#Nautical wall hanging

[likivi-designs]

Set of 2 flamingos hand painted on Keywest blue reclaimed wood boards. https://likivi-designs.myshopify.com/products/flamingos-hand-painted-on-aqua-and-keywest-blue-reclaimed-wood

[magicalshopping]

♡ Octopus Skull Wall Hanging by Mayhem Made ♡

[accesoriesbyivie]

Underwater Oasis: Transform Your Space with Canva Fish Art Painting

When it comes to decorating your home, wall art can be one of the most impactful and versatile design elements. It can set the tone for a room, tie together a color scheme, or even serve as a conversation starter. That's why it's important to choose the right wall art for your space, and Canva Fish Art Painting is an excellent choice for those looking to add a unique and stylish touch to their interior decor.

What is Canva Fish Art Painting?

Canva Fish Art Painting is a type of wall art that features beautifully designed and vibrant fish artwork. It is made using high-quality printing techniques on canvas, which gives it a rich and textured look. The artwork is printed in high resolution, ensuring that every detail of the fish is captured in stunning detail. Canva Fish Art Painting is different from other types of wall art because of its unique subject matter and eye-catching visual appeal.

Why Choose Canva Fish Art Painting for Interior Decor?

Canva Fish Art Painting is an excellent choice for interior decor for many reasons. First, it can enhance the overall look and feel of your space by adding a touch of color, texture, and visual interest. Second, it is a versatile design element that can be used in many different rooms and styles of decor. Finally, it is a unique and visually appealing way to showcase your personality and style.

How to Choose the Right Canva Fish Art Painting for Your Space

When selecting the right Canva Fish Art Painting for your space, there are a few things to consider. First, think about the size of the artwork and the space you have available on your walls. You want to choose a piece that is proportional to the size of your room and won't overwhelm the space. Second, consider the color scheme of your room and choose a piece that complements or contrasts with your existing decor. Finally, think about the style of your room and choose a Canva Fish Art Painting that matches your overall aesthetic.

Where to Display Canva Fish Art Painting in Your Home

Canva Fish Art Painting can be displayed in a variety of ways and locations throughout your home. In the living room, it can be hung above the sofa or fireplace as a focal point. In the bedroom, it can be placed above the headboard or on a blank wall for added interest. In the kitchen, it can be hung on the wall or displayed on a shelf for a pop of color and style.

Canva Fish Art Painting is a unique and visually appealing way to enhance your interior decor. With its vibrant colors, high-quality printing, and unique subject matter, it can add a touch of personality and style to any room in your home. When choosing a Canva Fish Art Painting, consider the size, color scheme, and style of your room to ensure that you find the perfect piece for your space. Good luck Deciding which piece Deserves your wall.

[thealtoduck]

Headcanons for Children of minor Goddesses…

(Nephele, Psyche, Ino/Leucothea)

——

Nephele (Cloud Goddess of hospitality, generosity, loyalty, peace and shyness)

They tend to have hair as fluffy as the clouds.

Their cabin is simple on the outside but very comfortable on the inside. The furniture has a cloud theme and is known to be very comfortable.

Since Nephele was molded by Zeus from a cloud to be in the image of Hera a lot of Nephele’s children share features with the Queen of the Gods. Because of this Hera has a small soft spot for children of Nephele.

Because they are half-siblings with the centaurs they occasionally receive party invitations from them. To which Chiron always advices them not to go because of how… wild centaurs get.

They don’t have that many poweful abilities but their powers are still helpful.

They have the ability to induce a feeling of peace and relaxation with their presence.

They can physically touch clouds and stand/sit/lay on them.

They are known to be one of the most peaceful cabins at camp and are usually not very strong fighters.

They prefer to help out in the infirmary with the Apollo cabin, their powers helping the injured relax through the pain.

Song I associate with them:

——

Psyche (Goddess of the soul)

They are very beatiful, no suprises there…

There’s also not very many of them as Psyche prefers to stay faithful to Eros, though they do show up every now and then… there’s usually no more than one at camp at a time.

When they are claimed a set of butterfly wings show up on their back. They don’t actually work though it’s just for symbolism.

Their cabin is decorated with a stained glass window of Psyche and Eros. The inside has invisible servants, just like Eros and Psyche’s palace.

Speaking of Eros, he loves Psyche’s demigods even if they are not his and sends them gifts on their birthday. Step-Dad of the year.

Putting aside their mothers feud they get along suprisingly well with Aphrodite’s cabin.

They usually wear colorful clothes and accessories to express their emotions or mood that day.

They have empathic powers, and can see the colour of people’s souls as if they were mood rings. And through touch they can stronger sense what might be effecting someone’s emotions.

Their empathic abilities make them basically lie detectors as they can both see and feel when a person is lying.

They are VERY resilient. If you give them a mission they will finish it and come back even if they lose all their limbs in the process.

They are very loving and caring and are willing to go to Hades and back for the ones they love.

Song I associate with them:

——

Ino/Leucothea (Goddess of the sailors)

One of the common feature Leucothea’s children share is that they have dewy skin.

Their cabin is mainly nautical themed on the outside and on the walls on the inside, there’s a wall painting detailing Ino’s transformation to Leucothea. The furniture and beds take inspiration from that of old cruise liners, such as the Titanic.

The floor of the cabin can also open up to a indoor pool, where they can practice their swimming or just hang out if they feel like it.

Compared to most other children of sea deities they can come off as rather arrogant and snobby, no one know specifically why this is.

As for their powers and abilities:

They are all expert sailors, they know how to use any type of boat, just by instinct.

They are all expert swimmers and can swim at very high speeds (using hydrokinesis to boost themselves).

Minor hydrokinesis, they can mainly only control the water around them while they’re actually in the water. They struggle to do it out of water but with pratice they can learn to do that too, though not to the degree of someone like Percy.

They can breathe underwater and are unaffected by any amount of pressure changes.

Like Percy they also have a nautical sense and know their exact location and coordinates when they’re out on the water.

A lot of them chose to use celestial bronze cutlasses over regular swords.

Song I associate them with:

[girlkisser13]

poseidon cabin headcanons

children of poseidon

• none of them eat sea food because they're allergic to it.

• their state of mind changes constantly, just like the ocean. they can go from calm to rowdy to focused to distracted in a matter of seconds.

• due to the ocean's unpredictability and changing nature, every poseidon child is slightly different than their siblings. some can have calmer, gentler natures while some can be downright unpredictable and terrifying.

• their body temperature changes depending on how warm or cool the nearest ocean to them is.

• they prefer savory foods over sweet.

• eating food with a lot of oil makes them sick. (because water and oil don’t mix).

• they like to collect anything in their father's territory (pearls, corals, shells, etc.).

• their favorite snacks are goldfish, swedish fish, whale crackers, gummy sharks, and any other ocean creature shaped crackers or candies.

• they can communicate by putting folded or rolled up paper into a bottle and letting the waves carry it to its intended recipient.

• some of them help out with at the infirmary since they can heal people with water.

• since skateboarding was invented by surfers, children of poseidon can pick up skateboarding just as easily as surfing.

• some of them can teleport using water, in a similar way with shadow travel.

• if they use a lot of energy, they can cross an entire ocean but they'll probably pass out after.

• the sound of ocean waves are a calming sound to them and the sound helps them sleep at night.

• they all live in a state or country that is exposed to the ocean.

• they all have wavy hair. the hair type varies from child to child.

• they are all flat-footed because it aids them greatly in swimming.

cabin exterior

• their cabin is adorned with various nautical elements such as anchors, shells, and seaweed motifs carved into the walls and pillars.

• they have seashell wind chimes hanging from the eaves outside of their cabin.

• they also have driftwood sculptures and nets hung with seaglass and polished stones.

• the entrance is flanked by columns resembling coral formations, intricately carved with sea motifs.

• they have statues of sea creatures at the entrance of their cabin that come to life when their cabin is under threat.

cabin interior

• the cabin is decorated with ship wheels, anchors, ropes, and lanterns. the beds in the cabin resemble hammocks or ship bunks.

• there are no windows in the cabin, only open spaces to allow natural light in. this maintains the airy and open feel of the cabin.

• there are murals of sea creatures, waves, and underwater scenes. shells and starfish are embedded in the walls and ceiling.

• the lighting in the cabin resemble bioluminescent sea creatures, casting a gentle, otherworldly glow. at night, the room might look like an underwater scene with soft, moving lights resembling schools of fish.

• they have a magical, interactive map that shows the locations of any and all bodies of water in the world. it can highlight areas of significance, like recent sea monster sightings or sunken treasure locations.

cabin traditions

• dunking their heads in the toilet has become their acceptance ritual. the campers basically do it to honour/laugh at percy, but instead of an actual toilet, they just dunk them in a basin of water.

• they have a wall where every kid of poseidon has scratched their name, beginning with percy, so that when there is another occasion in which there is only one camper, they don't have to feel alone.

