#fish are not food quadrant

[ilovecoelacanths]

friends and i made these a while ago lmao

[amirasainz]

hi!! i really love your works and i always look forward to you contents. can you write about a quadrant content but it’s just lando and baby!sainz flirting with each other

So much fun to write. I hope it is how you guys imagined this. I can only advise you guys to watch the video. It is extremlx funny.

Enjoy reading and send some requests.

-XoXo

Spill your guts

It was another day of filming a new video of Quadrant. The team took it upon themselves to invite two special guest for their new video. One of them was the britisch Youtuber Filly, while the other one was Amira Sainz aka Landos love of his life (his words).

Lando sat in the middle of the table. On his closest right side sat Amira, Ethan and Aarav. On his left side sat Filly and Niran. In front of them was a variety of disgusting food, for example a 1000 year old egg (how does that work) or a fish smoothie. Lando would ask each person a question. If someone didn't want to answer, they would have to eat the food.

As usual, Amira and Lando were in their own little world the whole time. Lando even brought her a special designed LN4 hoodie. So while everyone started with a hard question, it was now Amiras turn. "Ok darling. Let's start easy. Do you like the new collection" questioned Lando softly. Amira nodded with a bright smile and Lando clapped for a short moment. The guys at the table were shocked. The have been warned before the video about the behaviour between those two. Seeing it was a whole different thing.

So the game continued on and on. While Niran across from her was nearly dying after eating the egg, Lando turned to her. He took her hand in his and looked her deeply in the eyes. "Now, this is a hard question, Baby. You'll probably want to answer it and not drink a fish smoothie ok?" Lando was always so careful with her. He didn't care if his friends were dying next to him. I mean, no-one would if the Amira Sainz sat next to them.

"You once mentioned that you like nearly everyone on set of Narcos. Who was the person you didn't like?" The question was met with a lot of "uhhh"-s from around the table. After a short moment, she answered: "I really can't tell. I don't want to offend anyone." When she reached for the glass, Filly tried to console her: "Amira, you're probably one of the bravest girl out there." Before she could drink it Lando yelled a loud "Wait!", scaring everyone in a 5 mile radius.

"Baby, I can't let you drink that. However, because you didn't answer, you will have to drink lemon water" "Nooooo, please no lemon water" Amira said sadly. Lando just nodded sadly, tears already gathering in his eyes. The boys just stared incredulously at the pair. "How is lemon water worst than a freaking fish smoothie" asked Aarav, looking directly into the camera.

After she drank the water, Lando hugged her tightly. "You did so good, my pretty girl. I know it was really sour, but you make my life sweeter." So for the whole video, Lando would only give Amira things like cuttet onion, a hard noodle or vanilla ice-creme. The ice-creme was probably the worst thing for her, because she is a huge chocolate fan. And after every answer she gave, he would either hold her hand or kiss her forehand. Lando was everything but secretive.

After Filly came back from his quick toilet visit Amira asked him: "Is the sauce really so bad?" "Love, you have no idea. I saw my dead grandfather in front of me". This prompted a round of laughter from around the table. "I kind of want to try it" she said. Before anyone could stop her, she downed the whole glass.

"Oh my god", "What the fuck" and "Baby, are you mad" were the reactions she was met with. Everyone stared at her. However, Amira just liked her lips and said "This shit is really good"

[bellezaycafe]

Get Your Shit Together - Chapter 5

genre: 2024 Season AU

pairing: Romantic! oc x someone ;) . platonic! oc x literally the whole grid.

warnings: lots swearing, mentions of the accident, stitches, alcohol. mentions of crimes.

context: Dude, if you don't know the context, go read the other parts. Here's the masterlist.

----$----

Five Months Later...

"Are you sure, mate?" Max Fewtrell asked as they stepped into the restaurant.

"Danny said it was the best bet," Lando assured him, shrugging.

"Danny isn't from Melbourne, he's from Perth," Max noted.

"Let's just have dinner, bro. We'll be fine even if we are recognised."

It didn't take long for them to be seated and, as soon as Max realised they weren't going to be waited upon, ordered their meals at the register.

"That's new," Lando commented when they returned to their seats.

"It's a small place," Max replied, observing everyone around them. "The locals seem pretty used to it."

Lando shrugged again and began to talk about upcoming Quadrant content. They had proposed a race with Daniel and Oscar around Melbourne, now that it was the off-season.

"Daniel seemed pretty keen, Oscar -" Lando trailed off.

His mind had gone blank, everything stopped by the memory gripping him.

Her voice.

"Thanks, Damon. Let me know if you need it back," she said to a coworker.

Lando's head snapped up, looking across a staircase to the opposite bar area. There she was, pouring a beer, dark brown hair pulled into a high ponytail and eye crinkled from her smile. She said something to the customer, some old crusty white man and laughed at whatever his response was.

Lando couldn't hear anything Max was saying, couldn't feel him nudge his shoulder.

"It's her," he whispered.

"Love at first sight isn't a thing, Lando," Max joked as he turned around.

"No, dumbass. I- I think it's Sadie." Lando shoved his shoulder.

Max turned back to him, dumbfounded. He had never met Sadie but knew exactly who she was. Throughout his recovery, Lando hadn't shut up about her and what she'd done for him. He'd tried to find her, but two weeks after the accident, she left the UK and no one had been able to find her since.

