you swore you’d never forget it. And he sure as hell wished you would have. “You’re so cute. I’ve missed that smile.” 

“I’ve missed you,” he replied. Somehow you just knew that he meant it. 

“Don’t. I’m here.” 

“You’re here,” he repeated. Like he was reassuring himself. 

You took the initiative to unbutton your shirt yourself, so that there was no way for him to think that you wanted this to stop there. It couldn’t, not when you had him this close. And his eyes followed the popping buttons like stalking prey. 

“And you’re still the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen. Fucking hell.” 

You cringed - you couldn’t help the feeling in your gut when he gave you those sweet words. You knew he meant them in some way; you knew Atsumu wouldn’t lie to you. He’s never told you anything just for the sake of it. But how many times, in the last three years, had someone done just that? Told you just what you wanted to hear so they could get inside you? It was vile the first time. The second, it made you ache. But now, you’re used to it. Nobody means what they say. You’re used to it. 

And Atsumu could snatch up any girl he wanted. A girl who’s used to blinding lights and expensive wine and lying - or a girl who would stay with him, who wouldn’t push his buttons, who would be effortless in her charm and wit and beauty. 

You couldn’t put yourself in either category. 

“You haven’t seen many, then.” 

“Why would I even need to when I’ve got you? You’re a fucking dream. All I ever think about.” 

You shook your head, not even noticing you were doing it. Atsumu wouldn’t have it. 

“Don’t do that,” he said. “Not when you know what you do to me. You’ve got my heart beating out of my chest, for fuck’s sake - it has been since you walked into the store.” 

You never knew him to be so open with his feelings, or maybe you had just gotten used to being lied to. You weren’t sure and you didn’t care - all you could think about was kissing him, so you pulled him in, and you were sure he would devour you. You’d have no problem with that. 

It was desperate when you said, “I need you.”

And reassuring when he replied, “I’m right here.” 

He wasn’t close enough. You didn’t think he ever could be. And it was right then, when you were swimming in desperation, that you realized you shouldn’t have been doing this. It would only make leaving even harder. Doing it the first time was hell, letting him watch you leave and be okay with it. You hated yourself for wishing he wasn’t. And you were drowning. 

You hated yourself for leaving. 

You hated yourself more for coming back. 

And you didn’t want to be there, all of a sudden, despite the ache in between your thighs and the addicting warmth he had you trapped in. You didn’t want to be there and you didn’t want to leave, either - you only wanted something easy, but you’d never have it. Not here, and not in the city, and not with Atsumu. 

You felt him freeze, felt things shift. You hadn’t even noticed the way your energy had completely dropped. 

“Something wrong?” He moved up to hold your face. He noticed the tears in your eyes before you did. 

It was hard to look at him but you held his gaze, and his touch hurt more than it healed but you yearned for it. The concern on his face was genuine, the gentle strokes of his thumb on your cheek weren’t forced, and it all was making your stomach turn. 

He cared for you - obviously he did - but not enough to ask you to stay. Not enough to find trouble in letting you leave him. So maybe you shouldn’t have a problem with it, either. 

“No,” you said through a sore throat and a locked jaw. “Sorry, just…” 

“We don’t have to do this,” he told you. “We can just talk - I want to talk. If it’s too much -” 

“It’s okay,” you said. You tried to mean it as much as, “I miss you, Atsumu. I want you - touch me, I miss you.” 

“I know,” and he was wiping the tears off of your cheeks as he kissed your lips, “I’ll take care of you, baby, just let me. Stop thinking so much. Let me take care of you like I always do, yeah? You want me to help you feel good?” 

You always had a problem with that - thinking too much. He never hesitated to call you out on it. You nodded your head, strong and fast, like you were trying to knock the thoughts right out of it. 

“Please, ‘Tsumu.” You were crying for him, pulling him closer. “Need you. Make it better, please.” 

“I’d do anything,” he said. “You gotta quit crying, baby. You’re acting like our first time again.” 

You laughed at that, wiping your own tears and knocking his hands away. “God, that was so embarrassing.” 

“It was cute.” 

“It wasn’t.” 

“It was kinda hot, too.” 

“Atsumu!” 

It was his deep grin that made you relax again, and so did another blissful kiss that took your breath in a way that you enjoyed. 

��You can cry, baby,” he said, popping buttons on both of your pants, “as long as it’s because of how good I’m making you feel. That’s what you need, pretty girl. Let me show you how much I’ve been missing you - get these pants off, baby, let me see you.” 

He didn’t give you the chance to cry any more, at least not in an emotional sense. Your mind was stripped with your body, filled with nothing but him, no space between the two of you left for insecurities or questions. 

It wasn’t until he coaxed you into his bedroom that those things had the chance to creep back. 

Atsumu was out cold, cuddled into your chest and holding on tight to your waist, after smothering you in soft kisses and sweet sleepy words. You were comfortable there, warm and safe and content, but the pit in your stomach only grew. You watched him sleep, his mouth slightly open and eyes softly closed, and you wanted to reach down and kiss him but you resisted. 

It was late and you should be asleep but you couldn’t rest. You couldn’t stop loathing yourself long enough to close your eyes, and the more you thought, the harder it got to breathe. Your throat was sore again. Your eyes were watering again. And every word you wanted to say to Atsumu was tumbling out of your mouth and falling onto sleeping ears. 

“Why didn’t you ask me to stay?”

He didn’t stir. It was still rumbling breaths and the whir of the air conditioner filling the silence. 

“Everyone else did. But you. Why… You of all people should know I’m just as worthless there as I am here - I’ll never make it - I’ve changed everything and still…” 

You sucked a hard breath into your lungs to stop a wracking sob, just barely holding it in. 

“I just ended up here again. With you. I’m so alone without you but I can’t - fuck.”

It didn’t even matter what you were trying to say anymore, because you had no clue. You didn’t know why you couldn’t just stay with him regardless of his choice to let you go, but something in you made you run. Maybe it was worthless pride or a childish desire to be something more - you didn’t know. 

You didn’t belong in any industry you dreamed of working in. You weren’t born to be a star. You should know by now - should accept your failure and come back home for more than just one night. 

But you couldn’t. 

There was still a chance, wasn’t there? 

A chance to belong somewhere.

A chance to be led home.

A chance to make it. Would you die trying? 

You would leave in the morning. And you wouldn’t ask Atsumu to wait for you as he started getting ready for the day. And Atsumu wouldn’t ask you to ditch your own plotted destiny just to stay with him. 

But this would happen again. Every time you would swear it off and every time, you would travel roads that take you right back to this town, this bed, these arms. 

Running away would never get easier, but this is all it would ever be with him. He would never stop you leaving - and you would never ask him to.  

. . .

...so i’ll go back to LA

[redwinterroses]

oh boy here we go again, this'll be a long one, and also formatted more fancily because i spent way too long on it END AVIANS! the thought process went something like this: the overworld had whatever the endermen once were, the nether had the original piglins, so what could have originally lived in the End? why not make it the original avians? in a world made of shattered islands floating on the Void, the only good ways to get around are teleporting and flying after all (Overworld and Nether avians descend from End avians that got teleported there randomly or travelled through the end portal intentionally to explore) END AVIANS: The classification "End Avian" encompasses two distinct species: The Greater and the Lesser End Avian. Colloquially, various types of winged end hybrids will also be lumped together under this as an umbrella term, but it is important to recognize the End Avians as their separate End Player species. Whether or not Void Walkers can be classified as End Avians is highly debated, as they are theorized to descend from a common ancestor, yet do not share any common traits with modern End Avians outside being winged as well. Greater End Avians: Status: Extinct(?) Classification: Player Old Folktales of End Natives say it was the Greater End Avians who invented the Elytra, attempting to fashion wings for children adopted from wingless species. Most knowledge of the Greater End Avian comes from preserved texts found in End Cities, making them the more known species of End Avians. They were described as having great wingspans, optimized for gliding long distances across the Void, and a relatively humanoid body. Dark or even black markings anywhere on their body were common, like with everything that touched the Void too much. Their wings were most commonly described as black with white patterns and feathered instead of chitinous like those of Void Walkers and Mirage Rays. They were known as travellers and traders, frequently interacting with all other End Player species. Another well-preserved fact about the Greater End Avian is their habit of adopting orphaned children regardless of species. The few preserved texts written by Greater End Avians are all by those living in end cities, having decided to settle down there to take care of their flocks of children. Some End cultures seem to have seen especially old Greater End Avians as god-like, as they were said to reach several thousand years of age under ideal living conditions, making them one of the longest-living pre-respawn player species. The wisdom of an ancient Greater End Avian was seen as priceless. The most common theory for the eventual extinction of the Greater End Avian is a dramatic change in the End's environment along with overhunting by newer civilizations entering the dimension, wanting them for their wings to use for fashioning new elytra. Some however theorize there could still be surviving Greater End Avians, as their ability to traverse the End and the Void like no other species could have aided them in taking refuge in the Distant Isles and other near-impossible to reach corners of the End. Lesser End Avians: Status: Unknown Classification: Player / Player-esque Mob The Lesser End Avian, while much more likely to still exist, is a far greater mystery than their bigger relatives. There are very few records of them, spanning many thousands of years. They are described as having far shorter wings than the Greater End Avian, theorized to fly with the aid of magic. Furthermore they are said to be amazing climbers, their wings perhaps sporting claws to help grip cliffs of endstone. Usually described as feathered, some texts mention them to sport scales as well. How humanoid they looked is unknown, beyond most likely having two legs and two arms and hands, like their descendants. They most likely lived, and perhaps still do, out in the Distant Isles, unbothered by hunters and the likes. The Lesser End Avian is theorized by many to be a living fossil, should they still exist, as records of them go back almost as far as End

civilization itself. This theory is supported by the same ancient scolars who attempted to record this reclusive species, as they too suggested Greater End Avians and Void Walkers, along with perhaps other species of Avians in the Nether and Overworld, all share significant traits with the Lesser End Avian. As the Distant Isles are theorized to not have changed much over time, it is very likely any species found there would not have had the need to evolve further either. One theory on the evolution of End Avian suggests they evolved from smaller dragons, explaining mentions of them having scales and clawed wings. Elytra:Said to have been created by the End Avians themself, elytra are made of a material similar to the chitin of insects, forming a thick and sturdy membrane in the shape of simple, rounded wings held by simple leather or twine straps. Despite what the material and its thickness suggests, elytra are incredibly light, possibly due to levitation magic woven into them during their creation. The wings are said to have been harvested from Mirage Rays, the presumed extinct ancestors of Phantoms, supported by phantom membranes being the only material capable of repairing a broken set of elytra. The End Avians used their own forgotten magic to make these wings mimic their own as closely as possible, making them react accordingly to the movement of their wearer and allowing them to glide long distance as if nearly weightless. (Once again evidence for the theory of levitation playing a strong role in making them functional) The elytra were originally gifts from the End Avians for their wingless children, but over time rose to be a symbol of status within End society. Any respectable captain of an end ship kept an elytra near the front of their ship, signifying they were "favored" by the avians themself. (Likely this came to be because children adopted by the more nomadic-inclined End Avians would go for a similar lifeststyle themself, inventing and manning the first end ships and bringing their elytra with them) Furthermore, End Avians continued to gift elytra to sailors who befriended them, making an end ship without at least one elytra found within an incredibly rare sight. Lesser End Avians = archaeopterix and then the evolution of birds from there except they came from dragons and its bird people try to guess which two winged mcyt guys the avians are based on! next up: the grand finale with void walkers and end city society when there were still people in them! and of course what happened to make there no longer be any people (rip)

*writes notes on a clipboard, nodding as I go*

Favorite part of this one is the idea of levitation magic being woven into elytra materials -- to which I will add: shulker bullets. Shulkers may be barnacle-like invasive pests now, but maybe at one point they were a farmed species, and the old races could harvest their levitation-inducing bullets for use in things like elytra.