• before world war ii, they had an initiation where they would send their new siblings into the ocean. they had to retrieve a seashell from as far beneath the ocean as possible. they have a wall in their cabin dedicated to these shells.

divider by @sseuda

[nahimjustfeelingit-writes]

Lost Drafts

A Night Forgotten

A woodpecker on steroids had taken up residence inside her skull, and he was hard at work drilling a new home. All his banging around, in fact, was making her quite woozy. Her head spun and her stomach rolled.

“Fuck,” she sighed, as she groggily pushed the too-warm blankets off her chest and sat up. She'd drunk entirely too much last night at her best friend’s wedding reception, hadn't she?

While her best friends had been closing one chapter of their lives as separate individuals to open up a new one of togetherness, she'd lamented that page turning by drinking several shots of top-shelf liquor...which accounted for the giant, uncomfortable hang-over—a sensation she was intimately acquainted with the morning after every one of her friend's weddings that she'd attended over the years.

The last time she'd overindulged like this, she'd ended up in bed with an asshole, her ex-boyfriend, and it had taken two additional years of having him for a boyfriend after that for her to realise what a tremendous mistake it was attempting to make a real relationship out of a drunken one-off.

No good beginnings ever came from desperation, loneliness, and faulty judgement calls. That was, in fact, the recipe for a rather bad ending.

Bah, enough with the depressing thoughts! The real questions were: where was she this time and what had happened the night before, and why THE FUCK did she feel as if the whole world was gently swaying up and down?

Bleary-eyed and woolly-headed, she blinked multiple times to make the room come into focus. Black and white walls, charcoal grey carpeting, large nautical-styled windows to the left that looked out over the ocean.

Nope, not her bedroom.

What the hell.

Clothes were strewn haphazardly over the few pieces of furniture in the vicinity, as if they'd been tossed aside in a hurry without care. Yes, that was definitely her horrid-looking bridesmaid's dress lying in a pool of puffy crinoline and ivory and gold satin on the floor. One of her Dior pumps was visible near the open door, clearly the first of her outfit to be shucked, but where the other might be, she had no clue.

What did she get herself into, and with whom!?

It hurt too much to think, she realised as her head began throbbing in time to her heartbeat. Maybe she shouldn't do that for a bit, and just allow herself to take in the situation and the surroundings without judgment.

First things first, she needed to find out if she was currently sharing this extravagantly large bed with someone, and if so, who that might be. Gripping her pounding head, she slowly turned to look over her shoulder, hoping not to encounter anything shocking.

She supposed she should have qualified what determined the definition of 'shocking' before she'd looked. If 'shocking' was finding a naked man she recognised instantly by his distinctive tapered locs, face down and sprawled out in a deep snooze lying next to her, then she'd hit the mother lode. She was decidedly shocked.

And distressed, alarmed, amazed, and reeling in disbelief, too.

What in the absolute FUCK was Erik Stevens doing in bed with her?! And why were there scratches all up and down his back and shoulders and arms?! And what was with the very clear love bite that decorated the visible side of his throat? And why did his ass have small, fingertip-shaped bruises on them? And why was he clutching her lace panties to his nose as he slept?!

She looked down at her own state of nudity...and at her own set of bruises on her thick hips...and at her bare-lipped pussy, which hadn't been shaved when she'd left for the wedding yesterday afternoon...and at the deeply embedded teeth imprint around her left mocha nipple...and at the giant, loose diamond (was that thing real?!) winking at her from the cavern of her bellybutton where she'd apparently had it pierced.

Oh, no.

With trembling fingers, she reached and felt between her legs for the distinctive moisture that would signal...

Oh, shit.

She was wet and sore—very much so on both counts. There was no doubt about it: she'd definitely fucked her boss the night before.

But how...and why?

[hey-august]

August I will not make you persue ideas you don’t want to pursue further but I gotta admit Tattoo!artist Buggy is just. NNF. Personal basic bitch au right here. Guy who needles you (…. HAH!) about your shitty stick and poke you got from your even shittier ex boyfriend, but then makes you laugh when he asks you what he did and then openly mocks him in a nasally voice. The hot guy with long hair, a full- ,nautical themed, sleeve and a bunch of piercings. The flashy artist who will always try to put his own spin on his tattoos, lest someone walk out of his place with something unoriginal. The hardass, Mr. “Chop Chop” alluding to the many scars he’s acquired in his (even more) criminal youth, who makes a big deal of being able to take it all. “Fuck yeah it hurts” and “No crying in the chair.”, signs on the wall. Probably named his studio something like “Circus of pain” or equally edgy…

And then he has to stop his knees from trembling when your sessions are done and you shyly ask him if you can give him his number. He hates that! He was supposed to be all suave and badass and ask for YOUR number!!

Oh anon, you have got ALL THE IDEAS. 🩷🩷🩷

Not actually a story, but your wonderful ideas got the thoughts running... WC: ~700 Warnings: SFW, a little bit suggestive here and there

A shop like “Circus of Pain” has quite the reputation. The awning is a nostalgic red and white with string lights underneath.

Flash sheets everywhere - crocodiles and hawks, ships and compasses, fruits and botanicals, lions, knives, anchors… There’s just so much. Every place you look, something new catches your eye. Until the tattoo artist comes in. The whole reason you chose this place.

He’s talented. That’s why. That’s definitely the reason why. He’s also funny. Someone who embraces the nickname Mr. Chop Chop has to be funny. He says you can call him Buggy, though. That wink. Wow. And his smile. But you came for the talent.

Buggy loves to show off. When you ask for a tattoo tour, he was more than thrilled to oblige. You don’t miss the subtle flexes as he shows his full sleeves. Or how he hikes his shorts up extra high to show you his legs. You were not prepared for all the sweet extras when he pulled up his shirt, though. Pierced nipples and a happy trail that was covered all too quickly when he dropped his shirt.

You recover when you see the dusting of blush cross his face when you shower him with compliments. You throw in a few roasts and watch his cheeks get even redder. It’s cute how he can't control the volume of his voice when he gets flustered. Especially when he remembers that you’re getting a piece on your thigh.

Buggy is a professional. He has a reputation to uphold. As much as he wants to run his hand on your leg a little longer, to feel your skin against his, to dig his fingers in your thigh…. Phew, it’s time for a break. Just a few minutes. He needs to go clear his head. Get some cold water. Spend some time alone.

You ask if it’s alright to order food now, which is more than fine. And even better when you order extra for him. The break is extended so you two can chow down and chat.

Buggy is so funny. And talented. He keeps you laughing and talking, anything to keep you distracted from the pain. He keeps an eye on how your body moves, when you seem too tense, when you hold your breath, when your hands clench. 

That means he catches all the moments that you glance at him. When you stare a little longer than normal, admiring his long lashes and beautiful eyes. The focused faces he makes. Buggy’s emotive - frowning and smiling every other second. Your eyes hang on his hands as they work. His arms as they move. And those shorts that creep a little high when he sits down.

These thoughts give Buggy plenty to think about in between your sessions. Maybe you’re looking at him because he’s a weirdo. Because he’s not good looking. Maybe you laugh at him because he is the one tattooing you. Maybe you’re afraid of him messing with the tattoo, so you try to bribe his kindness with food and laughter. Maybe he should pick different outfits. Maybe…

Maybe you do like him. Maybe that’s why you keep coming back. Why you arrive early. Why you pick the food places he recommends. Maybe you don’t stop breathing from pain, but because he’s so close. And you like him.

Buggy hopes that’s the case.

He swallows that hope at the end of your last session. That tattoo is finished and absolutely fantastic - flashy, even! You like it, he likes it, and…

Before he could offer you his number, you are already offering yours. 

Buggy had a whole plan! He was going to be so smooth, offering to give you his number in case you had any questions while you're healing, if you wanted to book another appointment with him directly, if you ordered too much food and needed his help finishing, if you wanted to grab a drink some time and talk.

All those thoughts fly out of his head as you sit there nervously, waiting for his answer.

Maybe he didn’t like you. Maybe you were just a client and this was incredibly rude and inappropriate.

But maybe he did like you. And maybe he did want to see you again.

Buggy nearly fell apart. He was head over heels trading numbers. Struck with one last bolt of suave inspiration, he suggested taking a selfie together so you could both use it as a contact pic.

The first picture was fine. A little stiff, if anything. The second one was silly, you each made goofy faces. And the third one…that's your favorite. At the last moment, you turned and kissed him on the cheek. Now you have a rare and treasured picture of Mr. Chop Chop looking surprised and blushing like an absolute fool.

[hiimcanadia]

Officially, The Revenge is a little coffee shop/ bookstore just off the main street downtown. Ask anybody in the queer community, though, and they'll tell you it's one of the safest third spaces in the entire city. It's a place where people are encouraged to go hang out and relax, with no pressure to spend any money. There are walls of resources for people looking for healthcare, legal help, and ways to get involved in the community. They host all sorts of groups after hours, all run by the diverse and thoroughly vetted staff. The owner, an eccentric and wealthy man named Stede Bonnet, is always taking suggestions from the community for what people want to see, and is always putting in as much effort as he can to make things happen.

