#Stronger than the Undertow

[prismatica-the-strange]

I love them, your honor

[prismatica-the-strange]

For Eric and Mairead?

They're both experienced sailors and she's quite good with a weapon should the need arise

Reblog with your F/O and/or S/I and I'll assign them a dragon (from HTTYD)

I'm a huge nerd for this series. I'm not like Fishlegs and know everything about every dragon but I just think it'll be a fun game!

[kurokawaia]

❛ Enemies to lovers ❜

Uchiha Sasuke X Fem!Reader

| SFW | REQUEST? yes | ! headcanons !

WC; 1.6k+ | !MDNI! | TW/CW; sasuke is a trigger warning by himself, not anything suggestive but sasuke is mean guys bsf. Prerouge!Sasuke X fem!Reader & Rouge!Sasuke X fem!Reader

⋆·˚ ༘ * 𝑅𝐸𝒬𝒰𝐸𝒮𝒯 :: @bejeweledgirl - Hiiii!! Could you please write Sasuke x reader enemies to lovers head canons? Thank you !!! 🫶🏻🫶🏻

a/note :: also, Julie, by any chance do we follow each other on wattpad, or am i tweaking? but other than that, i hope you enjoy 🫶🏼

m.list | naruto/boruto m.list | uchiha m.list

Konoha path (before he leaves the village - meeting him in Konoha)

Well, if we are talking about how you two meet in Konoha, it will have to start back at the Academy. Sasuke just hated you for no absolute reason, but then he grew a reason—he thought you were weak and a nuisance. He thinks that you shouldn't even belong in the Academy. Fact is, you are quite strong, but he refuses to see that because he already set his mind that you are below him.

It all started when you two were put into the same team—Team 7—and then that just made him realize your abilities weren't that useless after all. But he still believed you were weak, with no business to be a ninja. This had you start to hate him, too. You started hating his cold demeanor, how avenging his clan and getting stronger seemed to be his whole personality.

But for all your mutual agrender, at times you just so happened to glimpses of his competence and prowess that forced a value to admire. On the field, you two would watch other back without being asked which in itself was a wordless testament to the amount of confidence one possessed in other. But you two would go back to silently hating each other after those moments, Sasuke being more open about it now.

Sasuke's thoughts: 'I have to keep an eye on her because she's too weak to be left on her own devices.' You're: 'I don't get it, really; why does he think I am so weak? Maybe I've got to show my teamwork up a little better.'

Those moments, when they came, made you wonder if all that hatred ran so deep. You are almost cordial with each other during fights, but that's not it. It's the both of yours mentality that has you seeking each other out during battle, protecting each other subconsciously. But that icy wall that stands between you refuses to thaw a single degree outside of combat.

However, in the time he is there, you notice the way his gaze lingered on you, post-battle, just a little longer than appropriate, a hint of vulnerability in his eyes when he thought nobody else was watching.

He had one mission where he had to react out of the ordinary, to ensure that your weak ass wasn't getting hurt. The straw that broke the camel's back was during one particularly tough mission. With nowhere else to go and severely outnumbered, you took a terrible injury. Sasuke's reaction was instant, and his protective instincts overpowered his usual detachment.

Fight with an emotion you had never seen, he puts your safety before his own and then after he bets himself with the mission. Sasuke had wasted precious time to save you during a mission? Impossible. Unconsciously, he knew you were weak and helped you before you got killed.

You obviously thought you were going to die.

Ever since, the dynamics between the two of you had changed. Sasuke, still aloof, started to look for you during training sessions, though his form of critique was of a lesser degree—more constructive than hurtful. At some occasions, he would even ask you for some help, but he was obviously abrasive about it.

The banter was aggressive in the beginning, but now it was tinged with the undertow of mutual respect, and both you and Sasuke started to look forward to these moments. The trust was not strong, for both took it as something fickle—a bridge that connected the gap between enemies and allies.

You found out more about Sasuke's character than the one he usually let out as you guys spent more time together: his dry sense of humor; the way his eyes softened whenever he deemed necessary to mention something about the past, be it ill or good; his unwavering determination to protect those he held dear.

Your relationship shifted irreversibly; the sharp enmity that earlier defined your interactions was replaced by a deep, wordless fellowship. You realized how thin that border between enemies and lovers can be, and that the most profound relationships often come about in the crucible of quiet understanding and shared struggles.

It was more or less this that almost drove Sasuke out from the village, and at the end of it all, what had begun as hating for each other soon developed into something much larger than life itself.

Your relation toward Sasuke was the way to understand this and to acceptance. You hadn't made your best effort to drag him back to the village, didn't shed any tears because this is what Sasuke really wanted, you were going to acknowledge.

Right there and then when you spoke on how you felt he swore something heating grew inside of him. You weren't going to be mad at him, not yell at him for his decision.

Rouge Ninja path (after he left the village - meeting him while he's a rouge)

You met Uchiha Sasuke under the worst of circumstances. Just allied with Orochimaru, your mission was to keep an eye on him, work just as dangerous as it was interesting to you. Sasuke, brooding and standoffish, made it clear he hated every moment of your company.

To him, you were a shadow unwanted, a living reminder of all his failures and entanglements. You found some strange fun in needling at him, maybe to cover up your own insecurities. Very soon, you could see his gorge rise at your constant presence.

From that very moment, when you met, there was electric tension between the two of you. It smoldered in his narrowed eyes whenever you entered a room and tightened into a set jaw when you spoke.

"You're in my way," he would growl, with a hint of venom in his tone. Yet you never backed off. If anything, you pushed harder, finding glee in the cracks of his iced exterior. "Is that so, Sasuke? Or do you just hate that I'm not afraid of you?"

Every mission together was a war of minds. You were good, obviously so, and it got on Sasuke's nerves. He couldn't stand the way you apparently predicted his moves, the way you pushed him. But more than that, he hated how your presence made him feel: torn apart.

But part of him had begrudged your strength and wit, even if he would never say it out loud. You could feel it in the way his eyes flickered with something almost like appreciation when you pulled off a flawless jutsu or handled some tricky situation deftly.

Despite the undercurrent of tension, there were moments when camaraderie would surprisingly reveal itself. One evening, after a really tough training session, you found yourselves sitting next to each other and watching the sunset.

The silence was comfortable, which was rare between the two of you.

"Why did you come to Orochimaru's side?" Sasuke asked abruptly, his voice softer than usual. You turned to him with surprise at the question. "I have my reasons," you said mysteriously, looking out toward the horizon. "Just like you."

Something shifted in you both the first time you were ambushed during a particularly brutal mission. Outnumbered, you found yourselves fighting for survival, quite literally, with your backs to each other. And something in you both shifted in that instant. You both were no longer enemies but reluctant allies.

Your synchronicity was perfect—an unsaid understanding that passed between you. As the dust settled and the enemies lay defeated, you turned to him, breathless and bruised. "Not bad, Sasuke," you said, a real smile breaking through your usual facade. For a split second, you thought you saw the corner of his mouth twitch upward.

You became less aggressive toward one another from that time forward, and begrudging respect replaced the hostility. Sasuke still rolled his eyes at your antics, but you began to notice how his gaze now lingered a little longer, the way he sometimes sought out your opinion. The walls he built around himself were high, but he found satisfaction in every small crack you could create.

And Sasuke, though he'd never say it aloud, looked forward to your company, your banter, and your presence.

There would come times when the barrier between you seemed impossible to breach. The memories of his clan, his brother, and the darkness he had covered himself with to amass power would have him closing off. You understood pain and loss, having your share of the scars, and sometimes in those rare quiet moments, you shared bits of your past with him. He listened, not always responding, but you knew that he'd heard you. And it was in those moments that the chasm between you seemed a little to narrow.

It was on one of those quiet evenings, both of you resting by the campfire, that the tension broke. You were teasing him about his brooding nature; he snapped, grabbing your wrist and pulling you close.

"Why do you always have to annoy me?" he growled, his voice low and heavy with restraint. You held his gaze, your heart pounding. "Maybe because I see something in you that you refuse to see in yourself," you whispered. His grip tightened a fraction before loosening, his expression unreadable.

For an instant, the space between you disappeared. Sasuke's hold relaxed, his eyes questing yours. And then, the next thing you knew, his lips were on yours, hard, demanding. A kiss riddled with that pent-up frustration, anger, and undeniable attraction that was building up between the two of you. The moment you both pulled back, out of breath, your gaze locked in with his, and the anger or annoyance that swam there previously was replaced with something deeper—something that you both had been denying for far too long.

The following days were emotional ones. You and Sasuke continued training and taking up missions, but now there is a new layer in your relationship with each other. The stolen glances, subtle touches, occasional tender moments when one thought nobody else was looking.

Sasuke began to realize that life offers more than vengeance and power—companionship, trust, maybe even love.

Do not copy, steal, modify, etc. Relogs and like are appreciated.

m.list | naruto/boruto m.list | uchiha m.list

taglist :: @enouche @lovelyandproblematic @kayleegomez

[littlest-w01f]

Enchanting

Eris x Witch!OC (Anastasiya)

ERIS MASTERLIST

MAIN MASTERLIST

Summary: Rhysand betrays the female who thought he loved her, she leaves to find comfort in Autumn

Cw: Pregnancy, Rhys cheating

part one

Anastasiya was nearly bouncing on the seat she was sitting in all excited, Madja had taken her blood to test her, she felt it in her, but she wanted it to be confirmed by a healer. She'd asked Azriel to accompany her who watched her with a smile.

She'd been with Rhysand for a couple centuries, he'd asked her to marry her before he'd been held prisoner in Under the Mountain, and now that he'd been back for a couple of months. Anastasiya and Rhysand had resumed the wedding planning in full force, and she was excited to marry the male she loved.

As they waited anxiously for Madja's return with the results, Azriel reached over to gently squeeze Anastasiya's hand, offering comfort and reassurance. His hazel eyes sparkled with warmth and affection as he gazed at his oldest friend.

In the brief time since Rhysand's return, the Velaris court had buzzed with renewed energy and joy. The Night Court's High Lord and his bride-to-be were the epitome of star-crossed lovers, their bond stronger than any curse or darkness. Their upcoming nuptials promised to be a spectacular celebration, blending the elegance of Faerie with the passion of the mortal realm.

Anastasiya's mind wandered to the lavish preparations underway - the intricate lace adorning her wedding gown, the fragrant blooms that would adorn the ceremony space, and the delectable feasts planned for the reception.

In recent weeks, Rhysand had started to spend a lot of his time with Feyre, the female who had helped free them, Anastasiya was thankful to her for bringing her fiance back and she just hoped Rhysand would be as happy with the new development.

"It's positive, Ana," Madja smiled, walking into her room, "You're with child."

