#bay haven short tails

[wildfirevivifics]

Shattered sanctuary

Summary: Short One Shot. My interpretation of the riot before Kurt meets Professor Xavier. Hopefully better than it sounds.

Disclaimer: I don't own X-Men or Nightcrawler but if I did he would be loved by the entire world.

Shattered Sanctuary

Kurt's Thoughts

Professor Xavier's thoughts

Kurt Wagner was hanging upside down, his tail wrapped around a support pillar in the German church he was using as sanctuary. The room was quiet, the silence only punctuated by the hooting of owls. Kurt knew this would soon change, the mob would soon catch up with him and then all this tranquillity would be shattered like broken glass. The soothing presence in the church made his spirit slightly less self pitying. Finally Kurt heard noises from outside. First one voice, then two until finally a roar could be heard as the entire village descended upon the church. Kurt sighed, wrapping his arms around himself. The noise of the crowd outside was making him apprehensive, he could hear baying like the sound of thousands of wild animals' right outside the door. The banging of fists and pitchforks on the heavy oak doors was getting progressively louder, cracks were starting to appear in the old wood as the pressure on it became greater and greater.

Kurt loosened his tail from the beam and stealthily dropped onto the dust covered floor below. It had been years since anyone had used the church and now people feared it, believing ghosts and ghouls haunted it, so great was their superstitious fear, now it was a haven for a 'demon'. Kurt scoffed:

Demon, if I was a demon why would I be on holy ground.

Kurt simply wanted peace, he had only come to this village to learn about humanity, to try to be normal but all he had been met with was violence and prejudice. It made his blood run cold that these people were what he was trying to be, he didn't want to trade his open-mindedness for a chance to fit in, the price was too great. He knelt down before the altar, his head lowered in prayer.

Holy Father, please guide me for I am lost. Which path should I follow? Should I change for the sake of others or follow what I believe to be right? I may be killed but is this the path you wish me to take?

Kurt was a devout Catholic, he had always believed in God and the son, always believed that whatever happened was the will of God. He was being tested, of that he was sure and whatever happened his faith in God would not waver but he was unsure of whether he should fight to survive or allow himself to be taken for the greater good.

The greater good? Why should I die so that petty prejudices can be satisfied? Equality, open-mindedness they are all gifts that God has given us and these animals are taking it in vain. Alright my decision has been made, please God give me the resolve to carry through with it.

Kurt's head was still bowed in prayer when the doors to the church finally collapsed under the onslaught from the rioters outside. Kurt jumped up and onto the wall, climbing up towards the roof. The flames of the torches made the points of the pitchforks shine, the screams of the rioters drilled into Kurt's brain, forever imprinting the night onto his brain. Kurt's eyes narrowed, these humans were primitive, anything unusual they don't understand., they fear and try to destroy it. Kurt hadn't hurt anyone, he had only come to observe and so they tried to kill him. A hole in the roof provided Kurt with a convenient escape route from the baying mob underneath him who had started to throw sticks and knives up into the ceiling in an attempt to unseat Kurt from his perch in the rafters.

"THERE HE IS, DEMON!"

"I AM NO DEMON. My skin may be different, I may be different, but I am no demon. I wish to observe, to learn why can't you understand that."

"Your lies are the words of the devil, Demon."

Oh great a priest, even he is damning me. I have come to observe, not harm people and still they say I am a tool of the devil.

Kurt stood on the roof, staring down at the humans below. He was purer than them, he had taken better care of the church than them, dared to enter it even though he had heard the whispers about ghosts and found it to be nothing more than some owls roosting in the rafters. He had tried to restore the church to its former glory and all he had gained for his troubles were sharp objects thrown at him and shouts and jeers of "Demon" and "Freak". Things like this made him loose faith in the decency of his fellow man. He had hoped the church would have offered him some kind of sanctuary from the mob but it seemed that the prejudices of mankind were stronger than the protection of the holy ground of the church.

"THERE HE IS! ON THE ROOF!"

Kurt sighed, he had been spotted. The treacherous moon had projected his shadow onto the ground below. Kurt crouched and ran on all fours across the roof tops, hoping to out run the crowds, he didn't want to hurt them but he wouldn't allow himself to be caught so easily. His footing slipped on the tiles of one roof and he nearly fell into the baying crowd below. He wrapped his tail around the guttering and pulled himself back up. The gasps coming from the crowd below would have amused him at any other time.

"There it is, Proof! He is a demon, an abomination."

Kurt wished he knew who this instigator was, it was always the same voice shouting over and over again. He would have loved to gag the man; he was only making this situation worse. He came to the end of the line, no more rooftops to clamber over and no more running. The next five minutes would forever be a blur to him, he could remember shouting at the crowd, trying once more to explain that he meant them no harm but all he got was more shouts and murder attempts, finally he had enough. He realised his folly for trying to explain, for expecting anything less than hatred from them. He raised himself to his full height, tail curled behind him. If they wanted to fight him then so be it, his years in the circus had help increase his natural flexibility and acrobatic prowess to an extraordinary degree and if he was going to die then at least he would take quite a few of his assailants with him.

God, please protect one of your faithful followers. I don't want to hurt these people but not fighting would be tantamount to suicide and that is one more sin I don't need on my soul.

He jumped off the roof straight into the crowd below, his arms and legs blurring as they shot out into the faces of his attackers but soon he was swarmed under the mess of arms, legs and weapons. Hard hits were coming thick and fast making every part of his body ache but he didn't stop, didn't dare stop because he would be killed. Just then everything froze, blows ceased in mid-air and it seemed as if he was the only one moving.

A voice echoed in the silence. A voice that seemed calming and soothing. The words were unnecessary, it was the tone that comforted him, made him easily want to place his trust in whoever was talking. He stood up straight and looked at the man whom he assumed was the one talking. He was bald and in a wheelchair but his lips were not moving yet the voice continued.

I am Professor Xavier. I am a telepath.

Telepathy, Kurt had heard of this but never experienced it.

I only wanted to learn what it meant to be normal

After this do you really want to be.

Kurt looked around at the frozen crowd. Torches lifted in the air, anger and hatred written plainly on their faces, all because he looked different to them. Humans were such bigots, so quick to hate different things, things they couldn't understand.

"You're right Professor, but who exactly are you?"

"I'm a teacher at a school for people like you, a school for mutants. These people hate you, despise you but they need you."

Anger flashed through Kurt.

Forgive me God for what I am about to say

"Need me, why exactly Professor should I help them after what they have done to me."

"Because you are better than their hatred, they will learn to accept us but we need to show them that we are good, decent, here to fit in and not to try and dominate the world."

Kurt smiled, this was enough of an answer for him. God had just shown him his path and he was willing to walk it.

"Very well Professor, I will help these people."

Thank you Lord, please try to help me find my true purpose.

I hope that I've portrayed Kurt accurately. I don't know the back story to his character but this seemed to be, in my mind, what had happened before he meets Xavier.

[freedomwhalewatchcft]

Discover the Wonders of Hervey Bay: A Whale Watching Adventure

The Migration Journey

Humpback whales undertake one of the longest migrations of any mammal, traveling from the cold waters of Antarctica to the warm, sheltered bays of Queensland to mate and give birth. Hervey Bay, with its calm and protected waters, is a crucial stopover for these giants. Here, they rest, play, and nurture their young, providing an ideal opportunity for close encounters.

Why Hervey Bay?

Hervey Bay is uniquely positioned as one of the best whale watching destinations in the world. Its sheltered bay, formed by Fraser Island, Hervey Bay Whale Watching offers a safe haven for the whales, making them more relaxed and playful. This natural barrier also ensures calm seas, enhancing the experience for spectators.

The Whale Watching Experience

Tours typically last between three to four hours, providing ample time to observe and interact with the whales. The boats are equipped with viewing decks and often have hydrophones to listen to the whales’ songs. Guides on these tours are knowledgeable, offering insights into whale behavior and biology.

Up Close and Personal

One of the highlights of whale watching in Hervey Bay is the opportunity for close encounters. Humpback whales are known for their curious and friendly nature, often approaching the boats and putting on spectacular displays of breaching, tail slapping, and pectoral fin waving. These moments create lifelong memories and stunning photographic opportunities.

Sustainable Tourism

Hervey Bay is committed to sustainable tourism, ensuring that whale watching activities do not disturb the natural behavior of these gentle giants. Operators adhere to strict guidelines, maintaining a safe distance and minimizing noise. This respectful approach not only protects the whales but also ensures a more authentic and rewarding experience for visitors.

Beyond Whale Watching

While the whales are undoubtedly the stars of the show, Hervey Bay has much more to offer. The region boasts beautiful beaches, excellent fishing spots, and opportunities for snorkeling and diving. Fraser Island, a UNESCO World Heritage site, is just a short ferry ride away, offering breathtaking landscapes, freshwater lakes, and unique wildlife.

For those interested in history and culture, Hervey Bay’s local museums and art galleries provide a fascinating glimpse into the region’s past and present. The Hervey Bay Historical Village and Museum, in particular, offers an engaging look at the area’s pioneering days.

Planning Your Visit

To make the most of your whale watching adventure, plan your visit between July and November, when the whales are most active in the bay. Hervey Bay Whale Watching Cruise Numerous tour operators in Hervey Bay offer whale watching cruises, with options ranging from small, intimate boats to larger vessels with various amenities.

Booking in advance is recommended, especially during peak season, to secure your spot on one of these popular tours. Be sure to bring a camera, sunscreen, and a sense of wonder, as the experience is sure to be awe-inspiring.

[fish-whisper]

10 Tips for Catching Flounder on Artificial Lures in Chesapeake Bay

Welcome to the ultimate guide for Chesapeake Bay anglers looking to master the art of catching flounder with artificial lures. Whether you're a seasoned fisherman or new to the sport, these tips will help you increase your chances of landing these elusive flatfish. So grab your gear, and let's dive into the world of flounder fishing! 1. Understand Flounder Habits Flounder tend to stay near the bottom, so focus your efforts on areas with structure such as drop-offs, ledges, and sandy flats. In Chesapeake Bay, the underwater landscape near the mouth of the Potomac River is a haven for flounder, especially during the summer months. Here, the mix of fresh and saltwater creates an ideal habitat for baitfish, which in turn attracts flounder. Example: Anglers have found success by targeting the edges of the shipping channels, where flounder often congregate to ambush prey. https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=khJHX76D_Fo&t=166s&pp=ygU5RmxvdW5kZXIgZmlzaGluZyBmcm9tIHBpZXIgb24gdGhlIENoZXNhcGVha2UgQmF5IFZpcmdpbmlh 2. Choose the Right Lure Soft plastic lures that mimic baitfish or crustaceans are excellent choices. The Berkley Gulp! Swimming Mullet, for instance, has a lifelike swimming action that is irresistible to flounder. Experiment with different colors and sizes to match the prevalent baitfish in the area. A tip is to observe the local forage and try to "match the hatch" to what the flounder are naturally feeding on. Example: A pearl white 4-inch paddle tail rigged on a 1/4 oz jighead can be particularly effective during the spring flounder run. 3. Master the Retrieve Flounder are ambush predators, so a slow and steady retrieve that makes your lure look like an easy meal is key. Intermittent pauses and twitches can also trigger strikes from watchful flounder. One effective technique is the "drag and drop," where you drag the lure along the bottom and then let it fall to stir up sediment, mimicking a wounded baitfish. Example: Try retrieving with a series of short hops off the bottom to imitate a fleeing crab or shrimp. 4. Pay Attention to the Tides The moving water of incoming and outgoing tides can bring flounder into feeding mode. Plan your fishing trips around these times for the best results. The hours just before and after a high tide can be particularly productive, as flounder move into shallow waters to feed. Keep a tide chart handy and note the times of peak activity. Example: Focus on the transitional periods during the slack tide when flounder position themselves to catch prey carried by the current. 5. Use the Right Gear A medium-light rod with a sensitive tip will help you feel the subtle bites of flounder. Pair it with a braided line for better feedback and control. The Shimano Stradic spinning reel and St. Croix Triumph rod is a great combination for this purpose. Also, consider a fluorocarbon leader to reduce visibility and increase your chances of a strike. Example: A 7-foot rod with a fast action tip provides the sensitivity needed to detect those light flounder bites. 6. Focus on Color and Contrast Flounder can be particular about color, so having a variety of hues in your tackle box can make all the difference. In murky waters, opt for lures with high contrast to stand out, such as white or chartreuse. During bright days, silver and translucent lures can reflect light and attract attention from flounder lurking below. Example: On overcast days, switching to a darker lure can provide the silhouette that flounder are looking for. 7. Explore Different Depths Don't be afraid to change depths until you find where the flounder are feeding. A depth finder can be an invaluable tool in locating the right fishing spots. If you're fishing from shore, cast your line to different distances and let your lure sink to various levels before retrieving to cover a range of depths. Example: Try varying your retrieval speed as you explore different depths; sometimes a slower retrieve at a deeper depth will entice a hesitant flounder. 8. Keep an Eye on Water Temperature Flounder are more active in certain temperature ranges. During the spring and fall, look for water temperatures between 55 and 68 degrees Fahrenheit for peak flounder activity. These transitional periods often see flounder moving inshore, making them more accessible to anglers. Example: Use a temperature gauge to find the warmer pockets of water during early spring, as flounder will often be found there. 9. Be Patient Flounder fishing can be a waiting game. Patience is vital, as flounder may take their time to investigate and strike at your lure. Keep in mind that flounder may follow your lure for a distance before deciding to bite, so maintain a steady retrieval rate and be ready for a subtle tug. Example: Remember, sometimes allowing your lure to sit motionless can be just the trigger a curious flounder needs to strike. 10. Respect the Environment As you enjoy the sport of fishing, remember to practice catch and release when appropriate and always respect the marine environment. Follow local regulations and be mindful of the delicate ecosystems you are fishing in. Participate in conservation efforts and join local cleanups to help preserve the habitats that flounder and other marine life depend on. Example: Participating in a tag-and-release program can provide valuable data to researchers and contribute to the sustainability of the flounder population. For more tips and fishing tales, join the conversation on our Fish Whisper community. Share your own experiences and learn from fellow anglers as we all strive to bridge the gap between fish and fish enthusiasts. Happy fishing and tight lines! Read the full article

[20232]

Thai Island Hopping: 5 Breathtaking Destinations to Add to our Bucket List

Thailand, a land of captivating beauty and vibrant culture, is home to a collection of extraordinary islands that will transport you to a tropical paradise. From pristine white sand beaches fringed by swaying palm trees to mesmerizing azure waters teeming with marine life, these islands offer an escape like no other. In this blog, we will embark on an enchanting journey, delving into the mesmerizing details of five must-visit islands in Thailand, ensuring that your tropical getaway is nothing short of extraordinary.

1. Phuket: The Pearl of the Andaman Sea

Phuket, Thailand's largest island, sits majestically in the turquoise waters of the Andaman Sea. As you approach the island, you'll be greeted by an awe-inspiring sight—a coastline adorned with golden sandy beaches and rugged limestone cliffs jutting out of the emerald waters. Phuket is a paradise for beach lovers, and its most famous beach, Patong, is a bustling hub of activity. Sink your toes into the soft sand, bask in the warmth of the tropical sun, and allow the rhythmic sound of the waves to lull you into a state of blissful relaxation.

For those seeking adventure, Phuket offers an abundance of thrilling activities. Take a boat trip to the nearby Phi Phi Islands, where stunning limestone cliffs rise dramatically from the crystal-clear waters. Snorkel or dive among vibrant coral reefs, encountering an array of colorful fish and marine creatures. Immerse yourself in the island's rich cultural heritage by visiting the iconic Big Buddha, an imposing white-marble statue that offers panoramic views of the island.

2. Koh Phi Phi: A Tropical Paradise

Just a short boat ride from Phuket lies the heavenly island of Koh Phi Phi. As you approach, the sight of the twin bays, Ton Sai and Loh Dalum, will leave you breathless. The soft powdery sand meets the aquamarine waters in a mesmerizing dance, beckoning you to step into paradise. Explore the bustling village of Ton Sai, where vibrant restaurants, bars, and shops line the narrow streets. Lose yourself in the vibrant nightlife, where fire dancers captivate audiences with their awe-inspiring performances.