It would be hard to have a conversation with any queer person in the city without Stede Bonnet's work coming up, so of course Ed has heard of The Revenge. He's never been there himself though, for reasons he'd rather not examine too hard.

Tonight, though, he finally hit his breaking point. He decided that he didn't want to keep living with all the fear and stress he had been for the past decade. He fired the manager at his restaurant that was always giving him trouble and took himself off the schedule for the next week. He told himself that he was going to start being himself instead of being the person that everyone around him wanted him to be. He left the restaurant as soon as it was closed and started walking, not knowing where he was going until he found himself staring up at the bright, friendly signs on the windows of The Revenge.

He doesn't go in right away. It's late, and while the lights are still on and there are some people inside, he's not entirely sure that the place is still open. So he just stands there, staring, shivering slightly in the autumn chill, until he hears the door open.

“Would you like to come inside?”

He looks up and recognizes the man immediately. Stede Bonnet himself. He's seen pictures of him before, watched some of those little inspirational videos he posts online. He always thought he was pretty hot, but seeing him in person like this, all Ed can think is that Stede looks like the kindest man he's ever seen.

Stede leads Ed inside and offers him a blanket from the "cozy corner". He makes him a coffee and doesn't judge when Ed asks for it to be filled with a bunch of sugary flavored syrups. He listens to Ed, really listens, says that he's proud of him for wanting to take control of his life, and encourages him to come back tommorow to talk to a counselor who works with The Revenge about how to develop a healthier work/life balance or even start to consider retirement.

So Ed does. He goes home that night with a smile on his face and a warmth in his heart, and he wakes up bright and early to head to The Revenge right away. He chats with the barista as he orders another sugary coffee. He looks through the community calendar and all the pamphlets about the different groups. He has a discussion with the counselor Stede recommended, and sets up a time to have a more in depth meeting with him later that week.

Most importantly though, he talks to Stede again. He thanks him for all of his help the night before, of course, but then they just keep talking. They talk about books and TV shows and childhood. They find out that they have a shared love of pirates and nautical history. Ed promises to cook for Stede sometime, as a thank you for the amazing coffee. Talking to Stede is safe, comfortable, as easy as breathing.

Ed decides that the first thing he's going to do in this new chapter of his life- the first thing he's going to do for himself in a long, long time- is just allow himself to fall in love.

[duffyyy911]

A Line in Black - 𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 4 - 𝙳𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝚁𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚘 𝙺𝚗𝚘𝚌𝚔

Summary: The detective gets a rude awakening after trying to block out the previous night's events.

Content Warnings: Mentions of alcohol and smoking. Mentions of prostitution. We aint getting freaky just yet gang dw

Word Count: 8k Author's Notes: I wanted to get some more dialogue and tension into this chapter, so nothing precisely exciting happens besides a riveting back and forth between the reader and Lest. I am going to be starting a new job soon, so Idk how frequent chaps are going to come out after the next one, but I'll work hard as long as yall keep reading!

Proofread by: @6selkie @sillyb0nez Masterlist: Here

The faint hiss of the waters mist, a gentle greeting that was followed up with the roar of the tide hitting its mark and tumbling back into the sea. The bitter taste of salt on the air, the same savory feeling that invited itself onto your tongue every time you took a deep breath in. You felt the frail chunks of paint chip off beneath your thumb as you gripped onto the rusting railing of the stern-side bridge deck. You pulled your eyes open with great difficulty, prying the two lids apart as if they had been glued together for a length of time that had all but slipped away in the moment. You looked out onto the waters, a curved horizon of deep blue washing into a cascade of rich orange and grays as waters met an open painted sky in the distance, the evening clouds falling down to the skyline in front of the embers of a sunset. You could hear the distant cawing of the seagulls turning in circles far above your head, the whipping of the short nautical flags hanging from their mounts, and the creak of the ship’s elongated hull breaking the waves. The harsh wind blew in from your side and you braced, then quickly fastened the buttons of your tall blue wool jacket. You think for a moment as you do, pausing on each twist of the buttons through their slits. You try to remember where you even found the jacket. Or when you even put it on. You looked back out over the horizon, side-eying a flood of blackened dark clouds rolling in from the distance and beginning to wipe the slate of the sky clean. The rock of the tide picked up and shifted the ship beneath you, the vessel billowing out a low, deep groan as it took the ocean’s whipping. You felt the sailing cap upon your head slip and slink lopsided against your ear. You slowly readjusted it, and you looked on in silence as the storm blew in.

As the winds picked up and a heavy rain blew in with a sea storm’s darkness, you headed inside for the night in the bridge quarters. You hadn’t even stopped to look at the messy state of the wheelhouse, a picture’s example of the kind of quarters sailors keep, before you had grabbed a hold of the valve to the hatch door at the back of the cabin and began to give it a turn. With great force, the wheel slipped and slowly spun out of its place. You toed in through the hatch and took a moment to shut the heavy metal door behind you and twist the wheel back. The loud splatter of the whipping rains outside died down a bit, mixing into the gentle roar of the waves and the distant crackle of thunder on the air beyond the waters. You hung up your coat in your dim bunkroom, catching the collar on the hook screwed into the motley coat of dim green painted on the wall. You go to throw your hat on your bed, glancing at the empty bunk lying half-made and wamthless. That’s when you got a glimpse of them. The person sitting in the low armchair at the end of your bunk, between the back and a tall slim wall closet. You only caught a glimpse of their legs and the legs of their quite expensive looking pants, but every time you tried to recall what they looked like, you couldn’t. Their color, their shape, nothing came to you once you looked away.

“Rough sea out there, captain?” They hummed, cupping their hand around a crystal ashtray in their lap. They puffed on the end of a slender cigarette, ashing it into the tray from time to time with a hollow flick beat everytime the paper tapped against the glass. Fwick. Fwick.

“Not until just now. Storm’s coming in, might be a long one.” You grumbled back. You turned about and slowly sank down to the creaking bunk mattress as you took a minute to breathe. Your hands looked a lot more worn and aged since the last time you looked at them. You rub the callouses built up by reigning in lines at night and hauling up trappers boxes in the morning, wondering where you even found the time to do all of it. Your thoughts began to linger for a moment, dancing away until they were pulled back by the almost silent fwick of the cigarette being ashed once more. “I thought you were going out on the boats?”

“The whales didn’t come back today.” The person sighed deeply from over the shoulder of where you sat. Every glimpse you got of them, unrecognizable once you blinked away. Fuzzy and featureless, like a little kid’s drawing that had been scribbled over. “So I had them bring the dingy back in.”

“Figures.” You murmured as you slipped off your shoes and moved them under your bed bunk with a kick. “I’ve got the line in, all I have to do is make the rounds before turning in.” You mentally go down your list of many chores one could not just leave until tomorrow when they run a vessel.

“I was thinking.” They spoke up as you slowly laid yourself back into your thin uncomfortable mattress. You threw your wrist over your eyes to block the sharp light of the cabin’s ceiling lamp that wobbled back and forth from the rock of the wave. 

“Does it pay well?” You joked to keep yourself from dozing off.

“No-” They paused with a breathy dismissive chuckle on their voice. “No, it’s nothing.”

“What? Come on.” You encouraged them. You blindly threw out your arm across the bed in their direction. Although it didn’t land its mark, eventually you could feel warmth on your fingertips as they grazed the ends of another’s. Your bones ached, a body in need of rest. And if you had to stand back up, you just might fall apart at the joints.

“Well, I was-” They paused again. You could almost picture the stupid smile on their lips. Whatever they looked like. “Do you remember that little village? It was somewhere south of Ionia, I don’t know.”

“Yeah.” You hummed half-asleep. You had no clue what they were talking about, but you weren’t about to pull aside a detour conversation about remembering the umpteenth place you had stopped along the way.

“I was thinking-”

Bang. Bang. Bang.

A series of heavy knocks on the door of the cabin thundered out. Neither of you two said a word, or seemed to react at all. You sighed deeply, feeling your chest rise and fall as you pinched the bridge of your nose. The comment about falling apart at the joints may yet to come true.

“Captain. I think she’s here to see you.” They hummed with a monotone canter.

“What? Who? What for?” You sat up from your daze on the bunk. 

Bang. Bang. Bang.

“She sounds very displeased, captain. You’d better hurry.”

“Yes, but what for?” You huffed as you stood up from the bunk, blindly putting your shoes back on after what seemed like only mere seconds.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

“The door. Captain.”

“But what for!” You barked coarsely. You grabbed a good hold onto the valve to the turn locks and gave it a good spin. You wondered at who was making all that racket. Something big enough to shake such a heavy metal piece. The rusted hinges to the hatch wound up, and the door swiveled open. And in the nothingness of the void beyond the frame, you fell through like flopping limply into water. An ocean.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

“Detective!”

“What? I’m up!” You jerked awake from your stiff slumber on your old mattress. You didn’t even know who you were responding to yet, the way you were ripped from that dream that was now beginning to fade.

Bang. Bang. Bang. 