"I knew it." Anastasiya squealed, a wide smile full of happiness spread across her face, jumping up to hug Azriel, his wings and shadows wrapping around her in comfort and almost in protection, she rested her hand on her abdomen, stroking her soft stomach slightly, "Rhys would be so happy!"

The news brought a wave of euphoria to the usually composed female. Her heart swelled with joy, her future filled with hope and promise. A baby, a tiny piece of herself and Rhysand, growing inside her womb, it was both terrifying and exhilarating.

Azriel pulled her closer, his strong arms enveloping her as she leaned into him. He could see the love and fear flicker in her eyes, a reflection of the myriad emotions coursing through her veins. But he was there, steadfast and unyielding, a pillar of support.

"You will make a wonderful mother, my love," he murmured softly, his voice carrying a gentle undertow of pride. "I'm going to be an uncle." Azriel chuckled, hugging Anastasiya tight, chin resting on the top of her head, "Mother, that's amazing."

Madja smiled, handing Anastasiya the results she got from her blood, she was healthy and pregnant. Pregnant with the heir of the Night Court.

"Don't you have someone to tell, Stasiya?" Azriel smiled softly, watching her giddy with happiness.

"Rhysie! Gotta tell Rhys!" Anastasiya nodded, wearing her heels and rushing out

With a final reassuring pat on her back, Azriel watched as Anastasiya rushed off, her excitement palpable even from afar. It warmed his heart to see her so happy. Azriel turned to Madja to pay her.

Anastasiya's mind was filled with ways she could tell Rhysand as she looked everywhere for him. She reached close to the cabin by winnowing when she'd decided she would tell him face to face normally.

"Morri!" Anastasiya smiled seeing Mor, but when Mor smiled, it didn't reach her eye. "Do you know where Rhys is? Is he inside? He told me he'd be in Illyria... I've been everywhere." She spoke fast.

"Ana..." Mor looked at her with alarm in her eyes, "Come on, honey, Rhys is back in Velaris."

Anastasiya looked at her with confusion, "No, he's not...? I searched for him everywhere there, he's got to be around here."

Mor grabbed her hand to pull her away, not wanting to see what was happening inside the cabin, "Come now, Ana, let's go to the townhouse."

"Mor is something wrong?" Anastasiya tilted her head at the frown on Mor.

"Nothing, everything is fine, we should go." Mor tried to pull Anastasiya but it was futile, her body didn't move an inch.

All the joy the news of being pregnant had made her died the second she ignored Mor and looked through the cabin windows and saw them, Rysand was inside, cuddling Feyre from behind while Feyre was cooking.

Anastasiya stood frozen, her world shattering around her as she witnessed the intimate scene unfolding before her eyes. The man she loved, the father of her unborn child, cradling another female in his arms with such tenderness and affection. It was a sight that seared itself into her memory, each detail etched with agonizing clarity.

The once vibrant colours of the world seemed to fade, replaced by a dull, aching grey. The joyous news of her pregnancy now felt like a cruel joke, a mockery of the life she thought she had built with Rhysand.

Tears streamed down her face as she stumbled backwards, unable to tear her gaze away from the betrayal playing out before her. "What... What is that?"

The love and tenderness between Rhysand and Feyre, once a mere acquaintance, now blossomed into something deeper. A pang of betrayal and hurt coursed through Anastasiya's veins, threatening to consume her.

Her initial elation at at starting a family with the man she adored, crumbled beneath the weight of this revelation. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes as she struggled to comprehend the magnitude of the situation.

Mor's attempts to guide her away only served to fuel Anastasiya's anguish. She couldn't tear her gaze from the window, transfixed by the sight of Rhysand's hands caressing Feyre's waist, his lips trailing kisses along her neck.

"Ana..." Mor began softly, still keeping a distance.

"What's that," She asked again, tears stinging her eyes, "Don't lie." Anastasiya's chest tightened, each breath becoming more laboured as she grappled with the reality of the situation. Her world seemed to tilt on its axis, the ground shifting beneath her feet.

She blinked away the tears welling in her eyes, trying to focus on Mor's concerned face. Her fingers clenched into fists at her sides, nails digging into her palms as she fought against the rising tide of despair.

"This isn't what it looks like, Ana," Mor said, her voice laced with empathy. "Feyre saved us all. We owe her our lives."

"But…" Anastasiya's voice trailed off, the word caught in her throat. She couldn't deny the evidence staring back at her. Rhysand's hands on Feyre, the way he looked at her, it was clear how he felt about the female, because it was exactly how he looked at her.

"They're mates..." Mor whispered softly, "Rhysand asked us to not say anything, I didn't want to hurt you."

The words hit Anastasiya like a physical blow, knocking the wind out of her lungs. Mates. The bond that transcended all others, the connection that bound two souls together for eternity. It explained the intimacy, the familiarity between Rhysand and Feyre.

A bitter laugh escaped her lips, tinged with a mixture of disbelief and pain. "Mates," she repeated, the word tasting like ashes on her tongue. "And here I thought I was his, that we were building a life together."

The realization that she had been nothing more than a placeholder, a temporary comfort until his true mate came along, cut deeper than any blade ever could. Tears streamed down her face, blurring her vision as she stumbled backwards, away from the cabin and the shattering of her dreams. "I need to leave."

"Please, let him explain. Let me explain." Mor reached out for her but Anastasiya recoiled.

Anastasiya shook her head, tears streaming down her cheeks as she backed away from Mor. The very thought of listening to explanations, of hearing Rhysand justify his actions, was unbearable. "I don't want to hear it."

The Night Court shook with the cry of the furious little witch that stood in the townhouse, Anastasiya sobbed, filled with anger more than sadness as she pushed her things into a bag, her mind racing to where she could go, she wanted to disappear, never see any of the people who had lied to her ever again.

Rhysand was currently cheating on her, cheating on her with Feyre, his mate. He hadn't told her he had found his mate. Anastasiya felt stupid, all his claims of love were fake, she shouldn't have believed him when he said he would love her if she wasn't his mate.

He'd been courting her behind everyone's back. Cassian and Amren knew too, she and Azriel had been kept out of the loop. The revelation that her closest friends had known about this secret, yet chose to keep it from her, only added salt to the wound.

With trembling hands, Anastasiya zipped up her bag, the sound echoing in the empty room. She cast one last glance around the space that had once been filled with laughter and love, now tainted by the bitterness of deception.

As she stepped out into the hallway, ready to leave this place behind forever, a sudden wave of dizziness overtook her. The room spun, and she reached out to steady herself against the wall, her free hand instinctively cradling her stomach. The reminder of the life growing within her, a product of her love for Rhysand, only intensified the ache in her heart.

"Stasiya..." Azriel moved from his shadows behind her, she'd always been able to tell where he was but this time she didn't have a clue this time.

"Why would he do this to me?" Anastasiya sniffed, turning on her heel to press her face into Azriel's chest, holding him tight.

"I'm so sorry, darling..." Azriel comforted her, hand stroking her hair, "How can I help?" he cupped her cheeks, wiping her tears away.

"I... I need to get out of here..." Anastasiya's lip quivered, feeling a sudden flip in her emotions. "I... Need to go to Autumn... I have friends there, I want them."

The Autumn witches, Anastasiya had been friends with them for a long time, and only Azriel was the one who knew that part of her life, the only one she had told she was a witch. He was the only one who knew her.

Azriel's heart broke seeing Anastasiya in such distress. He held her close, letting her cry into his chest as he stroked her hair soothingly. "Shh, it's alright, I've got you," he murmured. "We'll get through this together."

He understood her desire to escape, to surround herself with familiar faces and comforting memories. The Autumn Court held a special place in her heart, a sanctuary untouched by the recent revelations.

Azriel cupped her face tenderly, wiping away her tears with his thumbs. "Of course, darling. I'll take you there myself. You deserve to be surrounded by those who truly care for you." He picked her up, one arm under her knee and the other her neck to pick her up. His shadows supported her things in the air.

Azriel flew fast, court to court, over the waters till the Autumn trees came into sight, he landed between where Autumn met Spring, a quick loophole to avoid detection by either High Lords, in the time he'd been flying, Anastasiya had fallen asleep. He momentarily walked around the woods, trying to find the hut his friend had described plenty of times.

While he was looking for the hut a female appeared in front of him, "By the Cauldron, is that Anastasiya?"

Azriel watched the female, his shadows hissing at her power but not approaching her, he noted her unusual green eyes, bright red hair, and the way he could sense her power that his friend always talked of, "Are you Aradia? My friend need you, please."

"Yes," Aradia nodded, flashing before him, glowing red, sensing something that wasn't right, demanding. "What happened to her? WHO HURT HER?"

Azriel couldn't help but flinch at the powerful tone, he'd never actually felt a witch's power over him, "She'll tell you that herself, but she wished to be with you, please help her."

It was his genuine tone that softened Aradia, "Of course, I will." She took Anastasiya from him, "Do not tell anyone she is here now."

"I wasn't planning on it... Thank you." Azriel nodded in his farewell before he flew out.

Aradia cradled Anastasiya in her arms, her keen senses picking up on the faint aura of pregnancy surrounding the younger woman. A pang of protectiveness surged through her veins.

{General Taglist- @nox-ceur @lilah-asteria @paleidiot @dee-writes-smut @adalia-jaycee @anarchiii @alwayshave-faith @velarisnightsky444 @minnieoo}

{Eris Taglist- @fxckmiup @slut4acotar @secret-third-thing @shadowsingers-mate @fieldofdaisiies @st4r-girl-official}

[universallydestinytaco]

The Little Smiling Mermaid (Chapter 8)

Guess what kind of feral edgelord gremlin has eight legs and one bad attitude? 🔮 Also double the musical numbers, double the fun! :D

As Damien rested under a tree to take his mind off his blunder, his eye briefly caught Pim, plus a reluctant Alan and Glep, all swimming off with the unscrupulous eel taking them somewhere. Damien closely inspected with open ears as they swam farther, catching wind that he was taking them to see a miracle worker who could grant one's heart's desire, and in Pim's case, legs. Knowing right away that something was a miss, he followed the party in an attempt to set right what he did wrong. "Pimberly, no!" Damien cried, catching up from behind. Pim whipped his head back and shot the nastiest glare he ever gave towards him. "Look, I know we've been distant for so long, but you gotta believe me, I tried to tell him not to destroy-" Pim furiously chewed out Damien: "You left me behind like Amy did and joined in with the rest of the family ostracizing me and Graham for years and NOW you want to have anything to do with me? Not to mention snooping around and revealing where I was hiding!? IS THIS JUST A SICK JOKE TO YOU!?" Damien backed away, not used to the usually sweet and passive mercritter just now unleashing his wrath. "Pimberly...It wasn't my choice...I tried to stop it...please don't follow this guy, I have a sneaking suspicion you're getting tricked!" he fruitlessly pleaded, Pim replied before swimming off in a huff, not looking back: "Why don't you go tell our father? You're good at that!" Damien stayed in place, witnessing the headstrong Pim trail off once again, before his conscience nagged at him to at least quietly follow and make sure his littlest sibling wasn't getting into trouble.