For an unforgettable adventure, hop on a long-tail boat and sail towards Maya Bay, a place of unparalleled beauty made famous by the movie "The Beach." Encircled by towering cliffs and adorned with crystal-clear waters, this hidden gem is a haven for snorkelers and sun-seekers alike. As you swim among colorful coral gardens, you'll be enchanted by the kaleidoscope of tropical fish darting around you, creating a truly magical experience.

3. Koh Samui: An Idyllic Retreat

Nestled in the tranquil waters of the Gulf of Thailand, Koh Samui is a tropical sanctuary that captivates the senses. As you step off the plane, you'll be greeted by warm tropical breezes and the tantalizing scent of coconut trees. The island's most famous beach, Chaweng, stretches for several kilometers, its soft white sand inviting you to sink your feet into its embrace. Indulge in a traditional Thai massage, where skilled hands work their magic, easing away any lingering tension.

To truly appreciate the island's beauty, visit the stunning Wat Plai Laem temple, adorned with elaborate statues and vibrant colors. Marvel at the intricate architecture and the serenity that permeates the air. For adventure seekers, Koh Samui offers a range of exhilarating water sports. Hop on a jet ski and ride the waves, or explore the island's hidden coves and limestone formations by kayak. The possibilities for exploration are endless.

4. Khao Lak: Serenity on the Andaman Coast

Tucked away on the Andaman Coast, Khao Lakoffers a serene escape from the hustle and bustle of everyday life. As you step onto the island, you'll be greeted by a sense of tranquility—a place where time slows down and nature reigns supreme. Long stretches of untouched beaches invite you to relax under the shade of swaying palm trees, while the gentle lapping of the waves provides the perfect soundtrack for relaxation.

Explore the island's stunning national park, a haven for nature lovers. Trek through dense rainforests, where the air is alive with the chorus of exotic birds. Discover hidden waterfalls, their cascading waters inviting you to take a refreshing dip. Snorkel in crystal-clear waters, where vibrant coral reefs provide a kaleidoscope of colors beneath the surface. Khao Lak is a place where the natural world thrives, and you are invited to be a part of it.

5. Koh Tao: A Diver's Haven

Koh Tao, aptly named the "Turtle Island," is a paradise for underwater enthusiasts. The island's crystal-clear waters provide excellent visibility, making it an ideal destination for diving and snorkeling. As you descend into the depths, you'll be greeted by a kaleidoscope of colors—coral reefs teeming with life, their vibrant hues an invitation to explore. Swim alongside majestic sea turtles as they gracefully glide through the water, and marvel at the intricate dance of the marine ecosystem.

Koh Tao boasts a range of dive centers and schools, catering to divers of all skill levels. Whether you're a seasoned diver or a beginner, expert instructors will guide you through the mesmerizing underwater world. After a day of diving, unwind on one of the island's secluded beaches, where time seems to stand still. Watch as the sun sets over the horizon, casting a golden glow across the tranquil waters, creating a moment of pure serenity.

Conclusion:

Thailand's islands are a treasure trove of beauty and adventure, each offering a unique experience. From the vibrant shores of Phuket to the untouched serenity of Koh Lanta, these five must-visit islands—Phuket, Koh Phi Phi, Koh Samui, Koh Tao, and Koh Lanta—promise a tropical escape beyond your wildest dreams. Immerse yourself in the allure of these captivating destinations, and allow the magic of Thailand's islands to weave its spell around you. Prepare for an extraordinary journey that will leave you with memories to cherish for a lifetime.To get the amazing tour experience , get in touch with us to know more.

[better-woodbridge-va]

Woodbridge Preschool

The Montessori approach is focused on creating a supportive and stimulating learning environment that encourages children to develop their full potential. It was developed by Dr. Maria Montessori, an Italian physician, and educator, in the early 1900s. The concept is based on the idea that children learn best through self-directed exploration and hands-on learning experiences in a carefully prepared setting. Merit School Learning Center at The Glen is a Woodbridge preschool that embraces this method. They provide the Stepping Stones Montessori classroom for two- to three-year-olds and present an orderly, focused, and calm environment in which your child can learn and grow.

Annual Events in Woodbridge, VA

Woodbridge hosts several annual events throughout the year, ranging from cultural celebrations to community festivals. The Occoquan Arts and Crafts Show is a bi-annual event held in April and September in nearby Occoquan just a short drive from Woodbridge. The show features over 300 artists and crafters, showcasing their work in a variety of mediums such as pottery, painting, jewelry, and more. The Fall Jubilee is held annually in October, and features live music, food vendors, a craft show, and a carnival. The Woodbridge Farmers Market is held weekly from May through November and offers fresh produce, locally made crafts, and live music. In December, the Potomac Mills Mall transforms into a Winter Wonderland, complete with a holiday light show, visits from Santa Claus, and festive decorations. These are just some of the yearly events that keep the town active.

Occoquan Bay National Wildlife Refuge in Woodbridge, VA

Occoquan Bay National Wildlife Refuge is a 644-acre protected area and was established in 1998 to safeguard and enhance the wetlands and forest habitats along the Occoquan River and its tributaries. It is a secure haven for a variety of migratory birds, including waterfowl, songbirds, and raptors. You can also find bald eagles, ospreys, river otters, and white-tailed deer in the vicinity. Some of the activities people enjoy doing on the trails and boardwalks include birdwatching, hiking, and wildlife photography. In addition to its natural beauty, the refuge also serves as an important educational resource for the community and hosts a variety of educational programs, including guided nature walks, birdwatching tours, and school field trips.

Woodbridge Man Chokes Woman, Steals Her Credit Cards

Studies have consistently shown that men are more likely than women to commit crimes and be violent. This trend holds true across cultures and geographic regions and is observed in both developed and developing countries. Men tend to have higher levels of testosterone than women, which may contribute to more aggressive behavior. They are also more likely than women to be involved in illegal activities that offer high financial rewards, such as drug trafficking and organized crime. Boys and men are also often socialized to be more aggressive and competitive than girls and women. They may also be exposed to more violence and aggression in media and popular culture. In Woodbridge, a man has been arrested and could face 27 years in prison for trying to strangle a woman and stealing from her. Click here to read more.

Link to Map

Driving Direction

Occoquan Bay National Wildlife Refuge

14050 Dawson Beach Rd, Woodbridge, VA 22191, United States

Head north on Dawson Beach Rd toward Highams Ct

0.7 mi

Continue onto Occoquan Rd

1.2 mi

Turn left onto Old Bridge Rd

4.7 mi

Continue onto VA-294 W/Prince William Pkwy

0.2 mi

Turn right

151 ft

Turn right

Destination will be on the left

489 ft

Merit School Learning Center at The Glen

4290 Prince William Pkwy

Woodbridge, VA 22192, USA

[textillian]

This is the Your Ice Cream Shawl by Tetiana Otruta. The yarn is Finn Silk Lace that I got from Bay Haven Short Tails at this year's MDSW.

[rotworld]

12: Perspective

working at a place known as a haven for intergalactic criminals can be dangerous. luckily, you know people you can count on.

->explicit. contains dubcon, gore, murder, mild feral behavior, implied drugging/aphrodisiac, mentions of child labor/abuse.

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If you want to disappear, Cabrax is the place to go. It’s discreet, for one thing, easy to miss in survey scans. Roughly oblong like an insect hive, it’s lit externally in dim, crusted blood colors (if your blood’s iron-based, anyway), mimicking a red dwarf. Its sauntering orbit around a gas giant has it hopscotching between the Stellaris Union and the Yrenth Empire’s territorial borders, making it a jurisdictional nightmare, intergalactic open waters. If you’re wanted for something in Cabrax, you’re a needle in an acupuncturist’s storage cabinet—welcome to the club.

Humans, though? Humans don’t come to Cabrax. It’s too far, too much of a hassle, and a little too dangerous. You stick out like a sore thumb. It took a few cycles for people to get used to you. You still get stares, threats, and the occasional new arrival who leers a little too much, but people leave you alone for the most part. It helps that you’re important. Cabrax is held together by a patchwork of architectural duct tape, antique gravity tech and a bootleg atmospheric generator. Every engineer the station can get is eccentric, overworked and extremely precious, so the pay is great and the risk doesn’t bother you much. Lately, you’ve even had some backup while you make your rounds. 

He’s late today, though. You pace nervously on one of the lower merchant floors, checking the station time on your tablet. You have to go up a floor to check the sector generator by the pleasure booths, and you were really hoping he’d come with you. Loroa spots you from the doorway of her shop, electronic screens advertising forged ship registrations and galactic travel passes. She waves you over with one flicking forelimb, keening in displeasure when she sees that you’re alone. “He is late!” she says, indignant. Her long, equine body curls around you protectively. “No being alone. Too dangerous. Stay until he is here.” 

“He might not show up,” you say. 

She bristles at the mere suggestion. “Ridiculous! Small things, you must look out for each other. Nobody else will but Loroa, and Loroa cannot be everywhere at once.” 

She gives you snacks, like always, a bag of savory snack pellets popular on her homeworld. You camp out next to her shop and watch the bustling market activity while you wait. The upper districts form a stalactite skyline of dingy, old metal and softly pulsing landing bay lights. There’s an orange, smoggy haze from the external lights, veiling the markets in perpetual sunset. Loroa shares a block with a software modder, a weapons smuggler, and a bar that never seems to close. Foot traffic is dense and constant, but you haven’t seen him yet. Like you, he sticks out in a sea of tailed, spined, and tendriled bodies, the only other human on Cabrax.

Just as you’re starting to lose hope, though, you smell it—slightly sweet and floral, a distinctive, earthy cologne. “Blue!” you say excitedly, waving at him across the market. He looks almost embarrassed by the attention, slinking quickly and gracefully through the stream of moving bodies to reach you. Blue keeps his hair cropped short and his bangs uneven, one eye hidden, and it’s colored with the brightest cyan dye you’ve ever seen, nearly luminescent. Everything else about him is geared towards vanishing, from his black, nondescript clothing and small stature to the hunched, closed posture he constantly maintains. He steps so lightly you rarely hear any footsteps.

“There he is!” Loroa says, arms and forelimbs crossed. She has herself wound through display booths and tables with sample products, the bulk of her still pressed against your back. “You are late! Should have been here sooner!” Blue looks sheepish under her scrutiny, bowing his head in shame. Loroa huffs. “Fine, fine. You are sorry, Loroa sees it. Go! Do not be more late! Be good to each other, small things.” She sends you off with a crushing hug. Blue sidesteps the hug with an apologetic look, shaking his head, so she gives him a bag of snacks instead. 

Together, you get even more stares, but it doesn’t bother you as much. Blue acts like he doesn’t even notice, too focused on you. He has a staring problem. You’ll walk single-file through a dense crowd and feel his unrelenting stare on your back. You crouch by vent openings and dig through control panels, up to your elbows in cords and mechanical innards, and he’ll stand there, unmoving, nearly unblinking, looking at your face in profile the whole time. It was a little unsettling at first, but you’ve gotten used to it. Sometimes you stare at him, too, soothed by a familiar arrangement of eyes, a protruding nose, and five-fingered hands. 

Your first stop is lower ventilation. You squeeze into a room the size of a storage closet packed with air purifying units, and Blue stands guard outside. “I heard this place was a hykra penal colony once,” you say absently. “That’s why so much of the machinery is crammed in tight spaces like this. They could just squeeze a tentacle in here no problem. I have to take everything apart just to get at the controls.” 

Blue doesn’t talk. You aren’t sure if it’s a choice or not, but you don’t hassle him about it. If you stop rambling, he’ll tap your shoulder and nod or make a turning gesture with his hand. Go on, he says this way. His silence is companionable. Rarely, you’ll get a harsh exhale out of him if you tell a joke stupid enough. 

“I was a shipworm, y’know,” you tell him. “Back before they outlawed it. I grew up on this awful shipping scrapheap and crawled around in the engine ducts with the other kids to make sure nothing exploded. This place seems like paradise in comparison.” 

Blue gently rests his hand on your back, his palm settling between your shoulders. He avoids touch most of the time. Anything he initiates is meaningful, usually meant to comfort you. 

“Aw, I’m alright, Blue,” you assure him, pulling your face out of the ventilation console. Blue has a small, worried frown on his face. “I don’t do anything that dangerous anymore, trust me. They don’t wanna risk losing any of us when we’re the only ones who know how to keep this place from falling apart!”

It’s a young friendship and there’s a lot to talk about. You ask him questions sometimes, glancing away from whatever wiring mess you’re working on to see the expressions and gestures he makes. “What kind of food do you like? What do you do around here? Do you get bored following me around all day?”

There are a lot of times that he just shrugs, unable or unwilling to divulge an answer. But every now and then, you get other responses. He ruffles your hair gently when you ask if he’s bored. When you glance at him, he shakes his head emphatically. Definitely not bored. You don’t ask why he’s here, though. Hearing someone’s past is the truest sign of Cabrax friendship. It’s not something taken lightly. You think about telling him about you, too, sometimes. Where you came from, the winding road that brought you here. But you’re not ready yet. 

You split up just once. You’re halfway down a cramped maintenance corridor when you suddenly realize you can hear footsteps behind you, too heavy to be his. Blue’s gone when you turn around. That happens sometimes. He makes little detours along your route, slipping into stores or restaurants quickly before rejoining you just as suddenly. The person behind you is one of the taller, lanky species, spiny growths like knives curving out of his elbows and the back of his feet. He’s not doing anything, but he’s staring at you and he’s following you down a dark maintenance hallway, walking just a little bit faster and gradually gaining on you. 

You start speedwalking, then jogging, slipping into the first doorway you come across. It’s hardly shelter, just a shallow alcove with some dusty equipment inside, but you wedge yourself behind towering metal protrusions and hold your breath. Maybe he’ll just keep walking? Heavy, clanging footsteps get closer and closer, until—

they stop. You don’t hear anything. You wait for a minute, and then two. Is he just standing there, waiting for you to come out? You’re afraid to look. You wait even longer, your legs cramping in their tightly folded position. There’s a soft sound, a barely audible tap of something tiptoeing down the maintenance corridor. Blue suddenly steps into view, peering into the alcove curiously. You let out a relieved sigh. 

“Where were you?” you ask, trying to sound miffed rather than terrified. “I turned around and you were gone!” Blue bows his head, the same way he did when Loroa scolded him. “I’m not mad, Blue. It just scared me a little. Tap me on the shoulder if you leave, okay?” He nods eagerly. His sweet smile stirs butterflies in your stomach. 

The pleasure booths are the latest iteration of a club that’s constantly changing hands, a seedy bar and dancefloor with private rooms for rent. Half of them are staffed with flirtatious AI, the rest for couples and casual encounters. Blue stops staring for the first time that day when you walk beneath the red neon glow of the club sign, his pace slowing slightly. You follow his gaze and see movement through the open doorway, flickering light and couples grinding on the dancefloor. “Have you ever been there?” you ask him.

Blue shakes his head violently, like the idea repulses him. 

“I always thought it seemed fun,” you say absently. “But I’m too nervous to meet up with a stranger. It’d have to be someone I know and trust pretty well.” The sector generator is behind the club. It’s claustrophobic like everywhere else, a narrow alley that you have to squeeze through single-file. Blue walks a little closer than usual and his cologne is closer, more pronounced. You’re grateful. People tend to be handsy around here, and you don’t want anyone sneaking up on you. The generator cabinet is a tall, sleek obelisk, and the front panel is stuck. You pick at it for a solid minute without progress and have to change tactics, fishing around in your supplies for a small, narrow object to pry it open. 

“I’m glad you’re here, Blue,” you tell him. “This job gets a little nerve wracking sometimes. I don’t think I’ve had any trouble since we started hanging out, though. Probably helps that there’s two of us. We’re on the small side around here, but still, it makes people think twice before they mess with us.” 

He’s really close. You can hear him breathing. Warm, heavy panting hits the back of your neck and you glance back, double checking that it’s him. Blue stares back at you. The eye contact is intense and intimidating. You feel a little overheated and keep picking at the generator cabinet. 