The knocking was practically shaking the drywall at this point. The thudding of a closed fist against wood did not help out your now increasingly tightening headache that had creeped in on it que. “I’m up!” You hollered once more. You tasted your dry mouth with discomfort creasing across your face as you looked about. Your room, as empty and sad as you remember it. Your jacket was laying crumpled up at the foot of the bed, draped over your legs. You took a second to check your clothes, still the same ones you had on last time you remember, damper now that you had overheated in the night. You glanced out the window, looking to the sky above the rooftop surrounding the alleyway. Bright, blue, cloudless. A restful day, it seemed.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

“Now who’s the deaf one!” You called out. You rubbed the corners of your eyes with your dry hands as you breathed in with some struggle. The muscles in your chest felt tight, and there was a weird swell in the back of your nose that bothered you every time you inhaled or swallowed. You were starting to hope this wasn’t the start of another cold, one that you could not afford right now.

“I’m coming in.” You heard your caller announce through the thin door. You already knew who it was. There would be nobody else in this entire city that would be able to get a hold of you so quickly. Because if it was Lyric, he would have already invited himself in. “You’d better have clothes on.”

“It’s not a red carpet night at the cabaret. So, yeah.” You groaned as you sat up fully and scooted to the edge of the mattress. You planted feet onto the cool slickness of the floorboards, your knees sticking up and against your chest as you took a moment to collect yourself. Your head spun like you just got flattened by a freight train, but your senses were slowly returning to you piece at a time. You watched the knob twist and the door swing slowly open with a gentle and hesitant push. 

Lest stopped half way in through the doorway, pausing when she took a good look at your living conditions. You weren’t sure if the brief twitch in her right ear that shot up its spine and flicked off the tip, or the subtle flare of her bottom eyelids, or the single step back she took before she masked the actions in an instant, were signs of shock or disapproval. But there her eyes went, flicking around and silently casting judgement that would never be shared. 

“Is this where you’ve been all day?” She asked impatiently, leaning against the frame of your door with an undecided half-fold of her arms. She herself, however, looked entirely out of place in your habitat. She stood tall before you in a maroon peacoat, one long enough that its trim was glissading down far past her knees and almost all the way down to the floor. She kept her same headscarf, the folds of which she still hid behind at times when she spoke to you. Overtop of the pinkish scarf, she wore an equally wine hued breton cap with a single band around the base of its trim, which seemed to also have slits fashioned into its top to accommodate your boss’ ever tall ears. 

You blinked at her in silence, your right eye closed to block the light coming in from the window while the other followed the yellow of Lest’s irises subtly darting around the room before they came to a stop after meeting yours.

“I mean, where else would I be?” You wiped your palm down your face in exhaustion, a vain hope that maybe something could speed up the recovery. You felt like you were a schoolboy in trouble for something you weren’t quite sure what you did. You scratched behind your ear in thought, what had you done recently? “Why? Were you looking for me? For how long?” You croaked out the measly questions one at a time.

“All day.” Lest exhaled with feigned disbelief. “First I looked in the nearest bars, none of them had heard or seen of you except for one. They said you had got in a fist fight, then left and they hadn’t seen you since.”

“Oh yeah?” You idly asked as you slowly stood up with great difficulty. You could feel the blood rush to your already tight head, its pulsating rhythm growing more intense for a short few seconds before dying out again. You threw your arms back and up behind your head, stretching with a cat’s yeowl as you felt the muscles in your back stretch apart reluctantly. 

“Then, I went to the police department across the bridge, to see if you were in the tank.” Lest continued on, a droning working its way into her voice as she caught on that you were only half listening. “Aren’t you going to ask how I got in?” She cocked an eyebrow, fully committing to folding her arms as she watched you walk by her and into your cramped bathroom.

She might be good at keeping a straight face at a poker game, sure, but you could read a little more into the contents of a person’s book than most people. Whatever you did, going missing like that did genuinely worry her. Most people would have just asked around, maybe sent a letter. Wait some more. But her? No, she came to look for you directly and she didn’t stop until she reached your bedroom door.

“I probably left my door unlocked.” You shrugged as your bare feet made contact with the cheap tile. You flipped on the stingy fluorescent light with a flinch and a shudder that trailed up your spine. You bent over your bathroom sink to get a better look at yourself. You had to admit, you felt a lot worse than you looked. But you looked far from ideal, about only a single dollar out of a million. You pulled the skin of your right cheek down, checking under your eyelids as the flesh shifted and stretched. “Or, you unlocked it. Bavo, if so.”

“Your landlord.” Lest snorted. “She was dropping a cardboard box off, told me it was for you.” She peered at you from around the door, in a spot where if you craned your neck just right you could see through both doors and get a full look at the reflection of the mirror.

“Where’s the kid?” You inquired gravelly, noticing that the boy was all but missing. You back stepped out of your bathroom and squeezed past Lest at the door, who seemed to insist on keeping herself planted to where she was standing. You trod through your open office, or living room, kitchen, whatever you had resided in calling your pitiful two room apartment. 

“I sent him home, what do you think?” Lest remarked with a short waver in her voice, a subtle sneer pinching back her nose that you didn’t need to look back at to visualize. “I’m not his keeper.”

“That’s fair.” You hum absentmindedly. You approached the squarish low cardboard box by the doormat, your footsteps dancing between the juts of sunlight cutting past the checkrails of the kitchen window. “That’s really sweet of you to have me bailed out. Looking for me in a Pitlie police station, no less.” You tagged on with a croak of sarcasm.

“I would have just asked you through the bars, detective.”

“Asked me what?” You bent down and spun the box over. Completely bare, only held shut by a loose line of duct tape. You punched into the sides of the box to loosen the tape to open it up, glancing at Lest still in the slanted disapproving lean she had given when she opened your door. You gave her an earnest, but obviously confused grin. You genuinely had no idea why she had stopped by. You must have drank heavily before, because the last thing you could recall was wading through a river of garbage in the sump and some vague memory of wriggling down a vent like a sewer rat.

“For an update, I thought you were following up on a lead?”

“Right.” You hummed once more. You opened the box up slowly, looking into the space to find a pile of folded, albeit second-hand looking, clothes. A little note sat on top of the top stack of shirts, a brief thank you letter from your landlord for the advance on rent. The glad, almost proud feeling rising in you could not be underestimated. This was like the equivalent of finding out you had inherited a lot of money from a dead relative you never knew, or finding some priceless thing sitting in a drainpipe. As you marveled at your new gift, you glanced up to see your employer still awaiting your response. “I don’t do business this early, miss.”

“I paid you a commission, you do business whenever I need it done.”

“You came into my house.” You reminded her as you squatted down and picked up the hefty box. “That’s like if I had a lead, and I just walked into your hotel room while you were still sleeping and started making a report.” You squeezed past Lest in the doorway again, back into your room. You let the box fall from your arms and land with a muffled thud on your mattress. 

“I wouldn’t be sleeping past midday.” She turned her nose up at you as you walked by. 

Despite her little sneers and the wrinkling of her short nose at your lifestyle, your boss didn’t seem like the snooty kind, the opposite in fact. A real woman of the people, hiding in plain sight like those with the moxie for it ought to. Yet she did have a bad habit of talking down to you, not in a demeaning way. But one that showed that it had been quite a long time since she had spoken with someone in the same class bracket as her. If she had collected this ever-relevant list of wealthy clients for this long, your suspicion would be that she mostly works in Piltover. Not only did she work in Piltover, but she also walked through it freely. That means she fit in with Piltover’s society, a necessity perhaps, but one that seemed to subtly leave its mark. It explained her emphasis on privacy, all the little shortcuts she knew, her obtuse but cutting taste for attire. How she treats you like an equal but speaks to you with strange reluctance. It was kind of like putting on a costume, but eventually forgetting you were wearing one. And soon enough, the costume becomes just clothes.

“I’m a detective, not a soldier. Just give me a minute.” You objected honestly as you took some of the second hand clothes from the box and tucked them under your arm. Lest held the impatient furrow in her brow, yet her eyes flicked to the side briefly. “Go find something to eat, go sit down. Go read, or turn on the radio. Occupy yourself, it’s a nice day out.”

“You missed most of it.” Lest muttered under her breath as you closed the door to your bathroom. Even after you had run the water in the shower, you could still hear her outside the door. Pacing around the living room in a soft, troubled tempo. 

As you took off your shirt, you couldn’t help but notice that there was some marking on your wrist. You turned your hand around, your eyes trailing along a message in marker that ran up your forearm before seeming to wind around your back. “Hey, you got a pen and paper?” You called out to Lest through the door. 

“What? No?”

“Look in my desk. I’m about to read out the results of that lead I followed last night.” Your eyes flicked back and forth through the words sprawling up your arm.

There was a short pause in the pacing you could hear before, then the scoot of your desk’s drawer being opened. “Okay?”

“Meet me at the corner of East Side commons and …” You read aloud slowly. You paused as the words spiraled under your arm and around to your back as they went. You turned around and began trying to read the reversed message in the mirror from over your shoulder. “Glass st-reet. Al-cobe di-district.”

“Is your liver finally failing?”

“Shut up, it’s backwards.” You called back as you tried to read faster than the mirror could fog.