I don't know if I'll ever actually need to use any of this? But I'm filing it away as "headcanon accepted" lore just in case.

(pineappleoracle headcanons, part 3)

[carewyncromwell]

The next piece of the POTC AU is here -- and with it, the Revenge’s return to Isle de Muerta, the breaking of the curse, and ...what’s this? A new player in this drama?

Pictured above are Carewyn’s villainous relatives, the Cromwells -- Blaise (green), Pearl (red), Claire (gold), and of course the GodGrandfather himself, Captain Charles Cromwell (lime). If you’d like to learn more about their canon R-member versions, including what fancasts inspired these characters’ designs, you can find that here! I’ll make it clear right now that none of these characters, in any version of Carewyn’s canon, would ever be considered good people -- but maybe after this section and the next one, you’ll get to know them all a bit better and see some of the grayer wrinkles to at least three out of these four.

The song “Saucy Sailor” (or alternatively “Saucy Sailor Boy” or “Saucy Sailor Lad”), like “A Maid in Bedlam,” was first developed in the 18th century, but has since had its words and overall sound changed a LOT over time. The lyrics I’m using are from a more modern variation, which I put in the link to, simply because I prefer the flow of the words. The sentiment is nearly identical to the original, older lyrics, though. ^.^

Previous part for this AU is here -- full tag is here -- and, once again, Jules Farrier belongs to ma chere @cursebreakerfarrier! xoxo

x~x~x~x

It was a very long morning locked in the brig of the Revenge. Carewyn found herself singing more, just to keep her mind occupied -- it was something she and Jacob had done a lot when they were kids too. Even their mother, when she still alive, used to sing with them. It was one of the few things that could bring them joy on board the red-stained pirate ship, as even if Charles was very controlling, he found it mildly entertaining. The rest of the crew often ended up being in a better mood whenever they’d sing too -- like all of the sailors Carewyn had encountered in the Navy, they’d seemed to think that a song could make the work day go faster.

“‘Come, me own one; come, me fair one; Come now unto me -- Could you fancy a poor sailor lad who has just come from sea?’ ‘You are ragged, love, and you’re dirty, love, And your clothes smell much of tar, So be gone, you saucy sailor lad! So be gone, you Jack Tar!’ ‘If I am ragged, love, and I’m dirty, love, And me clothes smell much of tar, I have silver in me pocket, love, and gold in great store.’ And then when she heard him say so, On her bended knee she fell -- ‘I will marry my dear Henry, for I love a sailor lad so well!’”

“Ah -- I thought that little ditty sounded familiar.”

Carewyn stopped immediately and looked up.

Through the bars of the cell, she could see the frame of Charles Cromwell’s only son and First Mate, her uncle, Blaise. His almond-shaped blue eyes -- identical to all of his siblings, Charles’s and Carewyn’s -- were narrowed slightly, and his arms were crossed over his chest.

“I seem to recall that was Jacob’s favorite when he was alive, was it not?” said Blaise rather drolly.

Carewyn’s eyes narrowed coldly and didn’t respond.

Blaise uncrossed his arms, strolling over so as to prop one of his arms against the wooden bars so as to better look down at his niece.

“Little word of advice,” he whispered coolly, “you might want to tone it down a bit. The Revenge’s crew has not much liked singing these last fifteen years -- especially Pearl.”

“Since we left?” Carewyn said, and she couldn’t fight back a humorless laugh. “Should I be touched by that, that you all lost that last piece of humanity you still had, because Jacob and I did the one thing you’ve never been able to do?”

Blaise lashed his arm out violently at the bars, making Carewyn flinch despite herself, but she kept her glare firm.

“You forget our curse, little Winnie,” the First Mate murmured, and his blue eyes darkened noticeably. “No earthly pleasure can reach us, so long as one medallion is parted from that chest and the blood is not repaid. All food becomes ash in our mouths. No drink can satisfy. All carnal pleasures make us ill, with no cure...”

Something flickered in the back of his eyes.

“...Even music...the one thing that always brought your mother back to our minds...sounds like a death’s rattle.”

Carewyn’s glare faltered slightly, losing some of its edge. Blaise’s eyes drifted over her face for a moment. His brimmed black hat cast a shadow over the top of his face that obscured his expression somewhat, but it was definitely less arrogant than when he’d first arrived.

“You don’t resemble her much at all,” he murmured, almost lamenting the fact. “Neither you nor Jacob...ever resembled her much.”

Carewyn crossed her arms, her legs folded in front of her on the floor.

“We resembled her in the way that mattered,” she said quietly, “knowing that we deserve to live free, not stuck in a cage.”

Blaise gave a short, harsh sigh, throwing up a hand in aggravation.

“Must you bite my hand off when I’m trying to show you sincere sentiment?” he asked in a tired, condescending type of passive-aggressiveness that made him sound all the more like Charles. “I am your uncle, little Winnie.”

“I wasn’t biting your hand off,” said Carewyn, and her voice echoed with a bit of edge in return. “I’ve never understood why you, Claire, and Pearl stayed. Mum used to say you were so ambitious, when you were a kid -- that you wanted your own fleet and an entire island all to yourself. She said Claire was happier than she’d ever been in her life living on Shipwreck Cove, when she was too pregnant to sail. She said Pearl wanted to be captain of the Revenge herself someday, after Grandfather retired and you got your own ship. But not one of you ever chased any of that -- instead you just march lock-step with Grandfather like none of your dreams ever mattered -- ”

“I will not have a Navy brat chastise me for ‘marching lock-step,’”spat Blaise.

Carewyn got to her feet and got up right next to the bars so as to better glare into her uncle’s face.

“I may be a so-called ‘Navy brat,’ but I still have a heart and a soul that are mine. And the East India Trading Company couldn’t buy those with all the coin on earth. You, though? You gave up everything you ever wanted and are, for nothing at all. You gave it up without even fighting for it.”

Blaise stared Carewyn down for a very long moment, his glare rippling with resentment.

“...Nothing...yes. I suppose that is what I’ve received, through this venture. We found the treasure of Cortes -- a chest worthy of a king -- and yet the wealth we accrued through selling it could not replace the humanity we lost...nor the family. Not Lane...not my sweet Marianne...”

Carewyn’s eyebrows furrowed. She’d barely known Blaise’s wife, since he’d been very newly married when she’d left and her pregnancy ensured her place in Shipwreck Cove, away from Charles’s ship. All Carewyn and Jacob had really gathered was that the woman had gotten swept up in Blaise’s good looks more than any particular charm on his part -- if nothing else, then because Blaise, as well as the rest of the Cromwells, were the furthest thing from charming imaginable.

Blaise’s smile twitched with a completely humorless smile. “Did you not wonder why I have no sons or daughters on board, while Claire and Pearl’s children run wild?”

The unpleasant smile vanished instantly.

“I first saw what I’d become while visiting Shipwreck Cove to spend a night with Marianne. I’d been feeling so out of sorts, with nothing tasting right and my thirst never being quenched, and I’d so looked forward to holding her in my arms again. But when she saw me, bathed in the moonlight...she ran from me. I begged for her to stay. I grabbed her, tried to hold her down and explain...she ripped herself out of my arms...and in her panic lost her footing and fell down the stairs.”

Carewyn’s heart clenched.

“She was alive,” Blaise said in response to the concern that rippled over the Commodore’s face. “But only just. The injury made her miscarry, of course, but she’d also hurt herself beyond repair. She was never able to leave her bed again. And knowing what I was...my Marianne grew cold. Didn’t wish to see me. I broke down her door more than once, trying to force her to come with me, so I could take her somewhere more comfortable with better medicine, where it could just be her and me, but she said she was in too much pain to move. It was then...that she first asked me to kill her.”

Carewyn’s lips came together tightly. Blaise’s eyes had drifted away from her and now bore into the wall of the brig.

“My Marianne asked me to kill her multiple times -- but I refused. She was my wife. She was mine, mine alone...I was not going to let anyone take her from me, not even Death himself.”

The possessive attitude again reminded Carewyn unpleasantly of Charles.

“But...as the years went by...as I returned time and again, her presence gave me no pleasure, and mine...repulsed her. I didn’t need pleasure, of course -- only her. Even if we could have none of the children we wanted while I was cursed, that could come later. She could wait for me. Even if she could not leave her bed...at least that way, she could never leave me...”

“You’re disgusting,” Carewyn spat.

Blaise didn’t seem to hear her -- he was too lost in his own memories.

“At least...so I thought. But in the end...she did leave me. After I’d vowed never to let anyone take her from me...she took herself away...by poisoning herself.”

Carewyn’s eyes narrowed grimly, but couldn’t reply.

“So in the end...I truly do have nothing. No wife, to love me forever and a day. No child of my own, to mold the way I see fit. No member of my family who has ever shown me any genuine love or kindness...that isn’t now in an afterlife that I will never reach. Pearl has her husband and sons, and Claire has her family...but I...I have nothing.”

Blaise’s voice was never choked and his face never showed outward grief, but there was a bizarre, isolating gloom swirling around him.

Carewyn’s eyes were still narrowed as she studied him. Then, after a moment, she reached a hand through the bars and took hold of the sleeve of his dark red coat.

“...I’m sorry,” she said solemnly.

They weren’t the right words, for she really didn’t feel remorse or regret for Blaise’s sake, but they were the only ones she could think of to express any shred of sympathy.