~

Charlie woke up in the twilight hours of the night, after one peculiar dream where he was about to propose to Mipnessa in front of his friends, family, and nameless background peons until the mysterious rosy-haired stranger emerged from the sea in a sparkling blue dress to lure him away with her beautiful voice; Next thing he found himself breathing underwater and the beautiful mystery lover he swam with turned out to be a mermaid. Charlie immediately recalled the time-around these hours was when he first met the pink maiden. Suddenly having a hunch he might get another change to reunite with “her”, Charlie carefully tip-toed outside to run out to the beach side near his castle, observing closely on every corner, yet still no sign of the mystery critter (yet). Perhaps “she” was angry over “her” cloak being given away to someone else, or maybe “she” was just waiting for the right time to save him again. Feeling overwhelmed, Charlie had to let it all out: “All I ever wanted was the open sea and sky.... freedom from the life I always knew... now all I am is haunted as days and hours roll by, all I ever think about is you…” Charlie felt the wind blowing in his face and the waves becoming stronger as he poured more of his feelings into his song: “There you are, over me, taking me with your song... to wild uncharted waters~ Miles beyond the sea! I was darkness-bound, I had almost drowned 'til you came around, and you found me!! Now I am on the shoreline but I'm still lost at seaaa! in these wild uncharted waters, come find me...again...” Suddenly it all came back to Charlie, the wild party that went off the hook and lead him to that fateful encounter, oh how it started to rev up his adrenaline. “All I do is wonder who you are and where you'll be~ In my mind, your melody goes oooon~ stronger than the undertow~ The night you rescued me, silhouetted by the rising dawn~” Vivid flashbacks haunted Charlie's memory, it all became clearer now: the loving, gentle critter who sang to him after saving his life juxtaposed to the sting of guilt he felt over how he just-so happened to be Mipnessa's suitor. How's he gonna explain this dilemma? "Oh, over you...I cannot get over yooou in wild uncharted waters beyond where man can see~ when your eyes outshine the horizon line~ and you're finally real, here beside me~ Now I'm right here on the shoreline~ I'm right where you left meee! And your voice is like a siren that guides me to wild uncharted waters~ alone, just you and meee! And I hope you're there in the open air~ There's no map or compass to guide me! No time may change the shoreline but time will not change meeee~!" Charlie faced the roaring tides, singing one last passionate vent of frustration and love: "If it takes my life, I will finally find you aaaagain!~ In uncharted waters, come find me aaagaaaain!!!~"

~

"Well, what are you waiting for? Come on in." An ominous voice echoed from inside a freaky-looking cavern fashioned out of a long-dead sea beast's remains, with crop of long spindly vines to have long-claimed it's dominance over the massive corpse as a long period of time passed, much of which made some admittingly cool-looking curtains. As Pim (hiding Alan and Glep in his hair) slowly proceeded, he felt as if where stringy little hands trying to reach out to him, as he turned around he was surprised to find that some of the vines decorating the cavern where seemingly trying to hold him back from potentially making a decision he'd regret for all time. Pim had finally caught a glimpse at the fabled sea witch himself, lounging on an anemone sofa and casually watching a couple bicker on his crystal ball. The sea witch casually muttered: "Oh yeah, and don't go lurking in my doorway like that, that's just annoying." Pim swam inside the witch's room and curtsied, "I'm sorry, I don't mean to be a bother...My name is-" The witch sassed back: "Honey, you're a critter that needs no introduction! I know all about you! You're the little scamp who fled from that ever-burning shipwreck of a palace!" Pim felt creeped out. "How do you know about me?" The witch let out a bold laugh, getting off his sofa and putting on some theatrics as he swam around Pim with a doting voice: "I'm kinda like your guardian angel watching over you, making sure everything would lead to you finding me so I could make your biggest dream come true...they call me Grim around these corners." Pim greeted: "Thank you helping me, Grim." Grim got down to business, further elaborating: "Now, then, you're here... because you have a thing for this land critter, this uh...Prince fella?" Pim replied: "Not only that, but because the surface is such an amazing place and I'd love to further explore it! My father always told me it was cruel and uncaring, but from what I've seen it's gorgeous and full of life!" Grim couldn't help but remark: "You must be real easily-amused, because from what I've seen, it's more boring than dangerous....not that I blame you. That land critter is quite a catch, isn't he?" Pim grinned and nodded in agreement. "Well, angelfish, the solution to your problem is simple! The only way to get what you want is to-" "-become a land critter myself!" "Woah there, bloke, did I ASK for you to cut me off?" Pim bowed his head in regret, "I'm sorry." Grim put his finger under Pim's chin and pushed it up so they'd meet eye-to-eye, only for the shy critter's pupils to trail off. "But, of course I can do that, that's what I do! It's what I live for: to help poor little bastards like you who have no one else to turn to!" The music started up, Alan and Glep (plus Damien spying in a blind spot) anxiously anticipated what this magician had up his sleeve.

"I admit that in the past, I've been a little nasty~ They weren't kidding when they called me a real sunnovabitch! But you'll find that nowadays I've mended all my ways! Repented, seen the light and made a switch True? Yeeees~ And I fortunately know a little magic, It's a talent that I aIways have possessed! And here lateIy, please don't laugh, I use it on behalf Of the miserable lonely and depressed-" Grim couldn't help at make a side-glance with a snark- "Pathetic."- before continuing his song. "Poor unfortunate soooouls~ In pain, in neeeeed~" He conjured up an image of two of his past clients, a weakling shrimp and a brunette mermaid with lovely green eyes and freckles, both of which looked down in the dumps. "This one longing to be stronger, that one's a pretty lonely girl! And do I help them?" He altered the images to make it so that not only they where happily wed, but that the shrimp possessed a true "Alpha Male" physique. "Yes, indeed!" Grim made the images vanish, continuing: "Those poor, unfortunate souls~ So sad, so true! They come flocking to my cauldron, crying: Spells, Grim, please! And I help them? Yes, I do! Now it's happened once or twice, Someone couldn't pay the price..." Everyone witnessing Grim got increasingly nervous. "...and I'm afraid I had to rake 'em across the coals!" Grim grinned menacingly, before he waltzed across the room and wrapped his head around some curtains: "Yes, I've had the odd complaint! But on the whole I've been a saaaaint~ To those poor unfortunate sooooouls!!" He took Pim by the hand to his cauldron in preparation for the spell.

"Now, here's the deal...." Grim conjured another image, a silhouette of Pim happily skipping around with legs. "Listen closely...I'll make you a potion that'll give you legs for just three days, take it or leave it, before the sun sets on the third day, you've got to get dear old Princie to fall in love with you! All you need is a kiss of true love to seal-the-deal and make you a land critter permanently!" Pim gulped, asking: "...and if I don't?" Grim made the image vanish as he hissed: "You'll dissolve into seafoam, never to be seen or heard from again." Alan cried out: "NO!" before the vines grabbed his mouth. "Have we got a deal?" Uneasy, Pim opined: "If I become a land critter forever, I'll never see my friends again." Grim reassured: "But, you'll have your man, and your family will finally get off your back!" Pim realized how safer he'd feel with them, especially his father, out of the picture. Grim expounded: "Life's full of tough choices, innit? Oh yeah, one more thing: we haven't discussed the subject of payment! You can't get something for nothing, you know." Pim admitted: "I don't have any-" before Grim ultimately cut him off, wagging his finger: "Oh nonono, I don't ask for much really, something so insignificant that you won't even miss it! What I really want from you is....your voice." "...my voice?" "You got it, Pinkie! No talking, singing, zip." "But without my voice, how can I talk? I don't even know sign language and I guess I could write on paper-" Grim rolled his eyes and snapped out: "COME ON! You poor unfortunate sooooul!! Go ahead, make your choice!" Grim immediately got to work tossing ingredients in the cauldron as he prattled off: "I'm a very busy critter who doesn't have all day! It won't cost much, just your voice! You poor unfortunate sooooul! It's sad, but true~ if you want to cross a bridge, my sweet, you've got to pay the toll! Take a gulp and take a breath and go ahead and sign the scroll!" Gnarly presented the scroll to Pim, who hastily wrote it down to the horror of Alan, Glep and the stealthy Damien. Gnarly swam up to Grim and whispered: "Boss, we finally tricked the boy!" Grim belted out with a miraculous spin as the potion was completed: "THE BOSS IS ON A ROOOOOOOOOLL!!! THIS POOR UNFORTUNATE SOOOOOOOOOOOOUL!!!!" Gnarly opened a book of spells, black leather-bound with a gilded sigil, turning to a particular page Grim read off: "Paluga, sarruga, come winds of the Caspian Seaaaaaaa~ Now rings us glossitis and max laryngitis la voce to meeeee!!!!" Grim, looking like an unhinged madman pointed towards Pim, commanding: "Now...sing." Doing as he was told, Pim sang like the last time, but instead the deep admiration and jealousy where replaced with uncertainty, fear and hoping for the best. Pim helplessly witnessed his own voice escaping his mouth, entering Grim's iconic seashell necklace to be sealed for lord-knows how long. Grim once again reassured, yet with a tone less faux-comforting and more intimidatingly: "Don’t worry, I’ll keep it safe and soundless here with me..." Emerging from the cauldron was a small glass vital that Grim caught with one of his tentacles, presenting it to Pim. "On a scale of 1 to 5, how would you rate that?" Pim opened his mouth, until realizing what he just traded for the potion, so he raised his stubby hands with all his fingers up on the left and only one finger up on the right. "There you go, now slug that sucker down! Bottom's up!" Pim opened the bottle and drank from the tiny vessel until there was no more...all of a sudden Pim started glowing as sparks of light started bursting around him, it was as if fireworks got set off in the room, then he suddenly felt a sharp pain slash at his tail, as if a sword was slicing him in half. He wanted to scream in pain but he could no longer feel his gills as all of a sudden the poor critter could no longer breathe underwater. Scared out of their wits, Alan and Glep immediately rushed over to lift Pim and guide him out of Grim and Gnarly's lair and upwards towards the surface.