“What is? What are you reading?”

“Just keep writing!” You cleared your throat and continued to read. “Nine tonight. Dash, Ronk.”

“What’s a ‘Ronk’ and why does it sound filthy?”

“Ronk is a jobless vagrant I met in a dive bar last night.” You jokingly boasted. 

That’s right, Ronk. Now, it was starting to come back to you. You had lost your lead, and you went to that stupid place and almost got your head kicked in by two junkies. 

You finished undressing and tried to spend the least amount of time under the water because of the present company. Little vague snippets of what you could recall from last night ran through your fingers as fluidly as the water. The sump. The factory. The vents. And the sound of that gun firing. You could still taste the metallic tinge on your gums as you thought about what you witnessed. Your movement slowed to a crawl as you lingered on the image, the scene replaying back and forth like a scarred record. The pipes groaned through the thin wall as it continued to push water out of the showerhead, bringing you back to your senses. The water washed away the repeating thought along with the marker on your skin. 

You turned the valve off and stepped out, taking a long while to dry and dress as you kept trying to pull up more memories of last night. It was like some kind of uncomfortable slideshow, no wonder you ended up drinking so much. You changed into your not-so-newer clothes, an unlikely gift from a landlord you were assuming hated you. Dark and faded but new-ish slacks, a blue button-down that was one size too big for you. Old wool socks that had most of its holes patched. To someone across the river, they wouldn’t even donate this stuff. But to you? It was quite literally the one thing you needed. You gathered your old clothes and tossed them in one big ball at your suitcase still hanging open by your bed, scooping up your jacket as you passed by.

“Are a fifth of whiskey and a single tomato the only things you have in your house that’s food grade?” Lest asked when you caught her looking into your refrigerator as you rounded the corner. She batted the door with her hand inattentively, swinging it back and forth in small movements before closing it shut with a single push.

“No way, there’s whiskey in there?” You quipped as you brushed past her. You put on your jacket, then took a leaning sit against the doors of your lower kitchen cupboards. 

“When was the last time you bought groceries?”

“I don’t know.” You shrugged sheepishly. “I’m more of a buy by the meal kind of person, I guess.”

“When was the last time you ate, then?”

You hummed in thought, though you only were dragging the answer to her question. “Last tuesday, I think? Probably then.”

“And you’ve been surviving off what? Bar peanuts and grain alcohol?”

“And these little cracker things that I’m given at the stalls up the road.” You articulated, drawing a little square in the air. “I don’t know what they make them out of but they’re saltier than a mineral lick-” Your humor deflated when you looked back to Lest’s unamused stare. “What can I get for you, miss?”

“Results.” She batted her eyes once, awaiting a real answer. It made sense, the switch up. You rushed her for money, now she rushed you for results. Cash didn’t buy time, it shortened it. It was the mitigation of society, and its erosion. It was all that you needed. So you could swallow the bitter pill of grovelling after another paper trail. Maybe all it took to convince you was a pretty face and a cigarette shared.

“Listen.” You exhaled a very audible and lengthy sigh. You mulled over how to break what happened to Aquil to her. You weren’t sure just how invested she was in this guy. Was he just a client? Were they friends, then would she be friends with someone like him? Did she know him well, or not at all? More so? You shook yourself out of that kind of thinking, it felt wrong to theorize about someone like that. “I don’t think that guy is going to be a recurring client anymore.”

“What did you do to him?” Lest asked sternly, bowing her head slightly and looking up at you past the black end of her nose. You were used to the inconsequential disappointment she had shown you so far, but this was different. This was like staring down a wild cougar, and you weren’t sure whether to talk, or run.

“I didn’t do anything at all to him.” You threw your open hands up concedingly. You stared at her silently, the words you wanted to say catching on your lips as you slowly lowered your posture. You weren’t good with things like this. You barely could handle breaking bad news to people, and this was beyond that scope. “He-” You paused. “He’s dead, miss.”

“Oh.” Lest stated plainly. It was like watching a tire deflate in slow motion. The tenseness in her expression slowly faded bit by bit, her body language laxing until she too took a sitting lean against your kitchen cabinet. Mirroring you in a way, adjacent in front of you. You read her eyes, her silent language, the way she held her elbow with one hand while the other put a thumb to her lips. There was regret stirring in her, sure, but not grief. Her stare at the ground held dejection, but also thorough thought. 

“Did you know him at all? Know well, I mean.” You inquired hesitantly. 

“Aquil? No.” She shook her head softly. “I mean, in a way. We were from the same neighborhood, but it wasn’t like I knew him back then.”

“Back then?” You asked. You retrieved a half-crumpled pack of cigarettes from your pocket, a leftover from the previous night. You took a second to find the least creased one, then offered it to Lest.

“You have to be from Zaun to really understand. It’s an old country without a new one. Things felt and looked a lot different when I was a child. The sump used to be a real community, it had to be. We were packed down there like sardines in a can. Slums, sure. Poor, sure. But a bond? That’s all we had.” Lest simpered with a half-feigned smile. “It’s always so strange to hear about someone, who grew up a block away from you, dying. You hear that kind of news from now and then, but the feeling doesn’t really change.” Lest took the cigarette gracefully, lighting it with her classic scratch lighter. “How did it happen?”

“The people he was meeting up with decided that he was a loose end, I guess.” You paused, bowing your head into her peripheral. “Can I get you water? I don’t have any food, but there's stalls up the road, like I mentioned before.”

“No, no water. It just makes me thirsty.”

“How’s that?”

“Don’t worry about it.” Lest flicked her cigarette with her thumb by the filter, ashing it onto your floor without thinking. “Why did they do that? What happened to Aquil, I mean.”

“I think he figured out too much for his own good.” You shrugged. “He learned one too many names, and that meant he had to go.”

“Names. Whose name?”

“I’m not sure, someone I’ve never heard of before. He just mentioned a person called Lenare. And then what happened, happened. Do you know it?”

“Lenare…” Lest hummed in thought, then took a drag of the cigarette. “No, not really. Lenare.” Lest paused, her eyes reading the space in front of her, then flicking back to you. “It sounds a bit rich to be from around here, don’t you think?”

“Rich, sure.” You nodded. “But Piltover rich? No.”

“Did they mention anyone else?” Lest took another drag of the cigarette. “Anything else that could have given you an idea of where they came from?” She exhaled the smoke with her words in one breath.

“I mean-” You paused. You already followed up the lead about the bar, there was no point bringing it up. You didn’t really want to gloat that you got into a fist fight over a drink the previous night, though she seemed to already figure that out on her own. “One of them mentioned prying the other off a black cat. The bar I went to last night was the only black cat I know, and they weren’t anywhere to be found.”

“Huh.”

“What’s the matter?”

“Did they say ‘the’ black cat? Or ‘a’ black cat?” Lest hummed in thought.

“I don’t think it makes any difference.” You shrugged. The question was rather semantic. The men could have said it any kind of way, it didn’t really change all too much. Besides, your memory of it was still in a blur.

“It makes a world of difference, detective.” Lest pulled her stare from a thousand yards, planting it on you as you made eye contact with her. “Did they say ‘a’ black cat, or ‘the’ black cat?” She asked again firmly before flicking her cigarette once more.

“They just said black cat, I think.” You murmured. “Like I said, the only black cat I know was a dive bar in the lanes.”

“Black cat isn't the name of a place.” Lest paused. “It’s the name of a person.”

The icy wind blowing off the eastern seaboard tended to be cut down by the aggregate of taller buildings in South Piltover. Though it was across the bridge from the triumph of the Piltover of the new age, the South district retained a modicum of its splendor in relative safety. Low, paved streets towered over by stone city dwellings, tight packed offices, lackluster institutions, commerce halls, and expensive skinny townhouses. A wave of neo-classical mixing into a newly emerging art deco design of architecture.

Your heavy work boots clacked against the smooth pavement of the lower city’s sidewalks in a tandem temp with your boss’ light step. You kept your hands stuffed into your jacket pockets in your usual manner as you walked, keeping yourself alongside Lest as both of you knew where you were headed. You had been distracted from your thorough conversation for a moment as you absently looked over your shoulder to make sure there wasn’t anybody trailing behind you two. Not that you’d need any reason to think so, but you can never afford to not be too careful until you’re over the river and bridge. And you never cross that bridge, not ever.

“Besides the point, I think it was a conservatory before that techno-whose-it church bought the building. Never been in it myself, but at least they kept the greenhouses intact. It’s the only pretty thing about the place anymore.” Lest commented, finishing an answer to your question about a building you had passed only a block away. 

The building had been taken over by a sect of the church of the Gray Lady, some technology cult that helped the down-and-outs of the fissures. Nowadays, the place had been boarded up and kept a shut up secret behind a terrifically tall iron barred fence. Some even wonder if anybody even occupied the place, or if it was simply bought and left alone once more.

“Come again?” You asked, turning back from looking over your shoulder.

“Are you religious at all, detective?” Lest asked as she kept pace alongside you. It was more like you were trying to keep up with her, the way she’d walk.