‘As despicable as you are, and however much you brought a lot of this on yourself...it’s not something I can take pleasure in.’

Blaise looked down at her hand, and then up at her face, his expression appearing wounded and almost confused. Then he roughly pulled himself out of her hold, his expression contorted in disgust -- as if he didn’t know what to do with basic human compassion.

“And here I thought you’d toughened yourself up, in the last fifteen years,” he said, his voice again dripping with condescension and scorn.

Carewyn’s gaze hardened, but Blaise didn’t seem to care.

“No matter,” he said, his voice a low growl in the back of his throat as his eyes bore into the upper corner of the brig. “Things are going to change, once the curse is broken. I may have nothing now, but mark my words...I’ll have everything soon enough.”

The vengeful tone of his voice made Carewyn ask suspiciously, ”What are you planning to do?”

Blaise’s lips spread into a smirk, but did not answer. He turned his back and Carewyn and started to walk out of the brig. On his way out, he paused, his hand absently resting on his scabbard as he looked over his shoulder at her, his blue eyes twinkling with malice.

“When the curse is lifted, little Winnie...you’ll be singing quite a lot for me.”

And with that, he left up the stairs back toward the main deck.

Meanwhile the Artemis was making very good time. The Revenge was a very fast ship, but sure enough, any outside observer watching the ships’ trajectories from the air would’ve seen the Artemis was shortening the distance between it and the Revenge rapidly. Even McNully hypothesized as much.

“According to my calculations,” said McNully as he addressed the crew early that morning, “the Revenge travels about 7 knots, normally -- well above any of the Navy’s fastest ships -- and they had a half-day’s head start. But the Artemis is a schooner. We may be a lot smaller than a galleon like the Revenge, but we’re built for speed, so we’ve made it to 8 knots consistently since we started. And since we presumably don’t have as much loot weighing us down as the ship that can only make berth in one place and Orion dealt with our mermaid problem, meaning we didn’t need to slow down while traveling through their waters the way the Revenge no doubt would’ve...and most importantly, Charles Cromwell has no reason to think anyone’s following him...I reckon there’s a 96.5% chance that we catch up with them tonight.”

Knowing that soon they’d be catching up to a whole ship full of pirates, Bill and Charlie spent the rest of the day training Jules in sword combat on the main deck. Jules had asked Bill to teach her some moves earlier in the voyage and had soon proven quite capable with a blade -- though Charlie had teased that it was because Bill had been going easy on her, even he had to admit Jules was a fast learner. At one point Skye even jumped in to show Jules, Charlie, and Bill how to do the “Pincer,” a move she’d developed where three people “hem” in their opponent little by little until they can reach in close enough to trap the person’s neck between all three of their blades crossed in a triangle shape. McNully also got in on the action by talking her through fighting with a sword while in the ship’s rigging.

“Very good!” said McNully, as he supervised Skye and Jules fighting each other in the rigging that afternoon. “Try to attack your opponent’s stance every-so-often, that’ll improve your odds of victory by a good 26%!”

Orion strolled down from the helm to get a better look, his arms crossed over his chest as he came to a stop between Charlie and McNully.

“A clever strategy as always, McNully,” the captain said levelly.

McNully grinned. “Thanks! Though it being done by a woman always helps. I’d say a good 89% of all men on the high seas fear nothing more than a woman who could kill them.”

“I reckon Bill’s in that remaining eleven,” said Charlie amusedly.

The three men glanced at Bill. His gaze was locked on Jules up in the rigging and his lips were spread in a full, admiring smile.

“There admittedly is also a good two percent of men who love the idea of a woman who could kill them,” said McNully amusedly.

He nudged Orion in the side with his elbow, and the Captain actually bowed his head and grinned from ear to ear, showing white teeth.

It didn’t take long for Carewyn to figure out what Blaise was planning. She’d stopped singing, not to placate her uncle, but so as to listen, and soon she could hear the whispers. The unhappy mutterings from Pearl’s son, from Claire’s husband, son, and three daughters. Some about how much more controlling Charles had gotten in his old age. Some about how their plunder on the Isle de Muerta was still in a giant pile and had still not been parsed out evenly between the crew. Some about how much they hated being cursed, speaking longingly of drinking an entire bottle of liquor or eating a bushel of apples or screwing every woman they laid eyes on, once their humanity was restored...blaming Charles’s expedition to Isle de Muerta for their fifteen years of misery.

It all added up to one thing in Carewyn’s mind. As soon as the curse was lifted and Charles was mortal again, Blaise was planning to spark a mutiny.

From what she could deduce, the only people who didn’t know were Pearl, Claire, and Charles himself, and Carewyn thought she could guess why. Pearl had treated Jacob and Carewyn with the most active hostility after Lane and her husband tried to escape with them: she was furious by their attempt at desertion, and Carewyn figured mutiny wouldn’t be something she’d support much either. And Claire had always been the “follower” out of her relatives to whomever was the most powerful, in this case, Charles: she would’ve been far too much of a liability to have in the loop until after the mutiny was complete, at which point she’d probably fall into line.

It was sort of sad, Carewyn thought. The Cromwells had always claimed to be a family -- but there truly wasn’t an ounce of love or trust anywhere to found in them. It made her miss Bill, Charlie, and Percy all the more.

The Revenge docked in Isle de Muerta late that afternoon. Part of that time was spent unloading the loot they’d collected into the cave -- there was quite a large store of it. Considering that pirates usually spent anything they stole right away rather than saving it -- and, more specifically, that her family had always done that before, when she was a kid -- Carewyn supposed that even enjoying the gold and riches they’d collected fell under the umbrella of “earthly pleasure” the Revenge’s crew couldn’t enjoy.

It was as the sun began to set that Carewyn heard the sounds above deck starting to quiet. She peeked out the magic-patched hole in her cell -- because they’d docked, they were in shallower water, and she could see a large swath of dark red heading into a large cave, lit torches held aloft. Among the landing party were Pearl, Claire, and Blaise, and at its head, Carewyn could just barely spot the one lone red hat that belonged to Charles.

‘Five, six...nine,’ Carewyn thought. ‘They’ve left two people aboard. Probably Claire and Pearl’s husbands.’

She could hear raucous laughter from the room below deck, just above the brig.

“Another win for me, then!” said a rather muffled, raspy sort of voice.

“Aye, but can you do it again?” challenged another much more boorish voice. “Let’s have another go at the dice, then!”

Carewyn could hear a rattling sound and then two loud thunks on the table overhead.

‘They’re playing Liar’s Dice,’ she surmised.

“I s’pose ‘Captain Blaise’ and his new mate would be more open to it than old Charles,” said the raspy voice smugly, “but I don’t reckon your biddy would be too happy about it...”

“Look, I’m just saying, I haven’t had a good lay in fifteen years,” said the boorish voice, “I’m sure Claire won’t put up too much of a fuss if I borrow ‘er for a bit, on the side -- it’s not like I can sleep with my own daughters -- ”

More raucous laughter followed. Carewyn cringed, but she quickly put his words out of her mind and got right down to business.

There were now only two people on the Revenge -- sure, they were currently undead, but they wouldn’t be much longer, and they were distracted. This might be the only chance she had, to get the upper hand. And so the Commodore got to work plotting her jail break.

Since she’d been changed out of her Navy uniform against her will, Carewyn didn’t have any hat pins she could turn into a lockpick, but fortunately the dark red jacket she’d been forced into did have thin metal clasps for its buttons instead of holes, even if it was too small for her to button the jacket around herself properly. After some work, she managed to rip one of the entire fastenings and twist the clasp into a flatter wire that she could stick into the keyhole of her cell door.

Within fifteen minutes, there was a click, and she very, very carefully inched the cell door open and sneaked out up the stairs, right past the room the two pirates were playing Liar’s Dice, and up onto the deck.

‘I can’t move against those two until I know for sure the curse is broken,’ thought Carewyn. ‘So I’ll have to bide my time, at least for a short while...’

She glanced around before her eyes settled on the door to Charles’s cabin, just below the helm. She swept over, trying the handle -- upon finding it locked, she took her new lockpick back out and, within two more minutes, had opened it.

Charles’s cabin was much more opulently decorated than Orion’s cabin, with fiery red Persian rugs, black silk curtains, and gold-trimmed mahogany future. Carewyn also noted with some scorn that her grandfather did, in fact, have a pair of ridiculously voluptuous, naked woman carved into his headboard. Fortunately it also held a store of weapons -- so Carewyn stole a cutlass, a pistol, a couple of grenades, and some spare bullets and powder, just to be safe. She’d just been securing the sword’s scabbard when she heard a raucous cheering from below deck.

“AYE! AYYYYYE, YEAAAAAH!”

The two pirates sounded elated beyond reason -- almost gleeful. 

‘The curse has been broken!’ thought Carewyn.

She charged out of Charles’s cabin, ready to seize her chance -- but when she made it out on deck, she was shocked by what she saw.

The whole of Isle de Muerta was surrounded. There were a good ten pirate ships, all hovering just off shore in a noose-like shape around the island. The largest of them, which was also closest to the Revenge, was a pitch black vessel with a winged harpie carved into its bowsprit.

The blood drained out of Carewyn’s face at the sight of it.

It was the Tower Raven.

[st-just]

Cities, Conquests and Tributaries of the Federal Republic

Because I already did one for the Empire, and world-building continues to be at least mildly engaging/keeps me writing, anyway.

The Free Cities: The core of the Federal Republic, and the beating hearts of cultural, economic, and political power. Beautiful and rapturous parasites, which trade ephemera and mesmerizing baubles for all the treasures of the world. Unending and many-coloured chaos, joyous festival turning to bloody riot in the blink of an eye. Without censor or police-spy, they are the generous refuge to every heretic and dissident in need of one, provided they bring a sharp knife and a friend to watch their back.

Quepta, Chirtial and Celmy itself all share a coastline, though travel by land is rendered deeply impractical by steep hills and the lack of convenient rivers. Inara totally dominates the island on which it sits, and Khasal sits on the opposite coast of its sister cities, but shares an easily navigable river route with Celmy. In all cases the cities’ hinterlands have been thoroughly mastered, but each has grown to the point where only daily shipments of grain and rice can sustain their populations.

The Broken Coast: The core of the Republic’s mercantile empire isn’t particularly impressive at a glance – vast stretches of rocky islands and small coastal planes, isolated from their hinterlands by mountains or plateaus. Its trade winds do, however, ensure safe and easy shipping up and down its lengths – ensuring that the small trading ports that dot every viable harbour capable of supporting a population can trust that ships will arrive regularly to buy everything worthwhile they can transport from further inland, and provide everything they lack. Formally, the vast majority are ruled by boqors or rajahs – whether extracting tribute from distant inland principalities, governing a federation of coastal towns, or ruling an independent city-state – but in every real sense power is held by the merchant factors and trading captains, and their Celmean friends and partners.