“Uh. Anyway. Do you wanna get dinner after I finish up here? I’ve only got one more stop, I think—” Blue’s touching you suddenly, pressed against you from behind. You shift forward and he follows, and then there’s nowhere to go. You’re trapped between him and the towering generator cabinet, your pulse picking up. “Blue?” you say nervously. “What are you doing?” 

He answers concisely, with a roll of his hips. Your breath hitches and you shift anxiously. You like Blue. You think he’s cute, and it’s not like you’ve never thought about this before. You might be a little touch-starved and desperate, never feeling comfortable enough to let anyone get too close. Blue grinds against you again and a shaky breath heats your ear. 

“You really wanna?” you ask, feeling a little shy suddenly. “With me? Right now?”

He doesn’t tell you that he wants you. He shows you. Blue kisses your neck with such passion and focus that it feels dirty, sucking and swirling his tongue anywhere that you seem sensitive. He kisses up to your ear and nibbles the lobe, his breathing even more labored and feverish. His hands are all over you, pushing up your shirt to get at your chest. You try to keep in all the little gasps and whimpers, but it seems to bother him. He lets out a harsh breath, pouting, and starts toying with your nipples. One hand strokes and massages your chest while the other slides down, between your legs, and a third runs through your hair—

Wait, you think. He notices when you tense up. All of his hands, however many there are, suddenly retreat, but he pushes you even harder against the generator with his body. That sweet scent floods your senses and you feel a little dizzy and overheated. Arousal slams into you with meteoric force and you’re trembling, unable to stop yourself from grinding back against him.

Your tongue doesn’t work right. You only manage slurred muttering when you try to ask him what’s happening, and even those half-words devolve into mindless keening when he pumps his hips and you feel the prominent bulge in his Blue’s pants. There’s something strange about all this and how utterly desperate you feel, but you can’t dwell on it. Blue’s hands are on your body again and his touch is fire on your skin, the pleasure searing. 

It feels so obscene to be doing this outside, even if you’re half-hidden in shadows. Anyone could walk by the alley or step out the back doors of the club, and they’d see Blue’s back, the frantic movements of his hips, dry humping you in plain sight. Blue’s fingers rake like claws down your back, pulling at your clothes. He doesn’t undress you all the way, but he leaves your shirt skewed, one shoulder partly exposed, and tugs impatiently at your pants until he can palm your ass with both hands. He lingers there for a while, appreciating the soft mounds of flesh and massaging them, pulling them apart. 

“Please,” you stammer at some point, desperate for something inside of you. Blue freezes. You’re worried you scared him off, that he’s getting second thoughts. You only worry for a second. Blue’s hand is on the back of your neck and he’s shoving you face-first against the generator. He’s practically growling now, his breathing harsh and mingled with low, animalistic sounds. You feel his cock pressing against your entrance and his teeth set against your shoulder. He starts to bite as he sinks in. It’s exciting at first, a dull nibble, but when he gets past the tip—and it feels strange, you think, not the shape you expect and bumpy along the sides—his teeth crunch into you. 

You cry out in shock and pain, stinging agony radiating down your arm. His teeth are sharp. How have you never noticed? His smile has never looked off, but it feels like he has a snake’s fangs, two long, hard needles framing a row of shorter needle points. You can feel yourself tearing and the slow, agonizing plunge of his teeth through flesh and muscle, the gush of blood dribbling down your back. Blue sucks hungrily at the wound, his shuddering breaths hot on your skin. He stays like that, his jaw clamped into you, as he starts to move. 

His thrusts are fast from the start. Shallow first, quick but not too hard. He’s patient through the uncomfortable clench of your body, your tension from the bite. You feel yourself moving with him—not consciously, not trying to, but you’re moved. There’s a phantom touch on your hips and thighs, the grasp of impossible hands that tug you back into his forward motion, burying him deeper. There’s a hand between your thighs, too, fingers that start testing, curious, poking and prodding and seeing what makes you whine. He learns fast. You’re panting and trying to buck against his hand before long, but you can’t. You move to the rhythm he sets, slammed onto his cock.

It doesn’t take long for him to get vicious. It all feels good and hurts in equal measure, the brutal slam of his pelvis against your ass and the deep, punishing thrusts driving you hard against the generator. Blue is practically hyperventilating, his frantic, gasping breaths fanning across your shoulder. The ridges of his cock grind and massage your inner walls as he pummels a spot inside you that makes you see stars and tremble.

You feel his end coming shortly after you find yours, his movements losing rhythm. He pounds into you so hard and fast you struggle to breathe, and then there are hands everywhere. Wrapped around you like a vice, looped around your ankles and your thighs, squeezing your chest, straining to keep you flush against Blue’s body as he cums with a muffled snarl and spills himself inside you. 

His whole body quivers with each rush of cum. He makes a high-pitched keening sound, almost like he’s in pain. Slowly, his teeth pull out of your flesh with a wet, sucking sound, his tongue lapping up the smear of blood on your skin. That sweet scent fills your nose and warms your chest. You lean against the generator, knees buckling, when Blue suddenly pulls out. Cum dribbles down your thighs and splatters on the ground. The world gets a little hazy around the edges, a dark curtain closing across your vision. You look back and don’t see Blue.

But there is something—something bright, vivid blue, its veins bioluminescent, reaching for you with countless thin, wiggling appendages—

You blink, and you’re on a couch in the back of Loroa’s shop. You feel good. Refreshed and rested. There’s a thin fog of sleep still clinging to your brain, the distinct impression that you just had a bizarre dream. You hear Loroa’s enormous body slithering and scuttling around the front of the shop as she scolds Blue, “What are you doing out there, silly small things? So busy you fall asleep in the middle of the street? Loroa heard all about it! Next time they need sleep, come sooner! No street sleeping!” 

A door opens and shuts. Blue shuffles into the back of the shop looking sheepish. “Did I pass out?” you ask him. He nods. He isn’t quite meeting your gaze. “Thanks for the rescue. Jeez, I must’ve really been out of it.”

“You be careful, small things!” Loroa pokes her head in, frowning tightly at both of you. “Loroa heard news—dead thing in maintenance place! Very bad! Inside parts on the outside! Look out for each other, small things.” 

A shiver runs down your spine. Bodies turn up around here sometimes. It’s not unusual. But a grisly murder in a maintenance tunnel? That could’ve been you. Blue halts your nervous train of thought by ruffling your hair. You smile and he smiles back. 

“You’ve got my back, right, Blue?” you ask. He nods eagerly. “Good. Loroa’s right. We’re the only humans here. We’ve gotta look out for each other.” 

Loroa tilts her head, eyeing you strangely. She looks like she wants to say something, but Blue glances at her suddenly, his gaze pleading. She lets out a huff but she nods, doesn’t say a word, and leaves the two of you alone. Blue presses a sudden kiss to your cheek that makes you giggle. It’s nice to have people you can count on, you think.

[kryptsune]

World Building Wednesday! (AU edition)~

The Hunt (Fellswap)

*I am going to start off with some basic information just to start!* 

The Surface:  The surface has been overrun by corrupt leaders. It is very much the concept of big brother. They are a council that presides over the affairs of the world. If you are seen as a threat you will be immediately thrown into “prison” without a trial. They hold occasional public trials in the guise of being fair. Just as WTU claims, the very concept of magic is a threat to them so those that have it are quickly disposed of but leaders don’t always do the dirty work themselves. No. In fact, they use another source by means of execution…the monsters. More accurately it is very similar to the idea of throwing your enemies into a kind of gladiatorial arena. It is not technically considered an execution if circumstances lead to death. The humans are not stupid they know what is going on. Some believe in rebellion against the state and some wonder if the monsters could fix their corrupt world. Either way, the corruption continues and they are not above tossing innocents into “the pit” if it suits their agenda.  “The Pit” (aka the Underworld/Underground):  The underworld is broken up into different factions by location. The only location without a faction or any type of ruler is The Ruins, because of its size and its isolation this is where humans try to reach for some form of Salvation. Asgore, the caretaker, has made it into an encampment for those that have fallen (the innocent ones). It is almost like a refugee camp. Unfortunately very few make it to Asgore’s safe haven. He does his best. Poor goat dad. He is not like canon Toriel however as he will use violence if necessary as he knows that humans are simply using them as tools to get rid of who they deem criminal. There are signs of old campfires, broken tents, and habitation. Before The Ruins is, of course, the main factions. “Snowdin” is the beginning and Crimson is one of the most powerful in the Underworld. 

The Layout of the world: New Home= The Capital Snowdin= Magmire Waterfall= Windyspires Hotland= Tundra

The Underworld is backward to its original layout. The humans end up trapped in The Capital instead and they have to make their way to The Ruins to escape. So it would go like this: The Capital -> Tundra ->Windyspires ->Magmire. The closer the faction to the capital the higher the rank in other words because both Grimm and Crimson live in Tundra. Crim is the lord making him one of the most notorious. He is known for being a loyal “dog” to his queen. Whether that be out of loyalty or self preservation is unclear.  Each faction has a lord or lady that rules over it. The ones loyal to Toriel’s (As a side note she is known as the ice queen) regime and their supposed way of life. This also means the closest ones receive the most benefits. Tundra is the one with the most prestige and of course other monsters are trying to strip that title from its current holder, The Crimson Lord. Due to Crimson’s loyalty, he is almost exempt from any wrongdoing in the Queens’ eyes which means he can do pretty much anything he wants. Which is dangerous and I will explain why in a bit. I have a faction ruler list sitting here so I am going to add that to this as well. They are as follows, of course, this does not account for potential power struggles during the story:  The Capital -> QUEEN: Toriel Dreemurr Tundra -> Lord: Crimson         Lady: N/A Windyspires -> Lord? (I mean she wouldn’t want to be called a lady SHE IS TOO TOUGH FOR THAT!): Alphys         Lady: Undyne Magmire-> Lord: Grillby     Lady: Muffet “It’s Hunt or be Hunted”: The motto of this verse. After so many centuries of humans being disposed of by monsters they become aggressive. In addition the anger toward all of humanity begins to fuel violence in the monsters. The hunts deter monster on monster violence. It also adds fuel to Queen Toriel’s fire that one of the humans that fell down the first time killed her son. This of course is a lie as Asriel seeks refuge with his father in The Ruins. He helps as much as he can watch his mother lose her mind from afar. It saddens him but he refuses to be a part of this new world order. That is when they realized that humans weren’t just falling into the Underworld. They were throwing throwing the worst of the worst. Their undesirables, criminals, and anyone that dare went against their own agenda. At first, they just captured them and held them in the Capitals network of catacombs but then some began to escape causing damage across their “New Home”. Toriel wouldn’t allow it. A proposal turns it into a game of cat and mouse. The humans are detained and released and then the monsters hunt them down. It used to be about protection but now it’s become a sick twisted death game. The forests of Tundra are littered with traps and deadly pitfalls along with the rest of the locations.

The Brothers Grimm:

Grimm is the wilder of the two brothers and is very much a predator type. His name is derived from the mythos of the Grimm or Black dog. I wanted to keep that dark omen symbology in both his name and design. He slinks around in the shadows so that the black dog aspect is not far off. He also loves watching from trees.  He enjoys the catching and hunting aspect of his job and even plays around with his “toys” when he finds them. He will specifically call anyone “chew toy” in a mocking kind of way. That does not mean though that he will not spare you if he catches you. He is naturally curious by things. He also has a little skele tail too. Unlike his brother, Grimm doesn’t really have an ego he just finds his job fun. He is like a giant untamed wolf. Grimm has a love of sweets as well.  He admires his brother but he is not bound to his brother. In other words this is not a master, dog dynamic. He is, however, the more accepting of the two. If he is asked to do something he doesn’t approve of then he most likely won’t. Also just because he has the whole puppy thing going on doesn’t mean he isn’t smart and cunning. Again he likes to play around with those he finds sometimes not even dragging them back to his brother for a while. If you are a threat he will kill you but if you’re not you can probably get on his good side. If he thinks you are cute he will probably flirt with you too. He is not beyond that. He plays the part of the dog quite well. Crimson is more sophisticated. He doesn’t go out on “hunts” himself often as he has a faction to rule over but those brought to him will see first hand that he is an insufferable flirt. He is prideful, egotistical, and commanding. He also has a bad habit of keeping mementos from those he deems worthy (what those are… you don’t want to know). He is stern with his brother and seems very outwardly cold to most unless he is playing up his charm. He is not someone you want to make angry as Toriel considers him to also be the Bloody Lord. His weapon of choice is a rapier. His drinks of choice are red wine and champagne specifically the pink kind. Crimson’s incisor teeth also have that vampire point to them. They are longer than the rest of them. There is far more to Crimson than just a ruthless skeleton lord.

The Ultimate Unlikely Hunters: This backstory will involve Grimm and Crimson’s unusual infliction and conditions. They were both experiments under Rivers research team in the beginning. Having been weak monsters as children unable to gain any LV they had to think of a way to survive. They did not seem to possess the ability to wield magic. Tired, injured, and without hope Papyrus carried his baby brother all the way to Windyspires banging weakly on the metal plated doors. The Royal scientist at the time, Dr. River Styx, took the boys in. River cares about the two brothers and he gives them a choice if they want to become stronger as their souls are not capable of it on their own. Grimm takes the offer hoping it will save his baby brother offering to be the first test subject.  At the time Undyne was nothing but a teenage prodigy lab tech watching the events of soul manipulation take place. At first the process works. Pap is able to conjure new bone like attacks with magic and all seems to be well. The results cause River to start the experiment on Sans next. By this time complications have already begun to show signs. Pap seems to be more short tempered and aggressive even with little things. His mood swings cause him to lock himself up being monitored day by day. 

Sans has never seen his gentle brother this aggressive before forcing himself to look away as they have to strap him down for a follow up experiment. He tries to help his brother the best he can and takes on the older brother role due to Pap’s inability to think clearly. Even he is starting to change. The longer this situation continues the more Sans becomes numb to the feeling. That is until one day Pap’s condition takes a turn for the worse causing him to lash out, bones shifting and elongating. He drops to the ground in agony transforming into a skeletal beast like wolf tearing the entire lab apart.  Sans on the other hand continues to take care of his brother but he too is feeling some strange side effects to the soul manipulation. It turns out that each monster’s ancestry buried deep within their soul draws upon a primal power. Not all monsters were about love and compassion in the beginning. Bringing this primal trait to the surface causes adverse physical and biological changes within the two. Sans is more gradual as he starts to be in immense pain. His soul struggles to keep itself together but even he snaps lunging at a lab tech. He zeros in on their soul pulling it from their chest and sinking his teeth into it, draining it of its life force. The pain is suddenly gone. He realizes that he needs souls essence and power to keep that hunger/thirst at bay. It gives him extraordinary abilities. He remembers a long time ago reading about a monster that humans had such a fear of, the vampire.  As he comes into power he realizes that humans concentrated soul traits are even better than monster souls. The blood has a high concentration of soul essence which sustains humans as well as monsters (yes the monsters bleed in this). His brother learns to control this new beast within himself but not before he nearly claws his brothers socket out, hence the signature scar. Crimson has scars on his entire body from trying to reason with his once feral brother. They slowly work their way up to eventually ruling the second most powerful kingdom in the entire Underworld with exception to The Capitol. The constant hunts keep both the brothers conditions satisfied. No one is quite sure how the two skeleton brothers became this way after River’s disappearance, all except Undyne.       

*This is just to get started! If you have any questions about the characters, how the world works, the layout, story, any of that go ahead and drop me an ask I would love to answer them!*

[fierypen37]

Victory is in Your Veins 4

Chapter 4

 Day Ninety: The White Wolf

 The sand was brutally hot beneath his bare feet. Sweat dripped beneath the weight of the wolf pelt on his shoulders. Jon clenched and unclenched his fists, his sticky tongue darting out to wet dry lips. Half a dozen men stood in line with him: costumed and unarmed as he was. A meaty smell wafted up from the sand: spilled blood heated by the sun. Here and there the red sand had been raked smooth, though the wet patches were still visible.