“Me?” You chuckled. “I mean- I’m not a believer in anything.” You paused. “But I’m also not a non-believer, you know? There’s enough mythos to go around in the world, anything could really catch me. I guess I just haven’t been given the opportunity for it. The only god here in Piltover and Zaun is progress, I suppose.”

“It’s all relative, you’re right. Just happenstance.” Lest shrugged. “People here in Zaun aren’t really given that opportunity.”

“What about you?” You asked sheepishly. “I thought the Vastaya were supposed to be descended from the Arcana? Isn’t that all second nature to you?”

“I thought Humans descended from the apes? Why aren’t you all swinging from branches and flinging your excrement at each other? Isn’t that your second nature as well?” Lest retorted with a snort as she walked. She glanced at you, a look that you knew all too well by now. It was time to pay the cigarette tax. “Things change, detective. Like I said, it’s all happenstance. Did you know, in Stonewall, they worship goats? Just because they give the people milk.”

“It’s all harmless, though.” You chuckled. You took your creased pack of cigarettes from your coat pocket and tried to find the second best from the one you had offered her earlier in your apartment. “Everyone needs hope, you know?”

“That’s the irony of it, though.” Lest remarked as she took the cigarette you passed her. “People look for hope anywhere, but never in themselves. It’s like a disease that makes you blind to it.”

“Okay, hold the line.” You shook your head as you came to a sudden pause on the pavement. This whole analytical game Lest liked to play was beginning to wrack your nerves, it was pedantic. Lest came to a stop as well, turning to you as she lit the cigarette. “Why do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“This whole psychological semantic philosophy. That people are categorized and hope is a disease. It’s an old act, Lest.”

“I’m supposed to be playing an act, now?” Lest raised an eyebrow.

“This whole jaded mystique and smoke stained glamour.” You paused, gesturing to Lest’s whole self. “And what’s with this cardinal press girl look?”

“What’s with your washed-out sleuth getup, hm?” She flashed you a smirk. “I wasn’t informed that part of your contract entailed a critique of my person, detective.” Lest continued walking ahead of you, disregarding whether you were following her or not. 

“I’m just trying to get you to lighten up a little.” You huffed as you jogged to catch up with her now fast stride. “I’d appreciate it if you’d just take some time to talk to me normally.”

“Lighten up.” Lest snorted at the comment. “Or is it that you just want to pick my brain? Oh so badly, detective.” 

The both of you rounded the next corner at a junction in the street. You glanced at the street sign sticking out from its post, the name reading Drop Street. The turn at the corner opened up the view of the descender stations. They were little metal shacks, of sorts, sticking out of the ground by the sidewalk like covered entrances to a subway. They were solid in structure, kept together as one giant unanimous welded piece. Two wide entrances stood opposite from one another, kept open by a folding grate fence. A large solid metal beam bridged the gap between the tall rooftops of the buildings lining the wide road. Huge winch systems hung from two points on either side of the beam, the wire being held back by metallic struts as they latched onto both of the descenders adjacently. 

Lest stepped into the unclean cabin of the left descender first, as she had still insisted on walking just a tad bit faster than you. You stepped in second, your eyes kept glued to where you placed your foot. The descenders were held up by only the wire, and if they weren’t there then it’d just be a stark hole in the ground. As you stepped onto the carriage, you watched it wobble and reveal a peak of the dark descent into the earth when the metal flooring moved away from the ledge.

You hated heights. It wasn’t falling that scared you, it was the height itself. You couldn’t explain it well, not even to yourself. You kept a cool composure despite the glimpse of how far the tunnels really went. To your right when you stepped in, a large lever stuck out of the metal flooring. It was elongated with a squeeze trigger, sticking out from a wide semicircle cap that had been painted with black marks. Single tallies, three in all. First was for the Promenade, second for Entresol, third for the top levels of the Sump. As you knew far too well, the only way to get to the bottom was to go by foot. You squeezed the handle onto the lever, pulling it back until it reached the second mark. The winches hanging above you began to whirr, their motors jumping to life after being given a command. After a short moment, the wire fences folded back out and the cabin shrugged, then began to slowly descend into the hole.

You and your employer found yourselves engulfed in darkness once the cabin had fully descended through its slot, moving through the hole burrowed through the earth. You looked for her in the dark, trying to catch the glow of her cigarette that seemed to have gone out. It was just the wall of darkness in front of you, the twitching pings of the taught cables, and the hollow hushed flow of wind flowing through the tunnel. The scratch of zinc on flint startled you a bit as a small flame emerged from Lest’s lighter. She brought it up to relight her cigarette between her lips, the flame illuminating a portion of her deadpan face. The light glared off her eyes, turning them into wide saucers of yellow before the flame went out and the darkness returned once more.

The descender lowered through its exit in the earth, bringing light from the Promenade level as the cabin descended over the boundary markets in full rush hour. You quickly averted your eyes to look at anything else before Lest noticed that you had been trying to stare at her the whole time. You looked out at the boundary markets through the metal grating. Merchants running their stalls that were hobbled together by rotted wood, bent nails and tattered tarps, all in rows numbering by the dozen. You saw the common man, the vagrants and the people just trying to get by. Scavengers with wheelbarrows full of junk, and urchins running about begging for money that nobody had to spare. You watched a line of people, which winded all the way to the end of the market boundary and disappeared behind the side of a tall brutalist structure, a cathedral of sorts. The line moved forward body by body, each person waiting to buy what measly foodstuffs they could afford.

People were hungry. This whole damn city was hungry. You were hungry. You forgot about food for so long, remembering it made your stomach churn. “Give me a hit of that.” You muttered to Lest as you turned back and extended your arm.

Lest gave you a confused, yet curious look, a flare of her amber eyes. One that told you to get your own, but with an air of sympathy as she read your tense expression. She passed you the cigarette reluctantly, and you took a heavy drag. “Sometimes I wonder if you can handle ideas that go beyond what you’re going to wear, or eat for lunch.” Lest muttered, finally commenting on your conversation from before.

“I don’t eat lunch, remember?” You faked a chuckle, then took another heavy drag and passed it back. “Have you ever been hungry, miss?”

“We all have.” Lest shrugged.

“No, I mean real hunger. The kind of feeling that makes you want to eat a handful of dirt, or bark off a tree. The kind of hunger that makes you shake. The kind that makes you stop being hungry if you ignore it for long enough.”

There was a long pause between you two. The only company in the way of sound being the murmur of the busy streets below and the creaking. Lest didn’t look at you, keeping her eyes to her cigarette as she moved it around between her fingers. She took a final drag of it, put it out on the metal, then pushed it through the hole in the grate. “Like I said, detective.” She glanced at you, then back to the grate where her stare remained. “There’s things that you’d never guess in your wildest dreams.”

The descender reached the bottom of the Promenade level and cut through the earth once more, travelling deeper into the Entresol and returning the cabin to the pitch darkness of before. The darkness returned with the silence between you two. That invisible wall felt like it was being built back up brick by brick. What felt like an eternity passed, just the two of you and the darkness. The cabin emerged from its second pass through the earth, coming out into the light of the second level of the city. The cabin came to a slow, agonizing stop before a raised platform constructed from rebar, old pipes, and corrugated tin sheeting. A grand stand of rust, elevated to allow people to step down into the portion of the Entresol.

You looked out through the thin slits of the gates as they folded back in on themselves with sluggish struggle. The station was in the back end of one of the largest housing projects above the Sump. A shanty town of scrap shacks and hobbled-together structures, packed so tightly within the small space that one would forget that they were in the lanes at all. It was called Drop Street after the one above ground, but local residents had given it a new colloquial name. Alley of alleys, as the only thing that divided the labyrinthian maze of favelas was a single wide lane that split the wall of residencies like a straight, unmoving river.

You peered down the narrow lane, the ending to which seemed to fade into a dark endlessness as the district had barely enough power to spare for lighting the way. It was just a lane of shack houses stacked upon one another, reaching high up and beyond where you could see the end of it. The only main source of light was a harsh mining lamp that hung from a post by the platform, lighting just that portion of the alley in a warm but uncomforting orange glow. The alley split off into separate offshoots, each giving the Alley of alleys its name. In a way, it was like the mine shafts that the people of the Fissures had toiled in a long while ago. It was an ironic mirroring of their serfdom, like the people hadn’t known how else to build a town. Or, they simply couldn’t. And yet nobody walked the street, not a soul. It was like they were ashamed to be seen here.

You glanced back to Lest, who had already strode forward once the gates had retracted. She descended down the staircase of rusted sheet metal that led up to the platform, taking one careful step at a time until she was on solid ground. You half expected her to glance back to you in return, to wait for you to follow. Yet she continued walking as if you weren’t there at all. You got the queue to catch up, and you descended the stairs with a hurry, your work boots stomping the loose metal as you descended. 