Lewis had even tried to find her, and was unsuccessful.

"Are you sure, mate? She had a helmet on."

"I just heard her talk. I saw her face at Albert Park. I think- I think it's her."

Her voice echoed in his head; I've got you now.

Keep going, pretty boy.

You're going to be okay.

In the blur of the accident and his trip to hospital, she was what he remembered. Her voice, her reassurance, her warm eyes.

"Mate, you're staring." Max waved a hand in front of Lando's eyes.

"I- Max, I think it's her." Lando repeated.

Their food came, a chicken carbonara from Lando and fish and chips for Max.

"Can I get you anything else?"

Max kicked Lando under the table as he said, "no, thank you," with a smile.

Lando dragged his eyes away from the woman across the room. "Thanks," he muttered.

The older woman smiled, politely said "have a lovely night," and left.

Lando tucked into his food and tried to listen to Max. He couldn't stop glancing, trying to work out if it was Sadie. He needed a closer look at her eyes, her reassuring eyes.

Those deep brown eyes that had said we are okay while she had a piece of his car in her leg.

"Hi there, how's the food?" a server asked. He was tall, and standing between the bar area and their table. His green eyes were watching Lando carefully.

"Great," Max said. "Thank you."

"Actually," Lando said, ignoring another kick from Max. "The barteneder over there, what's her name?"

"Uhh, that is Sadie." The sever said, looking over his shoulder.

Max and Lando shared a look and Lando's hand began to shake. He couldn't place whether it was nerves or anticipation.

"Thank you," Lando murmured, his eyes not leaving Max's face.

The server walked away with a tense smile.

"You sound creepy, you know that right?" Max groaned.

"It's her!" he whisper-yelled.

"You don't know that for sure. Finish your food."

Lando rolled his eyes and stabbed a chip with his fork.

----$----

“Sads.” Damon, tapped her shoulder. “I don’t want to scare you but there’s a guy at a bistro table asking about you. Molly said he’s been looking at you all night.”

Sadie groaned. “Ugh, men. What table?”

“Four.”

She stepped to the side, into and where she could view of table four, and froze.

“What the fuck is he doing here?” She whispered, as if he’d hear her.

Damon pulled her back out of sight. “You know him?”

Shit, she scolded herself. Get yourself out of this one, Sadie.

Sadie hadn’t told anyone from work the real way she had been injured, just that she had been in an accident that weekend.

“Remember how I had to take an extra three weeks off that mid-year annual leave?” she whispered to Damon.

“Yeah, car accident right?”

“Well-“ she drew the word out. “I wasn’t actually in a car. I was hit while trying to get him off the, uh, road.”

Road, not racetrack. Road.

Sadie couldn’t risk Damon figuring out that it had been her in that viral video. The less people that knew, the less people who could tell the media circus where to find her. The less danger she'd be in.

“What?” Damon’s face was scrunched in a frown.

“Ah, it’s hard to explain.” She waved off any further questions. “Can you watch the bar for me? I’m gonna go say hi.”

Damon nodded as Sadie stepped past him, more confidence in her stride than in her heart.

She managed to avoid Lando Norris and his gaze on her way to the kitchen. She thanked Molly, the supervisor, the noticing his behaviour and keeping an eye on him.

That was when she decided to surprise him.

Max Fewtrell, who had sat across from Lando, saw Sadie first.

She shook her head. Let me surprise him, she tried to say.

Max, understanding in his eyes, ignored her.

Lando wore no moonboot or ankle brace. Sadie wondered if the fracture reports were true.

"I see the ankle healed nicely," she quipped. "What about the concussion?"

He spun, almost falling out of his chair, and leapt to his feet. Lando wrapped his arms around Sadie with no hesitation. She was glad the tables nearby were empty.

"Oh shit," he murmured into her ear. "It is you. I was right, it's you."

He'd trapped Sadie's arms by her sides and Max laughed at her awkward attempt to hug Lando back.

He pulled back, but kept his hands on her shoulders, as if she'd vanish if he let go.

Fair enough, she mused silently. I disappeared once, what's to say I won't do it again.

"Mate, what are you doing here?" She asked seriously.

He gestured to the table. "Having dinner, I didn't know you worked here."

"Jesus, of all the coincidences to happen," Sadie muttered under her breath then said a little louder. "I have to get back to work, it was great to see you, mate. I'm glad you've recovered."

"You're tense, why are you tense?" Max observed.

"I want to talk, I want to thank-"

Sadie cut him off. "Not here. My managers don't know exactly how I was injured. No one here does and I'd like to keep it that way."

"No," Lando insisted. "No, you are not disappearing again."

Sadie stopped for a moment, paused to let herself breathe.

"How about this-"

"Last time you said that, we both ended up in hospital," Lando joked with a wide smile.

Sadie returned the humour with a small laugh. She ignored the feeling clutching at her stomach.

"How about this, did you uber or taxi here?

Max nodded as Lando frowned.

"Okay, good. How about I drive you back to where ever it is you're staying and we can talk on the way?"

"And after that?"

Sadie sighed and gave Lando a sad smile. "There can't be an after, mate." She was careful not to use his name, just in case. "It's a long story."