From the iron gate on the floor of the arena, Jon had watched the initial matches unfold. Slaves tied in pairs set against each other. Slaves armed with wooden weapons pitted against starving panthers or lions. A group of naked children lashed with whips until they stopped crying and beat each other to death with a single rock. Jon closed his eyes to shut out that particular horror. The unholy noise chased him, though. Thin screams of dying children and worse, the noise of the spectators washed over him. Shouts, cheers and applause. Jon choked down bile. Rage surged like liquid fire in his gut, his chest. Gods, what sort of vile creatures were they?

Now above him in the orator’s box, the announcer boomed rapid-fire Valyrian. Jon understood one word in six, but Morrgys had dinned the expected phrase in their heads during training. They faced the prince of Pentos, lounging in silks. Once the announcer finished speaking, Jon raised both crossed wrists and in one voice shouted with the other slaves: “Ilon vīlība se morghūljas syt aōha jaqiarzir, O Jaqiarzus Mēre!” {We fight and die for your glory, O Glorious One!}    

Unlike the great fighting pits in Astapor and Meereen on Slaver’s Bay, the arenas in the Free Cities were smaller, shabbier affairs. This arena was tiered, yes, but held only a couple thousand. The Great Pit of Daznak in Meereen was said to seat over ten thousand spectators, with each tier of benches painted a different color. Though according to the Twins’ grumbling, at least Pentos’ was passable. The prince and magisters were accustomed to luxury, so the canopied boxes held every imaginable comfort. Heaped with silken cushions. Heavy oils and perfumes masked the smell of blood and shit. Slaves waved fans of palm fronds and peacock feathers. If only he had a spear to stick them like the squealing pigs they were, Jon thought savagely.

The cheaper seats were packed despite the punishing heat. A sea of humanity filled the arena. The din was deafening. The prince’s answering phrase was lost in the noise. The announcer looked helplessly to the prince. Furtively, Jon looked to the other slaves. One dressed in a ridiculous fringed silk garment had height and breadth of muscle. Two more were lean and wild-eyed, dressed in matching motley. One was naked save for a rower’s loincloth, his chest scarred from previous matches, the last one—

The orator’s voice broke his contemplation.  

“Let the match begin!” the words—one of the few Valyrian phrases he knew—rang through him.

Jon leapt back, scanning the sand for a weapon. Any weapon. In the matches he’d seen, the combatants entered armed, or the weapons were thrown by the gamemakers. The others scattered.

A faint thud from above.

The sound from the crowd rose impossibly louder. His ears rang with the jeers and encouragement shouted in babble of languages. Jon glimpsed a greatsword. Three of the slaves converged on it. Jon skittered back, trying to ignore the burning pain in his feet from the scorching sand. The big one with the scars emerged with the sword. One brutal blow lopped the head from the motley-clad slave. It rolled on the sand as the trunk slumped. The sand eagerly drank blood spurted from the neck.

Another savage blow spilled a slave’s entrails. The slave howled, trying to shove them back inside. His cry was lost in the roar of the crowd, laughing as he died. The silk-garbed slave jumped on the armed attacker’s back and struck his head repeatedly with the broken haft of a spear.

That’s it!

Jon scanned the sand for a remnant from a previous match. A rock, a broken handle, anything! He scrabbled on his knees for a weapon, seizing the stubby haft of a broken axe. The wood ended in a splintered stump, but it was better than nothing. Another of them charged at Jon, wielding a broken spearhead like a knife. Jon faced him square, and long training did the rest. A duck, a heave. The man thudded onto his back. Jon twisted the weapon from his grip. From outside himself, Jon saw him open the man’s throat. One clean, unhesitating slice. Felt hot blood slick on his hands. The man’s dark eyes were wide in shock as he choked on his own blood. The roar of the crowd rose to a crescendo.    

He straightened with the bloody spearhead. Behind him, the sword-bearing slave had shrugged off his attacker. The massive man straddled his attacker and shoved his thumbs through his eye sockets. The shrill shrieks shred Jon’s ears. The sword lay forgotten in the sand.

Jon and the last slave—dressed in a sellsword’s gambeson—their eyes met over the sword. He lunged. Jon lunged. The other man was quicker by a heartbeat. Smaller and wiry, his heave of the greatsword was sluggish. Jon swung and missed with the spearpoint. He followed and connected with a punch to the jaw. The man staggered back, but kept his grip on the sword. Jon ducked a blind thrust and paced like a stymied wolf. His heart thundered in his chest, sweat stung in his eyes. So close. If he could get the weapon—a real weapon—he could win. Stay alive. Stay alive.

The skinny slave cast a wild-eyed glance around. From the tail of his eye, Jon watched the big one rise above the body of the one he killed, his hands dripping gore. He roared, muscles gleaming with sweat and blood. The sellsword slave wore an expression of abject terror and held the sword awkwardly in front of him. The big one barreled toward him, and the sellsword thrust. The dulled tip of the sword scraped along the big one’s ribs. The gash bled. Like a wounded boar, the wound only enraged him further. Their dance was short and terrible. The big one ate another blow, this time to the shoulder. Biting deep, the blade stuck. When yanked free, Jon could see the wet gleam of bone through ragged red muscle. The wound didn’t matter. The large man snapped the other’s neck like a bundle of kindling.

Jon paced, sizing up the last remaining slave. The shouts from above pulsed like a heartbeat. The blood on his hands dried to a gummy paste. He measured his breathing. The other slave blew like a winded racehorse, bleeding from half a dozen wounds. It won’t be an easy thing to win. The man fights like a demon.

“Toruk TO-ruk! TORUK! TORUK!” The slave’s name chanted by thousands of voices rang in his ears. Toruk grinned a long yellow-toothed smile, shouting something in bastard Valyrian. Jon couldn’t understand the words, but it was an easy assumption what a minor champion would say to a barely blooded pup.

“Zokla timpa, eh?” he sneered, pointing to the wolf pelt with the bloody sword. Jon tightened his grip on the spearpoint. It would be best to let him charge, let him tire. But already the noise in the crowd signaled disapproval. Boredom in the crowd made the gamemakers desperate. Wild beasts were always as surefire way to spice up a fight. Mighty Toruk had the same notion, glancing at the box overhead.  

“Let’s end this!” Jon shouted. He charged toward the champion’s weakened left side.  Predictably, Toruk swung the blade with graceless brutality. Jon slid across the sand on his knees, dodging the blow. He felt the wind of it part his hair. Before Toruk could turn, Jon slashed at his hamstring. A sharper blade would have dropped him, but the dull spearpoint did little damage. Toruk grabbed at him, coming up with only a fistful of the pelt. Jon shrugged free of it, grateful for the kiss of fresh air on his skin.

The battle seemed to last forever. Had he been on this burning sand for days, evading and attacking this big dumb opponent? It was less a dance and more the man waving the sword like a club. The larger man barreled toward him. Jon floundered in the sand. Oh gods, the sword was coming down fast! Instinctively, he raised his arm and blocked the blow with his forearm. The blade stuck in the bone of his arm. Pain shrieked through him and Jon shrieked with it. A metallic taste filled his mouth. Toruk pushed with his weight and strength behind the blade, grinning his yellow smile. Jon found a grim smile through the pain to answer him. The larger man blinked, too dumb to see until Jon’s spearpoint was buried in his throat. Jon pushed, feeling the flesh and sinew part and shiver around his hand. Blood gushed out, trickling down his wrist and arm. The noise from the audience, booing and cheering, applause and shouting rose and fell like a sea. Soon one phrase drowned out the rest as Toruk fell dead.

“Zokla timpa! Zolka timpa! ZOKLA TIMPA!”

White Wolf. White Wolf. White Wolf. Perhaps that’s what he was now. A wolf. A beast who could run and fight and kill. A wolf he was.      

 ~

 Day One Hundred and Three: The Dragon Queen

 “If this is how you plan to get us home, khaleesi, you might be old and gray by the time we reach Westeros,” Ser Jorah said.

Daenerys leaned back in her saddle with a faint squeak of leather. Several sharp retorts rose to her tongue, but she bit them back. All her advisors and bloodriders wearied her of late. The ship Ser Jorah had found was a small, mean thing. Many of her Dothraki had balked to even board it. The storms they met upon leaving Qarkash were punishment enough. Thus, at the next port, she ordered they disembark and follow the route by land. The passes through the Bone Mountains were dangerous, especially with so few riders, so thus the path to Slaver’s Bay—their ultimate goal to hire soldiers—for now was barred to them. North to the plains of the Lhazareen were to be their safe haven. Her children grew by the day, now almost the size of a small hound. Their fire burned hot, and all three had proved their mettle against Pyatt Pree. Daenerys could count on them for protection.

“Old and gray or young and fair, I plan to see my people safely to Westeros, ser,” she said with a hint of sharpness. A strong, hot wind washed over her, smelling of clean grass and sun-hot stone. Daenerys closed her eyes, relishing the fresh air cooling the sweat on her limbs.  

“We need soldiers to win free home.”

“I know that!” Daenerys shouted, twisting in her saddle to glare at him. Ser Jorah did not quail beneath the lash of her words, but scowled back at her, sweat matting his thinning blond hair to his bare scalp.  Quaithe’s words rang in her ears. A jealous seed. A jealous seed. The thought of buying slaves to do the killing and dying for her to win her throne stuck in her craw. Though there are few alternatives at present. Rakharo cantered to her side astride his black.

“A city lies ahead, khaleesi. Vaes Drivi,” he said.

“A dead city? Like the one we found chasing the comet?” she asked, standing in her stirrups. Unlike the Dothraki Sea of rippling green grasses, Lhazar’s land boasted gentle hills and gullies, blocking her vision.

“Yes. A good place for camp.”

Daenerys scanned the skies for her children. A tranquil blue sky answered her, a few shreds of cloud floating idly in the wind. Taking shelter amongst the bleached ruins of a dead city would have to do.

 ~

 Day One Ninety-One: The White Wolf

 Jon woke to the screech of the key in the lock of his cell door. He was on his feet, tense and ready before he was even fully awake. Morrgys waddled into his cell, Longclaw belted with a velvet sash around his waist, flanked by Morbo and both of the Twins. After his win in the arena, the proceedings afterward felt hazy. Toruk had broken one of the bones in his forearm along with the impressive gash where Jon had checked his sword blow. The heavy bandage itched, but at least nothing felt broken. The Twins hadn’t bothered to take him back to the compound, instead he slept in one of the arena’s meaner cells. The bed was clean straw, and Jon had fallen asleep dreaming of a hayfield in summer.

Jon waited, eyes flickering from one hated face to the next. I won, didn’t I? Isn’t that what these foul creatures want? Morrgys made an elaborate flicking gesture. One of the Twins produced the white wolfskin he’d worn in the arena.

“A gift for you, Zokla timpa. A memento of your first match. Thrilling, was it not? You faced off against a larger, stronger enemy, certain you would perish, and then—ah!” he mimicked a sword thrust, “you triumph! I imagine there is no feeling like it in the world.”

“You are welcome to trade places with me next time, Master,” Jon said coolly. Morbo cursed in Dothraki, reaching for his arakh.

“Ah ah, Morbo. Our White Wolf is entitled to a little insolence after his first win. I heard you lost most of your gold in the bets this morning. That fat Dothraki lost to Tycho. I’d save my coin. I think our White Wolf could face Tycho with a little more practice.” Jon remained impassive. What did the fat slaver want from him?

“I am a generous master. You win for me, you get a reward.” Another gesture. The Twin yanked the tether of a slave’s chain. In walked a young woman, as naked as her nameday. Milk-pale skin, long brown hair, sleek and lovely. To his unending shame, Jon’s body reacted, and the dirty loincloth hid little. Morrgys clapped his hands.  

“Good! I thought maybe you might prefer men, being a former Night’s Watch recruit. What else is there to do in that frozen wasteland? Good, good. Sarai will do nicely, then. Go along, now. I bought her from a pillow house in Yunkai. Very skilled.”

Jon swallowed hard and made no move to approach or retreat as the woman was released from her chains and minced over toward him. Her eyes were liquid and dark, like a doe’s, though there was a certain predatory glint in them. The faint spice of her perfume teased his nose. Arousal was a drumbeat in his chest, his traitorous cock. The woman slid to her knees before him, tugging at his loincloth. A fleeting thought reminded him of Ygritte, but with a cold shock, he realized he couldn’t remember what she looked like. Red hair, yes, red hair and blue eyes . . . oh gods, her mouth! The rest eluded him and he keened at the loss of it. As he prevaricated, Morrgys droned on.

“It’s very simple, White Wolf. You obey, you win, you are rewarded richly. Believe me, once you become a champion, there will be nothing beyond your reach. Fine food, money, prince’s daughters will sneak into your cell hoping for a night with a warrior with many kills to his credit.” The four of them took their leave, and Jon’s hands fisted in her dark hair

[monochrome-sunsets]

wc prefixes and suffixes

prefixes: Acorn, Adder, Alder, Aloe, Amber, Ant, Apple, Ash, Ashen, Aspen, Auburn, Babble, Badger, Barley, Basil, Bat, Bay, Bear, Beaver, Beech, Bee, Beetle, Berry, Birch, Bird, Black, Blaze, Blizzard, Bloom, Blossom, Blue, Bluebell, Blueberry, Bone, Borage, Boulder, Bounce, Bracken, Bramble, Brave, Breeze, Briar, Bright, Brindle, Bristle, Broken, Brook, Brown, Brush, Bubble, Bumble, Burning, Burn, Buzzard, Buzz, Cave, Cedar, Cherry, Chestnut, Chirp, Chive, Cinder, Claw, Clay, Clear, Cliff, Cloud, Cloudy, Clove, Clover, Coal, Cold, Copper, Cotton, Creek, Cricket, Crooked, Crouch, Crow, Cypress, Daisy, Dandelion, Dapple, Dappled, Dark, Dawn, Dead, Deer, Dew, Doe, Dove, Downy, Drift, Drizzle, Duck, Dune, Dusk, Dust, Dusty, Eagle, Ebony, Echo, Eel, Elder, Elm, Ember, Elk, Falcon, Fallen, Falling, Fallow, Fawn, Feather, Fennel, Fern, Ferret, Finch, Fire, Fish, Flame, Flare, Flash, Fleet, Flint, Flood, Flower, Flurry, Fog, Forest, Fox, Freckle, Frog, Frost, Frozen, Gentle, Ginger, Golden, Goose, Gorge, Gorse, Grass, Green, Grey, Grizzled, Grouse, Gull, Gust, Hail, Half, Hare, Haven, Hawk, Hay, Hazel, Heather, Heavy, Hemlock, Heron, Hickory, Hill, Hive, Hollow, Holly, Honey, Hop, Hornet, Hound, Hush, Ice, Icy, Iris, Ivy, Jagged, Jay, Jump, Juniper, Kestrel, Kindle, Kink, Lake, Larch, Lark, Laurel, Lavender, Leaf, Leopard, Lichen, Light, Lightning, Lilac, Lily, Lion, Little, Lizard, Long, Lost, Loud, Lynx, Mallow, Maple, Marigold, Marsh, Meadow, Minnow, Mint, Missing, Mist, Mistle, Misty, Mole, Morning, Moss, Mossy, Moth, Mottle, Mottled, Mountain, Mouse, Mud, Muddy, Mumble, Myrtle, Needle, Nettle, Newt, Night, Nut, Oak, Oat, Ocean, Odd, Olive, One, Orchid, Osprey, Otter, Owl, Pale, Parsley, Patch, Peach, Pear, Pearl, Pebble, Perch, Petal, Pheasant, Pigeon, Pike, Pine, Pink, Plum, Pond, Pool, Poppy, Pounce, Prickle, Puddle, Quail, Quick, Quiet, Rabbit, Ragged, Raccoon, Rain, Rat, Raven, Red, Reed, Ripple, Rising, River, Robin, Rock, Root, Rose, Rowan, Rubble, Running, Rush, Russet, Rust, Rusty, Rye, Sage, Sand, Sandy, Sap, Scorch, Scratch, Sea, Sedge, Seed, Shade, Shadow, Sharp, Sheep, Shell, Shining, Shore, Short, Shred, Shrew, Shrub, Shy, Silent, Silk, Silver, Skip, Skunk, Sky, Slate, Sleet, Slush, Small, Smoke, Smudge, Snag, Snail, Snake, Snow, Soft, Song, Soot, Sorrel, Spark, Sparrow, Speckled, Speckle, Spider, Splash, Splinter, Spotted, Spring, Spruce, Squirrel, Stag, Starling, Stoat, Stone, Stork, Storm, Stream, Striped, Stumpy, Sun, Sunny, Swallow, Swan, Sweet, Swift, Tabby, Tall, Talon, Tangle, Tansy, Tawny, Thistle, Thorn, Thrush, Thunder, Thyme, Tiger, Timber, Tiny, Toad, Torrent, Torn, Tortoise, Trout, Tulip, Tumble, Turtle, Twig, Twilight, Valley, Velvet, Vine, Violet, Viper, Vole, Vulture, Wasp, Water, Wave, Weasel, Web, Weed, White, Wild, Willow, Wind, Wolf, Wren, Yarrow, Yellow, Yew