The Piper’s Wake: Before they were free, the cities were the troublesome and distant trading ports of an ancient empire. The specifics have long since been lost under the weight of a thousand different dramatizations, but what was once the empire’s rich and fertile core bears witness to how the matter was finally decided. Burned and brutalized (so they say), the fleshweavers and skinchangers of Khasal made common cause with the ecstatics and mad mystics or Chirtial and conducted one of the grander rituals of the age. A Caller of the Host, grander than any who have walked before or since, was made from the sacrificial flesh, and life rebelled as she played. The demon herself was slain by the crown prince as his empire tore itself apart around him (as the tale goes), but regular expeditions are still launched into the region – both to cull the goblin population, and entice or bind more advanced specimens for use or sale.  

The Spine of the World: A range of inhospitable and imposing mountains that would be difficult to cross even if they weren’t Drake-infested, mainly notable as serving as a hard northern border for the Republic’s influence for cartographers, with its few major passes serving as something of a trade artery for luxury exports to the Illyrin empire. More recently, mining prospectors have begun swarming the area like flies after the discovery of major silver deposits – and, with the increasing ease of transit, certain thrill-seekers and would-be dragonslayers have taken to braving the peaks. Being fair, they still have a high survival rate that the particularly zealous devotees of Askopar, who attempt to convince the wyrms to accept their inheritance as a Prince of Demons – something they are rarely amenable to, as they’re happy to quite lethally explain.

The New Cities/The Colonies: Past the farthest edges of the Broken Coast, and weeks of open ocean beyond that, lays the most remote real centre of the Federation’s power. Acquired through a (by now thoroughly mythologized) mixture of trade, fraud and force, the islands and coastline the dozen cities (glorified town, in most cases. Only barely glorified, in a few) are scattered across are a the source of untold fortunes for many back in the Inner World. Each city sends a steady stream of extraordinarily valuable imports back to its parent – rare furs, plantation crops, precious metals and jewels – and in exchange receives the weapons, tools, and especially people they need to sustain and expand their dominions. Enticing new colonists with land grants or the chance for riches is entirely commonplace, which does require regular low-level warfare with each other and the native populations to make good on them. And, although no upstanding citizen of the metropolises can be known to take part in it, the colonies lack both the freedom loving mobs and temperamental patrons of their parents, and so quite a few interests wasted no time at all making a fortune in the trade of indentured labour.

The Shipbreaker Isles: Given its utter dependence on maritime trade, as a general rule the great and the good of the Free Cities have a decidedly draconian view of piracy (the mob’s opinion may differ, given how popular epic and romantic tales of their exploits can be). But, in the final analysis, this really amounts to taking offence at pirates targeting their ships (the existence of a ‘Federal Navy’, the only officially existing common institution of the Republic, can be largely attributed to no one trusting their rivals to stop attacking their ships the moment they were out of sight of port without a sword hanging over their heads). Hence, the Isles, where pirate queens and kings can repair and recruit in safety, merchant factors on hand to buy any and all loot they can carry, their ships returning with a steady supply of gifts, luxuries, and fresh meat (naive young things with a penchant for violence, or people who have burnt every possible bridge but still have debts to run away from, generally). All with the tactic understanding that they only target Esheri or Illyric shipping, of course. Every settlement on the isles has been destroyed at least three or four times from punitive expiditions, and the Celmean willing to cut them loose without raising a finger is the only reason a general war has not yet resulted.

The Ashen Steppe: Only slightly more habitable a place than the name implies, this vast and lightly populated expanse has mostly served as a hard border for the Federal Republic’s influence, rapidly consuming all effort and attention paid to it buying off various nomad tribes rather than dealing with their raids, paying tribute to the appropriate leaders along the major caravan routes to the Commonwealth, and suffering the occasional invasion searching for land or treasure. In recent years, Esheri expansion has seen some growing hostility form the nomads, which Celmean agents have been more than happy to help arm and organize, culminating in two cities officially recognizing their chosen candidate as Khagan of the whole steppe – an entirely aspirational claim, at least for the moment.

The Kayal Empires: Conquest states in the purest form, this region represents the other major bridgehead of Celmean influence in the outer world. ‘Influence’ rather than ‘power’ or ‘rule’, as this is a region that makes cartographers weep and war profiteers grin. The result of a particularly ruthless and ingenious mercenary-adventurer who parlayed a civil war in one the continent’s more impressive empires into employment, power, and eventually a chance to claim the throne himself. It was quite possibly the most lucrative mercenary contract in history for his soldiers, as grand estates and piles of gold were freely distributed as reward for their loyalty. That was just under fifty years ago. Technically speaking his granddaughter is still empress, largely because she married a prince of the old ruling house and used the residual legitimacy of both names to rally an army to retake the old capital. Of course, there are a dozen other would-be emperors – both newly arrived and well armed adventurers, the now partially assimilated conquerors, or various flavors of native rebellion  - and all manner of small principalities and over-mighty pirate chiefs in between. If it wasn’t for how rich the land was, they might just be left to it – instead, the supply of over-ambitious and ruthless new arrivals hasn’t slowed once.

The Soya Principalities: The most powerful and organized states which lay inland of the Broken Coast trading network, the principalities – which really have rather less in common then the Celmean travel guides imply, and in many cases would take great offence at being lumped together – are, officially speaking and as far as their rulers are concerned, entirely free of foreign control. While this is entirely true as far as your average peasant is concerned, in practice a few rather fundamental transactions have been made – Khasali court mystics and physicians, a particularly dashing trader from Chiritial who won the princesses’ hand, Celmean mediation over the succession ensuring the more pliable child inherits – and, in all cases, the most important of all – foreign control over ports and tarrifs, and free navigation of rivers and coasts, in exchange for generous gifts to sustain the royal court without resort to taxation.

The Paramountcy of Joyi: The other major outgrowth of Celmean power inland form the Broken Coast, the Paramountcy is a new and intentional creation – stabilizing trade routs upriver and overland to the increasingly valuable mountains to the north. Originally the scheme was to subsidize and glorify some chieftains near the waystations and trading posts on the route – but, in the sort of luck that you usually get for praying to archdemons, one of the chiefs chosen had ambitions of his own, and has used the sponsorship and support to conquer vast swathes of the region, and been recognized as ‘paramount chief’ by his allies for his efforts. The partnership is undeniably mutually profitable, though both parties are certain the other will betray them at a moment’s notice.

[sparkwell]

I thought I might include a little about the mechagnomes as a people, where we came from and how we came to be part of the alliance! 

Origins

The mechagnomes were created by Mimiron (also referred to as "The Grand Architect") within Ulduar, apparently as servants and caretakers much like the earthen. When their creator was struck down by the corrupted Keeper Loken, the mechagnomes scrambled to save his fading soul by transplanting it upon a giant mechagnome body, though they could do nothing to help his deteriorated mental state. Alongside the earthen, a number of mechagnomes left Ulduar and became caretakers of the facility of Uldaman.

Like the rest of the titan-forged, the mechagnomes were struck with Yogg-Saron's Curse of Flesh, though the ones at Northrend appear to have been unaffected. The mechagnomes of Uldaman, however, suffered the full blunt of the Curse 3,000 years in the past, where they degenerated into fleshy beings which would later become simply known as gnomes. Physically and mentally debilitated, these creatures lost all sense of purpose, abandoning the halls of Uldaman and fleeing into the surrounding caverns and mountain peaks. Only a handful of mechagnomes remained in the facility, still driven by their titan-forged imperative. 

Traits*

Mechagnomes are immortal. This does not mean they are invulnerable, just that they can't die from aging. They can, however, malfunction. When they do, they require someone else to repair them. Additionally, mechagnomes can be taken apart without being permanently damaged (as long as they are put back together properly).

Matching their appearance, mechagnomes act very robot-like; their behavior is marked by a pragmatic, objective and sometimes commanding way of thinking, and they seem to have a habit of meticulously analyzing their surroundings."  While this trait often may seem odd to the mortal races, it often makes it very easy to understand mechagnomes and pick up the information they give. When performing an action or a choice, mechagnomes often utter their reasoning out loud. From what they are saying, the minds of mechagnomes are clearly much similar to a computer-program, processing variables and executing commands.

Now...one thing to keep in mind is that Mechagnomes now have changed a little bit over the years, following the effects of the Curse of Flesh, especially those that were cut off from Mimiron for as long as they were. The ones Sparkwell comes from are from the Rustbolt Resistance, an area on the island of Mechagon, within Kul Tiras.  

As the opening statement made by Prince Erazmin states: We mechagnomes spent years in isolation, tirelessly enhancing our bodies and minds. But this relentless quest for perfection nearly brought us to ruin. Now we realize that balance is the key to happiness. We can improve ourselves without losing our individuality in the process. It is time to leave Mechagon and rejoin our gnomish cousins. Together we will forge a brighter future. For the Alliance!

History

Long ago, a faction of zealous gnomes set out on a quest to improve their bodies and minds. Settling on the isolated isle of Mechagon, they experimented with ancient technology to reverse the Curse of Flesh and become living machines. After facing the perils of full mechanization, they found the ideal balance between flesh and steel. Now reunited with their gnomish cousins, the mechagnomes bring both tenacity and ingenuity to the Alliance.

The mechagnomes seek a balance between flesh and steel. Emerging from years of isolation on Mechagon, they bring both ingenuity and aptitude to the Alliance.

They left Gnomeregan to construct a metal metropolis, Mechagon. However, their once wise and ambitious ruler King Mechagon now ruthlessly rules over them with an iron fist.

Now that the Mechagnomes have joined the Alliance, who knows what’s going to happen!

[mortyandcarlsbespokesalvage]

Day 2 Sequence 0

Oh you Nameless!

 You, children of the world outside of time. You, forgotten subjects of Kings long gone. 

Stay but a while, and be welcome. 

No mere beasts of land or sea or air are you. No mere sprites of elemental chaos! 

You are our brothers! 

You who toil here alongside us. You who sweat and burn under the same sun, the same sky! 

Are you not also children of the Great Storm? 

Stand with us! Let us make our stand upon this cast off, forgotten isle. 

Let us make a New World!

Attributed to Shakeer Matumla, at the ceremony of ground-breaking of the temple of the Four Kings.

Year 0, of the New Common Era.