"Will you tell me?" His voice dropped to a volume she didn't know he could use. His head tipped down, eyes boring into hers with too many emotions for Sadie to guess his thoughts.

The sad smile didn't leave her face. "As much as I can, but that isn't a lot. Give me half an hour. It's a quiet night, I'll ask to finish early."

Max reached out and tugged on the back of Lando's shirt.

Let her go, the gesture said. Lando did, releasing her shoulders and shoving his hands into his jeans pockets.

"Okay," he decided, "okay."

Sadie glanced to Max. Thank you, her eyes said.

He smiled gently but Sadie could see the concern in his posture and knew it wasn't concern for her. It was about her.

----$----

Twenty-five minutes later, Sadie grabbed her car keys and pulled her name tag off.

"Thanks again, Katy. I owe you for this."

"No, you don't." the on-duty manager waved a hand. "I was going to let some one go home soon, anyway. Have a good night.

"You too, see you tomorrow!"

Lando, who had struggled to take his eyes off her, noted the conversation and rose.

Max rose with him and put a hand on his shoulder. His back to Sadie, she watched as he whispered something in Lando's ear. Lando nodded with a frown.

"Ready?"

"I'm never ready for anything involving you," Lando quipped.

Sadie couldn't help but snort.

They walked to Sadie's small blue Mitsubishi and she ignored the small glance the boys shared. Damn them and their money.

Lando jumped into the passenger seat before Max could say anything.

"Fuck you, dude," Max joked.

Lando only grinned as he put his seatbelt on.

Sadie didn't smile at their antics. She was too busy considering how to tell them the situation without revealing anything that would put them in danger.

“Here’s the deal.” There was no room for negotiation in her tone. “You can ask questions but I’m only going to tell you want I safely can.”

She glanced at Max in the rear view mirror. He was frowning with suspicion and wariness, which Sadie considered to be a good thing.

“That’s ominous,” Lando noted.

Sadie shrugged and pulled out of the car park. “You’re going to have to navigate as well. The Piastri Family home isn’t public knowledge.”

As Lando pulled out his phone and brought up Google maps, he asked, “why did you stay away?”

“You’re a public figure, so are you, Max. Your lives are full of cameras, videos, articles and media. I can’t be amongst all that.”

"Why not?"

"I'm in a witness protection program."

----$----

hehe, whoops. LORE

Hope you like it!

Taglist (never thought I'd write one of these, I'm very happy to):

@snubug

[mecachrome]

nonsensical post but big fan of how much you can glean about 814's personalities from specifically their food moments and how these are kind of a perfect microcosm of their Overall Dynamic because they correlate specifically to lando's fussiness and more importantly how people react to and accommodate him...... (insert acts of service piastri) 🥲 like jp snacks video is critical content for multiple reasons but really if you look at the overall picture it's like ok. so oscar:

1️⃣ is hyperaware of lando's likes & dislikes and overly eager to share how much he Knows About Him ("he's a fussy eater" / "you don't eat fish" / stroopwafels "they'll be gone in..." fan stage moment ❗️) 2️⃣ still takes the piss out of him when possible ("you're not very adventurous with food are you" / "[salmon is] generally something that everyone likes (🙄)" etc.) but most of all never tries 2 fundamentally change or challenge any of his preferences while doing so 3️⃣ always ends up doing what Lando likes and wants first and foremost... even if subconsciously (opening everything for him / letting him eat first / the entire kinoko no yama scene....... / lando complaining about his salmon-eating habits in the hilton ad and oscar going HEY I STOPPED DOING THAT. ❓❓❓ and how come. answer me this ojp)

and u can get this from moments like oscar knowing his podium stats and watching old quadrant videos and fetching the chair and making fun of his beard and changing his answers to match lando's half the time and the fact that lando likes to falsely proclaim he'd give oscar acts of service ("i'd do that for oscar" + t-shirt moment) and taking any chance he has to jokingly call oscar selfish even though oscar is the one who wordlessly does everything 4 him ✅✅✅ et cetera and so on but these moments r truly the perfect culmination of oscar finding lando's particularities generally amusing yet endearing... 2 me..................

[bakugotrashpanda]

Bargaining (18+)

Dabi x F!Reader

Treasure Planet AU Word Count: 5433

!!: sex, tiny bit of knife and blood

A/N: This is a part of @thegetoufather‘s Into the Movieverse Collab!

Worn bricks, grimy from centuries of use, are covered with people. Some, down on their luck, looking to work their way from one port to the next. Others call this part of town home. Red brick buildings with wooden upper stories - storefronts with the family who owns them living up above. Sailors in smart uniforms walk off their ships and towards the bustle of the city beyond the edge of the docks. Passengers disembark various ships, some have servants toting their luggage, others carry nothing more than the bags on their backs.

From your perch on the TSS Legacy you observe the comings and goings. Your own ship, second hand twice over, has seen better days. But the wood and brass still gleam in the sunlight. Your own crew is a sight for sore eyes, but you were short on time to muster together enough people to fly off before midday. Favors were called in, and now you have a functioning ship and crew albeit with questionable reputations.

Right now you need quantity over quality. All they need to know is that your trip is a research expedition of sorts, and nothing more.