suffixes: adder, ant, apple, ash, aspen, babble, bark, beam, bee, belly, berry, bite, bird, blaze, bloom, blossom, blotch, bounce, bramble, briar, branch, breeze, briar, bright, brook, bud, burn, burr, bush, call, chaser, catcher, cherry, chive, cinder, claw, cloud, clover, cough, crawl, creek, crest, crow, cry, curl, current, daisy, dance, dapple, dawn, drop, dove, dusk, dust, ear, echo, eye, eyes, face, fall, fallow, fang, feather, fern, field, fire, flake, flame, flare, flash, flight, flood, flower, flurry, fox, foot, freckle, frond, frost, fur, gaze, gleam, grass, grove, gorse, hail, hare, hawk, haze, heart, heather, holly, hop, hush, ice, iris, ivy, jay, jaw, jump, leaf, kelp, kestrel, lake, larch, lark, lavender, leaf, leap, leg, lichen, light, lilac, lily, lion, lizard, lotus, mallow, marsh, mask, meadow, mint, mist, moss, moth, mouse, murmur, needle, nettle, nose, nut, oak, oat, olive, patch, path, pelt, perch, petal, pigeon, pool, pond, poppy, pounce, puddle, quail, quill, rain, rat, raven, rapid, reed, ridge, ripple, rise, river, root, rose, rubble, runner, rush, sage, sand, scar, screech, sedge, seed, shade, shadow, shell, shine, sight, skip, sky, slate, slip, smoke, snow, song, soot, sparrow, spark, speck, speckle, splash, spot, spots, spring, stalk, step, stem, sting, stone, storm, stream, streak, stride, strike, stripe, stone, sun, swipe, swoop, tail, talon, thicket, thistle, thorn, throat, thunder, trail, tooth, tuft, tumble, vine, vole, water, watcher, weed, whisker, willow, wind, wing, wish, whisper

[lcadelacruz]

It runs through our veins to tell lies about our demons; self paragraph

what: a telling of the night Ara made a dire mistake and destroyed Lia when: 1940′s (Lia and Ara are both 18-25 years old) where: outskirts of Corinth Bay tw: torture, death, curses/hexes,  mentions: @aramayer

It's never any different. At least, that's all Lia can figure out from piecing together memories that are barely there, tethered to the high rising moon that she's always found some sense of awe in, until it existed purely to pick an illness in her stomach and an ache against her spine. Never any different, because even now, seven months after the fire, Lia already feels darkened familiarity seep into her bones. Familiarity that she doesn't want, as it paves the way for nothing but pain, and truly; she'd rather be shocked by it than note the way it curls around her limbs and tightens as if to suck every ounce of life from her first, the first few drops of rain before a downpour. “Ara, Stop.” The titillated groan that surpasses grit teeth as she catches the root of a tree with a rather defiant kick is guttural, one that most definitely catches further discomfort deep within her spine, “Aren’t we far enough out yet?” Not nearly the complaint she wanted to make, but there were truly only a handful of times she could stomach even hearing herself say she couldn’t do this again. “No.” It’s rough and harsh, reminds her far too much of their father and like the creep of spiders legs, she feels the prickle across her chest that feels something akin to guilt. They wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for her. Here, being relative and not necessarily pinpointing Ara and Lia, traipsing through the heavy wooded area in some effort to beat out their bodies splitting in two. Here being, the sullen look in their mother’s eyes whenever Lia moved too quickly and broke something she sure as hell didn’t intend to. Or, the way her father’s adams apple would bobble as he swallowed back the blame she knew he felt in never accepting the idea of allowing their daughter to grow up more aware of the consequences of any choice she might make --- choices, like running into a burning building after someone who was surely, already dead. They wouldn’t be here, with Ara casting a weary glance over his shoulder, uncertain of how much longer Lia would be able to keep her own feet before she collapsed beneath the shatter of bone and tried like hell to fight it, like she had every other month since. 

“Come on, Lia. We’re not there yet.” Muttered far too quietly beneath his breath to truly be intended for her ears as he cast blackened hues ahead. Years had given him as much of an edge on shifting as one could ever hope to find, a momentary familiarity that didn’t allow the venom of pain seep into bones until absolutely necessary, something only noted in the clench of his jaw and the ever present curl of knuckles. “It’s just a little ---.” Truly, if he hadn’t been so accustomed to the snap of bone, or absolutely certain he’d just seen what looked like a shadow of another person up ahead, he might have easily written the resounding crack off as something akin to the final protest of a branch in the hefty wind. Though, when it created a cavern for the pitching scream to echo so hauntingly, even that felt impossible as he rounded just in time to see Lia’s knees buckle beneath her as her spine shifted far more dramatically than he’d expected it to so soon. 

“Lia?” His head tipped to the sky as he backtracked, the blackened abyss above barely peeking through the canopy enough for him to see how high the moon rested above. Calloused hands gripped her shoulders to keep her from the ground and Lia only saw shapes beyond the boiling beneath her skin. “You’re fine, you’re still here.”

A void in time, nestled beneath her collarbone and tore the air that barely existed within her lungs with each bone that snapped beneath the pressure of balled up hands. Her own fingernails tearing the palm of her hand open to spill crimson into the air. A lengthy heave had her reaching for him and conscious thought only told her that she wished she could be six years old again. Six years old and none the wiser of how much weight the prospect of death held. “I don’t want..--” Teeth caught her lip and broke through far too quickly for her own blood to not fill her throat with a startling cough. “N-not again. I..-- I can’t. --” Wheezed out through the myriad of ribs that shattered under pressure, the harrowing screaming no doubt fulfilling any living rumor of a haunted forest. “Ara, make it.. Make--.” It stop.

Maybe, if she’d been listening closely enough, she might have heard the remnants of her brothers heart shatter against her plea. The living knowledge that there wasn’t a damn fucking thing he could do to help her far too heavy for one man. “Lia, listen to me,” He swallowed back, feeling the stringent burning between his shoulder blades. Time was always running out for them. “Stop fighting it, please.. Just..-- give in. The more you fight it the worse it’s gonna’ be.” But, he already knew his sister, and the defiant shake of her head that buckled within the resounding sharp edges of her crying might have almost made him laugh at how utterly stubborn she could be. “Same as always, okay? When you wake up, you stay where you are. Whether I’m with you or not, do not move until I find you.” His hands lift from her shoulders to cup her face, but she’s looking through him and he knows it. There’s nothing there, the blackened state of her eyes ripping the once animated depth of her usual mahogany hues feels like losing her entirely, but he knows, with the burning up of her cheeks beneath his hands, he hasn’t yet. “Give into it, Lia. It’ll be okay.”

She wished it was quicker. Though, maybe it was simply a difference of perception, because she never remembers time passing so slowly. There’s a lot of things she doesn’t remember from each and every passing shift she’s suffered with. Firstly, she doesn’t remember the ice like feeling that slips across the back of her neck. Needle like, and seeking something within the contorting stretch of bone within. Usually, everything was just, fire. Just fire. Her entire world being pulled into the flames of Alice’s home all over again as it tears at her side and rips her inside out and maybe that’s what always seemed to make it feel all the more difficult. Lia never felt the break of her bones -- the pain, of course, she never missed. But the literal snap of limbs truly never painted itself as just that. Instead, every twist and bend her body was never intended to make, simply felt as if the flames that engulfed the Miller’s front door, the fallen beam, the staircase, found more in her than the home it intended to destroy. And maybe that was simply how it’d always be; fire found a place within her bones and burnt even when she didn’t want it to, because that’s what fire did. Secondly, she doesn’t remember ever hearing that voice with the exception of one awfully vivid memory. A voice that filters in and out of existence so quickly and so quietly that Lia can’t truly be sure whether it’s in her head or not. A voice that speaks her name in the same way she says it herself, and it’s enough to convince her that it’s little more than her subconscious trying to push further unwanted thoughts to light. That it’s whatever piece of her is still fighting against her body’s need to quite literally tear itself apart, begging to draw her back to the light. The wager pitches towards it being in her head, until the shifting of shadows, a man moving between the trees beyond her brother, to catch the final slip of lucid thought before everything in this world, and the next, goes black. 

The bitter taste on his tongue is something he knows he’ll never forget. It seemed, the closer he comes to finding his sister, the weakened scent that he could use to pinpoint her with his eyes closed slipped through the trees with a creeping uncertainty clipped to his shoulders, the further such a taste seeped into his system. The thick and acrid on his tongue, the metallic echo of blood was beyond comforting, the blackened state of memory as empty and abysmal as it ever was on the tail end of a shift. Ara had once learnt to accept it, the slope of damning things all control is lost to the second he feels the shifting of his spine, but it’s never, truly, made it any easier to swallow back the uncertainty of the damage inflicted at his own teeth. It lives in the permeated edges of everything he simply won’t ever forget, there’s just something about picking skin, grime and blood from beneath his fingertips that simply stains. It’s the same bitter taste beneath his tongue now, that tells Ara, that no --- they weren’t far enough out, or close enough to alone, as he’d hoped they would have been. 

Knowledge of the taste alone leaves him a little dazed, picking apart what he knew with a further pressing discomfort in knowing the blood he could smell was quite literally on his own hands and somehow still, mottled with the ever familiar scent of his sister. It turned his stomach, or he thought it did. What it did, was in fact nothing short of a simple twist in his gut when the trees ahead parted and Ara was caught on the precipice of something else entirely as his eyes adjusted to the lowly glimmer of flame. The hitch of breath that wedged itself against the near immediate lump in his throat felt akin to a desolate plane and despite whatever desperation might have itched to claw at the rough of his palms, Ara knew he’d choke on it before finding a way to dislodge it. 

She knows this place, the space between sleep and awake. A place that doesn’t really seem real and maybe she’s still dreaming, but she doesn’t remember her dreams and sometimes she’s convinced that she simply doesn’t dream at all. That the lull in her conscious seeps deeper than even that and has since obliterated any sense of safe haven in her own mind, created to draw her from the newly bitten horrors of her own life. She knows this place, only, never has she found herself suspended so precariously on the tipping edge of pain, and the strike of panic that carves its way through her chest curled within the realization, that she can’t move. 

Lia feels everything. Figuratively, most days. While her mother’s rather icy exterior found reflection in her daughter, Aerón De La Cruz has never shied away from the idea that their youngest child was always something of a bleeding heart once the precipice of frozen and sharp icicles snapped away to reveal the cavernous pit that housed the rising tide of everything she felt. Now, its within the tepid tingle in her fingertips as they extend from the fists that once grew numb, the ache that presses against the cage of her ribs and every muscular shift that leaves her wincing in the come down every shift offers her in those few passing moments. None of it shocks her, and like waking from a disturbed slumber, the groan that settles in the thick of her throat never makes it out alive, as her hands pull to press palms to her face and never once budge. There’s no rope, no chains —- not a single tether holding her in place, yet still, any want for movement proves helpless.

There’s no real decisive moment when she can figure out what she feels next — the unwanted burn of flame far too close to her face, or the heavy scent of blood that feels so thick beneath her nose she can taste it and when doe hues finally pry themselves open despite the blinding wave of heat, she’s not sure there’s a lump big enough that might have successfully sought to block the scream that splits the coming hours of dawn so vividly, so broken and piercing that time surely shifted with it. Color drains from her face and she pitches backwards, kicking heels in the dirt to no avail as she remains strung up by some phantom force. “Ara!..--- Ara!” Immediate panic settles in her bones, within the petrified edges of each cry that splits the air and the only thing she knows, is her brother is out there, she can feel him looking for her and before her, sinking in ash and darkness, it’s near impossible to mistake what she finds herself knelt before. Protruding limbs and faces, empty and lifeless, torn from their place and piled atop one another. Bloodied and torn, cast aside and discarded as if any ounce of life were ripped from them purely for the sake of it —— like wolves.

There’s some weight to the passing thought that might have arisen had she even a moment to breathe, that panic had recently moved in and made itself right at home in the cavern of her chest, bringing fear with it, but the turning of her stomach is violent. The pungent smell that has long since found itself entwined with death settles within her nose and makes her head spin. The blank faces eerie in the fire light painting her world into the darkest depths of shadows, Lia’s only thought before she cast hues away and doubles with the heaving in her lungs as everything within her stomach came up, that she couldn’t do this —- nothing could have prepared her for what lay before her, even less so the mottled edges of implication that carved their way through her throat and buried itself within her chest. 

Her eyes stung against the burning, the volatile hammering of a singular thought against the forefront of her mind, painful beyond any snapping of bone. And the estranged cry that slipped between the cracks echoed so loudly in her own head, she completely missed the oncoming footsteps beyond the fire. Death, was not something she knew much of -- not something she’d found a way to stomach, the pressing notion that the thing that lived within her held no ounce of the bleeding heart Lia had. It knew no mercy, and offered no freedom from it. Pressure built around her wrists and tugged forcefully until Lia finds it near impossible not to look up through her own daze, the gilded wince that draws hues upwards across the bright light until the faces staring back at her sear themselves permanent into the inside of her eyelids. Haunted — red with anger, and distraught with something bruised against their soul. She’d never seen anyone look at her like that before, with all the hatred one could manage, and then some but with every gaping hole in her memory, the feverish heat that pressed against her chest, heavy and suffocating the longer it lived, Lia sought frantically to piece something together. “Please, I.. —-” A dark haired man stepped forward, his arm shot out as he wretched the air from her lungs and curled sharp fingertips around her jaw to press so forcefully she could have otherwise sworn he could tear it right from its place. Pressure watered in doe hues and she buckled slightly beneath his hold, struggling as her lungs objected with an imminent grapple for air, nails digging into the palms of her hands in hopes it might steady the oncoming blur in her vision. Something spat in a language she didn't know fell across her face like acid and it jarred Lia to piece what she knew together as she looked between the strewn bodies of two boys, only a few years older than her and those stood around the fire light, falling to the reputation of words she didn't know just yet. A strange tongue she’d only ever heard mention of tore the silence of the crackling fire in half. Hues widened and she struggled with invisible constraints. Genasi. "No.. No I didn't…" Had she done it? She could always lie through her teeth, it'd become somewhat a talent after so many years, but now… now she didn't know what existed as the truth and what she could twist to her own betterment. The painful realization that it likely didn’t matter what she did, or didn’t do useless, as far too many years had passed since her mother had told of the discernment, the  discredit any sense of humanity lost to those so readily severing their connectin to Hecate, to let a passable hatred slip between myth and legend. Allowing it to become all too clear that far too many of those with magic at the tips of their fingers, only saw the animal in them as an advantage, and rarity lay within those willing to accept a werewolf for everything they couldn’t control, and everything they were, foremost. "I didn't know. I swear I --  I didn't know! I didn’t hurt anyone, I sw--swear!" A cold brush of air slid in against her back, the frozen press of touch gliding across the back of her neck attached to the shiver down her spine, familiar at best as her name carried across the ghost like whisper. Far too difficult to forget the pitching details that seared like scars into memory of one single night seven months ago. The shift of shadow beyond those chanting drew her attention and Lia dug her knees into the ground beneath, stones and twigs biting into flesh without apology as she made some attempt to leer forward. Such familiarity jarred the organ within her chest and cast the piercing glow of the moon above as a light to lead her, only, she’d never really managed to pluck luck from the sky so easily as desperation filled her lungs in the form of words and intention that even she considered the breach of insanity. “Please..--” Russet hues pinned the flickering shadow, “I know you’re.. You’ve been watching me..” The chanting grew louder and something twisted in the depth of her shoulder so sharply she cringed, “Whoever you are, you were there.. In the house..-” Teeth dug into the dry, cracked spread of her lesser lip, her own blood spilling into her mouth as she bit back the trying whimper of her skin boiling. “M..--make them stop.” The same voice that carried her name across haunting winds, reverberating against the inside of her skull in a growing echo of laughter and she thought, there was nothing that could feel closer to death than that. “Ar--..Ara!” 