****

To the reader,

It may be to your further benefit, to provide you with some grounding in the social fabric of the city beyond this archive. A vital point of clarification that may be helpful to you, is that in Artisan, humanity may not be as you know it. Phenotypes within the same human genus remain within a single classification. Ergo, the Oruk, Gobbish, Dwarphen, Elvan, Bestal, Iowan, and other peoples, are merely ethnic subgroups of humans that have mixed among one another for generations in the city.

****

The dawning sun rose into a clear sky, shining over city and glinting off the Barrier Wall like a blinding beacon across the far horizon. The Wall towered over the city, its bronzed, coppery surface rising a thousand feet towards the sky, and casting a long shadow over the inner ring. In the early morning mist, the curved, circling wall filled like a colander, vents slowly steaming as the fans pushed the cloudy air from the inner ring to the outer rim and the sky beyond. 

For three hundred years since its emergence, the wall has shielded the inner ring from the wind and waves of hurricanes and ruinstorms. Its emergence yet another of the city’s mysteries. Three centuries past, the founders of the city of Artisan prepared for the worst as a grand wave appeared from the south, poised to wipe the city clear of its people. As all gathered inland, scrambling and in panicked distress, a deafening klaxon sounded from the citadel, and the earth shook as the wall, once thought a highway around the city, pushed up through the piled jetsam and arose, roaring into the air. The wave broke hard against the wall, flowing swiftly around the shielded inner ring.

Generations hence, the Wall still shields the city proper. Piled against it are mountains of scrap, pushed from across the island into three massive Yards that encircle the inner ring. Only the Three Ports persist outside its protective embrace, gambling against the mercurial odds of another great wave.

Within the Wall itself are the domains of the protectors and stewards of Artisan. The precincts of the Artisan Sanitation Enforcement Corps (A.S.E.C) and the Artisan Mechanical Engineering Corps (A.M.E.C). Each corps with its own vital contribution to the maintaining of a city in constant need. Artisan is alive, in a thousand different ways; the vibrant colors of its people and their crafts, the lush gardens of its high towers, the surging life of its waterways. But the city is dangerous; the beasts of the lower Undercity, the behemoths of the Deep-Down, and the shifting lifelines of the city itself.

If the Department of Sanitation acts as a bulwark against the monstrous terrors below, then the Engineering Corps are the stewards of the precocious landscape above. Artisan has power, water, and natural gas for a thousand years and more, but none of it given freely. The city as it stands, its towers and streets, were grafted by the founders onto the Citadel and shifting plates of the floor of the inner ring. An entire grid of utilities, built atop, around, and spreading from a powerful beating heart of unknown providence. 

Perhaps then it is fitting that the price paid for this plentiful bounty, is that the lines of water and power and fuel, like wild vines, must be carefully pruned and realigned whenever they shift or grow outside their bounds.These departments of Sanitation and Engineering are the glue that holds Artisan together, the soul of the Barrier Wall.

****

The main street of Southport was broad. Wide enough for a pair of Heavy Sweepers to pass through with their attendant squads at full spread. It shot like a ray from the Barrier Wall, meeting the base at the massive South Gate, and continuing through Southport to the harbor. The morning mist was thick, cascading down the Wall, and billowing over and through the Port and the surrounding Yards. The gate had opened before dawn, time for fishmongers and merchants to pass through on their way to the markets of the Inner Ring. Squads of Trashmen and Engineers from the nearby precincts had passed through the gate and begun to assess damages in the dark hours, taking statements about both the storm, and the artillery damage. The streets were still marred by  craters from the previous day’s attack, and the Heavy Sweepers and repair teams of the Engineering Corps would not arrive until after the assessments were complete. 

Raven stood in the morning mist, the colossal South Gate towering before him. He could still smell the sea air and feel the winds of Southport at his back, he felt the rising sun burning away the lingering fog and heating up the day.

He was going home. It was a relief, but also strangely sad; like he’d come to the end of some adventure. Like nothing was going to be the same…. What was he getting so mushy about? It had only been a day! A long, busy day, sure, but a day nonetheless. He turned back to look down the road to the harbor, just a mile away. The sea was still there, blue green and vast beyond reckoning. Looking up from it he saw the open sky, uncluttered by the towering buildings of his home borough, or the long, deep shadow of the Barrier Wall. He felt the slightest of pulls, somewhere deep in his gut. Thinking of the people who had bought him drinks and cheered him, the people who had worked and fought so hard for their homes… he would have to come back. And it was not even that far? Now that he thought of it, he had never ventured beyond the Southwest Quarter where he and Abby had grown up. Never crossed the Southern Spoke. It had never occurred to him. And was it that unusual? There were plenty of people in the Old Quarter who never left it. But was that going to be him? 

“Kid. You awake there?” Carlos’ question stirred Raven back to the world like a prod in the ribs. That’s right. He had to get back to the Third Precinct and report on the old man and the Walkers. He had to see if Cortez was alright. His thoughts again veered to reflection as he stepped forward. Beyond the wall was so different. How had he never heard of the Griefers? And he still did not understand why Marie had talked about them the way that she had. He would ask the Chief about it once things were settled, he decided as he strode towards the massive gate.

Raven had been woken that morning by Carlos, who had shushed him as they had navigated through the unconscious patrons and towards the door. Some ways down the road they had been joined by Marie, who had appeared at their side on a motorcycle drawn rickshaw with “Fortuna’s” painted on the side. How had she managed to appear so abruptly riding something so loud? How half awake had he been to have missed that engine? 

She dismounted and began walking the bike alongside them. Raven moved to help but Marie grinned like his Captain again, like she was going to bite part of him off. “Gotta restock after a party like that!” She had said with a smile. And that was that.

The three of them approached the Gate. They passed several Trashmen as they entered the dark of the Barrier Wall. The Trashmen had been surprised to say the least to see Raven in his battered Sweeper Armor coming in from the Outer Rim. One had begun to open his mouth when Raven interrupted, frantically asking to use their radio. They obliged.

Raven was fit to burst with anxiety. With his heart in his throat, he called in. “Ahem, this is Sweeper Raven Daniels. Squad 13 Trash Panda. I,hm, I’ve been separated from my Squad. Has anyone from Trash Panda made it back to the Precinct?... Over?”

Static. And then…

“Daniels?” asked an incredulous voice. “You- you’re listed MIA, presumed deceased! Good to hear that isn’t the case! Over.”

“Yes, um, thank you? I washed up in the Outer Rim. I’m just now getting in through the South Gate and am enroute to Precinct 3 to report. Is Commander Hobbs going to be available at all, today?” Raven choked down his excitement; Carlos had at least taught him that it wouldn’t do to go off like he’d been drinking with the merpeople in the canals. A little restraint would be wise. A little less panic. Even if he was panicking. Just a little. “Some of my report, well, it’s better if he hears it sooner rather than later. Over.” 

“We’ll pass along the request asap, Sweeper Daniels. For now, just get back to your precinct. Over.”

“Thank you, … um,over.” Raven breathed. He’d just have to hope Hobbs would see him today. He didn’t know how much longer his news could wait. He thanked the Trashmen for their radio, then returned to Carlos and Marie. They’d stayed with him, standing a few feet away to give him privacy, but they were watching him and Raven could tell by their glower and smile respectively that they’d been talking about him.

“Got that squared away?” Carlos asked with a raised eyebrow.

“That was very nicely put. I’m sure if you keep your cool just like that, they will take you very seriously when you give your report.” Marie nodded with apparent satisfaction. Raven felt comforted… but also patronized? Like she was about to offer him a sticker for keeping his bunk tidy.

Nevertheless, he felt a measurable decrease in his tension. His message delivered, Raven resumed walking. The South Gate passed through the Barrier Wall, across the bridge that spanned the seemingly bottomless chasm below the wall. He spared a glance for the abyss. Only a day before, he had stood on a platform, being lowered into the Deep-Down. Even that deep, he still hadn’t seen the bottom. And then, with a few more steps, they were in the Inner Ring. 

All at once, Raven could smell the rich, sweet air of the Inner Ring. Its many blended scents of food and worship and industry came together to form a smoky, fragrant musk, that was altogether different from the salt air of Southport. He had never noticed before just how thick the air was in the city he had always called home. Raven had missed it. But, he realised with a twinge of regret, he’d miss the sea air as well. He would visit. He had to.

Carlos and Marie were being awfully quiet, he realized suddenly. He spun swiftly to look at them. Marie was smiling benignly at him. Carlos was very pointedly looking at the road. He noticed Raven’s narrowed gaze and acknowledged it with a mild eye roll. “You’re certainly set on chasing down this guy, aren’t you?”

“Of course!” Raven struggled to understand why this was even a question. “I know what I saw was unbelievable, but it’s true. It’s happening right now, and even if I don’t understand...most of it, I can recognize that this has the potential to put everyone in danger. I have a responsibility to, to at least tell people about that danger. Even if that lands up being all I can do.”

“And if they don’t believe you,” Carlos asked leadingly.

“I’ll make them,” Raven said.

“And when that fails,” Carlos said.

“Then I’ll go down there and stop him myself if I have to!” … Raven stopped, considering his own words. He caught himself looking away for just a moment, but quickly returned his gaze to Carlos, who seemed to be regarding him carefully.

Finally, Carlos said, “you’re going to get yourself killed.”

“This is my home. It’s in danger. I’m probably gonna die from it anyway and I’d rather do so on my feet, helping.”

Carlos considered him, then threw his head back and groaned. “Four Kings, Kid. You’re something else.” The older man seemed to shift through a series of emotions as he looked down, shaking his head, scowled at Raven, then looked away to hide a half smile. “You, Kid, had better hope you didn’t use up all your luck getting washed down the right storm drain.”

They had come to a stop in the middle of the road. Raven was vaguely aware of traffic moving around them, the influx of morning merchants and refugees making their way into the city, but he was waiting for the old man. Somehow, he knew, this was important. 

Carlos looked Raven squarely in the eye. “You’re set on this.” It was not a question. “May the Great, the Strong, the Wise, and the Just watch your back, Kid.”

Raven stood agape for a moment, then smiled toothily. “You take care of yourself too, .. Pops” 

“Pops?!” Who are you calling ‘Pops?’” Carlos snorted.

“Would you rather I called you ‘Old Man’?” Raven laughed.

“Hey, HEY! I’m 37, dammit,” Carlos snapped. Marie chortled behind him. “I’m not old,” he said in a smaller voice, scowling. Marie exploded in laughter.

“Thanks for everything, Miss Fortuna. Bye, Pops!” Raven smiled as he waved, then turned towards the municipal entrance to the engineer’s stair and began his ascent into the heights of the Barrier Wall.