A swath of green catches your attention. A green haired boy and an older blond man stop in the middle of the flow of foot traffic and look around. No one stops down there if they can help it with all the bustle and smells, so they must be your patrons.

Descending from the poop deck to the captain’s quarters quickly, you find your First Officer leaning against your door with a coat draped over his arm. Windblown blond hair free of its pompous uniform regulation hat stands on end. He’d need to take care of that before addressing the crew.

“Mr. Hawks,” you nod and pull on the dark blue overcoat he holds out to you. Your first officer smirks, knowing how much you dislike the formalities and hierarchies in the sailing world. “Do you have something to say?”

Golden eyes crinkle in amusement. “Not at all, Captain.”

“Then put your hat on.” You straighten your clothes and march towards the main deck. “We’ve got company.”

You watch the new duo board your ship and look around with awe. “Ah, Captain.” The older man holds out his hand, “I’m Professor Toshinori, and this is young Midoriya. Thank you for making it so we can leave as soon as possible.”

“Not a problem,” you nod. Behind him, the dock cranes load on the last of the provisions and your crew works on storing the boxes. “Once the final safety check is made, we’ll be off. I understand we’re heading towards the Beta Quadrant?”

“Ah, yes,” the man nods and starts fishing around in his pockets. “Young Midoriya foun-”

“Mr. Toshinori,” you interject and hold up a hand. The man stops digging through his pockets and stares at you. “I implore you to wait until we’ve had a chance to talk in my ready room. My Number One will take you there now. As for Midoriya,” you round on the young man at his side, “I’ll show him to his assignment.”

“Assignment?” both guests ask in unison.

“Yes,” you reply curtly, “We have no need for idle hands on this ship, and my cook could use an extra person. Nothing too dangerous of course.” Without waiting, you turn away from the group and head towards the kitchens. Quick footsteps falling in place behind you send a smile ghosting over your lips. This power is new to you: you walk and people follow. You give an order and it’s followed without hesitation. 

Descending the rickety steps to the galley, you make a mental note to check it out when the journey is over. Perhaps after this gig is over, you’ll be able to buy a whole new ship and a reliable crew.

Thick smoke hangs around the kitchen and pours out into the dining area. Of course he pulls a stunt like this. Kicking in the door, you glare at your cook.

Tattoos wind up the arms and neck of a man with jet black hair. He hefts crates of food onto metal counters, the glow of a cigarette illuminating his face. Somehow the space is organized, but to you it looks like chaos.

“What did I say about smoking on my ship?” you hiss. Turquoise eyes cut over to you. The end of the cigarette glows brightly once more before a pile of ash falls off the end. And over a boiling pot on the stove. “Especially over the food?”

Locking eyes with you, the man takes one last drag and stubs it out on the counter. A stream of smoke cascades down a stained apron. “Yes, Captain.”

Clearing your throat, you paste a smile on your face. For as much pain as your cook has caused you, anticipation of seeing his face when he hears the news of his additional tasks will make it all the better for a moment. “Dabi, this is Midoriya,” you gesture to the green haired man behind you. “He’ll be under your care for the journey.”

Dabi’s eyebrow twitches. One hand ghosts over a pocket on his apron, no doubt where his cigarettes are. “And now I’m playing babysitter?”

“He’ll be helping with the cooking and cleaning,” you say. Strolling around the kitchen, you note the pile of pots, pans, and knives already sitting dirty in the sink. “As I recall, you make quite a mess wherever you go.” You shoot him a knowing look. 

It takes a minute, but he sighs before finally responding. “Whatever you say, Captain.”

“Midoriya,” you turn to your guest and try to give him a genuine smile. “We’ll be taking off soon, I suggest making your way up top. It’s quite a different experience than traveling by shuttle to and from the planet.” Green eyes widen in delight and he scampers off. You were like that once too; fresh off the shuttle and full of excitement for adventures to come.

Silence descends in the kitchen once Midoriya is gone. You could leave too. You should. There’s a whole ship that needs your attention, not to mention a professor you need to talk to.

But you lean against a metal counter and cross your arms. “You’re here.”

Dabi goes back to unpacking the crates in front of him. “I am.”

“Didn’t think you’d show.”

“Is there anything else you need, Captain?” So much hatred packed into your title.

“How long are you going to hold that grudge against me?” you hiss.

“I’m just a lowly cook aboard your ship,” he sneers.

Stalking over to him, you put your arm on top of the crate to grab his attention. “I gave you a chance to come with me.”

Dabi looks at you through long lashes. “Permission to speak freely?” It doesn’t matter what you say, he’ll let you know what’s on his mind – insubordination be damned.

“Granted.”

Dabi wipes his hands on the off-white apron and gestures to you. “Look at you. You wear their uniform. You sail under their flag. You decided to bow and lick the boots that stomped on us.”

You lean in, channeling as much of a haughty captain as you can. “And If I tell you to lick my boot?”

“Whatever you want,” he grits out, “Captain.”

Straightening up, you hold your head high. If he thinks that you abandoned your previous life, might as well give him what he wants. “Keep an eye on the boy,” you order. “The professor’s son will stay out of trouble.”

Dabi mockingly salutes you as you leave the kitchen. “Aye.” 