Only, she’s been wrong far more times than she’s ever been right and the heat that once built within the amber flame before her dies out. Fire still flickers in the eerie glow of the moon above and a wind rips up everything until even the hollow recess of sound itself seems suspended in the haunting curvature of her screaming, beyond the chanting that grows louder; as if people stood all around her now. The weight of her heated breath visible in the lowly puff of air she barely manages in the now ice like pitch in temperature, Lia finds it hard to believe that any of this is real, that this isn’t just a blindingly convincing nightmare that she can’t wake herself up from. Shadow shifts, falling to pieces in wisps of smoke and it’s all she can do to keep herself from buckling beneath the weight that she didn’t want to be alone as she pulls against invisible restraints again. Not alone, not here. “No..-- No, don’t.. Don’t leave me here, don’t…---” Her voice suspends itself in her throat, caught against something she can’t dislodge and for a second, she’s certain she’s choking. Oxygen burns up replaced by flame and the idea of suffocating on little more than thin air doesn’t seem so bad anymore as everything within the petite frame of the young wolf implodes and tears skin from bone. A reflective making of every wound left upon the flesh of those strewn before her. 

Certain sounds can never be unheard, never be forgotten and exist years later to echo the shifting change of time and space unlike any memory can hold for too long. Ara is sure he’ll never live long enough to draw the shrill scream that tears through the forest so violently he’s certain it’s formed a physical presence and ripped through the canopy above to leave its mark on everything it touches. But he can’t move. He can’t will his legs to do what he knows they’re perfectly capable of to draw him into the light as he watches, frozen; petrified in the wake of his sisters torture. Dark matter shifts from its place among the dead at his sisters feet in trails of mist, slipping through every well worn curvature of spell work that he has no idea how to circumvent until it disappears beneath Lia’s skin and bleeds black from every wound that slowly tears at her body. He knows what guilt tastes like. It’s metallic, thick, acrid, and bleeds crimson into his mouth. There’s no doubting what he’s done --- and there’s even less doubt suspended in knowing his baby sister doesn’t have reason to be caught at the tip of his own consequence. Though, perhaps, the cruel makings of the world they knew had painted such consequences in the most torturous manner as the impossibility of Lia’s survival dawns on him as her bones snap and shift. He knows illness, but nothing like the turning in his stomach, as the raging war of successfully shifting a second time in less than three hours becomes all the more improbable in the torment of the small circle of Genasi far more powerful than he was on his own. The pitching sound of his name ripping through the air as black blood slips like tears from the corners of Lia’s eyes, cracks, morphing into the guttural growling as human becomes animal. It’s unlike anything he’s ever seen as her body contorts in a splatter of black liquid that burns up in the flames and he stumbles back into the uneven makeshift path and struggles to find enough air to fill his lungs. He knows what guilt tastes like. It’s metallic, thick, acrid and paints his hands red for the two boys he could still taste on his tongue. It’s black as night, poisonous, and pools at his sister’s feet. The strings of his greatest mistake tie a noose around his throat. He knows he can’t stay -- can’t face their world knowing this is his fault, and that he can’t stop it, and yet he can’t move. Frozen in the harrowing sounds of his sister, being forced to shift over, and over again.

She always thought agony was that feeling in her chest, the hollow in that cavernous hole that followed her everywhere she went once the flames of the Miller home had long since died. Smoke still rose from the wreckage and the world seemed to spin regardless. She thought it existed as something almost, figurative. It couldn’t be touched, wasn’t tangible enough to tear it from her own chest, neither palpable enough to taste, but she knows she’s wrong before she even opens her eyes. The gentle touch of cool hands that trace the raw red markings around her wrists draw her closer. Her mother’s weeping, she’s angry and Lia can feel it against her skin like wildfire, it’s hot and dull in the same breath and she can feel the unforgiving split of her lip that spills blood against her chin, even as the welcoming feel of cold hands lift her head from it’s hanging place. “Ara..” Her voice is ash, nothing but ash as she rasps out something barely coherent, unable to lift heavy eyelids beyond the swelling of shattered cheek bones that have yet to heal from her last shit. “It’s okay baby,” Her father’s voice --- strong, present, and undoubtedly shaking despite the careful and steady shift of his hands as he breaks the metal chains that are now so very real. “We’ve got you, you’re okay. -- Anna, take her for me.” 

Careful hands draw her in, carrying the weight of wounds visible and hidden, the permanence of every ache she felt grew in the socket of her shoulder as it popped back into place and ricocheted throughout her frame as her mother lay her down against her lap, right there in the dirt. The steady tremor of uneasy breath and tears that made no sound spilled across Anna’s jean clad thigh, lithe fingertips smoothing matted hair out with the lowly soothing sound that carried with her mother’s heartbeat. “Ara.. Where’d he..--” Barely managed as brittle and barely pieced together fingers curled into the dirt below. “He’s gone, sweetie. He’s..” Annaliese Mayer  was always hard in Lia’s eyes. Like worn marble, a sight that was almost far too noble and yet, didn’t often crack beneath the weight of the world, but she felt it now. “He’s gone, baby. We’ll find him.” It’s heavy, and somehow Lia knows what she means; he’s not gone. Not lost. Part of her knows that perhaps, she might have felt that far more violently but then again, she’s not entirely sure if anything could truly pierce her anymore. It���s heavy, and it doesn’t hurt yet, but it presses tightly within her throat and the whimper that finds her is a resounding scream for what she knows now. She hadn’t been alone, she’d felt him. She’d never put much weight in the idea that they could do that, feel each other when they were around, but it’s unmistakable now. She’d felt him -- and he’d left her. 

Nothing within the anger of her father feels enough as the power of a Delphi witch tears at what’s left of the building, brick by brick casting it aside until he can pick apart the echoes and tether a curse of it’s own to what remains of it. The familial power that burns up in the palms of his hands an eternal promise to the lineage of those that thought to harm what was theirs, that they’d never rest again, not until he found them. But there was no stopping it as she ache within her chest grew cavernous again and the dirt caught within her hand didn’t tether her to this form as well as she might have hoped it would with the warmth of her parents permeating the air around her with more stability than she thought she could swallow back. He was here, and he left me alone. It spins, screams and etches itself permanently to the inside of her skull, pierces tired, doe hues with a splitting headache that traverses across the back of her neck like a needle and leaves her with trembling lips as her grip tightens around her mother. “It’s.. it’s happening.” She didn’t know how many times it had happened since they’d left her. How many times she’d ripped herself apart beneath the weight of every cataclysmic emotion that stirred within her as the dark carried her screams to no avail. How many times she’d barely pieced herself back together before it shattered again. How to explain to her parents what it was, while the weight of the now passing full moon left those of her kind to rest. Too weak to grasp at any sense of distance between herself and her mother, Lia clung tighter as the heaving of her chest tethered to the crack her brother had left behind within the cage of her ribs, split open a little more. Aerón’s voice stilled, his fury caught within the thick of his throat as watched the tremor of bone beneath Lia’s collar. Already so weak, there was no running from this, no turning away from the inevitable as every echo left behind told them of what's been done to her as he sank to his knees beside them. The crippling proof that he’d failed his little girl leaving him hollow. “Aerón,” her mother’s voice fell quiet, far sturdier than her heart beating within her chest, “The chains.” she started, shifting slightly to pull Lia from her lap, “Pass me the chains and go home.” 

[jeonsduck]

Wonderland Part 5

The finale is finally here. I may revist this au later for other members just because it’s one of my favorite au’s for ateez. Anyway, thanks for all the support!

Warnings: angst, graphic depictions of violence 

You find yourself in the navigation room with the rest of the crew as they run through their game plan. The heist would happen in the port of Modai, when the target would be the most valuable. The ship would only be docked for half a day, with half of that time being dedicated to loading the cargo. Once loaded it would immediately be leaving for the emperor’s palace and you’d lose your chance at the bounty. And of course Hongjoong had a plan to sneak every last ounce of gold from underneath the emperor’s nose. 

First, he would send the mariner’s on a wild goose chase throughout the port. The security would be focused on bringing down a notorious pirate and less concerned with securing the ship. Once Hongjoong had successfully drawn away the guards, Yunho and Mingi would incapacitate the loading crew and assume their identities, ‘loading’ the ship in their place. In reality, they would be dropping the treasure into a skiff off the side of the ship. The main issue would be keeping the main ship crew from noticing the skiff making multiple trips around the boat. Which is why it would be your job to keep watch from the crow’s nest. 

“That is, if you’re okay with that.” Hongjoong adds. 

Since you left Utopia, Hongjoong’s been…. Nervous. Borderline on edge. He avoids you whenever he can and you’re starting to think, maybe whatever it was that you had on Utopia had been left back on the shaky piers of the pirate haven. It made sense, though. After all, once this heist was over, they’d be dropping you off on your home planet so you could get back to your normal life. 

You sighed, sprawled out on the deck of the Illusion, much like you’d been the night you met Hongjoong. Staring up at the stars and thinking. 

“Y/N? What are you doing out here?”

Your absence from bed must have woken Hongjoong up.

“Just thinking. This is what I was doing that night when I met you.” you explained.

Hongjoong sat down next to you and looked up at the sky.

“You mean the night I kidnapped you?” he corrected.

“Same difference.”

“What are you thinking about?” he ventured, nudging your knee with his.

“Us. The crew. The Illusion.” you sighed.

“What do you mean?”

You sat up, looking Hongjoong in the eyes.

“After this… what happens next?” you ask.

Hongjoong looks surprised by the question. 

“We’ll take you back to your home planet. You can go back to your life quietly, and you’ll never have to see us again.” he replies, too easily.

“What if… I don’t want to go home?” you wonder, almost jokingly.

“You can’t.” he said, voice changing, more firm.

“What do you mean I can’t?” you turn to look at him, confused.

“You don’t belong here, Y/N. You have a home to go back to, we don’t. We’re not good people, we’re pirates. You’re not one of us.” Hongjoong spits, his words cutting you deeper than intended.

His words hurt a lot, but you had to concede. Hongjoong was right. One month didn’t equate to years roaming the galaxy and pillaging planets. You weren't a pirate. You sighed, your body visibly deflating at the realization.

“And what about us?” you ventured, turning your face up to Hongjoong’s.

He sighed and crawled over to straddle your lap. He sat back on his heels and held your face so reverently in his hands. His thumb caressed your cheek as he looked at your face as though he were committing it to memory. 

“Oh, little one. I wish I could be selfish. I wish I could keep you here and make you mine. But it wouldn’t be right. I can’t promise I can keep you safe. You might be happy for a while, but it wouldn’t last. Maybe somewhere there’s a universe where we have our happy ending. But, baby, I don’t think it’s this one.” he says softly, and God, you hate that he’s right. 

You’re crying and you don’t even realize it until your tears cloud your vision. Hongjoong wipes them away and his own smile is sad, voice watery and wavering.

“When we drop you off, don’t dwell on me and follow the stories of the Illusion. You can look back on us as a fond memory, but move on. Marry someone nice, get a dog, be happy. But don’t try to find us. I fear what would happen if you did, and Lord knows I couldn’t give you up a second time.” he says, and your hand comes up to cradle his jaw.

“Promise me. Please, after we part ways, you won’t come looking for me.” Hongjoong begs, terrified that you’ll endanger yourself for him. 

“Little one, please.”

You agree finally, unable to hold out once you see a tear trail down Hongjoong’s cheek.

“I-I promise.” you managed to stutter out before a sob hits you full force.

“I’m sorry, little one.” Hongjoong says, pulling you into his arms.

You bury your face against Hongjoong’s chest as you cry, and he pets your hair and whispers apologies into your ear. You lift your head, seeking out Hongjoong’s lips for a kiss and he responds like a livewire. He kisses you like he’s been lost in the dessert and your lips are water, still muttering apologies. You’re still crying, so it’s gross and uncoordinated, but it’s raw and filled with heartbreak. 

When he takes you to bed that night, he more gentle and slower, careful to attend to you every need. He whispers affections into your skin after every kiss, forces you to pay attention to the way he makes you feel. He sucks an army of bruises into your skin, like he wants the memory of his touch to be there long after you’ve parted ways. You don’t cry yourself to sleep that night, but you don’t feel much different than if you had.

The next morning is fraught with tension so thick you could cut it with a knife. The crew are anxious to get the job over with, but also hesitant to let you go. In less than 24 hours, you’ll be  back home, and they’ll be on their way to their next job. Even San seems down-trodden, and that’s saying something. Hongjoong kisses you slow and sweet that morning when you make up, but the second he exits the captain’s quarters he’s all business. You haven’t seen this side of Hongjoong since the very first moment you laid eyes on his, in the light of the burning deck of the Amaryllis. 

“Here. If anything goes wrong, contact us on this. The group channel is four, the loading crew is three, the skiff crew is two, and Hongjoong is one.” Yunho says handing you a walkie-talkie.

“Do I get a cool nickname?” you venture, earning you a deadpanned look. 

“Crow’s nest.”

“Hey’ that’s MY cool nickname!” Mingi protests.

You take the walkie-talkie and climb the ladder up to the crow’s nest. Hongjoong fires up his sky board, making loops around the mast.

“Be careful!” you call, and Hongjoong scoffs.

“I always am.”, and he speeds off.

Now theere’s nothing else for you to do but wait. The mariner’s take the bait, abandoning their posts at the tribute ship in order to give chase to the infamous Kim Hongjoong. Mingi and Yunho have no problem knocking out the laoding team, tying them up in the cargo bay and stealing their uniforms.

“These pants are too short.” Yunho complains, much to Hongjoong’s amusement.

“Maybe if you had saved some height for the rest of us, it wouldn’t be an issue.” he jokes back.  

“You doing okay out there, Joongie?” Seonghwa checks in.

“Yeah, still got a good distance on ‘em.”

“Nice work, keep it up. We’re about halfway done over here.”

“Little one, we still in the clear?” Hongjong checks in with you.

“Yeah, the officers are more focused on you that the loading crew.” you reply. 

“Good, good. Keep it up kids.”

Of course, it’s too much to ask for things to continue to go smoothly. You hear the far off sound of a pistol firing and then Hongjoong checks in on the walkie-talkie.

“Fuck, Seonghwa, they hit my rudder with a plasma pistol. How close are we?” Hongjoong asks. 

“Close. About two more trips.” Seonghwa replies. “Can you hold out for 15 minutes?” 

“I’ll try, but hurry up.” Hongjoong says. 

You try to calm down and breathe, because Hongjoong’s definetly been in a worse situation before. He’s Kim Hongjoong. He can handle himself. Then you hear more rapid gunfire. 

“Hwa, any chance you’ll be done in two minutes?” Hongjoong pants.

“Not even a little.”

There’s silence on the radio for a full minute. Then, more gunfire. Fuck it, you think and start your way down the mast. There’s no one up on the deck to stop your crazy and frankly, quite stupid plan.  You find one of the other pirate’s skyboards and kick on the motor.

“Hongjoong, hold tight, I’m coming to get you.” You say into the walkie-talkie and you’re met by a chaotic static fille chorus of people telling you know. 

“Y/N! As the captain of this vessel I am ordering you to stay put!” Hongjoong says and you huff. 