“You okay with letting him go like this, Carl?” Marie said quietly as they watched Raven make his way up the stairway and out of their sight.

Carlos’ face was somber. Contemplative. “Kid has to do his own growing up.” He said flatly. “You alright with your inquiries today?”

“We shall see!” She grinned. Her smile faded. “If a Mercer Consortium foreman has been making new friends inside the ring, then they’ll be outside the normal movements. I just need to find out who’s been breaking routine, and we can go from there.” 

Carlos nodded. “Just you -”

“I’ll be discreet!” She smiled again. “Honestly, that boy has you worrying all over, hasn’t he?”

“I always worry.” Carlos growled. Then he looked back over his shoulder after Raven. The young sweeper had vanished into the heights. “Seems these days I just have more urgent things to worry about. I have a stop to make, then I have to go see Henrie. Meet you at the Tower when you’re done?”

Marie nodded. “You mentioned that last night. You said it could be related to Raven’s story about the man controlling walkers?” She looked worried. “Then you be careful too.”

Carlos nodded and started walking. He could hear Marie’s engine as it faded into the distance. She was right. He was worried. He had a lot to worry about right now. And it was already looking to be a long day ahead.

[vixieevox]

The Grand Rebranding

There were only twenty minutes before noon, and for the first time in months, I was afraid.

It wasn’t the kind of fear that you might feel if you were facing down a pack of geists while waist-deep in snow. For a warrior trade princess like me, that was just another weekday. It wasn’t the fear that some might feel when facing down someone much larger than them in a hand to hand duel, that was just life as a goblin. It wasn’t even the fear of being penniless since I had hit rock bottom before and dragged myself out of it by my thumbs and could do so again if need be.

I was afraid that my fiancee was going to be late for the biggest day of my life.

I know that sounds selfish, but you have to understand. The plan was months in the making and it’s the biggest gift a goblin could ever give to another.

If Pexi had read the note I left by the steak omelet I cooked for her before heading out, she’d have found a simple message that said “I need you in Bilgewater today at noon. Just go to Shatt and talk to the Draenei named Boorus, he’ll tell you what happens next.” The note shouldn’t have been missed since it was black bold letters on ugly gold paper. The directions should have been clear enough that even if Pexi got distracted, she wouldn’t forget it. I love my fiancee, but she’s not the smartest Troblin on Azeroth. Anyway, after she talked to Boorus, he would teleport her to Orgrimmar where one of my flight-boys would give her a chaperoned ride to Bilgewater isle, that I had rented for the morning and early afternoon for today’s announcement, that my parent company was a rebranding.

No longer would Vixiee Bootsguard be the owner of Bootsguard Productions, she’d be the co-owner of Fiercefuel Fabrications. Same business but named after my fiancee.

I pictured that she would see the brand new sign and marquee that I had secretly designed over the past few weeks and would turn all sorts of shades of red, rush the stage, tackle me, and kiss me until she realized we were making out on stage. We’d have a laugh, mingle, and slip away for some private dining on the Y.A.C.H.T. that I had built and hidden in the Bilgewater warehouses for the day.

But here I was, about to have to make the announcements with the real star of the show nowhere to be seen. If I had to be honest, I was about five seconds from crying. I wanted to cancel the event, tell everyone to take all the snacks and drinks as an apology, and just hide in a room and bawl my eyes out.

But I couldn’t.

See, I’m a trade princess and the world’s strongest woman. So publicly, I have to always be in control. I have to look the part of a proud leader who would never be phased by anything. I wanted to be just like my hero Gazlowe and be honorable and good to my people except for way stronger and more successful. How could I do that if everyone saw me snotting all over the blue sequined dress that I had ordered custom woven from a Silvermoon tailor? It’d be the biggest scandal as one of the new trade princesses on the scene broke down. Even with the recent cooperation deal, I struck with Steamwheedle, I can just see that affecting business deals until the next big scandal drew eyes away from me.

So I had to go through with the rebranding…no matter what.

I shook off the feelings that made my heart hurt and sashayed my way up to the podium in front of the tarp-covered marquee. Every step was graceful, with my thighs slipping out from the slit just enough to draw eyes from the fellas and ladies that fancied amazons like me. My lips were curled in a winning smile and my purple eyes shined reflecting the carefully positioned stage lights and fireworks that heralded my appearance. The band I hired to play Kezan show tunes blared their horns and banged their drums, matching my pace and the sway of my hips.

I’ll admit it was vain as all hell, but when you look as good as me, you can show off at least a little.

Flikk, the MC I hired for the event smiled and shook my hand before the younger goblin turned towards the crowd.

“Yeah, you’re right boss! Enough ‘bout the sandwiches! Let’s give a round of applause to Trade Princess Bootsguard!” Flikk said before leaving me alone on the stage.

I winked at Flikk then grabbed the edges of the podium for support as I scanned the crowd to see if I somehow missed my blue-haired love. I winked at guests as I met their eyes and tapped my skull-shaped hairpin when I saw one of my fans showing off her limited edition recreation. I even feigned a blush when the orc in the back blew me a kiss.

But no sign of Pexi.

I don’t know how I kept the smile on my face, but the show must go on.

“Ok ok fellas,” I said, “I’m happy you are all here but let’s get this show on the road.”

I paused and waited for the whoopin’ and hollering to die down.

Someone in the back coughed and I think someone had gotten drunk on volcano punch and set something on fire when I heard a scream and the distant smell of burnt hair. Someone shouted about the Samoflange. It was good to be home again.

“Three years ago, I opened up my first solo operation,” I said, “Bootsguard productions were always about brand name adventurin’ goods so you could fight bad guys or delve in tombs in style. The devices I made were also a hit, includin’ the Bootsguard Body Blocker Electro Shield. Nevah thought I’d be a trade princess, but careful savings, smart investin’, and bein’ a badass princess like me makes it easy, especially with the help of every one of ya.”

I meant it too. Unlike Gally-bag-of-dix or other losers like him, I cared about the people that worked for me. I didn’t know everyone by name, but I don’t think a single person at that event doubted that I would have jumped to their defense against anything and everyone. I was truly the denmom for this cartel and I loved it.

“But,” I said “there comes a time when a rebrandin’ is in order. And that’s what we’re here for today to announce that—”

I heard a whipping sound and a sheer whistling sound. My ears flicked as I tried to pinpoint the source. The crowd heard it as well, as most the goblins and others there turned and murmured to see what was going on.

The sound was closer then. The whipping sound was a gyrocopter blade chopping through the air and the whistling sound was a familiar voice shouting from the horizon.

“….waaaaAAAAAAIIIIIIIIIT!”

I have to admit, my heart leaped into my throat and I felt like I had to cry. This time, it wasn’t out of frustration or disappointment. It was from the voice of my Fiancee as she clung for dear life on the landing bar of the gyrocopter while the pilot was navigating the burning sparking thing towards the island. I had a ton of questions about what exactly happened to make the thing spark and sputter like that, but I didn’t care at the time. Pexi was there at the nick of time.

As the Gyrocopter reached the island, Pexi threw herself from the burning sparking machine as the pilot swung it around for an emergency landing on the P.I.L.L.O.W. that deployed whenever scanners detected a crashing ship nearing the island. So basically about seven times a day.

“YEEEEEET” shouted Pexi as she activated her rocket boots to try for a safe landing inside of the gathered group.

The guests screamed and shouted as they made way for the troblin expecting the larger woman to crash in on them and break an arm; hers or someone else's. But I stayed still since I designed her propulsion system myself and knew about the para-soles deployment system that would make a perfectly soft and safe landing.

“Hey, doll! Ya made it!” I said to Pexi.

Pexi landed with a soft pat on the earth, her face red and sweating.

“Heya babe,” Pexi said, “Sorry I’m late. The ship had to get repairs since a bear slapped it when we were flying too low and we had to take out the passenger seats so that it could fly again and…”

I raised my hand and shook my head to quiet her. I loved my fiancee, but if I didn’t stop her, she’d explain every minute of the journey and we were already behind schedule.

“Don’t worry about it”, I said as my guests returned to their places, “You’re just in time.”

“In time for what?” Pexi asked.

I smiled at her and sashayed to a rope that trailed down from the tarp that covered the marquee.

“Hey, stop droolin’ at my fiancee”, Pexi said. I heard her slap someone in the back of the head and giggled. I don’t know who she caught, but they had to know better. This princess belonged only to Pexi. Lookin’ was free, but so was head slaps if she caught them.

I ignored the slap and turned around.

“Well doll, I said I was gonna give you the ultimate wedding gift. So…I’ll has to think of something else since our weddin’ is delayed. So call this a ‘cause you mean the world to me’ gift instead.” I said.

I jerked the rope and the tarp rolled off the marquee.

The sign was a flashing neon thing powered by my own eco-friendly pneumatics pumps. It featured Pexi and my faces with an arm outstretched welcoming visitors to whatever building we hung it over. Our faces dangled over the left side of the words “Fiercefuel Fabrications”, with my mascot, the mouse Bullion sleeping inside of the o. The S had a pair of tiny troll tusks sticking out of it to represent half of my fiancee’s parentage, while a pair of bombs dangled beneath, representing that the co-owners were a pair of bombshells.

I waited for Pexi to take it all in, then looked at her with a cheeky smile.

“So doll, what do ya thi—”

Pexi cut me off by leaping over the podium and tackling me to the ground for a big smoochin’ session.

Maybe this plan didn’t go wrong after all.

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[shellheadtmarc]

actually, because i really need to finish my new theme and need new verse blurbs, here’s a more in depth look at my current/in-use verses, with links to full writeups as available.

mcu:  this is boilerplate.  i’m a canon tony, this is a canon verse.  follows the events from iron man through infinity war for the moment, including the tie-in comics iron man 2: public identity, iron man 2: agents of shield, iron man: the coming of the melter, iron man 3 prelude, marvel’s avengers: age of ultron prelude - the scepter’d isle, marvel’s captain america: civil war prelude infinite, marvel’s avengers: infinity war prelude, and marvel’s avengers: endgame prelude.  also includes the post-iron man 3 short about the mandarin.  everything not covered/discussed in mcu canon is plugged with 616 continuity canon.

616:  what it says on the tin.  covers most of the runs from about 2008-present, including the new tony stark: iron man, against my greater judgment, though that may change in the future if it keeps tanking in story. in reality, this actually covers everything post-heroes reborn, but to make it simple we’ll say it’s wibbly wobbly because comics.  also includes heavy snippets still in play from classic invincible iron man.

classic:  from his first appearances in tales of suspense up to the inception of heroes reborn.  or, if you prefer, original flavor tony stark, the cool suave businessman with the aloof nature, party boy ways, and injured heart, reliant on his rechargeable chest piece, as he also has a double identity as the golden avenger known as iron man.  poses as his own bodyguard.  jetsetter.  people love or hate him, but most want to be him.  if only they knew how much his bum ticker isolated him.  a ton of fridged girlfriends.  later physical ailments include:  paralysis from the waist down.  degenerative nervous system.  a cranky ticker more than you can shake a stick at.  literally dying and being cryogenically frozen.