“I’ve got to ask.” You spoke up, finally catching up to your employer and keeping pace besides her as the both of you took a cautious stroll through the wide lane. “Whoever those guys mentioned, surely they’re not down here. I mean-” You paused, glancing down the offshooting alleys as you passed them one by one. Each lane was labeled with a name embroidered onto sheets of scrappy metal and pinned to the sides of the shanty walls, the only identifier to separate the rows. Waterhall, Captooth, Stormway, Emberfit, Dogheal. All of them sounded much more interesting than they looked, as every glance you gave to each of them held a sadder and more depressing sight than the last. “I don’t think anybody’s down here that wants to be seen.”

“Maybe you’re the one that doesn’t want to be seen down here, detective.” Lest hummed as she walked. She didn’t seem bothered at all by the surroundings, like she’s seen it all before, and worse. “It must be so convenient living up top. I’m sure one forgets places like this exist, once they’re out of sight and mind.”

“It’s not like that.” You muttered. She was talking to you like you lived across the river. Things may be bad down here, but they certainly weren’t perfect around where you lived. You followed Lest as she turned down one of the alleys, one marked with the name Epswell. This lane was as dark as the last, so thin you could barely walk down it. You felt like you were going to bang your shoulders against the scrap walls with every step. You passed door after door after door, like you were wading through and endless purgatory of locked doors and glimpses into impoverished lives through holes in the tin sheets or rifts in walls.

You kept your attention to your boss who walked in front of you. This wasn’t your home, and it wasn’t your business. You were here to follow a paper trail and follow it you would. All the way up to a single door, painted with chipped blood red. A tiny triangular sign dangled from a post above the frame, spelling out the title ‘Madame Blance’s’ in a yellowish glow in the dark paint.

“I know this place.” You hummed, looking up to the sign as Lest finally turned back to you and awaited on the other side of the frame with crossed arms. “I’ve heard of it- I mean.” Madam Blanche’s was almost mythical sounding in the mentions of it you’ve overheard at bars or on the street. It was cheap, it was always open, it was hard and yet so easy to find. It was a brothel. “Why here? It’s not my birthday, you know” You tried to joke to lighten the mood.

“You want to know who Black Cat is?” She crooked her eyebrow, then nodded to the door. She seemed more impatient with you than usual, and you weren’t sure if it was because of the scathing critique you gave her earlier, or if it was because she realized you didn’t belong down here. “You’re just going to have to be brave and head inside.”

“No objections from me, boss” You shrugged, looking back up to the sign again. “How do you know this place?” You snorted. “What, did you hang around here before you picked up painting?”

“Oh, you’re a real comedian, aren’t you?” Lest croaked with a clenched jaw, the feline irked squint in her eye giving you the impression that you should probably stop being a smart ass.

“Right. Right.” You yielded, taking a small step back. “You want to find our lead at the bottom of a whorehouse?” You reached forward and grabbed the knob of the red door. As you turned it, the handle felt so loose you could have pulled it off if you gripped too hard. You pulled the door open towards you, and held it for her. “You lead the way, then.”

𝙽𝚎𝚡𝚝 𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛

𝙿𝚛𝚎𝚟𝚒𝚘𝚞𝚜 𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 Taglist: @6selkie @madschiavelique @roku907

[mesetacadre]

Hello! This probably isnt the type of anon ask you were looking for but in case it is: Is there anything you would recommend for someone interested in the history of maps and atlases? Especially for navigating the sea

finally an ask about geography! god I love cartography.

Sadly I haven't had the time yet to accumulate bibliography, so far I've read Maps and Civilization, by N. J. Thrower (2002), it's a pretty good summary of the history of Cartography, and it isn't that eurocentric either which is great. I've also heard Cartography by E. Raisz is good. [Open those links with an adblocker please, I recommend ublock origin, because I don't know if they redirect to somewhere else without it]

Probably the earliest maps made for navigation were those of the nautical charts from the current day Marshall Islands. They were created using a grid of sticks alongside curved sticks for the ocean currents/winds and beads for the individual islands. It took a long time for colonizers to figure out exactly how to read these charts since their interpretation was an important secret to keep. These charts covered from just a few islands to thousands of kilometers of ocean and currents

Next, I'll take a big leap in time to the portolan charts. These maps were mainly made for navigation between ports in the Mediterranean between the 14th and 15th century, though they were used in other places sometimes, and they had an influence on the earliest maps depicting the Americas. Portolans are characterized by the windrose lines, which are a series of lines representing directions which all emanate from a compass rose. These maps had multiple compass roses.

The purpose of this type of map was to help mostly merchants to find their bearings and to chart efficient routes between ports, they could trace a line between whichever two ports, find the closest parallel windrose line, and they knew which compass direction they had to follow. These maps assume a flat earth, so they were only suitable for regional travels, like the various trade routes within the Mediterranean, and got less accurate the further you wanted to travel. This also made them unsuitable for the open sea.

This is a portolan made in 1466 by Petrus Roselli. It has this shape because maps made for navegation were drawn on animal hides, not paper, so the neck of the animal was preserved and sometimes used to hang or tie the map down, sometimes the scale was placed there, or another compass rose. Notice how it's decorated, there is a snake/lizard in the north of Africa, the Red Sea is literally red, and it's generally filled with drawings. This is because the portolan charts that have survived are predominantly those that were taken from real charts used in navegation and then decorated to give as gifts. This particular copy was probably gifted to some noble or rich person to hang on their wall, with decorations. Some of these maps that survive even have gold leaf on them.

Also notice how the coast's shape is very spot on, especially compared to maps from only a couple hundred years earlier:

This is Al Idryssi's General World Map, from 1154. It has been flipped N-S for comparison's sake, Arabic maps were generally drawn with south on top, sometimes with the east on top. Don't get me wrong, it's still a very good map for the time, but the coastlines don't hold a candle to any portolan.

Going back to the portolan, the coasts were very accurate because that was their purpose, to navigate from coast to coast. But you'll notice that there's basically no real useful information in the interior. The rivers are mostly guesswork, and the only consistently correct thing is the place where they meet the sea. And that's all I can talk about the interior, because these maps did not have an interior. This was part of the reason they were so heavily decorated when used as gifts, because they only showed windrose lines and port locations. Scotland is missing!.

This style of decoration was carried over from T-O maps, which I won't get into here but they are still a very interesting stage in map history.

There were a couple of very important schools when it comes to portolans: The Italian school(s), the Portuguese school, and the Mallorquine/Catalan school. The portolan I've shown above is from this last school, which also produced the most representative portolan of this time, the Catalan Atlas, by (possibly) Abraham Cresques (a Jewish person too!!) in 1375

It showed the world between the Atlantic and the far east, with a lot of compromises in detail the further east it goes.

This is the portion that shows the Mediterranean, stitched together so it's continuous. Notice the similarities with the 1466 portolan: The red sea, the north african snake (it's actually supposed to be the Atlas mountain range), the loss of detail in the North Atlantic and North Sea, and the very opulent decoration. It has gold leaf which I mentioned earlier, the sea is colored in, it has blocks of text describing either the region or some history, each city has a flag representing the political entity it belonged to, and much more. Also notice how, at the top, the drawings and letters are upside down. This is because this atlas was designed to be placed flat atop a table, so you could look at it from all sides.

Side note, this map contains a portrait of Mansa Musa, the ruler of the Mali Empire in the 14th century, who was probably one of the richest people to have ever lived. The portrait from this map is the one you've probably seen if you've ever learnt about him

It also has this flag for the Golden Horde, which you will definitely know if you've played any map game set in this period

Anyway, back on topic

The first map to properly show the Americas was Juan de la Cosa's, made in 1500. It is important not only for being the first, but it was also made by someone who was present in Columbus' first 2 voyages

(the Americas are in green)

It's very clear how it not only still uses the portolan style of windrose lines, it also carries over those maps' decorations. By now, however, the world that was to be represented was getting too big for portolan maps, which as we've discussed assumed a flat earth, so it began to be ditched for actual projections, like Waldseemüller's from 1507, which used the same concept as Ptolomey's projection from all the way in the 2nd century

Which is when we get to the misunderstood Mercator projection. It was not made to exaggerate the northern hemisphere over the equator. In fact, the land it exaggerates the most was the one inside the arctic circle, where almost nobody lived except for the native peoples to those regions. The fact that the southern hemisphere seems to be disfavored is because there is simply less southern land in that hemisphere, so there is no land to exaggerate where the Mercator projection would exaggerate. In fact, Antarctica (at this time they did not know about Antarctica, and the mass of land was the theorized Terra Australis, a supposed landmass that would balance the bigger amount of land in the northern hemisphere) is very much exaggerated in modern maps. This projection was created for navigation at sea, since any straight line drawn on this projection is also a straight line in the actual globe

Mercator's Mapae Mundi from 1569 still had the portolan windrose lines, a clear nod to the navigational tradition this map was continuing. The fact that this projection became so popular and the "standard" way to represent the earth has shaped most people's perception of the earth, but that's not the projection's fault, it's the people who decide to use an unfit map instead of actually proper projections like Robinson's. A big reason why Mercator's projection is so overused is because it's rectangular, no doubt.