Damien couldn’t believe what he bore witness to, his littlest sibling, let alone any mercritter for that matter, successfully gaining legs and becoming a land critter. Still, he didn’t trust Grim nor Gnarly one bit. He sprang out of his hiding spot to confront them. “You! What have you done?!” Gnarly quipped: “Hey boss, another costumer.” Grim joined in: “Well if it isn’t all-brawn and no-brains himself: the Fresh Prince of Meeplantica?” Damien scowled, demanding: “I’m NOT letting my littlest sister turn into sea foam!” before slumping in a rare vulnerable disposition, groveling: “…I’ll do anything to prevent such a thing….not my Pimberly…” Grim grinned, asking: “Anything, you say?” Gnarly immediately piped up: “Shave your head bald and eat dirt, then will spare-“ Grim cut his dimwitted henchman off by wrapping one of his tentacles around his face, prattling off: “As I meant to say, I’d be delighted to spare your little Pimberly! But first, you must fulfil a super important task! It'll be hella difficult but don't fret! It's all gonna work out in the end..."

Everything had been a blur to Pim ever since he took that quaint little potion, all of a sudden being underwater like he always had been his entire life now felt completely alien to him, not to mention he had to get used to swimming without fins, let alone gills. Just in time for the break of dawn, Pim dramatically emerged from the sparkling waves while flipping his rosy curls back, taking his first breath of fresh air as a land critter before being lead by his two brave friends to a nearby shore. Alan served the former sea Princess some pep talk in his usual air of monotone sass: "Come on now, Pim, you just have to put your back into it!"

✨ Chapter 9 Arrives September 6th ✨

[arcaneacolyte]

Gonna bend the rules of the prompt a bit and suggest beach day with whichever OC's you like. (hi how's it going? Hopefully good)

Thank you so much for the prompt! As soon as I saw it I knew which OC I wanted to try out! This is definitely longer than 3 sentences lol

It's a cruel joke, that he cannot swim.

He is of the Earth, all that is verdant and green. Flowers and foliage call to him, and as a Ghoul of the Earth he cannot help but heed their call.

But he is also a Ghoul of the Water, and she calls to him just as fervently. An ever ringing echo that chimes all the way down to his very bones whether he catches a glance of her or not.

She frightens him, but he cannot abandon her.

The call is more prevalent now, as he listens to the roar of the waves, her voice drawing him in. It's what's always feared him most about Water; that one day she will draw him back down into her depths and he will be lost forever. Retribution for the life that should have been taken by her all those years ago.

Who ever heard of a Water Hybrid being unable to swim?

He strides carefully, not in a bathing suit like the others, but a soft green peasant dress faded by use and time. His bare feet make perfect imprints upon the sand. He doesn't know if anyone is watching him, cannot focus on that now. All he can hear is her call.

The tail end of a wave brushes across his right foot, as if she were caressing him, a brush with his corporeal form in an attempt to convince him in further, lure him into a false sense of security.

He takes another few steps—up to his ankles now—focusing on nothing but the horizon where she stretches on as far as his eyes can see.

She soaks into his clothing, the smell of the salt prickling his senses and causing tears to spring to his eyes, but he does not step any further. Though he did not know where he was going when he started moving, he knows know that this is the exact place to stop. The Earth calls back to him, reminds him that he is not completely of the Water.

The sand is soft beneath his toes, and he wriggles his feet, digging them deeper into it to prevent the undertow from pulling him out futher, preventing her from claiming him.

Her voice is softer now.

No. Not softer.

Her call changes, as does the Earth's. Where he stands, at the coalescence of his Elements, they begin to raise a harmony far louder than either of theirs alone.

Balance, harmony, truth. It causes his heart and his spirit to swell. Though he stands motionless, still staring at the horizon, he has never felt stronger in his magic and in himself than he does now.

Litus.

The Shore.

[akindofmagictoo]

manuscript search tag game

from @ashen-crest!

my words are angle, light, hard, cold

angle (Dragonsong draft 1)

The cart set off, jolting up and down. Sierra tucked her hands firmly into her lap, but the chains on her ankles still jingled. Isi’s own cuffs were leaching all the warmth out of her hands; the night’s chill didn’t help, either. She shivered. “Well, that went well,” Sierra muttered. Her face was still pale and drawn. She’d stopped crying, but tear tracks still shone on her cheeks when the lantern light hit them at the wrong angle. “I’m sorry, Isi. I should have realised.”

light (Nyx/Albin WIP)

She didn’t need daylight to see the cell was all brown stone, bare except for a bench and a small, high window. Nothing interesting except her. By the faint sounds of footsteps and scattered voices, there were two guards outside the thick door, which was also stone, reinforced with metal. If she could get that door open, she could take them on, even with chained hands and feet. They might be ‘guards’, but they wouldn’t be well-trained. The Upperworld wasn’t militarised. It didn’t need to be. Her lip curled. She, on the other hand, was trained for this, but picking the lock would be much easier if the padlock weren’t behind a stone slab as thick as her wrist … and if she still had her lock picks. The guards had searched her thoroughly and taken almost everything: lock picks, knives, a disguised vial of poison, her throwing stars, and even her armour, boots, and cloak. The sunlight beating down through the window all day meant that she hadn’t wanted her cloak, though she would when she left. But they’d stooped even lower than taking her boots. They’d taken her necklace as well. The Upperworld had turned their backs while those fucking shapeshifters murdered her brother, and now they’d taken the last bit of him she had left.

hard (Nyx/Albin WIP)

Sundown marked four hours that Nyx had been sprawled on the stone floor of a prison cell. It was hardly comfortable, her head ached and, to add insult to injury, she hadn’t even had the chance to commit a crime first.

cold (Dragonsong draft 1)

She placed a hand on Robin’s shoulder, and found herself unable to let go. The magic surged through her, like the current she’d felt with Fintan, but stronger this time, and inside her. It was stronger, bigger. Angrier. This wasn’t just an undertow or a warm campfire. It was a riptide, a forest blaze, and it filled her up, blazing hot and cold inside her chest and stomach. It couldn’t get out, and it wanted to get out. This magic did not want to be contained. It pushed at her, tugged. Something was going to break.

tagging @zmwrites and @vellichor-virgo for landmark, lost, lose, love

[avalonrph]

. .｡. * ☆:* .:｡ prompts from uncharted waters

All I ever wanted was the open sea and sky

Freedom from the life I always knew

Now all I am is haunted

As days and hours roll by

All I ever think about is you

There you are , over me

Taking me with your song

To wild uncharted waters

Miles beyond the sea

I was darkness bound, I had almost drowned

'Til you came around, and you found me

Now I am on the shoreline

But I'm still lost at sea

In these wild uncharted waters

Come find me again

All I do is wonder

Who you are and where you'll be

In my mind, your melody goes on

Stronger than the undertow

The night you rescued me

Silhouetted by the rising dawn

I cannot get over you

I'm right where you left me

And your voice is like

A siren that guides me

Alone, just you and me

And I hope you're there, in the open air

There's no map or compass to guide me, no

Time may change the shoreline

But time will not change me

If it takes my life

I will finally find you again

Come find me again

[shadofiredragon]

Legends Never Die

{ A special thank you to @000marie198 for beta reading and taking a huge part in the editorial work of this chapter! }

Part 1 ~ Immortal Escape

Chapter 1 - Loaf of Life

The city. A glorious, wonderful place. A place for industry! And progress! Well- for most. Where those 'most' were- he didn't know. And it wasn't his place to know.

He was at the bottom of the food chain in this place, where the tall buildings pressed too tightly to one another. Just a minuscule speck between the old buildings that morphed into newer ones, because the owners wanted to make more money and added additions on top of additions. Some buildings were completely linked together in awkward places, creating bridges over alleys that stretched upwards and towered above him, reminding him, like so many others, of how small he was.

But he didn't let it bother him. After all, it just meant more shade from the unrelenting sun.

He was traversing through one such alley, thin and mangled, tiptoeing past the broken bottles and trash that littered the path around him. By now, the stink of rotting or rusting waste had little affect on him. He'd become adept at training his sensitive nose to only pick up the scents that were helpful.

One such scent was leading him now, as he peaked out of the dark alley to the busy street in front of him. Mobians big and small were rushing about, each individual ignoring the other as they went about their day, too busy to notice even their fellow peers, let alone a little boy hiding in the shadow of an alley.

He watched the flow of traffic for a while, wondering where each person was going and what it was they were supposed to do when they got there.

He shook his head, snapping himself out of his daydreaming. There was no time for that.

Tilting his head up he sniffed the air, filtering out the stench of the alley and focusing on the gentle, tantalizing smell of warm bread. He couldn't help salivating at just the thought of a fresh loaf of heavenly carbs. His stomach gurgled hungrily and he quickly pressed his hand against his gut, hoping to alleviate the dull ache that followed.

The scent was faint, but fresh. If he was careful, he might be able to do more than just pretend he was full that night.

Pulling the hood of his makeshift hoodie over his head he glanced both ways once more before taking a breath and stepping out into the traffic. He took a right, keeping his head low as he weaved through the bustling strangers even though, under the hood, his eyes and ears were focused and alert. Most of the people here ignored him, the Working class too busy to bother with a scrappy boy, and the Undertow, the people like him who ambled about in rags and greasy fur, didn't see him as a potential profit.

Still, there were others he had to be watchful for.

He sniffed the air, pondering whether the scent was getting stronger or not. He walked a few more yards, and spun back around when the smell had dwindled to nonexistence. Wrong way.

He walked on, keeping his hands pressed close to his sides. The sun had begun to take its toll and air under his hood, becoming hot and stuffy. The yellow rays began to seep through the old fabric, warming the quills on his back.

He nimbly side stepped, narrowly avoiding an oblivious wolf dressed in a light t-shirt and shorts. He'd learned early on that if you didn't want to become roadkill, you had to be light on your feet.

The sound of jangling metal made his ear twitch and he was instantly on high alert, lifting his head to better scan the crowd around him. The first red flag was the sudden lack of Undertow and his head swiveled around, his gaze scouring the crowd.

A group of four mobians, all dressed in sharp white and black uniforms, were heading towards him. Their tall, polished boots thumping against the pavement with each confident step.

Panic turned his blood to ice and he darted into a nearby alley, taking shelter in its protective darkness. Once safe, he only dared to peek out enough in order to better watch as the group passed by. One of them, a ruddy orange-brown fox, jeered at something they were talking about, and the others joined in.

His eyes scanned their outfits, a part of him admiring the contrasting blacks and whites that criss-crossed on the smooth jackets. Their boots were tall, nearly knee height, with their breathable black pants tucked in. Two of the Mobians had belts with multiple clasps for their gear, while the other two had their own versions of holsters, straps crossing over their backs and sheathing their personalized weapons.

They walked through the crowd with carefree strides, heads held high and hands swinging leisurely at their sides. Groomed fur, shining eyes, and bright futures ahead of them. To any normal citizen, they were the group to be admired. The ones you looked up to and told your parents that that's who you wanted to be when you grew up.