Will he be a thorn in your side the whole journey? Undoubtedly. But will your history together affect how you deal with him? … Only time will tell.

The heavy wood door to your ready room opens soundlessly. The professor and your First Officer are seated at a round table off to the side. They stand as you enter and wait for you to begin the secretive meeting.

“I’ve put the boy to work in the kitchen. He’ll be out of the way there,” you say matter-of-factly and shed your heavy coat. “Now, Professor, tell me about this map of yours.”

The whole reason for this hurried trip; a historian running after a fabled treasure. As long as they pay, you’ll take them to whatever godforsaken planet they want. It makes a quick buck for you and keeps you out of reach of the solar navy fleet for that much longer.

“Midoriya found it,” the lanky man says. He pulls out a gold ball and places it on your desk. Intrigued, you pick it up and fidget with it. The various lines and indentations on the surface whirl beneath your fingertips. Somehow, this small orb will lead you to the treasure, and a handsome cut for both you and the crew once it’s been returned and appraised. “It details the lost treasure of Abaddon. We know for certain it’s on Regula but its final resting place is still somewhere in here. Midoriya can show you how to open it.”

Still spinning the many planes of the supposed map, you address your First Officer. “Mr. Hawks, you have a keen eye. Once we set sail, see what you can decipher with the boy’s help.” 

“Aye, Captain,” Hawks nods. Turning to the professor, he gestures to the door. “I’ll show you to your quarters now.”

You’re left alone with the puzzle. Would this amount to anything this time around? How many times had you returned to port with a dejected fortune seeker. Your pockets would be lined no matter what.

Staring at the oil painting of space hanging across from your desk you run your fingers along the frame before pulling it back. To the untrained eye, it just looks like a normal, unfaded wall behind it, but pushing slightly, you pop off a wooden panel. A small lock box sits in a hidden alcove. Taking the box out, you feel along the seam of the alcove until your finger hits a divot. Another hidden door pops open, and you tuck the orb in there.

The door to your ready room opens again, and Hawks walks in exhaling deeply.

“I’ve tasked you with a lot,” you say and replace the small lock box in the hidden cabinet. “But I have one more job for you.”

“And what’s that, Captain?” Hawks asks tiredly. He hangs his hat on a peg on the wall. Running a hand through his hair, he checks his reflection for his signature ‘effortless disheveled look’ as he likes to call it. 

“What did I say about calling my Captain when it’s just the two of us,” you scowl. He shoots you a cheeky grin but says nothing. “Keep an eye on the boy and the cook. I’m hoping they can keep each other busy enough to stay out of trouble.”

All playfulness leaves his face. He resembles the older men in the service rather than the charming gentleman he can be during his personal leave; stoic, face weathered from years of sailing close to suns. “Is he…?”

You close the faux paneling with a satisfying click. Gears whir gently while the locking mechanism sets up again. “After our last fiasco, we have a full crew thanks to Dabi. But that doesn’t mean their loyalty is with me.”

Hawks nods. “As you wish.”

Is there anything he wouldn’t do for you? You could probably tell him you want the solar sails dyed green and he’d make it happen. “Where would I be without you?” you laugh gently.

“Stuck on a rock somewhere with no ship and no promotion.”

Your favorite part of sailing changes every time you leave port. Sometimes it’s watching the solar sails unfurl and reflect the light before takeoff. Other times it’s the momentary weightlessness before the antigravity system kicks in. More often than not it’s flying alongside the migratory space life and watching them play with the stars.

This trip proves no different. Immediately, you’re joined by a pod of gormaganders – a formerly endangered ‘space whale’ that sails the stars with its multitude of fins. They sail silently alongside the ship, no doubt following a stream of particles ejected from dying suns. Their bodies are twice as long as your ship, but these gentle giants mean no harm. 

You travel amongst them for three days before departing from their pod and head deeper into space. There’s a solemn silence as you and the crew watch them depart. They were your travel companions, but now you’re on your own. The inky black space around the ship seems that much more terrifying. 

Even though there’s no physical markers signifying where the Alpha Quadrant stops and the Beta Quadrant starts, there’s a feeling aboard the ship that stirs unease within you. The crew is antsy knowing the destination is upon them. Hawks has everyone double checking their work as a way to burn off excess energy, but it doesn’t put you at ease. 

If there is one thing you can count on during your trip, it’s that Midoriya keeps Dabi on his toes with his natural curiosity. More often than not your chef tries to hand off cleaning tasks only to have the young man talk his ear off or stray from the task at hand. It gives you a small surge of satisfaction to watch Dabi tamp down his irritation with the boy and chase him all over the ship.

It takes another week and a half before Regula is visible to the naked eye. The closer you get, the more enthralled your guests are; the Professor spends most of his time scribbling in notebooks while studying the planet through a looking glass. Midoriya spends what little free time he has on the deck staring out into space and avoiding your cook’s grating call. You feel a modicum of pity for the men. There are faster ships out there, ones that don’t sail on and store solar energy. Ships that could’ve arrived at the planet at three times the speed you did. But that costs money and they don’t accept payments of maybe-promises of treasure at the end.