“Well, I’m not a member of this crew, so I’ll be doing whatever the fuck I want thank you ery much.” you say, and soar off into the sky of Modai. 

You’ve never been to Modai. Or skyboarded without Hongjoong. You weren’t very good, even with Hongjoong whispering tips in your ear, so it difficult to find him at first, but evetually he pops into  a clearing and you race off after him. He’s got four mariners on his tail,  and he’s doing his best to shot and fly at the same time.

“I thought I told you to stay back!” he shouts.

“And I told you I was coming anyway!” you counter. “Now get on this board!” 

You fly beneath Hongjoong, matching his speed so that he can jump down to your board.

“Citizen! Stand down!” a mariner commands through a megaphone and Hongjoong shrugs back at them.

“I tried to tell them myself!” he teases, and jumps from his board. 

He lands firmly on yours, nearly sending you off balance.

“You are in so much trouble once we get back to the Illusion.” Hongjoong growls in your ear but you shrug.

“Let’s survive this first, yeah? You shoot I’ll drive.” you say and Hongjoong rolls his eyes.

He walks as far back to the edge of the board as he can, turning around to try and pick off the mariners tailing you. Your system works pretty well, with Hongjoong taking his time on shaking your tails so the other can finish liberating the loot.

“Alright, we’re done here. Bring it on in, Captain.” Seonghwa chimes in.

“Headed home.” Hongjoong replies. 

You swing the board around back towards the port.

“Thank you, for that back there. Would have been quite the mishap without you.” Hongjoong told you.

“I’m sorry for stepping out of line, but what was I supposed to do? Let you get shot down?” you ask, and Hongjoong shrugs.

“Maybe. Maybe I- `` Hongjoong's sentence is cut off by the board jerking and flipping, ejecting both of you onto the pier below. You land with a heavy thud, head thunking against the pier. Your eyes are fuzzy when you pick your head up, but you make out the polished, shiny boots of a mariner. Hongjoong groans not far from you, struggling to stand up.

“Finally, the infamous Kim Hongjoong laid low. And a member of your lawless crew.” he says, picking your up by your hair. 

You yelp, trying to get him to let go. He laughs and tugs harder, bringing tears to your eyes. Hongjoong pulls himself to his knees, panting.

“Bringing in the both of you alive would set me up for life.” the mariner says. 

A plasma shot grazes the mariner’s ear, Hongjoong having fired his arm cannon. 

“Get your hands off of them.” he growls.

“Then again, I suppose, you’d work just the same dead.” he reasons, and shoots Hongjoong in the chest. There’s a half second after Hongjoong’s body crumples to the floor where your body goes cold and you just stare. And then, with the same raw instinct that made you burn that manifest in the first place, you reach into your belt, and grab the dagger Yunho gave you. You bring your arm up, digging the dagger first into the mariner’s arm, dragging it up his forearm, between his bones. He screams, releasing your hair and staggering back. You follow him, twisting the knife, forcing his arm up until you can plunge the blade into his chest. You don’t pull the blade out until you see the light leave his eyes, making a sickening noise as it tears back out through flesh and bone. All of this is done on autopilot, unable to think of anything other than the image of Hongjoong’s body falling lifelessly. 

“Y/N? Y/N, what’s going on down there?” you can hear Yumho’s voice through the walkie-talkie as though he’s miles away.

“Get- get Yeosang down here. Hongjoong’s been shot.” you manage to get out.

You manage to crawl over to Hongjoong, wrapping his hand in yours, too emotionally wrecked to cry. You just sniffle and watch the way the wind ruffles his hair, petting a hand over his cheek, begging and praying silently that Yeosang won’t come too late. Kim Hoongjoong cannot die, not today. 

And then Hongjoong cracks his eyes open and groans.

“I almost die for you and no tears? I’m offended.” he mutters. 

You do cry then, sobs of relief leaving your body. 

“Kim Hongjoong, you absolute fool. Don’t ever scare me like that again! You’re not allowed to leave me!” You scold.

“But, Y/N-”

“Promise me. Swear to me, right now.” you say and Hongjoong reaches up to swipe a tear from your face.

“I promise.”

Maybe somewhere there was a universe where you and Hongjoong were a normal couple. You met on the street, went on coffee dates, and moved in together after dating for 2.4 years. Maybe, there’s a version of you where you’re both lawless pirates, where you meet on a drunken night in Utopia. And maybe there’s one where you’re dropped off at home and the both of you go back to your lives, thinking of each other whenever you look at the stars. 

You look out across the deck of the Illusion, watching the crew play together. Hongjoong comes up behind you, wrapping his arms around you and resting his head on your shoulder. You turn and press a kiss to his cheek, which he returns,

Thankfully, your reality is none of those versions. 

[silyabeeodess]

Tales of the Fire Spirits: Chilled

It was that time again. The aged fire spirit could feel it in the marrow of their bones—creaking and crackling inside its body like branches burning in a roaring fire that, day by day, became increasingly more difficult to maintain. Its skin shown bright from the excessive heat that had built from within over the course of its lifespan, and soon it would join its kind in the seasonal dances that marked the beginning and end of their cycles.

Near the end of their lives, fire spirits sought out safe havens away from their domain: Prime locations to build the ritual fires that could stay lit for days at a time. Then, once the dances began, they couldn't be stopped. Elder spirits would twist and turn around the flames in graceful unison, and it was up to the young to find plenty to burn over the course of the ritual; enough to create a crescendo of fire for the elders to catch upon as they themselves burst into flame.

Safety wasn't a primary concern, not for the spirits at least. The natural barriers that were summoned during their dance would keep most threats at bay. The fires alone were the most important part: They typically needed a good, dry spot to grow and plenty around to continuously feed them. Building them in a nice, dark place was also commonly ideal so that they'd only shine brighter against their surroundings. What a beautiful thing it was, to meet the end in an erupting pillar of warm light!

The fire spirit journeyed with a small group of its kin to find their own spot. Unfortunately, much of Subcon had changed in the creature's current cycle. Ice and snow had devoured a large portion of the forest, greatly limiting their kind's options in their wide exploration to prepare for the ritual. Too much of the land was cold and wet and not at all to a fire spirit's liking: They were miserable places with little to burn. Some spirits had even begun to explore beyond the forest in hopes of finding ideal territory.

It hoped, in its next cycle, that Subcon would undergo another great change—one for the better. It missed the funny humans they used to pick on for laughs, and the villagers that would give them plenty of goodies. It missed when the forest was bright and full of life, with plenty of things to burn. Their kind would survive—the young were already finding new ways—but it was still upsetting.

As the spirit and its kindred wove through the trees, a cluster of ice crystals jutting out of the earth caught its eye. They made an effort to avoid the ice and snow, but it was impossible. It appeared all over the forest, especially in the portion they travelled near now. The creature felt itself flare up as it gazed hard in the direction beyond the crystals, where the ice continued to expand. If they followed along that path, they'd eventually run into the origins of their current predicament. In recent years, the fire spirits had been known to treat that place with caution: Oh, how they had come to hate it. If it weren't for the powerful, frigid magic keeping their own at bay—combined with the cold and sodden landscape—they would've torched the place.

But there was nothing they could do, not with nature against them and in their weakened states. One of the other spirits placed a hand on its back as if to console it and urge it onward. The creature nodded. Right, no use dwelling on what they couldn't change. And they had their search to complete. The group continued.

The night air made its fur bristle, although there was little indication between night and day anymore. A dark miasma had clung to the area, another unfortunate change to their once lovely home. For humans, it was nearly impossible to tell the difference when clouds fell over the forest, without the travel of the moon and stars to indicate the passage of time. The fire spirits could still tell though, if only by the shifts in temperature that marked the seasons and—more subtly—the hours.

However, that night was strikingly clear. The fire spirit couldn't resist lifting its eyes up at the full moon at hung in the sky. Its light almost always felt cold anymore, just like everything else, but it still shone vibrantly…

All of a sudden, the creature's ears perked up. Out of nowhere, it sensed a sudden warmth appear along the bleak landscape. All of them did, each fire spirit stopping in their tracks at the feeling. It was the sort that they only knew to come from a rare handful of the Dwellers anymore, or even less so from a small amount of the already pitiful number of travelers that occasionally braved the forest. And never did they sense something like this so close to the manor. It had all of them on edge.

But that particular fire spirit also felt something strangely familiar about that warmth, like something from a dream or distant memory. The feeling called to it so much that the spirit couldn't resist moving hesitantly toward the heat spike—stopping once to flick its feet in discontent at the chilly, moist dirt that sunk between its toes and then darting off deeper into the woods.

It hadn't meant for the others to follow, but they did. They were stronger together anyway.

The sensation led them to a small patch of open field within the forest, where the leafless, craggily trees framed the sky like a wreath of thorns. Amid the ice pillars and crisp remains of dead undergrowth, a single figure hovered above the earth, staring up at the sky. It was… relatively human in form, spectral, male; dressed in a pale, yellow tunic and red jacket faded from grime and excessive wear with broken chains strapped to his wrists. His skin was as faint a blue as the ice that surrounded him, and he seemed to be wearing a mask that crescented around the right half of his face.

There was no way they could hide from him even if they tried: The light emitting from their bodies was too distinct from the shadows and he spotted them almost as soon as they entered the area. Recoiling in surprise, he shuffled back. The fire spirit approached a few steps after him in turn only to realize that the others had retreated the other way. There was little question why though: For the warmth they felt coming from him, it also came with a confusing mix of other feelings all too similar to the darkened state of the forest itself.

All the same, the familiarity was jarring. Even the appearance of the phantom seemed to mock the creature, but it still couldn't recall why. Multiple cycles of memories had ways of overlapping, but mature fire spirits could pick apart some of them enough to string together important aspects of their lives. It knew the figure was important… somehow…

The fox tried to get closer, but stopped short—fur bristling—as the man dipped into an aggressive stance with strange, red cords manifesting from his wrists, contorting in uncontrollable lashes. In turn, light flames flickered along the spirit's hide in warning. As curious as the creature was, if the phantom was foolish enough to challenge its fire, by all means, let him try. Whatever odd power he possessed, it was clear he had little mastery of it and there were few things that could best the creature's own magic.

A realization that seemed to dawn on him soon enough as he steadied himself. The spirit followed suit, but continued to approach the former with a careful tread. Sizing up to a small, adult human with the specter hovering in the air, the fire spirit measured to the other being's chest. Reluctance continuously hanging between the two, it sniffed his hand then—feeling him tense as it did so—placed its head against his palm.

The action barely lasted longer than a second. Cold! He was too cold! The fire spirit may as well have stuck its head in the snow! It jumped back in disgust as it eyed the phantom with confusion. Sparks licked at its feet, fiery enough to ignite the somewhat damp undergrowth and create a nice—if sadly shallow—bed of fire for it to stand in. The man flinched, but besides that showed no sign of being startled. Instead, he seemed to look at his own hand in dismay.

The fire spirit couldn't figure it out. How could a being that echoed such a familiar, peculiar warmth be so horribly cold? What was this creature? Not like the lost souls that roamed Subcon, surely: Although their mortal bodies were lost and even the warmth of many of their individual essences had altered, none of them came close to the enigma that was this one.

As if drawn to the flames, at last the phantom calmed enough to near the fire spirit this time—briefly circling with his own curiosity before he came to rest. Although the fox's chest puffed confidently at the admiration of the fire, it pitied this being. His whole existence seemed to be a sad, puzzling self-contradiction.

For the third time, the fire spirit moved closer to him. If he could not warm himself, then maybe it could grant him just a moment's comfort. It twisted itself around the phantom's body, tail curling around his waist and head pressing against his skin—though, even prepared, the creature still writhed at the nasty cold seeping from the other.

The phantom looked at the fox for a long time. And then he began to laugh—an empty, sorrowful, unhinged laugh—that shook his entire body. The spirit's ears pinned back, but it didn't leave his side, even as its kin rounded closer to watch over the scene. Encouraged, still shivering, the phantom looked the spirit in the eye and gave him a solemn shake of his head:

"I'm afraid you're too late, my friend."

.........................................................................................

((Sharing this on here because, out of the stories I’ve worked on for this series of shorts, this one was probably my favorite so far--with “Ignition” being a close second.  If you’d like to see the rest of the shorts, please check out the full collection here.  While the fire spirits are the main focus, each short explores different themes and other characters surrounding them, including Hat Kid and Snatcher.))

[impishnature]

Proposition

AO3 Fandom: Don’t Starve Rating: T+ Summary: Wilson should know by now not to assume or hope for the best. Not when the world was constantly out to get them. But really, was it much to ask for that one day- just one day- they would get out of danger unharmed? Prompt: 

Warning: Bad jokes- no but seriously I guess some wounds/blood.

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Relief ached through him like a tangible wound. 

It left him in a sharp exhale, hollowing out the fear from the pit of his stomach to erupt as ice cold mist from his mouth. The adrenaline fizzled out along with it, vibrating from his very core to leave his legs weak and wobbling against the sudden shift of his mental state. In it's place, the purple bruised skin, the overused muscles and creaking bones made themselves known, cried out that they had been abused, pushed too far- but the relief held fast around them, soothing them all with the mantra of what could have been.

He may hurt, but pain meant life.

And right now- they were home.

It wasn't much but still, the little safe haven with it's glowing embers against the oncoming darkness, melted the cage of dread that had wrapped it's way around his heart earlier that day.

"We made it." The words panted out of him, more exhausted warm puffs of air than any real sound, but still, in the silence of the snow it seemed to reverberate between the small grove.

Winter had set in, cold and white across the expand of the constant, leaving them little food and even less shelter against the elements. The dangers of the night now extended that much further into the day, with warmth now taking centre stage in their small wheel of necessities. He quickly pulled off his backpack, throwing a few logs on the fire and marvelling at their haul in the small circle of light. They'd have enough material to keep themselves warm throughout the season if they were smart enough, the small pang of guilt at the thought of the shaved beefalo from the early hours of the morning almost completely eclipsed by the feeling of the wool between his fingers.

They'd survive without it. Him and his companion however, would not.

Wilson blinked, his companion even quieter than usual. He'd have expected some sneering remark by now, some small mocking jab that would make him snort and bite something witty back. It was just how they worked, how they ran, two cogs in a machine that worked well together and yet against each other all at once. His eyes flicked to the gloom, no longer adjusted after the sudden influx of light, to the shadowed figure that stood just out of the light's touch.

"Maxwell? What are you doing? Your thermal stones going to run out soon if you're not careful."

His eyes narrowed as the man took one step forward, his legs coming into vision before he stopped again, swaying where he stood. 

"Maxwell?"

There was still no response.

Wilson swallowed, standing up from his spot to take a few steps closer to the other. The relief from earlier had dimmed, pulsing back into a solid layer of fear in the pit of his stomach. The day had been arduous, of course it had, it always was- but today they had escaped, today they had won against the game.

Or so he had thought.

They had been caught short in their return by the winter hunting party, the baying of the hounds and the deep low commands of their owners following them through the cold, blizzard snows that slowed them down and tripped them without a moments notice.

He'd seen his companion go down as the dogs descended on them but it had only been for a second, that jolt of motion knocking the vicious beast off course and letting his friend lurch back up and continue in their sprint away from the hostile campers.

He hadn't noticed the drips of red that had leaked from beneath the others fingers, nor the trail they had left in their wake that had no doubt kept the hunters on their tails for much longer than usual.

Now though, it was obvious. The material of the other man's clothing stuck to him in black, viscous patches against the firelight, his hands stained as they clutched to his side. He was sure the other had come to the same conclusion as him, the safety of the firelight sending a shock wave of relief throughout his core. However, then the wound had made itself known through the haze of adrenaline, an alarm bell that had sapped him of his strength and left him far fainter than his counterpart.

Wilson took another step forward as Maxwell lurched forward another wobbling step. His eyes snapped to his sharply, trying to convey some air of control even now, whilst his complexion was pallid as the melting snow around them. 

"What's that ridiculous look all about?"

Wilson didn't reply, his eyes still caught on the slight sway to the other's entire body. So instead he moved. He rushed forward, ignoring the indignant yelp as he pulled the other close to the fire where he could see more clearly, pushing him down into a sitting position without any trepidation. "Stay there."