Even watching them pass by the alley now made his heart long to join them, his fantasies imagining himself being so finely dressed, walking through the streets with confidence.

But he knew better. The confidence with which they walked, was nothing more than arrogance and pride. And the shine in their eyes reflected nothing but cruelty, and pain. Pain for any of his rank unlucky enough to cross their path.

Memories of seeing and hearing such cruelty encouraged him to shrink farther back into the shadows, holding his breath as they walked right past his hiding place. Their own shadows stretching out and mingling with the alley's. He saw the fox's ear twitch and felt his heart lurch with terror, praying that the tall mobian hadn't heard him. But the fox was too occupied by his friends, who pulled his attention back to another joke.

When they had passed, he slowly exhaled and leaned out to peek around the corner after them, ears twitching irritably under the pressure of the hood. When he had watched them for a while and was sure that the fox wasn't going to look behind again, he stepped back out into the walkway, once again merging with the pedestrian traffic.

A strange sense of loss settled in his chest, as if he'd lost something that he hadn't even known was there. He felt cold for it. And it unnerved him.

He shook himself, realizing how his quills had bristled, and forced them to relax so that they wouldn't poke through his hood. He tipped his nose up into the air, pushing the strange feeling away and once again focusing on the fresh scent of baked flour and yeast. It took a moment, but he caught it and used the scent to calm himself.

He quickened his pace. The scent was growing old, beginning to fade to time and city stench, and he still had yet to find the scent's source.

Darting between the jungle of moving legs, he followed his nose to a thin street that branched off the already tightly packed road he had previously been on.

Booths lined the sidewalks, pressing in on each other and vying for the attention of passersby, with each booth's products nearly spilling into their neighbor's. Rugs were laid out over the potholed road in an attempt to make the area more appealing for possible customers. Which must have worked, considering all the Mobians with bags and baskets of goods bustling about, buying this and that or simply browsing for their own amusement.

Careful to keep inconspicuous, he bobbed and weaved through the crowd. Occasionally he ducked into an available pocket between booths, eyes and nose scouring the street for his target.

Finally, he spotted it. A new shop had been set up at an awkward angle next to a larger, more well established, linen booth. A table had been set out, decorated with baskets and trays filled to the brim with warm cakes, biscuits and breads. A plump orange cat wearing a frilly apron greeted passersby and did her best to advertise her undoubtedly delicious baked goods.

He stared at the thick loaves of bread from his hiding spot across the street, unable to stop himself from drooling as his stomach gurgled. The low gurgle reminded him of his mission and he quickly wiped his mouth, hoping no one had noticed him.

Well, I found the food. Now let's hope I don't mess up the next part of the plan.

Nerves suddenly fluttered in his stomach, and he had to shake the worry from his mind. He knew it was risky, since the odds of succeeding had only a 50/50 chance certainty. But this plan was safer than straight-up stealing. And it helped him sleep better at night.

Sucking in a breath, he stepped out of his hiding place and merged back with the traffic, officially putting his plan to action.

Step one: get as close to the target as possible, preferably out of sight. Fortunately, the linen shop-keeper was busy with a customer and didn't notice the scrappy boy ducking into a small gap between her's and the baker's shops.

Step two: create an opportunity.

He peeked out at the baked goods shop, the golden loaves appearing even more heavenly up close, and quickly began to unwrap his right hand.

Once he'd untangled the ragged cloth from his hand he turned his attention away from the food and towards the exposed appendage. Nervousness sent butterflies up into his chest and throat, and he had to swallow to force them down.

Step three: hope he didn't mess up step two.

Exhaling he quickly shifted to look back out at the baked goods shop.

His eyes locked onto a round loaf that balanced precariously atop a pile of similarly shaped breads. His jaw worked as he held his bared hand out to his side, feeling stiff and awkward. His fingers flexed, spreading out in a posture that he knew wasn't natural, but by trial and error had been proven to help.

Lines creased in his brow as he continued to stare at the loaf of bread, trying to focus on that one item as hard as he possibly could. Picturing in his mind what he wanted it to do and willing it to happen. He imagined that same loaf tipping over and falling off its precarious position on top of the food pile. He could see it in his mind's eye, bouncing off the table and landing on the dirty ground.

A barely perceptible light flickered to life around the loaf and he felt his hopes rise as it wiggled and scooted forward on its own, sending it tumbling off the table and onto the street.

He cheered internally, barely able to contain an excited grin from coming over his muzzle before reminding himself that he hadn't succeeded yet and scolding himself for celebrating prematurely. Not wanting to lose this golden opportunity, he hurried to wrap his hand back up in the long strip of cloth. His ears twitched, trying to listen for anyone who might snatch up the precious food for themselves.

Thankfully, no one had noticed the inanimate object's sudden jump to life, not even the baker. The plan was going down beautifully.

Securing the wrap on his hand, so it wouldn't unravel and fall off on its own, he looked back up at his prize. His eyes darted between the dusty loaf and the baker, who was happily conversing with a Mobian couple showing interest in some of her sweeter options.

Ducking out of his hiding spot he tried to assume a natural pace as he nonchalantly walked up to the booth, pretending to be interested in the goods. Which wasn't entirely pretense. It was just one in particular that he wanted.

No one batted an eye at him. Good, he was just another Mobian participating in the shopping.

Keeping up his little act, he pretended to be surprised upon seeing the round loaf on the ground, even kicking it with his foot as if he hadn't noticed it at all. Bending over, he gingerly picked up the loaf of precious bread.

His heart picked up a beat and he almost lost his composure at the feeling of its porous crust rubbing against his padded fingers. It was heavier than he'd expected, and yet so light that he probably could've carried it for a hundred blocks and still wouldn't find himself getting tired.

"Hey! What do you think you're doing?" The serious feminine voice shook him from his awed stupor and his gaze snapped up to meet the baker's angry face. But one quick glance over her eyes displayed her worry and uncertainty. She had a kind heart.

He could use that.

Step four, persuasion.

"I'm sorry ma'am," he apologized, using the manners he'd picked up from listening to hired help. He held up the loaf to her, displaying its dirty exterior. "But I think this fell on the ground, I was just picking it up."

The angry expression left with a wave of relief and she leaned back, only making her seem a tiny bit shorter in his eyes. His small stature already made him outmatched when it came to his fellow pups, but adults always towered above him and he had to train himself to not be unnecessarily intimidated.

"Oh," she breathed, a small smile coming over her muzzle, "Well, thank you for that." She held out her hand to receive the loaf from him.

He started to give it back, but visibly hesitated, for her benefit, turning his head so that she'd notice him looking around at the other potential customers.

She took the bait.

"What? What's wrong?" She asked, brow furrowing.

"I was just thinking- are you sure you want it back?" He whispered, forcing her to lean closer to hear him.

One brow lifted, and he could see her reluctance.

"After it's been on the ground- do you really want to try and sell it?" he continued, bobbing a head towards a dingo that had stopped to view a collection of longer loaves.

The cat glanced at the customer, then back at the boy, her eyes still betraying her inner conflict. After all, even a dirty loaf could still be sold at a lesser price.

He shifted the loaf into one hand, using the other to pull off the hood that had obscured a majority of his face. He'd learned over time that people were more trusting to others whom they could look in the eye. He'd also found, through trial and error, that his appearance had adverse affects on older mobians. Especially females. He didn't know why, or how, but something about his pale face and rebellious quills often softened their hardened expressions.

Maybe it was just because he was smaller for his age, and maternal instinct would naturally overlook the fact that he was considered Undertow class. Or perhaps it was the rare coloration of his fur and eyes that made them feel sentiment for his misfortune. But whether it was from pity or some other emotion, it didn't really matter. What mattered was the doubt and uncertainty abandoning the orange cat's softening eyes.

A small smile gently made its way across her muzzle and she leaned over the booth, nodding to the young hedgehog.

"You know what, you're right. Why don't you go ahead and take it home with you, consider it a thank you for being so honest and polite."

He quickly squashed the pang of guilt that thrummed in his chest at her words, masking it with a surprised expression.

"Are- are you sure?" he asked, his heart fluttering with excitement despite his guilt, even while his play-acting remained in character.

She nodded, straightening and taking a step towards where the dingo stood.

"I'm sure. I won't get full price from it anyway, so you might as well have it."

A broad, genuine smile lit up his face and he tucked the loaf under his arm, resisting the urge to wrap his arms around it and run away while he still could.

He took a step back, bowing his head respectfully, like he'd seen some mobians do to those higher in class.

"Thank you ma'am! I really appreciate it!"

"You're welcome sweetheart, just make sure to share with your family!" she teased waving a tiny goodbye before entering conversation with the dingo.

He winced as a painful string tugged at his heart, but he quickly covered it up, back-stepping one more time before again joining the throng of pedestrian traffic. His smile had disappeared, replaced by melancholy.

He tossed his head, shaking off the dreary feeling and forcing himself to look at the positive. The large loaf of bread tucked securely under his arm. Weaving his way through the crowd he made his way to a place off to the side where the traffic lulled.

Pulling the bread from under his arm he surveyed it with pride and excitement. It's brown exterior hinted gold in the sunlight, food fit for the angels. Some dust and sand had lodged itself in the porous crust, and he brushed the worst off, admiring its flawlessness despite the dirt.

Bringing the loaf up to his face he pressed it to his muzzle and inhaled its scent deeply, his eyes closing as he took in the wonderful smell. He pulled it away from his face with a blissful sigh, a smile once again on his muzzle.

His eyes scanned his surroundings, making sure that no one had seen him and was happy to not have seen any other Undertow in the crowd. He pulled his hood back over his head, once again obscuring his face from the world. With quick movements he tucked the loaf of bread under his makeshift hoodie, grateful for its practicality as he pressed the bread close to his chest, his arms wrapping protectively around it. If he hunched over a little, no one would ever have been able to guess that he was hiding precious cargo underneath the worn fabric.

Satisfied that his prize was well hidden, he once again stepped into the traffic, retracing his steps to the alley. Ducking into the familiar shadows he could take a moment's rest.

He had the bread. And he hadn't been stopped or caught. So that was over, but the next part was possibly more dangerous than before.

He had to get home.

Checking one more time to make sure that his prize remained concealed from any potential prying eyes he gathered his courage, and plodded onwards.

The backstreets were where the no-goods went. A mess of dirty, twisting alleys and side streets that eventually became the main walkways to traverse the dangerous terrain. The wealthy dared not enter, and for good reason. Hungry, jealous, greedy eyes were always watching. And you'd just as soon lose your wallet as your life if you weren't careful.

He kept his head lowered as the alleys became more connected and populous, quickening his pace in hopes of avoiding any possible resistance. No adult Mobian in their right mind would go out of their way to bother a child who was obviously no better off than themselves. But males coming from a stillery were of a different disposition and it was hard, even for him, to tell whether they wanted to give a hug or give a beating when they were in that state. And then there were the other children...