616 meets mcu:  this covers any time comicverse tony is thrown at mcu versions of the people he knows.  things to note include being taller.  he has blue eyes.  his tech is more advanced.  his speech patterns differ heavily.  recovering alcoholic, coffee is fine no matter how shitty it is.  he has more years as a superhero under his belt at this point.  his fears and points of stress differ from mcu tony’s quite a bit, and his reactions are different.  he and pepper are barely on speaking terms (generously speaking). he’s different, and it’s obvious he’s different.

broke:  mcu-based verse that includes corporate espionage and tony stark having to keep his head down and learning to live under the table paycheck to under the table paycheck until he can muster what he needs to make a frontal assault on regaining what’s rightly his.  a verse where tony’s at his absolute lowest, still determined to retain the phoenix metaphor and rise from the ashes of the misfortune thrust upon him.

superior iron man:  hiding the fact that he’s still under the scarlet witch’s inversion spell, tony goes full tilt diva, his main concerns being money, power, and fame.  he starts drinking again.  he makes san francisco his own personal big brother state, where he watches the city like a hawk by day while shilling extremis as a beauty enhancer, and parties like it’s 1999 at his new home on alcatraz island by night.  is still iron man, as long as there’s something in it for him.  will partially be at fault for the destruction of the 616 universe (it gets better).

hypervelocity:  tony’s attacked in his own lab by the mind-emulationware mechs known as “beautiful garbage”, and his newest iteration of the iron man suit forced an upload or a copy of his brain patterns to get him out of there.  the wetware is damaged, and the suit dumps it before it bleeds out in the suit cavity, and thus that suit, with the ability to walk, talk, and think exactly like tony stark (albeit full of bugs) is born, to unravel the mystery of the attack and attempt to stop the emulation program that caused it.

ai:  after being punched into a literal coma during a battle with captain marvel/carol danvers over the fate of miles morales and concerning an inhuman by the name of odysseus’s increasingly violent visions of the future, and with even hank mccoy being afraid to even draw blood on tony after seeing what tony’s been doing to himself over the years, tony’s ai comes online, as a mentor to riri williams/ironheart and to help against the clone captain america with those of the mount.  he’s twice as sassy with quadruple the processing speed, and he’s got some weird feelings about being the recreated consciousness of a living person suddenly finding itself with no physical body.

noir:  a businessman who likes to play adventurer for a men’s magazine, along with his best friend james rhodes and their new reporter pepper potts, writing under a male pseudonym, tony stark on the surface has it all in the late 1930s.  beautiful women, exciting adventures, and loads of money.  but all it does is hide his desperate search for a cure for his dying heart, as he’s forced to wear a metal chest piece that has to be charged frequently to even keep himself alive.  

director of shield:  mcu-based version of tony’s time as the director of shield.  after everything that occurs after captain america: the winter soldier, and the fall of shield, an attempt is made to resurrect it with tony stark at the helm as fury’s replacement (hand-picked).  he stresses transparency, he stresses equality, and most of all, he just wants to find a way to balance being iron man with having to deal with the day-to-day bullshit of international bureaucracy.

sorcerer supreme:  based on the 90s “what if?” one shot comic.  tony was the cause of the accident that injured stephen strange’s hands, and, feeling supremely guilty about the entire thing, searches for ways to give stephen his dexterity and life back.  it leads him to becoming the sorcerer supreme, despite that inherent dislike of magic he has, and he combines the iron man technology with the mystical forces he gains a hold over in that quest for a cure.

guardians of the galaxy:  mcu flavor for tony’s time as an active gotg.  after civil war, on a break with pepper, and feeling about as great about things as someone laying facedown in a gutter possibly can, tony puts his mobile armory into space, tinkers together a suit for deep space exploration, and takes off, losing himself for a while among the stars.  threat is going to come from there, sure, but there’s going to be opportunity, as well.  it’s a useful thing to find out who’s friend, and who’s foe, and see what there is to see in the black expanses of space.

supernatural:  the other family business.  being a founder of shield and everything he took to his grave wasn’t the only secret he was keeping, and this was one maria was in on as well.  too bad tony doesn’t stumble across it until after he’s already become iron man, where saving the world is so tied into his moral code he can’t look away.  if he goes missing for a few days, it’s fine, it’s chill.  he’s just taking a breather, not poking around at things he only still half-believes in even when he’s seen them with his own two eyes.  the biggest skeptic hunter you’ll ever meet.

fallout prewar:  mcu continuity up to the beginning of iron man 3, against fallout’s prewar as a backdrop.  tony stark is who he is, he does what he does, but he also is someone certain government agencies would love to tear down, because he’s a rabble rouser against the war, and has no problem hogging the iron man technology for himself instead of sharing with the military.  he also has no problem sharing the dirty secrets he finds out with the press.  full write up can be found here.

fallout new vegas:  tony as the infamous courier six.  left in stasis in a vault in california, tony comes to years and years after the devastation of the bombs to a world vastly changed from the one he remembers, and in a vault full of ghouls.  once topside, and once reoriented into the world, he ends up something of a jack of all trades until he takes that fateful job with the mojave express, and gets two to the head for his trouble.  independent path with the yes-man aligned ending, details of choices and all dlcs available as needed until i get off my ass and do a full replaythrough and write up.  keeps the spine from big mt, but his heart and brain are back where they belong.  locked elijah in the vault.  nuke launch stopped (ed-e repaired after).  evacuated the sorrows.  

fallout 4 sole survivor:  still needs a full write up, but tony as the sole survivor.  does not take the shock at the change in the world well at first.  eventually pulls his shit together enough to get shit done, but can’t touch a suit, can’t think about the suit, will take some time to even toy with the idea of possibly touching a suit again before he actually can.  minutemen and railroad aligned, destroys the bos and institute.  peaceful ending with all far harbor factions.  spares the mechanist.  destroys the raiders at nuka world and turns the parks over to the minutemen.  question information as needed until i get a full write up done.

fallout 4 companion:  tony’s been in new york since the bombs dropped.  there are huge chunks of it that are still uninhabitable, much like boston’s glowing sea, but the parts that are?  he’s started on a grand rebuilding project, because he’s got nothing but time:  the arc reactor’s kept his heart pumping well past its expiration date.  when the bos slow rolls past new york, he follows them into boston, mostly because he’s paranoid and cagey (with good reason in the wasteland) and partially out of curiosity.  available as a companion for sole survivors, some restrictions apply, please see this write up for more details.

fallout 76 dweller:  locked up with a bunch of other big brains after the bombs, tony’s that guy.  you know.  the one you read about in the terminal.  the one that kept hacking things.  once topside again, he sheds that vault tec blue and yellow as quickly as he can and sees about setting things right.  a member of the responders.  a mole in [redacted].  fire breather.  rebuilding the world has to start somewhere, so it might as well be west virginia.

dwemer:  the last surviving dwemer, finally peeking his head out of his lab in its pocket plane of oblivion to find the nords are at it again, dragons are still doing their thing, his people have just flat out vanished, and that skyrim is still cold as balls.  often gets mistaken as a very tall bosmer.  still calls the dunmer the chimer out of sheer smartassedness.  swung on rolf in windhelm and ends up in jail more times than you can shake a stick at.

single parent au:  handed off a baby under some shady as hell circumstances, unable to find out anything and secretly glad he can’t find out anything about her in the end, tony pulls some strings and sophie stark ends up hitting the jackpot as far as adoptive parents go.  tony had thought just being iron man was hard, but now he’s balancing ballet practice and pta meetings with saving the world.

[jestersmuses]

@replicantdeviancy || from here

▌ ▲▐ ─────                   A soft chuckle emanate from the back seat, filling the stale air of the car’s interior with it’s pleasant sound. Quite the antithesis to Hank’s projected mood, though admittedly the man had every reason to be sour. His partner had essentially been left for deactivation by one of their own; one of the less seasoned officers with a chip on his shoulder after the revolution. For what reason was unknown, and neither were particularly interested in getting the juicy details. Not when Connor had been left partially disabled and in dire need of repairs.

                  It wasn’t the first time a stakeout had gone tits up, nor was it the first time the android had found himself in danger. Hell, it certainly wouldn’t be the last time he caught a stray bullet but the aftermath had Connor questioning his luck. What petty drug runners were doing with armor piercing rounds was anyone’s guess - this was Detroit, after all. It just so happened that one had caught the android in the lower back as he was making chase after one of the gang members and shattered his spinal assembly.

                  Quite unceremoniously, and rather expendable, Connor’s slender frame had met with the concrete at top speed as all control of his lower half was suddenly ripped out from under him. There he had been left, getting soaked right through his impeccably tailored office-wear and DPD jacket by the chilly fall rain. One of the other officers had only happened upon him by chance. As such, Hank had been called.

                  If ever one would question the man’s physical prowess, even at his age and level of activity, they need only see him haul the dead weight that was a seriously damaged android bridal style to his car. Connor wasn’t necessarily HEAVY ( CyberLife had designed him for speed and agility over strength ) but he was tall and utterly useless to offer assistance. Thankfully, it had all worked out.

                  At least he would be able to receive repairs, though regrettably they would be paying a visit to Belle Isle that eve, as the extent of damage was too great for the department technician to handle. Still, Connor remained relatively upbeat. “As far as he’s concerned, I’m expendable hardware,” the android offered with a shrug. He was sprawled out in Hank’s back seat with his immobile legs bent at the knee in order to fit. “It can’t be helped…” He could feel Thirium still seeping from his reservoir in slow yet steady drips, even when having isolated the damaged areas internally.

                  Concerning, but not vital. If anything, he was more worried about the old car’s interior. The stain would eventually disappear to the naked human eye but the lingering knowledge that his blood still painted the well cared for leather of the classic vehicle did irk the android.

                  It would be hell getting replacement interior.

              Hank’s scowl deepened as the question left his lips and he leaned his body closer towards the steering wheel, his grip tightening around it. It was as if Hank was trying to will his car to move faster than the speed limit. Hank couldn’t help but to wonder if the Android’s soft chuckle was for his own benefit or if it was some kind of a nervous chuckle that Connor had picked up... in either case, it did very little to ease the Lieutenant’s frayed nerves. Seeing his partner just laying there carelessly tossed aside in the rain, as if he were nothing more than an empty tin can, sent his temper soaring sky high. 