"Excuse me-"

Wilson ignored the resistance from the other, pushing down on his shoulder with a firm hand. He also ignored how weak the resistance was, how the push against his ministrations was lukewarm at best and the thin material between them felt far colder than it should as if the others body heat had leaked out along with the rivulets of blood running through his fingers. "Stay. Get warm. I'll be right back."

There were protests from behind as he walked away, mystified irritation if he really had to put a finger on it but he refused to bite, his attention elsewhere. He rattled around some of their chests, digging through for resources with a frustrated grumble every time he came up empty. 

It felt like it was taking an age to find the materials he needed, each second another blood-soaked piece of sand falling through the hourglass. He gave a soft noise of triumph at the jar of honey that rolled out from the bottom of a chest as he pulled it apart, snatching it up before it rolled out of sight again. He made quick work of the bandages they'd already made before, slicking them up with the medicinal liquid that would no doubt cause more protests from his strange companion.

Regardless, he would do as he was told, the sticky material their best option in this world that refused to let them rest. 

He returned to the others side, amused by the distasteful expression he wore at the monstrous pile of sticky fabric between Wilson's equally sticky hands.

"Take off your shirt."

Two half glazed eyes found his in that moment, a coy, almost cheeky grin tugging at his cheeks. "That's a bit forward, even for you, Higgs-" He hissed, the soft chuckle that had rumbled through his chest pulling further at his wound. His hand pushing deeper into his side, his smile dropping into a gritted grimace without preamble, as if the effort to hold the mask on had finally escaped him.

"Not the time." Wilson dropped the bandages to the floor before trying unsuccessfully to push his hands away from his side. He growled uselessly as Maxwell listlessly kept pressure there instead of letting him take over. "Maxwell."

Maxwell blinked at him, taken aback by the sharp tone. Hus eyebrows furrowed, his mouth a thin line, but it didn't quite appear that he knew exactly what was going on, only that Wilson had snapped at him.

A fact that Wilson was not at all liking.

"Come on. Take it off, or do I have to take it off for you?"

"Well, now that is a proposition if I've ever-" Another wince cut off the remark, though he refused to let it stop him, his breath whistling through his teeth in a hiss of pain. "-heard one."

Wilson snorted, shaking his head as he slapped Maxwell's hands away from his wound and got to work with little fanfare, pulling Maxwell's jacket off his shoulders before beginning on his shirt buttons. "As if you have ever heard one before to know what they sound like."

"A gentleman does not kiss and tell-" Maxwell sniffed, breathing through his nose to stop from yelping as Wilson checked over the gouges in his side. "-though you wouldn't know anything about that, would you?" A soft grunt of pain fell from his lips, his glare intensifying. "Have you always been this impertinent?" 

"Right now all that stands between you and death is this impertinent fellow." Wilson refused to look up at him, instead continuing his ministrations, cleaning the slashes as much as was possible with their limited resources. "So perhaps we shouldn't try to insult him, how about that?"

"Well, what else should I do exactly?"

"Oh, I don't know." Wilson rolled his eyes, glad at least that Maxwell was still himself despite the injury. He began to wrap the bandages around his middle, amused yet again by the disgruntled sounds that emanated from the feeling of the sticky, viscous material to his skin. "Tell me a joke or something."

"A joke? Are you trying to see if I've gone completely insane while we've been sitting here? I'm a magician not a clown."

"Really? You could have fooled me."

Maxwell glared at him. "Your bedside manner is dreadful. I'm glad you decided on scientist instead of doctor."

Wilson shook his head. "Well, I never wanted to deal with dreadful patients either- will you just sit still for two more minutes?"

Silence took centre stage for awhile as Maxwell huffed one last noise of discontent before letting him continue with his work. It was a lot quicker this way, much to Wilson's relief, though also a lot less comforting. He would never admit as such, but at least the other's insulting mockery of him let him know that he was still feeling himself despite the blood loss. All that their work was interspersed with now was sounds of pain, and mild half apologies cast out into the night.

That is until Maxwell spoke again, derailing Wilson's thoughts once more just as he finished his final loop of bandages and secured it.

"Why is the medical profession so tedious?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Because it requires more patients than others."

Wilson stared at Maxwell, blinking dazedly as the other gave him a mocking grin. It was haphazard, lopsided and crooked in it's delivery, his eyes half lidded as if the world was just that little bit less tangible than it was at any other time.

And then it dawned on him.

"Was that a joke?"

Maxwell's grin wavered into a childish pout, a look he was sure he would never let himself wear if he was aware of it. "You asked for one."

"You were right, that was terrible."

Maxwell grunted. "What? Would you like a magic trick instead?"

"No- no, that requires movement and as your doctor I'm telling you to rest."

There was another snort of laughter, though the other still complied letting himself be pushed into a laying position. "You're not a doctor- you only have one patient." The words were mumbled, already festering with layers of sleep as his eyes drooped further.

Wilson chuckled, making sure the other was comfortable and getting rid of the bloodstained fabric still bunched around him. "Yes, well, this one requires far more patience than most. Now sleep already."

He wasn't sure his words had even finished before the others breathing evened out into fitful slumber.

~~~

Maxwell groaned as he awoke, the stinging pain from before now a pulsing thick ache that seemed to have spread throughout his entire body. 

At least he felt more like himself, the world wasn't spinning quite as much as it had been and he had the slightest inclination that he might have embarrassed himself with his behaviour in the fog of his recollections.

He ran his hands around him, trying to gauge where he was and frowned at the warm pliant fibres that seemed to engulf him. He blinked open blurry eyes and found his vision half encased by downy fur that he vaguely remembered sheering off of sleeping beasts with satisfied glee. It better served it's purpose with him, that he was sure and the feel of it around him deepened the warmth that must have slowly suffused through his chest in his sleep, warming up the embers there and tugging him once more towards sleep's blissful embrace.

A soft curse roused him enough to ignore the tempting pull however, propping himself up as quietly and painfully as he could to check on his companion.

Wilson sat undisturbed on the other side of the fire, his hands working deftly with more of the beefalo wool they had scrounged together. He placed one finger in his mouth, his mouth frowning in pain before he went back to his task, stitching and knitting more of the course wool together into unrecognisable but no doubt warm garments. 

Maxwell tugged the blanket up further around him, musing and observing before finally giving into conventional civility.

After all, he guessed sometimes Wilson might- perhaps- deserve it.

"...Thank you."

Wilson paused in his work, though he didn't look up. He raised an eyebrow, smiling ever so softly in a childish way. 

"Was that another one of your terrible jokes?"

Maxwell sniffed disdainfully, mind too slow to think of a good comeback quickly. "No. Would you rather I wasn't grateful?"

"No, no." Wilson hummed, hands continuing their ministrations unperturbed. Maxwell didn't miss how his smile spread wider though, mischievous and teasing in every facet. "Just a very nice surprise is all." He looked up, flicking glinting eyes towards him for barely a second. "But it is a surprise, none the less. Did you hit your head as well when you fell? Or should I be concerned that you lost more blood than I anticipated before?"

Maxwell scowled, though a huff of amusement did escape him as he laid back down next to the fire. "You really are the most insolent man I have ever had the displeasure of meeting."

"There we go. That's more like the Maxwell I know."

[meiakrp]

E N T E R I N G C O D E N A M E  … AGENT NANO YOUR IDENTITY HAS BEEN CONFIRMED WELCOME HOME, AGENT

Agent Nano is enhanced and has been appointed leader of team FALCON

ACTION REQUIRED ;  please follow and welcome your fellow agent.

a demon has you and your team cornered. your medic is down and you’re running out of energy. you notice that there is a way to escape but it would mean leaving your team. what do you do? be honest.

RESPONSE RECORDED BELOW

this, this right here was the perfect way to get under ilsu’s skin. what did they find so alluring about this question? the corners of her mouth twitched, desperately wanting to scoff at the idea. because of her respect though, she decided against it. her eyes looked into the face of the interviewer, letting the silence linger.

‘what kind of clarity were they meaning to find?’

ilsu accepts the question with an exhale, her gaze refusing to focus on one object. “okay-..” she leans on the door frame, taking more time with this inquiry then she did the others. / one undebatable attribute ilsu prides is that she will not entertain the idea of playing god. being the one to decide who gets to live or die isn’t a luxury anyone should have. but then again, she hasn’t really thought anything through yet. at first glance, she was projecting.

‘we’re cornered and our medic is down. a nasty, sticky situation in itself. there is an escape but- i’d have to leave my team? ..... why is that my only option?’ if she wanted to be technical, she’d lift her head to ask for more circumstances- but she figures this was suppose to be hypothetical.. to see where her morals lie. having family rumored to be rooted in seaside, and finding haven there as a lost teen; it’s hard for her not to carry a strong sense of values in a life- no matter how relevant. that agency shaped her. ilsu is, grumpy and irritable but, never one to hesitate when there is something to protect.

seaside taught everyone that.  

‘no, that isn’t my only option. it doesn’t need to be just me.’ she envisions the scenario in her head. a whole reality building in her train of thought. ‘low on energy, means my enhancement is straining, but that doesn’t mean the rest of the team is too. this scenario could easily be squashed with the right teamwork. a combination of whatever energy is left amongst everyone together concentrated for escape.’ say, hypothetically speaking- her team members foxtrot and flamingo push together, while bambi and eagle tail them with support. if they channel their abilities accordingly, they could make an exit that he whole team can escape through. her and whoever is left hold the demons at bay with whatever energy is left. she realizes that’s in a perfect world, but the plan was solid regardless. if you can’t get to an exit, make another one.

nano inhaled, finally cutting the fraught silence that had laced the office. a smug smile disrupting the furrow her eyebrows had maintained in thought. “we, push forward with teamwork. if there isn’t an exit we can all make it to together, we make one.” ilsu started.

to her, her team was probably the closest thing to real family she’s ever experienced. “i’d rather rot than to leave my team. those who abandon their team are worst than scum.”

ilsu, stood up straight. her short frame not amounting to much. “got what you needed?”  

[xadoheandterra]

Insomnia Sea of Thieves Journey

So because I can’t sleep I decided to hop onto Sea of Thieves and dick around. Maybe I’ll be able to team up with a Galleon and take on the Megalodon? Who knows. So far that’s a no, but hey, treasure hunting! Here’s the take so far, and what’s been done.

What I started at:

I had 30k that I spent 20k of on tattoos. New cosmetic and I wanted to see what they looked like! So I journeyed out into the world on Gold Hoarder Voyages with just a measly 10k. Boo. I’m at 28 for Gold Hoarders which means I get the 25 Voyages which is nice. My Order of Souls? 26. Same for Merchant’s Guild. I’m focusing on one group at a time until I reach Pirate Legend status. Currently goal is 30 for reputation.

First Voyage is a single chest. That’s fine. Whatever. Not a big deal. Except...it’s a Seafairer.

What.

I thought they fixed the RNG on that. Oh well. Visited the lovely Sunken Grove after leaving Galleon’s Grave for that; simple riddle to work through.

I headed off on my second Voyage, a chaptered one! Awesome! I love these. Another short and simple riddle. First map led me to Crooked Masts where, what did I find? A Seafairer.

Ugh.

I head off on my next chapter location -- Chapter 2! Next location? Kraken’s Fall. I love Kraken’s Fall. It’s a pretty island with a lot of lore hidden around about the Kraken. It’s another fairly simple riddle so off I am and lo and behold! A Cursed Chest! The Chest of 1k Grogs is found and retrieved and I’m feeling more hopeful for this Voyage.

I set off for Snake Island next but on my way I spot a large flock of birds over the ocean. A sunken ship? I headed toward the sign and didn’t see anything, but jumped into the water anyway. Yes, a sunken ship, deep under the ocean and completely upside down.

(I forget the name of her now, but she was gorgeous and a glorious find)

There I discovered immediately in the Captain’s Quarters a Villainous Skull. What luck! These things run upwards of 1k gold! I head below deck and seek out more treasure. A Crate of Rare Tea! Cheap, but still worthwhile. Further still I venture to the lowest deck of the ship--and find another Chest of 1k Grogs. Goodness me I’m going to have to make a stop here, aren’t I? I quickly ferry the chest onto the ship, drowning all the while. On my way out I noticed another Crate of Rare Tea so I ventured down one last time to snatch that up as well. A quick check revealed no more treasure so off I headed toward Ancient Spire to drop my loot off to the various Factions.

Happily satisfied with my find I once more head off toward Snake Island. Yet another curious sight catches my attention, but pitifully it is just a slew of barrels from a quarrel that went poorly. I pass it by--but come upon another sunken ship--this one half out of the water. I stop. Perhaps another bountiful find?

No. The check of each deck and the Captains Quarters revealed nothing more than a Hateful Skull. Worth a bit, so I pack it away and--after my second check of the ship I suffer a deadly shark attack. At least the good Ferryman let me leave in a timely manner and I continue on my way to Snake Island.

A Mauraders Chest awaited me there--hell yes! Not as good as a Captain’s but definitely second best. I’ll take it. Another Chapter comes across my screen and so, embolded, I head off to my next destination.

Crooks Hollow had a mere Seafairer’s to offer me. Not to worry! I had yet another chapter to visit on this voyage with two maps! Finally, after four chapters of one...

I head off to Thieves Haven and spend a great deal searching for the chest there, and yes it turns out to be a Marauder’s Chest! Oh that’s just perfect! One more map to visit, one more booty to plunder...

I have no recollection of the island I needed to visit, but there I found yet another Marauder’s Chest and felt quite satisfied. I set down another Voyage and headed off toward that single riddle with a spring in my step.

Outside Plunder Valley there is always a sunken ship, just on the edge of the cannon’s range from the island. I spotted her, determined to seek her out once I’ve settled my debt with the island and found my loot. It’s easy, quite close to where I docked my ship (and suffered my first real crash of the day ignoring the scraping I went through at Crook’s Hollow)

The chest, it turned out, was the dreaded Chest of Sorrows. Worth a great deal--a pain to handle because on a Sloop you have nowhere to put it except to hold yourself onto the ladder and pray you won’t crash if you don’t have the time to drop anchor.

But...I had a plan, and I was determined.

As I settled my booty down upon my dear ship I hear a cannon go off. Worried I scan the horizon to see a Galleon firing--at me? From that distance? Oh you fools, you won’t hit me. I’m too far out of your range!--warning shots, I suppose? I grab my megaphone and shout out to them--offering the Chest of Sorrows in an offer of peace.

They ignored me, went around the island, and I decided to book it. I changed my mind about the sunken ship. Those fools could have it! Hurriedly I made my way to Plunder’s Outpost--and thankfully they didn’t follow.

Whew. I dropped off my booty to find my measly 10k is now 16k! Not a bad haul.

One more map to visit. The final Chapter of my third Voyage.

I head to Discovery Ridge first. It is closer than Shark Bait Cove since I settled at Plunder’s Outpost (and crashed my ship; my poor ship...) and, after a quick riddle, I find a Marauder's Chest.

Hopefully my luck has turned for this Voyage given such bountiful loot so far!

(I do get distracted by my Kaddis who decided to roll around and wag her tail and be silly.)

FUCK! Error, error! I was heading in the wrong direction! Oh why did I think Shipwreck Bay when it’s Shark Bait Cove? I need to turn around--thankfully there is no there to bother me, and sadly no sunken ships on the horizon. I would love to test my luck against them again, but  we make do.

When I finally arrive I seek out my treasure and spend a little time listening to Merrik’s tales, of course, when I hear a shout over the megaphone.

“I’m on your ship!”

Well, looters, taking things away from hard earned people. I take my own out and tell them to take the chest, just don’t sink me please, when what do I learn?

They hunt the Megalodon! Yes! So I set aside my voyage and defeat the foul creature with this four man crew despite lacking a drum. Not a bad run of it.

(it took two tries. the first was a disaster)

Once finished we parted was and I sought my treasure. Seafairers Chest. Ugh. I left the thing behind for someone to find and ended my venture of insomnia fueled Sea of Thieves.