He shuddered, hunching farther over his cargo, his ears twitching under the confining hood on high alert for signs of other kids like him. All of which were bigger than him and bent on doing nothing good.

A woman, draped in several layers of newspapers for comfort, called out to him in a dull, husky voice. Begging for food or coin.

He held tighter to his bread, biting his lip as pinpricks touched the corners of his eyes. He walked past her, ignoring her pleas and the ache in his heart.

If he gave her a piece of his bread, he might as well fulfill his own death sentence.

It was a matter of survival.

That's what he told himself as he passed her withered body, one wrapped hand shaking out from under his cloak to pull the hood farther over his face.

More and more homeless, belligerent mobians began to scatter through the tight alleys that made up the inner workings of their sad community. As predicted, the adults gave him no attention. To them, he was just another disappointing product of the same system that had put them there. But really, only disappointing because he had no pockets to pick.

His posture snapped straight, his steps halting in a terrified jolt as his ears swiveled and jerked under the hood to the sound of children's laughter. Not happy, carefree laughter that he'd often hear from the offspring of the wealthy, but cruel, haughty laughter. And it was getting closer.

Desperate to avoid the cruel children, he quickly took a detour, scrambling into an even tighter alley that had accumulated so much waste it piled up two feet high. He ran down the alley as best he could, ears twisted back to listen for the sound of small feet giving chase. There was nothing but the laughter, slowly fading.

Still, just to be safe, he decided to take the long route back home, not wanting his hideout to be found out. Not again.

Many minutes passed traversing the maze of alleys, connecting streets and side paths, going deep into the heart of the Mire, before he reached his destination. He ducked into a narrow gap between two painfully aged buildings, his small body finding no problem walking between the bent over structures.

He counted his steps from a bent screw poking out of the wall by habit, magic number 12, and bent down close to the ground, facing the wall to his right. The brick had been worn away by years of rain and misuse, no one willing to put the time and work into an ancient piece of architecture. A torn tarp hung over part of the wall, tucked into cracks in the wall and the abandoned debris lining the sides of the pathway.

Paranoia fed his wariness and he glanced back and forth at the only two entrances to his position.

Certain that there weren't any spies waiting for him to reveal his hiding place, he reached forward and pulled the bottom edge of the tarp up, showing a hole in the that lead into the building.

Crawling through the lopsided opening he turned back around and tugged the tarp back into place. The shelter was a pocket in the building, which had begun to collapse on the inside before he'd even found it, and the rubble had coincidentally created a safe space large enough to safely house a young mobian. He'd come across it accidentally, when trying to escape torment from his peers.

It wasn't the most ideal fortress, and some mothers would have probably been horrified if they found their own children taking refuge in such places. Wire and thin metal bars stuck out from the ceiling, rusted and bent in all different directions. Some he had purposely bent back up towards the ceiling simply to protect himself from potential scratches. The walls were basically compressed dust and broken brick, creating a concave roof above his head and giving a cavelike atmosphere.

A pile of newspapers, scraps of cloth and a blanket with holes as big as his hand was collected to his left. A bed he'd made for himself over months of scavenging. To his right, safely kept away from his bed, was a dented metal pot. Rust had eaten holes into the sides, leaking warm golden light that illuminated the dark space in yellow pinpricks. A pile of old paper, scrapped wood and a box of matches, as well as other flammable items, were stacked to the right of the pot. Ready to be used should the tiny flame he tenderly kept charge over went out.

Random objects were scattered around the small space, some hanging from the wires on the ceiling, others wedged into crevices in the walls. A collection of things that he'd come across accidentally that had fascinated his young brain. He didn't know what any of them were, but their differences in size, shape and form intrigued him. It also made his burrow feel more homey. To add to the nearly homey feel was a piece of mirror, which he'd leaned up against one wall. It had once been part of a larger mirror that he'd found smashed in an alley somewhere, and though this piece was smaller than its parent, it was just big enough that he could see himself with little to no difficulty.

Another hole, similar to the entrance, led to a short tunnel that opened up into the rest of the building. It was more spacious there, and there were some helpful resources like bits of wood he could use for his makeshift lanterns. But it was rare that he traversed that area, since other mobians could be found there on occasion and he really preferred to remain undiscovered.

Besides, space wasn't a problem for him. He was small enough to fit comfortably in his hidey hole. And even though most other mobians would probably find it claustrophobic, he found comfort in its tightness. The walls pressing in and the organized mess of souvenirs and interesting knick knacks he'd collected and arranged around the space made him feel secure. Like protective arms shielding him from the outside world, creating a bubble of safety.

Satisfied that he was, indeed, safe, he gently dropping a couple shards of wood into the pot to keep the tiny flame going and finally pulled the loaf of bread out from under his cloak, admiring its delicate beauty. He could feel himself relaxing already, his curiosity and excitement finally able to break free without hindrance.

Bread. Fresh bread! Food was such a rarity anyway, and sure, bread was the majority of most scraps thrown to him by strangers, but a full fresh loaf?

This will last me days!

Sitting himself down next to the fire pot, he set the bread down on the ground so he could pull his hood off his head, freeing his messy quills. He shook his head, relieved to be free of the hood and grateful to reveal his face without twisted intent. It was just him. In his burrow. Safe.

He tore a size-able chunk of bread from the loaf, his ears drinking in the muted sound of it tearing in his hands. Bringing the generous helping of bread up to his muzzle he finally took a bite.

His sharp teeth cut into the soft bread, tearing easily through the firm crust and then the soft white inside. He moaned with pleasure, hints of something bitter playing across his tongue and perfectly accenting the slightly earthy undertone of the bread. It was so soft and had retained some warmth from being cradled so close to his body, so it wasn't hard for him to imagine it being freshly pulled from a roaring oven.

His stomach growled, protesting his tongue's bliss and demanding that it too be given sustenance.

He swallowed obligingly, taking the next bites a bit more hurriedly as the full extent of his hunger began to hit his stomach.

When he'd finished what had been in his hands, he leaned against the wall with a content sigh. The dull hunger that had been gnawing his stomach the last few days was finally satisfied, leaving him feeling tired and lethargic, even though it was only late afternoon. A long yawn escaped him, and he blearily rubbed his eyes.

His eyes landed on the rest of the loaf of bread then on an old piece of newspaper near the pot. Grabbing the newspaper he wrapped the loaf of bread and tenderly tucked it into an empty gap in the wall behind him.

His eyelids felt heavy as he stood up and untied the strings keeping his cloak-like apparel on his shoulders. Once untied, the cloth dropped off his shoulders exposing the silky white fur on his chest and the rest of his silver-toned body. He stretched his arms over his head touching his wrapped palms to the prickly ceiling, enjoying the free feeling of having nothing covering him or hindering his movements.

Letting out another yawn he trudged to his bed, pausing when he passed the shard of mirror. Turning his head he felt his senses rouse a little as he looked over his appearance.

His quills, which had already managed to collect smears of dirt, were splayed out rebelliously from his head. His grey fur matched his quills, the dirt dulling the normal coloration, which some would almost mistake for white if not for the truly white fur on his chest.

His striking golden eyes stared back at him from the mirror, analyzing himself with a growing frown.

No. He wasn't white. His fur took a more silvery tone than the purity of snow. But the unnaturally light coloration of both his fur and startling eyes was still enough to mark him in society. He'd overheard some adults talking about rarities such as himself. ‘Weak genetics,’ they would say. At first he didn't know what that meant, and the words confused him. But by eavesdropping on more conversations, he began to get an idea of what they meant.

Something in his parents made him this way.

He stared hard into the mirror, studying the golden eyes peering back at him.

Could these have been mom's, or dad's..?

His head tilted down to look at his hands, still wrapped in long strips of cloth.

Could these have been...

He shook his head, shaking the thought from his mind and smacking one palm to his forehead with a groan. He was too tired for this.

Abandoning the mirror, he shuffled the rest of the way to his pile of comfort and flopped down on top of it. A small smile made its way to his muzzle as its comforting scent flooded over him and he couldn't help a happy grunt squeezing his chest.

Pushing and wiggling himself further into the pile of comfort, he did his best to bury himself in the many layers of cloth and newspapers. Burrowing himself as deep into his nest as he could, he poked his head back out, so that just his nose and part of his face was exposed.

The weight of the many layers pressed down on his small body, making him relax at the physical presence. Feeling comforted, well fed, and safe, the young hedgehog slowly drifted into blissful sleep.

~—~—~—~—~—~—~—~—~—~—~—~—~—~

{ Story Facts! : Societal Classes

In society, you're labeled by whichever category, or class, you fall into. These labels aren't official, but are usually stereotyped by those of different classes and used to refer to the different roles played in society.

Superiors - This is a very rare label given only to those who hold extensive power over all the classes in general, or a large part of the community. Examples of this would be the mayor, chief of police, a judge, or military commanders.

Uppers - Humans and mobians considered to be at the top of societal hierarchy. Tend to involve politicians, company owners, and the richest of the rich who have some influence over the community.

Working - Humans and Mobians who range between the Uppers and Undertow. This is a broad stereotype that generally includes anyone who works for pay and is living in some level of comfort. The reason this class varies so drastically is because one from a Working class could be a manager of a company, a maid scrubbing floors, or a pizza delivery boy. Because of this, there are sometimes smaller divisions within this class that can differentiate between levels of wealth and authority. But these divisions have no consistent names and can vary depending on the individual labeling them.

Undertow - Humans and mobians at the bottom of the societal hierarchy. This is the label given to the homeless, squatters, drunkards, and anyone else who lives in the backwaters of the city. The name was derived from a city named "Underground", where eventually it crumbled into a city of nothing but thieves, lowlifes, and smugglers. It was believed that the sickness of Underground eventually spread to other cities, sprouting similar communities in tightly packed parts of the city. The stereotype was also derived as a warning to any classes above it that those in the Undertow would not hesitate to steal your life from you and drag you down to the grimy streets with them. They are often recognized by their dirty appearance and ragged clothing. Mobians make up the most of this class, and although there are some humans in the Undertow, it is a rare occurrence to come across one.

Guardians - This is a more official label given explicitly to only the people who are part of G.U.P (Guardian Units of the People). This class outranks all other classes, except for Superiors, and have extensive authority over them. Even outranking local police forces. Guardians are sworn to protect and serve the people of the city, and, if given the authority, will exercise their power to do so as frequently as possible for the good of the city. They are often looked to for justice and discipline, and are hailed by the higher classes as being the only ones able to free the city from the filth of the Undertow. }

Chapter 2

[imjulia-andilikecats]

Hii Julia

Don't ypu think wild uncharted waters from the Little Mermaid is such a Cal's song?