The semi-barren rock doesn’t look like much – the only thing going for it, if it is in fact a treasure trove, is that there’s no visible signs of sentient life. Part of the planet is covered in greenery while the rest is a muddy gray, as if someone started terraforming it to be hospitable, but quickly gave up.

Accompanied by two of your crew that you managed to hold on to when your ship docked after your last mission, the Professor and Midoriya headed down to the planet’s surface. For anyone outside of the need-to-know circle, it’s a research trip to investigate claims that there was once life on the planet.

Not the worst cover story you’ve come up with.

Everything seems to settle. There’s plenty for the crew to do now with offloading gear and survey equipment. And for a moment, you think everything might go off without a hitch.

And then on the third day, you find yourself and all your belongings floating towards the ceiling. Spheres of liquid hang in the air, their empty cups floating beside them. Pens. Papers. Books. Everything. Clinging to the table bolted to the floor of your ready room, you grab your communicator out of your pocket.

“Engineering, what's going on?!” you shout into it. When there’s no reply you try again. “Engineering, do you read me?” Still nothing. Shit. You’ve got to fix this, and fast. Pulling yourself over to your desk, you take out a pair of gravity boots – heavy duty shoe covers that will stick to any surface. Hopefully Hawks has already raised the alarm and the rest of the crew has tethered themselves before going after supplies floating away.

Making your way down the corridor adjacent to your quarters, you take a back entrance to engineering. You clang your way across the metal flooring, your shoes the only thing keeping you from flying into the ceiling – or worse. Your keys attempt to float off as you flip through the lot of them to find the one that’ll give you access to all the wires and systems hidden behind a metal door. Once inside, you throw open a panel and see a couple jacks hanging freely. Frowning, you plug them back in. It takes a moment for the systems to reboot, but the unsettling weightlessness in your body is replaced with an overall unease. 

Those wires shouldn’t have been able to wiggle free, and there are redundant systems in place to prevent a total meltdown of the ship’s core life support functions.

Something thin, cold, and metal presses against the back of your neck.

“Funny thing, that boy,” a rough voice says. Heavy footsteps come from behind the open door. Dabi. “See he talks. A lot. And he talked about how his dad walked out on him and his mom. Only met the professor a few short weeks ago.” You lean back and feel the object at your neck bit into your skin. 

Okay. A knife. Not a gun. A knife is easier to deal with. It won’t accidentally go off. 

Dabi keeps talking. “At first I wanted to strangle him with how much he talked, but then he started spillin’ secrets. I know about the map an’ I know about the treasure.” He presses the knife deeper into your skin. A trickle of warm liquid runs down the back of your neck. “Hand it over.”

“It’s in my ready room,” you try to subtly lean away. “You and me. No one else.”

A throaty chuckle fills the room. “I don’t think so, Captain. One of my men will come with us. Just in case.”

“Have it your way.” There’s no need to provoke him at this point.

The flat side of the blade taps the side of your neck. Time to go. Slipping your feet out of the heavy, and now unnecessary, shoes, you and Dabi ascend towards the deck.

The only way you could describe the scene up top is chaos. Utter chaos. The crew – let’s face it, at this point they’re no longer your crew – are rambunctious, laughing and hollering like kids playing in a schoolyard. Red dust and smoke hang in the air, no doubt from a flare going off. Some notice you being led at knife point and cheer. Others are too caught up in the revelry to notice their surroundings. The few men loyal to you are tied to the main mast, struggling to be free of their confines. Another set of footsteps falls in line with you and Dabi. 

You open the door to your ready room and find Hawks already there. His stance is wide, ready to give or take a hit. Judging by the blood hidden on his red coat and the bruises littering his cheek and jaw, he’s given and gotten plenty of action. 

You give a small twitch of your head to get him to back down. Not yet.

Dabi heads to the table where you and Hawks would normally eat meals and navigate. With a nod, he gestures for you to sit with him. Reluctantly, you do.

“C’mon, Captain,” Dabi drawls, “Is it really necessary to have your underling here?” He dismissively gestures to your right-hand man who bristles. You watch the corner of his lip curl up in satisfaction, his tattoos following the movement and contorting with him.

“And I suppose you need your man?” you relax in your chair and cross your arms. “Get rid of yours and mine will leave too.” Without hesitation, Dabi jerks his head. Funny. He was so insistent that he have someone else here with him. The silent man at his side heads to the door without protest.

Hawks looks over at you. Holding his golden gaze, you nod. “But,” you say as he turns on his heels. “I don’t want bloodshed on deck. It’s a pain to get out of the wood.” Your gaze drifts over to Dabi who rolls his eyes but nods. His man at the door acknowledges him and walks out. Hawks follows after.

“Now it’s just us,” you smile at Dabi. It’s not a sweet smile, it’s the smile a predator gives its prey when it’s cornered. “You were loyal, so what happened?” Syrupy sweet mockery drips off your words.

Dabi leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “You didn’t think large enough.” A tattooed finger taps his temple.

“And you’re ‘large enough’?” you scoff.

“You wound me, Captain,” Dabi holds his hand against his chest – where a heart would be if he had one. “You used to be one of us, selling out to the highest bidder, and now look at you. Captain. With your self-righteous dogs who trip over their own feet to follow your every word.”

“I think the word you’re looking for is ‘loyalty’, something you know nothing about.”