              But more than that, Hank had felt concerned and frightened for the Android’s well being. It was a surge of emotions that he hadn’t experienced in quite some time...

              A more logical part of his mind had told him that Connor would be just fine, that his injuries wouldn’t be nearly as fatal as they would be to a human being, but it was the sheer carelessness of the other man that currently rubbed at the lieutenant in the wrong way. Even when he had been pissed off at the Androids, Hank wouldn’t have just left Connor behind to die out there in the rain... they were all far too real looking for him to do that... even back then.

              Hank took in a deep breath and forced himself to relax (seeing as how Connor didn’t seem too worried), so he could allow himself to think more clearly. He decided that he would deal with the asshole who had left Connor behind later, but for now, getting his partner all patched up was by far more important to him.

              "It’s odd...” Hank responded after a moment and glanced back at Connor through the rear view mirror. “How things seem so much different once you’re on the other side of the whole thing. I would have felt the same way at one time...” Hank paused. It was a fact that he couldn’t deny, even as much as he wanted to, but he felt differently now and that’s all that mattered. “I’m glad that things are different now.” He wondered if others would eventually wake up to the truth just as he had... but he was beginning to have his doubts, especially when incidents such as this one kept occurring. 

              “How are you holdin’ up back there?” It was probably a pointless question to ask in the grand scheme of things, but Connor looked all cramped up in the back seat due to his long legs and the way that the older man had to lay him across the back seat... he had been surprised by just how light Connor was, even after he had slammed him up against a few walls. “It shouldn’t take us too much longer to get there.”

[michiganandback]

Aug 6 AM – Aug 7 AM

 We broke Camp early and headed over to the glass bottom boat tour to wrecks in Lake Superior, actually the Bay of Munising the cruise was interesting, if not exciting. We saw to ship wrecks, one an ore hauler that got stranded on a shallow shelf and a salt ship carrying table salt. The ore ship was hauled out of the shipping lanes and scuttled.  Several years later a Canadian company salvages the ore which was worth millions. The salt ship had been taking on water so the captain put in to harbor for repairs the next morning. When he and the first mate got up, the ship was gone.  They found it in ab0ut 60’ feet of water.  It had floated away from the dock and when it sank so fast, it blew the main cabin right off the deck.  That’s why they didn’t see where the ship had sunk right away. Three crew men died, but they did recover the bodies. We met Jim, retired combat engineer in the Marines and Dorothy a pediatric urologist nurse who are traveling with their two grandsons for a short trip out of Lansing. Dorothy is also a flute player so she and Elizabeth had something to talk about. Jim works for Black & Veatch, a huge Consulting Engineer firm, as a project engineer overseeing water and wastewater treatment plant construction and repairs. Talk about coincidences, that's what I did when I got out of college. I didn't get to go into the combat engineers when I was drafted because I was too blind. We saw some interesting sites other than the wreck of two ships, which included a nesting bald eagle, some old summer homes on Grand Island and more rock formations. Jim and Dorothy told us about some other sites that were must do's. One was a spring about an hour south of us in a state park that created a 45 foot deep, 45 degree temperature pool for the last hundred years or so. It was very interesting they had 3 foot 20 lb + Lake Trout floating around in the pool. They bring the fish into appeal to the tourist. The trout are 12 to 14 years old and past the reproducing age so they are brought in from the fish hatchery nearby to live out the rest of their lives. They also told us about a place we're going to see in a week or so at the end of the tunnel of trees Road called the Legs Inn. It has one of the largest Bloody Mary’s in the land. Ironically, when we were in the Line to see the springs, a couple in line us and another group told us we should see the same things. They also told us some of the roads we will be driving on after the reunion to get home are very busy touristy areas. We might go back inland instead of taking the scenic route. We found a nice inexpensive campground run by Pat and her daughter Loretta. Pat’s a feisty 77 year old who was out mowing her grass after 7:30. The office is in a 110 year old barn that has logs for the ground floor, cut my two young men, allegedly, and then stacked up with cement around them. I don't think the ceilings are over 7 feet tall. A couple from Chicago who now live in Wisconsin walked by and we talked to Bill and Regina for about an hour. He spent 6 years in the Marine Corps from 1980 to 1986 and is now a firefighter paramedic. After 911, the Marine Corps called him back to active duty even though he was not in the active Reserves. It was a voluntary return for him and he almost has enough points to get his retirement. He had some interesting stories and Regina is a retired software engineer and trainer. They now live in their motor home most of the time. They also had a Mercedes Sprinter and he had some very good fixes for the instability of the vehicle rocking back and forth on bumpy roads and to improve the comfort.  Both things I can do myself, if I choose to after buying the parts online. The pictures you see below I think will be interesting and we hope you're still enjoying the blog. It is early morning August 7th as I write this. Later, we continue onward toward the Keweenaw peninsula and our trip to the Isle Royale National Park.  

[ourxcountryadventure]

July 26, 2021: Un Jour des Brises Bises

Today we were hopeful to get a spot to go whale watching, but as we are last minute kind of people there was not availability for all three of us to go (Mom and Dad opted out when they saw the picture of the zodiac boat). We didn’t let that get us down and in the words of Doug Ford we « made a pivot » and decided to explore National Park Florillon a bit in the morning. The Park is a beautiful part of the world to be sure. There are cliffs and beaches and forests. We visited the Visitors Centre and went in search of our first red chair of the trip with a walk along the beach and then the boardwalk. Unfortunately we didn’t walk quite far enough and so it was Red Chairs 1 and Jane/Syl 0. We then went on to Grande Grave which is a « site patrimonial » with Hyman’s Store and the Blanchette House (some of Sylvin’s ancestors). We took some time to visit the museum in the store which was a replica of what it would have been like in 1920 according to the store’s ledger of the time, and found a couple of red chairs!! We walked out on the pier and took in the beautiful vista. We learned that the park had been created in 1970 and in order to do so, the federal government expropriated land from the residents many of whom were fisherman farmers and had immigrated from Ireland and the Isle of Guernsey. According to the Park Interpreter, it was quite controversial at the time (I can well imagine!).

Our stomaches started to rumble and Dad was intent on Fish and Chips. A quick search of the best in Gaspé led us downtown Gaspé to Brise Bise (Gentle Breeze) and a lovely lunch of fish and chips with a yummy salad - honestly the BEST dressing ever. We went for a little drive around town that is approximately the size of Lindsay although with a greater area and so the density is not the same. We stopped to see the Christ le Roi Cathedral de Gaspé, which is the only completely wooden cathedral in North America and was built in 1968-1969 in a “shed style”. It is perhaps the ugliest church I have ever seen. No, scratch that, it IS THE UGLIEST church I have ever seen 😳.

The weather turned and the thunder started to roll and so we headed back to the campground for a wee rest and a game of Yahtzee.

Our campground is in need of a little TLC as the pictures will show. The infrastructure was all there at one point: stairs to the beach, 18 hole mini golf course, motel overlooking the Gaspé Bay but now all is crumbling and in need of repair. It served our purpose, however and the washrooms/shower rooms and laundry were clean and sufficient and the proximity to Gaspé was great.

Dinner was a chicken stir fry served over rice. We ended the day with what might have been the world’s most hopeless campfire but it gave lots of laughs! We finally gave up and went in the bed. It was another wonderful day.

😂Funny memory: Mom came to breakfast and shared that she watched a hopeless movie the night before in the trailer. She thought it « might have been porn » After we finished laughing at her we started to quiz her about what exactly she knew about porn...her face went red and she ended the conversation. BAHAHAHAHA.

[justdishonoredthings]

What DID Billie do to get her face on all the posters? (Um, I don't really have a rig to properly run DOTO, so sorry if this is common knowledge.)

[in reference to this JDT]

It’s not common knowledge! I also don’t know for sure.

We know something happened between DH2 and DOTO, but there’s only circumstantial evidence to show what’s been happening. 

Try to go into the engine room in DOTO and Billie says the engine’s been broken for weeks. 

Littered around her cabin are scraps of paper, bits of her nightmares written down, from the fact that Emily went back in time and changed the past in “A Crack In The Slab”. 

Also recall that note about Billie making a list of spare parts she needed for the engine early on in DH2

and another note about Billie being mad that Sokolov took another spare engine part and turned it into a stun mine.

The last two are even more circumstantial. From these we can infer that the Dreadful Wale is slowly falling apart; it can’t ever be more than a side detail in DH2 because there’s nothing stopping it going from Dunwall to Karnaca and back on demand (for example, there is no sidequest to pick up engine parts) but it may be a thing that’s going on in the background that the devs wanted to happen.

The nightmares are only shown in DOTO. However, they may have actually started earlier in time than that, because - again - Emily went back in time to three years ago, and that’s when the discontinuity in Billie’s timeline began. The old version of her was attacked and lost an arm and eye; the new version of her was never attacked but she remembers being disabled (for three years by the time of DH2) and she suffers nightmares as a result; it’s finally resolved when the Outsider gives her the Black Shard Arm and the Sliver of the Eye. The point here is Billie may have had a slowly worsening mental state, possibly resulting in the deteriorating state of the Dreadful Wale.

Now the thing is that this has been happening while, carrying on from the storyline of DH2, Billie’s act of helping Emily take back her throne from Delilah redeems her enough in her own eyes to drop the persona of Meagan Foster and start the search for Daud. Presumably in the months between DH2 and DOTO she has started this search, and she slowly spends the money and resources she has left on finding any news of Daud. By the time of DOTO, she’s suffering nightly from her conflicting memories and has apparently run out of money to repair the Dreadful Wale’s engine. She has also tied up the Wale at an abandoned dock below the Acantila Repair Station, somewhere out of the way so that she can avoid any patrols or inquisitive civilians.

Perhaps Billie voyaged to the other Isles after DH2, in search of Daud. Perhaps she braved rough seas, and didn’t maintain her engine because she didn’t have enough coin - or maybe she didn’t know what Empress Emily would say to the Dunwall City Watch and Gristolean Navy (and the other naval authorities) and so didn’t trust to stay in any ports long enough to repair the engine.

The whole effect is, we must assume, that Billie was running out of money and hampered somewhat by the Dreadful Wale breaking down, plus she may have been sleep-deprived from her nightmares, so she started taking more risks, maybe threatening or blackmailing in order to get any information on Daud, and only barely escaping the Grand Guard (remember that Billie is used to having a mobility power, Transversal).

This is all, in my opnion, the most logical thing that might have happened. But I should stress it’s only conjecture.

[grillpartsfactory-blog]

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