Okay! First of all, apologies for the LATE response.

Christmas and New Year were tough on me, and I've been zoning out....a lot and sleeping.

Be HERE. WE. GO!

Dude, I don't want to lie to you BUT when I first listen to the song. I was not vibing it. The rythme and...singing.

HOWEVER, when I focus on the lyrics. DUDE! It's promising and I was like. I will not listen to this song but I will read it like a poem!

I did and it's SO beautiful!!!

YES! Wild Uncharted Waters is VERY Cal coded.

To wild uncharted waters

Miles beyond the sea

I was darkness-bound, I had almost drowned

'Til you came around, and you found me

Now I am on the shoreline

But I'm still lost at sea

In these wild uncharted waters

Come find me again

Cal is lost and is dealing with a lit of voices telling him WHAT TO DO or WHO HE SHOULD BE.

Those voices got stronger in King's Cage where he is fibally presented the opportunity to reclaim his birthright. However, Mare does not what another Monarchy, another Silver King, cause that still means that Reds are less than Silvers. Even though they found each other again. Cal still made the decision to reclaim it (again his birthright and preventing a power stuggle with the segmented Silver Houses.)

No matter how reasonable his decision was. How much he tried to keep everything in check. Everyone pushed him from one direction to the other. Anabel, Uncle Julian, Mare, the Scarlet Guard and Monfort. All telling him what to do.

As the pressure of his endless duties, the heartbreak of his and Mare's separation, Maven's forces seemingly growing and needing to make decisions that could turn the tides of the war. Start to build and slowly suffocate him. Cal fought Iris in Harbor Bay, lost and almost drown from the strong waves and his heavy armor. Metaphorically and literally drowning from EVERYTHING.

All I do is wonder

Who you are and where you'll be

In my mind, your melody goes on

Stronger than the undertow

The night you rescued me

Silhouetted by the rising dawn

Dude, just this segnent, it's giving Marecal vibes.

As Cal has described Mare as the anchor ⚓️AND the storm.⛈️ He missed her voice, her SHARPNESS!🥺 How she is constantly a changing puzzle, couldn't see the girl under her many mask.

Alone, just you and me

And I hope you're there in the open air

There's no map or compass to guide me, no

Time may change the shoreline

But time will not change me

If it takes my life

I will finally find you again

In uncharted waters

Come find me again

This bit just reminds me of Mare and Cal after War Storm. They went through a lot and need to heal. Especially Cal, since not only did he lost his title again, but his little brother.

He almost called himself "nothing" infront of Mare.

But they still hoped to see each other again. Mare is not sure when, but if she takes too long, he can move on without her (which....ain't happening). We all know Cal's feelings will never change, no matter how long he had to wait for her.

And they parted again, hoping to find each other again. 💔💔💔💔😭

Note: Sorry I read into the lyrics too HARD. I'm a bit stuck with Cal going through a lot of stuff and just being called "whiny" for being confused and upset. Like, yeah, he is a tough character and he cal handle a lot of stress but he still needed someone to care for him, even just a little bit.

[kigiom]

@weidli and @reginaldbright and @chiropteracupola tagged me to share the first ten lines of my posted fics! sorry for taking two months but, here we are

Rules: ‘share the first lines of ten of your most recent fanfics and tag ten people. If you have written less than ten, don’t be shy and share anyway.’

I decided to use the phrase "first lines" fairly liberally, so they're all under the cut!

1. There’s a familiar face sitting in his usual spot when Thursday sidles into the pub on a Saturday evening. / Morse looks pale, shabby, his shock of ginger-ish hair already going grey at the temples. Jesus Christ, Thursday thinks, standing stock still on the corner to his usual alcove in the tiny pub, it’s only been two years. (rockets for mary, Endeavour)

2. "Here's to looking at you," you say, raising your glass. / He's too tired to say anything, you can see that. He's swaying a little and his eyes are bruised, the vivid blue of his irises glassy. He's clutching his own glass like a lifeline. You wish your heart wouldn't do ten backflips in a row every time you see him. (it walked out of the light, MASH)

3. “Why are we here again?” / It’s the first thing Hawkeye’s said in a while. BJ looks over at him, surprised, only to find him trying to light a cigarette with shaking hands. (all singing must now be howling, MASH)

4. Don't go, he begs. / BJ looks at him. BJ smiles. He's getting smaller, and smaller, and smaller, and he's waving across the endless expanse of washed out brown and grey. (all that is gone (and all that's to come), MASH)

5. “Ain’t you cold out here?” / Stephen made a harrumphing noise and kicked at a loose bit of gravel. / Behind him, Jack sighed and stepped closer. (thirteen angels standing guard ‘round the side of your bed, the aubreyad)

6. “Would you ever grow your hair out?” / Keith made a considering noise into Ewen’s chest. He was lying half on top of Ewen and clearly beginning to fall asleep, even though he was still in shirt and breeches. (I'm going home, no more to roam, The Flight of the Heron)

7. “Does it hurt?” / For a moment, his fingers hover over the scar; Livesey makes an aborted noise under his breath as Trelawney traces a fingertip gently over the smooth, livid skin. While not large, it’s raised and almost knotted, uneven round the edges. (and we march on, hand in hand, Treasure Island)

8. After a day's chasing, they had boarded their prize. From the opposite deck, in a brief lull, Jack had looked over and seen Stephen crawl up onto the deck of the Surprise (even though he should have been below - why hadn't he stayed below?) and stand his ground, cat-quick with a sword, sharp with a pistol; for a blessed second they saw each other across the distance, then Stephen had grinned viciously and disappeared. Jack had been glad to see him alive and dangerous, unspeakably so, even though Stephen on deck in battle made him anxious - why was he not with his patients? Why was he not safe below decks? (for grief to refrain, the aubreyad)

9. Francis passed him an apple. / Their fingers brushed and lingered. James had started noticing this more and more, these little touches, sitting at their table in their kitchen in their house. How they almost always sat next to each other rather than opposite, for a reason James chose not to examine for the sake of his own sanity. How their knees would touch under the table, how their elbows knocked against each other, too, how their hands brushed with no gloves or layers of fabric in the way now. (undertow, The Terror)

10. “We’re too far from the sea.” James said one day. / He was standing on the garden lawn and staring out over the hills as he said it. The farmers had been digging as of late, for what purpose exactly neither of them had bothered to ask. However, they did know that that was the reason for the faint smell of silt and sea that permeated the air, stronger on the breeze. (we sell our lives to the sea, The Terror)

I don't have the braincells for ten people but I'm gonna tag (sorry if you've already done it!):

@edge-of-green @riot-in-bloom @someawkwardprose @terribleoldwhitemen @phoenixflames12 @valley-o @rhaill and @starsreside (I hope the last three of you have published works but I know you write at the least)

[prismatica-the-strange]

Early Bird & Night Owl

18+ as always

Quiet moments in the morning when she's still asleep and at night when he's gone to bed

The sun is still coming up, oranges paint the sky, and light filters through windows, making their skin glow warm.

Eric stirs, the sound of boots thudding on the deck rousing him from a sound and restful sleep.

He stretches his back, taking in his surroundings when his eyes stop on Mairead. She's still asleep and will likely be for another few hours or so.

She's on her side, hair a tangled mess of fire in the daybreak sun as she holds onto his arm.

She looks peaceful, the ghost of a smile on her lips.

As careful as he can, he turns to face her, resting his weight on his left shoulder.

He chuckles softly when his movements make her face scrunch up in annoyance, and she tugs herself closer.

He reaches over with his right hand and gently rubs his thumb on the crease between her eyes until she relaxes again.

"My sweet, sleepy girl," he whispers, fingertips tracing her cheeks and jawline, pulling a sigh from her, "How I wish there were more hours in the day to spend with you, like this..."

His words trail off with a soft kiss to her forehead.

She whines when he moves to pull away, her grip on his arm tightening.

"Reedi," he mutters, "Love, I have to get up."

Her eyes flutter open just long enough to pout up at him.

He never could say no to her when she looks at him like that, even when they were children.

"Fine," he groans, rolling his eyes playfully. He curls right back up with her and pulls her close by her waist, "Five more minutes, but then I need to get up."

It's another forty-five minutes, at least, until he finally makes it out on deck, already longing to be in her arms again.

🌄●○●○●🌌

It's well past midnight by the time Mairead makes her way back to their cabin.

Something about a calm sea and a star filled sky just entrances her. She could spend eternity perched in the rigging, staring up at the constellations.

Eric is fast asleep and has been for hours, arms wrapped around and nose buried in her pillow.

She quickly changes into her nightgown, sits on the side of the bed, and brushes her hair.

Once she's satisfied with whatever leftover tangles there are, she leans over him. She quietly laughs when he squeezes the pillow, still missing her.

She brushes some of his curls aside and he leans his head back as she kisses his temple.

She stays like that for a moment, fingers toying with his hair, watching the dim lamplight flicker dimly across his sleeping features.

She blows out the flame and settles at his back, her arms wrapped around his chest, face pressed against his neck, kissing softly.

Ten minutes pass and his hands hold hers briefly before he turns to face her. Still half asleep, he murmurs a "Goodnight, love," against her lips.

He takes a few moments to linger there the warmth and haze of lazy kisses after a long day holding him hostage.

"Shhh, I love you too," She whispers back, stroking his hair again, "Go back to sleep."

His right hand raises to cup her cheek as he pulls himself up just enough to kiss her properly.

They shuffle around until his head is tucked into the crook of her neck, lips ghosting over her collarbone as he hugs her waist.

Her eyelids soon begin to droop and it isn't long before she joins him in dream land.

Both of them lulled to deep sleep by the rocking of the ship and the sound of the waves.

[cursemewithyourkiss]

RULES: PICK A SONG FOR EACH LETTER IN YOUR URL

Thanks for the tag @flamingplay!

Cha Cha Cha — Käärijä

Under the Milky Way — The Church

Reflection from the A Tale of Two Cities musical

Stronger Than Ever — Raleigh Ritchie

Everything In Its Right Place — Radiohead

My Kingdom — Echo and the Bunnymen

Embrace It from the Lestat musical

Who — Jack Buchanan

I Love the Night — Blue Öyster Cult

Tema di Jane from the Jane Eyre (1996) soundtrack

Heaven, Iowa — Fall Out Boy

Your Silent Face — New Order

Once in a Lifetime — Talking Heads

Undertow — Suzanne Vega

Running Out of Time — Paramore

King — Florence + the Machine

If Dreams Came True from the A Tale of Two Cities musical

SHUM — Go_A

Swan Lake — Tchaikovsky

Tagging @whispers-and-daydreams, @count-vronsky, @bad-entertainment and whoever wants to!