“I’m loyal to money.” Dabi leans back in his chair and spreads his arms. Some stupid attempt to get you to believe that he’s vulnerable and in fact telling the truth.

You were once one of them. Someone who pushed a bucket and a mop around cleaning up after people who made your life miserable. Always ready to abandon ship at port in search of the next great adventure. And then you had to go and grow a heart, saving some higher up who repaid you handsomely with a career – a future where you didn’t have to pinch pennies and shovel shit.

And you took it. Built a name for yourself. Got your own ship, your own crew. Sort of.

“And you think that mutiny will get you money?” you raise an eyebrow.

Eyes bluer than the stars you sail darken. “I know that map will set me up well.” Dabi sneers. “Never need to answer to anyone again.” He stands abruptly and stomps over to you. Intimidation. You wouldn’t have your post if a man stomping his feet sent fear through your body.

Your eyelashes flutter as you take stock of him. “Why Dabi,” you purr, “Did you think I’d be quaking in my boots and just give you the map?” He looms over you and bends at the waist. A soft whisper has the hair on the back of your neck standing at attention.

“I can offer you something… more.” A hand trails down your side, ghosting over your breast before settling on top of your thigh.

“You think that finger fucking me will get me to hand it over?” Cute. You aren’t the young deckhand enamored with the mysterious pirate anymore.

“I’ll do more than finger fuck you,” he purrs. “I’ll have you begging for me, and if I can do that, the map is mine.” Interesting. It’s an unorthodox approach for sure, and it’s not like he would be successful. “C’mon, Captain,” he coos, his thumb casually stroking the apex of your thighs. “What d’ya say? A little friendly wager?”

“There’s nothing friendly about this.” You uncross your arms and wrap them around his neck. Your lips are on his, sealing the deal. Teasing the edge of his lips with your tongue, he obliges you and deepens the kiss. Quickly, you become a tangle of bodies. He lifts you, and with your legs around his waist, you soon find the smooth wood of your desk at your back.

Hot lips trail down your neck, stopping occasionally to leave a bold nip. You arch into him and give him all the access he could want. Teeth graze your skin and he latches on. You pull him closer. A small part of you wants a small souvenir of this moment – something you can look back on and gloat about.

Dabi’s fingers make quick work of your trousers. Warm hands save you from the cold surface, and your thighs find themselves wrapped around his head.

Dabi’s explosive and quick, diving in without hesitation. Your fingers tangle in his hair both to push him away and pull him closer; it’s too much and not enough all at once. It’s clear he knows what he’s doing, and with every swipe of his tongue against your clit, you’re seeing stars not charted on your maps.

Wanton moans fill the room, and you’re thankful that your First Officer is above deck with the rest of your crew. 

“D-” you start and quickly shut your mouth. I’ll have you begging for me. He’s going to go after you with all he’s got, and as much as you want to moan his name, he might see that as a victory. A warm piercing nudges your sensitive folds, but you keep tight lipped. 

You nearly cry out as cold replaces the warm face you were wrapped around.

Dabi smirks and fiddles with his belt. The large brass buckle gleaming in the low light of your ready room. “Tongue not enough for ya?”

“If I was looking to be eaten out, I could go into any port and be helped,” you pant. “If that’s all you’ve got-”

“Not even close,” he chuckles. Metal collides with the floor and you look up from your spot on your desk. Dabi gives his cock a couple of tugs before running the head through a concoction of your slick and his spit. More piercings rub against your sensitive flesh. Just how many had he gotten since he’d last seen you?

“About time,” you smirk.

“Aw,” Dabi says with mock sympathy, “Is this what you’ve been waiting for?” He prods at your entrance but doesn’t push beyond that.

“If you’re going to fuck me, then I expec-” A gasp steals the rest of your thought. Dabi pushes into you but keeps it at just the tip. Your lower lip runs between your teeth. He stretches you just right with enough pain to mingle with the pleasure. You won’t admit it out loud, but it’s been a while since you’ve had company.

“You were saying?”

“I saw those shiny new piercings,” you huff, “Am I going to be your only conquest that doesn’t get to feel them??”

Dabi’s hips rock slowly, the movement bringing him closer to you. You greedily swallow him deeper with every movement. The piercings slide inside of you, adding a slight pressure inside that you wouldn’t normally experience. If you could, you’d have him lazily fuck into you for an hour just to feel it.

Dabi chuckles above you. “I get a new piercing for every ship I rob.” Another short, teasing thrust has your wrapping your legs around his waist. You want him all. Now. “Can’t wait to get another when I’m done here.”

He finally bottoms out, his cock filling you completely. You squeeze around his length. A sharp hiss fills the room. Dabi’s nails grab your thighs, leaving halfmoon indents. You wiggle your hips and watch him hang onto a thread of composure.

“Fuckin’ brat.” Dabi’s eyes smolder with lust. He hooks his hands underneath your knees and presses them back against your chest as far as they’ll go.

“Look at you.” He gives a shallow thrust and grins. “So fuckin’ greedy. So needy. You’re so fuckin’ wet for me.”

Dabi must not’ve liked the huff of annoyance you made. He gives a sharp thrust, the head of his cock kissing the tip of your cervix. Your knees find their way to his shoulders and he sets a harsh pace. And while his words may be crude, he makes up for it in other ways – namely his thumb circling your clit.