[likivi-designs]

Pelican Painting in blue and gray on recycled materials

[printabledesignrf]

Cute mermaid wall art

[phantmheart]

dev patel, thirty-one, he/him   ⟡   —   is that AMIR KAPADIA i just saw walking around kilmer’s cove? i heard they’re a RESIDENT who’s been here for SIX YEARS. it slipped my mind, since they just tend to hang out at THE PLAYHOUSE. at face value, they’re said to be CREATIVE and PATIENT, but i don’t know… some people have said they can be quite STUBBORN and RESERVED. just don’t get on their bad side, i guess! don’t tell them i told you this, but i’ve heard they DO believe in all the ghost stories around town. who knows what the future holds for them!   

basics

• full name: ashwin amir kapadia

• preferred name: amir

• nicknames: am ; ash (by his family)

• gender: cis male

• pronouns: he/him

• age: 31

• date of birth: 12th january 1993

• zodiac sign: capricorn

• sexuality: heterosexual

• place of birth: edinburgh, scotland

• nationality: british-american (dual citizenship)

• occupation: jeweller & metalsmith ; owner of charmed & co

• residence: a small two bedroom house

• aesthetics: the cool salty sea air, wax jackets, vintage books, piles of warm blankets, sparkling gemstones in the sun, steaming cups of tea, handmade cable-knit jumpers, old cinema tickets

appearance

• faceclaim: dev patel

• height: 6'

• build: average

• eyes: brown

• hair: black

• piercings: none

• tattoos: nautical compass on his inner left forearm ; two maple leaves on his right shoulder ; others tbd

• style:

personality

• positive traits: creative, kind, resourceful, intelligent, compassionate, helpful, hardworking, punctual, considerate

• negative traits: reserved, stubborn, shy

• mbti: infj - the advocate

• likes: art, literature, sweet foods, music, going for walks, reading when its raining outside, tea

• dislikes: extreme temperatures, arrogance, heavy metal music, poor standards, sports

• phobias: arachnophobia ; entomophobia

• hobbies: reading, listening to music, playing the piano, watching films, collecting old books, going to the theatre

• skills: ambidextrous (but favours his right hand), pianist (for 25 years)

• pet peeves: tardiness, sexism, prejudice, being interrupted, cutting corners

family

• mother: amrita kapadia

• father: rishi kapadia

• siblings: samira anjali kapadia (younger sister by three years)

• fiancée: tippi elizabeth saint-james

favourites

• food: anything spicy, usually his mother’s curry recipe

• drink: scotch whisky ; lemonade

• time of the day: evening

• weather: dry and cool

• colours: blue ; red ; silver

• music genres: anything classical ; film scores ; alternative

bio

— amir was born at 3:13pm on 12th january 1993 to rishi kapadia, a lawyer, and his wife amrita, an artist and art teacher. he has one younger sister named samira. they resided in edinburgh until amir was five and then moved to london to be closer to family.

— the kapadias had always been close, going out on the weekends to some place educational or of historical importance, and holidaying across the uk, sometimes venturing abroad to places like germany, italy, the united states, and mexico. the trips themselves served as valuable family time as well as creative inspiration for amrita. later amir would take inspiration, too, and use his wonderful childhood memories to create unique and beautiful things. 

— when amir was 11, the family moved back to edinburgh so his father could pursue a better job offer and his mother could set up her own shop in the city centre. on the weekends, amir spent a lot of time in the shop, helping out with daily tasks and serving customers; he grew to live the social side of it and also learned more from his mother about making jewellery. 

— amir was a daydreamer in school. he enjoyed learning, but would rather stare at a wall and think about the book he was reading or the documentary he’d watched on the weekend. it got him into trouble a couple of times, but the teachers were consistently impressed with his grades. for a long time he wanted to be a filmmaker, but having been inspired by his mother’s art from a young age and his fascination with her jewellery in particular amir decided, at the age of 15, that he wanted to make his own jewellery. his parents were very supportive of his choice and so was his sister, but only after a long period of teasing him for picking a ‘girly’ job.

— he went on to university at the age of 18, studying jewellery & silversmithing at the university of edinburgh, and loved it. amir made plenty new friends who were like-minded and enjoyed living away from home even if he had stayed in the same city. he excelled in his course and almost took a masters degree, but changed his mind at the last minute.

— after graduating, amir decided to spend a couple of months travelling alone in new england. it was something he'd wanted to do his whole life and also used it as a chance to gain inspiration for his work. he stumbled upon kilmer’s cove by accident, but felt strangely drawn to the place. he spent two weeks there and had to leave for connecticut, but he never forgot about it and looked back fondly through photographs he took.

— he returned home and worked with his mother at her shop as well as on his own jewellery making. amir began to sell his products in the shop and proved to be incredibly popular, especially with tourists, and it was this success that made amir realise he’d made the right choice in pursuing his passions and turning them into a career, even when there were times when he wanted to quit.

— at the age of 25, amir said goodbye to scotland and relocated alone to kilmer’s cove. it was daunting at first, but his heart was in that little coastal town and knew he had to give it a shot. with the money he had earned from commissions and with a little help from his parents, he managed to buy a little shop in the heart of town and establish it as a boutique selling handmade bespoke jewellery and metalwork. he named it ‘charmed & co’.

— amir met his now fiancée tippi not long after he made the move. he struck up a conversation with her as they waited in line at a café, with him asking what she would recommend off the menu. a few weeks later, she came into charmed & co and that’s when he asked her out on a date. the rest is history!

— he now lives with tippi and their cat shelby and are planning to get married in the summer of 2025.

[erasabledinosaur]

finally added the store items to my game, thank god i did because i desperately needed more wall hangings options (plus theres some cute nautical and surf deco store items)

[stonecreationsoflongislandinc]

Stone Creations of Long Island, Deer Park, NY 11729 by Paul Saladino Via Flickr: Here are some outdoor living design inspiration ideas: Patio and Outdoor Spaces: 1. Fire Pit Oasis: Create a cozy seating area around a fire pit, perfect for chilly evenings. 2. Outdoor Kitchen: Design a fully-equipped kitchen with countertops, grill, and dining area. 3. Pergola Retreat: Build a pergola with vines, lights, and comfortable seating. 4. Water Feature: Incorporate a small pond, fountain, or waterfall for soothing sounds. Landscape and Hardscape: 1. Native Plant Garden: Showcase local flora for low-maintenance beauty. 2. Outdoor Lighting: Strategically place solar-powered lights for ambiance. 3. Paver Patterns: Use different paver patterns to create visual interest. 4. Retaining Walls: Build walls with plants, stones, or wood for texture. Outdoor Decor: 1. Outdoor Furniture: Choose weather-resistant materials like wicker, metal, or recycled plastic. 2. Color Scheme: Select a palette that complements your home's exterior. 3. Textiles: Add throw pillows, blankets, and rugs for warmth. 4. Lighting Fixtures: Hang string lights, lanterns, or chandeliers. Functional Features: 1. Outdoor Shower: Install a shower for convenience. 2. Storage: Incorporate outdoor storage benches or cabinets. 3. Outdoor Heating: Add a patio heater or fire pit. 4. Smart Home Integration: Control outdoor lighting, temperature, and music. Long Island-Inspired Ideas: 1. Beach Vibes: Incorporate natural elements like driftwood, nautical colors. 2. Garden Oasis: Create a tranquil garden with Long Island native plants. 3. Waterfront Views: Take advantage of waterfront views with outdoor seating. Would you like more information ? Call us at (631) 678-6896 or come visit us at www.stonecreationsoflongisland.net

[stcclhope]

The public library? Really? It wasn't exactly the worst option to engage in nautical behavior like this, but when you had someone as beautiful and enticing as Rebekka in front of you, you had to have as much fun with her as possible, especially if you were going all in on breaking the rules. A part of him felt surprised that Bekka was just as keen on doing something like this with him, but she wouldn't clear him for work duties until she personally felt like all of his issues had been worked on enough for him to function in human society again. Such a realization hadn't yet come to fruition, and so it only enabled to continue on this path with his destructive behavior. Opening up the bathroom door and pushing Bekka inside before quickly closing the door behind them, Eddie immediately went to town on his therapist, pressing her against the wall and quickly disrobing her of her blouse. Their lips engaged against one another heavily in action, all the while Eddie's hands continued to roam her body, traveling up her legs and under her skirt. With his hands firmly on her underwear, he slowly pulled them down while maintaining eye contact with her, specifically to let her know who was in charge here. She didn't have any control outside of her own office, and whenever she was around him, Eddie would make all of the big calls. Call the shots. Do whatever he felt like doing and she was all but ready to sub into his activities and nefarious ideas. He spun her around on the sink, making Bekka face the mirror while he ripped her skirt off with nothing more than pure aggression. "See that woman in the mirror? She's mine. She knows exactly who I am and what I do to her," he explained, reaching for her hair and pulling it back towards him while she continued to stare directly at herself. With his own pants dropped to the floor and Bekka's top just barely managing to hang on with how incredibly rough he was being with the therapist, Eddie began his own rhythmic pattern, shoving his length into her throbbing core from behind while making her stare face first against the mirror so closely she could touch it. "Beg," he demanded. // @whereisthatwritten