[bookishlifeofal]

book #51 A Year in the City: about fall, about history

So I've been reading Alistair Moffat's 2021 book The Secret History of Here: A Year in the Valley and what I started as a light-hearted read to distract myself from the soon-starting semester, turned out be much more changeable and of more sustainable peace than I would have imagined.

I'm very title-attached and choose many books just because of their title, sometimes I get teary-eyed just looking at certain book covers and their names. As I struggled with an on-coming anxiety-wave and depressing mood, I turned inwards and got back to my roots (namely, my parents' home), which I had to leave behind to move back to the city I attend university in.

So, I had high hopes for the book: it was supposed to cure me from my homesickness and give me a place to forget my anxiety in.

The book fulfilled that so far, to say the least. Alistair Moffat writes in a very easy-going manner and since the book is structured by having a short text for every day in the year, one always feels as if right by Moffat's side. After having read about half the book, he feels not like an unknown narrator, but like a grandpa you accompany alongside his walks.

But what the title promised me was not entirely fulfilled, which is not the fault of the book, but probably due to my own imaginations and idealizations: in the book, there is written a lot about death. About death and about long-foregone history. The mood is not continuously light-hearted and fun, but sometimes more gloomy and melancholic. I mean, there is often a good bit of light-heartedness, especially as now I am about to read the summer months, but there is something else, too.

The thing I realized as I was walking my own daily walk today (without dog, though, Moffat has one named Maidie) was that the book helped me appreciate nature more than I would have imagined.

I most often deny autumn so long as there are a few green leaves still attached to the trees, only to find that winter has approached shortly after my autumn had begun, but today I was able to just appreciate the way things were: yellow leaves, red leaves, wet soil and strong winds, a standard autumn. More clouds are in the sky, which makes every ray of sunlight valuable. It is cold, which lets me appreciate the warmth of my clothes and my room more.

I thought about the hidden history of the park I was wandering through and found myself a bit angry at my conditions: different from Moffat, I do not live in the countryside, but in the city (mind you, with very beautiful landscape just nearby and easily reachable by train). After a few seconds though, the peace set in and I appreciated my walk completely: even though the park is just a very thin, long-stretched green spot in the city, with car sounds reaching every corner of it, I saw much more life in the trees and flowers than I saw before. Approaching winter, the grass is left standing high in the park, not mowed since summer and I found myself staring in awe at the flowers still blooming. I even started to appreciate the fallen leaves, which had been huddled together in dark lumps. And of course I had to stand by the side of the river, watching as colorful leaves tumbled in the water along the undertow, now much stronger than it was in the summer.

At the end, I even walked a bit further than I originally planned, just because it was all so beautiful (and because the sun was shining, which I will not often experience in the following months). The peace I felt was marvelous.

The Secret History of Here is certainly not about the small German city I live in right now (but rather local Scottish history), but the walking-theme kept it interesting for me so far and the bits and bits about Scottish old history heavily sprinkled in really entertained me, as I imagined the descriptions of life Moffat gives are not too much different to what my old, old ancestors did here.

If you do not feel at least slightly better after a walk, the walk was not long enough. - me

Update: I finished the book and found this piece of review in my OneNote, so I just wanted to add that I still agree with everything said here, I'm just going to add that the book became a bit long-winded in the end and I took longer to finish than planned due to this.

Love, Al :)

[avocodedigital]

Super Micro Stock Soars - AI Boosts GPU Shipments

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The Surge of Super Micro Stock: A New Era Driven by AI

In the rapidly evolving landscape of technology, the ties between machine learning, artificial intelligence, and hardware capabilities grow stronger each day. Recent trends have highlighted a significant shift in market dynamics, notably with **Super Micro Computer, Inc. (SMCI)** experiencing a remarkable upswing in share prices. But what is empowering this shift, and how is **AI boosting GPU shipments** in this context?

The Intersection of AI and Hardware

As artificial intelligence technologies burgeon, the essential role of **graphics processing units (GPUs)** becomes increasingly prominent. GPUs are pivotal in performing the parallel processing tasks that AI demands. Super Micro, a leading provider of server solutions known for its excellent track record, has leveraged this demand to enhance its market presence and value. **Key Factors Influencing the Surge in Stock:**

Increased AI Adoption: As more sectors embrace AI, the demand for AI-capable servers and computers escalates. Super Micro is strategically positioned to meet these needs with its efficient, scalable solutions.

Rising GPU Requirements: The computational power to support AI initiatives relies heavily on GPUs, whose shipments are now increasing to match the demands.

Strategic Partnerships and Innovations: By forming alliances with leading AI and tech developers, Super Micro enhances its product offerings to be more AI-optimized.

Understanding the Stock Market Surge

The stock market operates on perceptions and presentations of a firm's intrinsic and future value. While Super Micro’s financial statements have long portrayed stability, it’s the recent strategic innovations that have captivated investors. **The Chart Rally:** The stock rally observed in Super Micro's shares is emblematic of investors’ faith in the company's strategic direction. The sharp upward trend is more than a fleeting clip; it's a projection of sustained growth powered by robust market demand and technological advancements. **Market Expansion Through AI-Shaped Lenses:** Super Micro has leveraged the AI boon by integrating AI-ready solutions into its portfolio. A few highlights of this strategic shift include:

Targeting Data-Centric Markets: Industries that generate vast amounts of data, like healthcare and finance, are integrating AI solutions globally, increasing the need for servers capable of handling complex computations.

Value Addition through Customization: The ability to offer AI-driven customization in server solutions has propelled Super Micro ahead in terms of competitiveness and customer satisfaction.

Energy Efficiency: With the environmental footprint of tech equipment under scrutiny, Super Micro’s commitment to energy-efficient solutions addresses both operational costs and environmental concerns.

The Role of GPUs in Sustaining Super Micro's Growth

Graphics processing units are no longer just the backbone of gaming; they have become integral to handling AI computations. High demand for these units, driven by AI adoption, means high revenue potential for any company involved in their production or sale, notably Super Micro. **AI Workloads and the Essentiality of GPUs:** In multilayered neural networks, where data complexity demands immense computational power, GPU’s parallel processing capability stands unmatched. Super Micro’s adeptness at assembling and delivering scalable server solutions equipped with these advanced units underscores its core business advantage.

Implications for Investors and the Industry

For investors, this upward trend signals an opportunity to delve into tech stocks that promise sustainable growth supported by the AI wave's undertow. However, Super Micro's ascent is not just a gain for private portfolios; it reverberates industry-wide as a marker of technological evolution. **Market Anticipations and Future Trajectories:** As the narrative of AI continues to evolve with more intricate applications and uses, the demand for high-performance computing infrastructure is set to grow even more. Market forecasts suggest that this could lead to:

Expansion into Emerging Markets: The adoption of AI in diverse sectors across the globe augments a demand spurt, offering new geographical market opportunities for Super Micro.

Enhanced R&D Investments: Super Micro could leverage their market position to invest further in research and development, aiming to innovate cutting-edge tech for optimized AI applications.

Increased Competitive Pressure: As more firms join the AI-capable hardware race, innovation and adaptability will be key to maintaining market dominance.

Conclusion: A Future Guided by Innovation

The surge in Super Micro’s stock, driven by the increased need for AI-enhanced solutions and GPU shipments, epitomizes a larger shift within the tech ecosystem. For companies engaged in the interplay of data processing and AI, this move not only affirms their current industry strategies but also sets a precedent for future innovations to come. Super Micro’s story is not just about a bullish stock but rather an indication of the unfolding technological revolution that intersects data processing, AI advancements, and market dynamics. As AI continues to integrate deeper into the fabric of various industries, companies like Super Micro stand at the forefront, navigating and propelling this innovative momentum forward. Want more? Join the newsletter: https://avocode.digital/newsletter/

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TEENAGE ART SCENE: PIPES ON THE INSIDE

Pipes on the Inside – Teenage Art Scene Release Date: September 9th, 2022

Track Listing:

1. Crystal 2. Full of It 3. Never Live This Down 4. Feeling This 5. Pipes on the Inside l 6. Pipes on the Inside ll 7. Pipes on the Inside llI 8. Weeks (Years) 9. Electrical

Teenage Art Scene's latest release Pipes on the Inside fuses indie rock with 80s synth pop, new wave, and electronica. Bold, colourful shapes and meticulous attention to detail merge in a collection that feels like it belongs in the Fallout video game series. Victoria’s Rupert Yakelashek adapts in this exciting musical journey, presenting an array of genres that gracefully fall into place.

From the spacey opener “Crystal,” with its swooping synths, nasally vocals, and gritty electric guitar melodies, to the retro relaxation of “Full of It,” with its light percussion, sad words, and hopeful layers, each song is stylishly surreal.

“Never Live This Down” chimes in with a Depeche Mode tone. Clean guitar riffs support an echoing, amused voice: “And I’ll express that you’ve made quite a mess.” Standout track “Feeling This" provides a beachy goth essence with lingering horns, deep guitar strums, and 90s rock. “You're the pinnacle of what I could achieve / If I didn’t give up so easily.” Sharp, faded synth entrances charge a trippy soundscape.

Metallic notes soar and urgent bass floods “Pipes on the Inside I.” A sonic machinist, Yakelashek cultivates a fascinating audio field. Frantic percussion transitions into stronger beats. The conjoined song “Pipes on the Inside II” is lighter, almost dainty. It integrates sweet, haunting bells with rubbery bass. Third edition “Pipes on the Inside III” switches gears. Speedy and tenacious, gritty guitar cuts through contagious synths. “This Anthropocene makes it so hard to glean / I can feel the pipes on the inside.”

With gentle, catchy hooks, “Weeks (Years)” grooves with stacked synths. Playful use of high and low pitches makes for a fun auditory experience. Nostalgia and reflection of time emerge from the piece: “More than anything combined / the weeks and years we left behind.” A sly and sneaky undertow adds lightheartedness to an otherwise somber message.

The last song off the album, “Electrical,” sparks neon melodies and embodies a glamourous, youthful 80s vibe. Rigid vocals exude confidence and weave through the tune with swagger: “You seem like such a spectacle / I can’t help but notice you’re electrical.” Robotic reverb brushes against pixelated notes and bouncy guitar. Intriguing mystery exists in a colourful synthetic haze, while arcade noises diffuse energetic retro charm.

Pipes on the Inside is a trendy development in Teenage Art Scene's evolution. Rupert Yakelashek's willingness to intertwine genres results in a cohesive yet abstract collection. The union of eclectic aesthetics with vintage technology creates a multifaceted music adventure that showcases creative growth. Pipes on the Inside breaks away from usual patterns while staying true to Teenage Art Scene's artistic vision.

Written by: Jenna Keeble