You can feel it building deep inside you; it starts with the tingling in your fingers, the random bolts of electricity ricocheting around your body. Your breath becomes more ragged, heat rises to your cheeks. It builds – a small warmth that turns into a roaring fire, energy that begs for a way out.

“Dabi,” you moan breathlessly. Your words are borderline begging. “I-I’m gonna, I’m-”

“Do it,” Dabi growls, his hips pistoning against yours. “Come for me. Come on my cock.” Your cries fill the room and soon you’re chanting Dabi’s name. A prayer perhaps that this won’t end. 

But with a final thrust, you can feel the throbbing inside your cunt. Dabi stills, flush against you, his head tilted skyward — caught in his own bliss. In all the time you’ve known him, you’ve never seen him this at peace. You relax on your desk, knowing what comes next. 

Emptiness. 

Dabi pulls out and his warm touch turns into strings of cum, chilled as it touches the air, seeping out of you. And the fucker won’t even help clean up. 

“Well, Captain,” Dabi drawls and tucks himself back in his pants, “it’s been fun, but a deal’s a deal.”

Tattooed fingers wrap around a gold orb beside you on your desk. You could stop him — wrap your fingers around him and counter negotiate. Perhaps return the favor and bring him to his knees while you suck him off? Maybe switch spots and ride him until he sees the stars you navigate. 

But in your post climax haze, you can’t move. You can barely think straight. 

“Dabi…” You try to catch your breath. 

Dabi adjusts his belt buckle with a smirk. “At ease, Captain.”

The door clicks shut and you’re alone again. You stay supine on your desk until the raucous cheer dies down. They’re gone.

Smoothing your hair back, you find your pants and straighten your outfit. You’ve had your clothes on for all of five seconds when the door bursts open. 

“Captain!” Hawks shouts. 

“Mr. Hawks,” you reply curtly and stride over to the mirror.

“That bastard left with half the crew and the escape pods.” Hawks relays. “What offer could he have made-”

“Nothing,” you check out your appearance and your first mate in the reflection. Only a small bruise peaks above your collar. Nothing you can’t hide. “Untie the men on the main mast and prepare to take off. We leave once the Professor and Midoriya are back.”

“Captain?” Confusion pushes Hawks’ brows together. 

“He’s on a fool’s errand.” You brush past him and head topside. Hawks follows closely behind you. “He’ll find nothing but disappointment and an angry crew that’ll destroy him the first chance they get.” You smirk at the thought. What’s the old saying? There’s no honor among thieves? “I saw the remnants of your flair. With enough luck we’ll be long gone by then.”

When your First Officer doesn’t respond, you lean in close and whisper in his ear. “You don’t think I’d bring the real map to those negotiations, do you?”

– Two Months Later –

You slam your tankard down on the worn table. Roaring laughter around you fuels your theatrics as you recount your harrowing escape from a dubious crew. 

“And then,” You pick a coin up off the table and perform the oldest magic trick in the book and make the coin disappear and reappear from behind the ear of your first officer who bemusedly listens to your tall tale. “With a bit of sleight of hand, I managed to talk him down and save the map.”

Hawks stifles his laughter and takes a long drink. Eventually you had to tell him what happened – as if the stench of sex in your ready room didn’t give you away. But he lets you have your moment among colleagues.

The next captain at the table starts his story of encountering pirates in another quadrant and all attention falls from you.

“Sleight of hand, eh?” a voice says behind you. Turning, you see the last man you ever expected to see in port again. Somehow, Dabi stands in the middle of the tavern in a freshly pressed blue overcoat. A single stripe on his shoulder denotes his rank. A badge of honor for some, a mark of shame for those who spend their whole lives trying to outrun and undermine it.

“Dabi,” you coo, “I never thought I’d see your ugly mug again.”

“What can I say, I’m not easy to get rid of.”

“And the new uniform,” you say, sliding a hand down the lapel of his coat to rest on his chest.  

“The downfall of my… rescue negotiations.”

“And in the end you gave in like the rest of us,” you laugh knowing all too well that a life serving and sailing the stars is better than being grounded on a floating rock rotting in a prison. “What’re your orders?”

“I’m to report to the Captain of the TSS Legacy.” Turquoise eyes flick to you. “Something about her being the only one that can handle me.”

[insomniamamma]

Ribbons & Wings: Ezra x f!reader w/Cee

A/n: I started this on a night of heavy snow followed by blistering cold. I have seen the northern lights, once in Alaska and once in in western New York state. Set between after "Rain" around the same time as "Clean Dirt." I may revise the timeline as I see fit. As with everything else in this AU, this can stand alone. Reader is nicknamed "Artichoke" and "Prickle." Ships and Kings is a game that persists through my Prospect fics,. Cross DND with chess played on a hexagonal board.  As with any game there are house rules that vary. Kevva’s Flick is a highly contested (and some claim illegal) move in Ships and Kings.

Warnings: Language. Anxiety. Food mentions. Mentions of old injuries. Snowball fights?

          "--all ships in northern quadrant be advised boost is not recommended at this time. Hold tight if you are able--next pickup is in 10.25 cycles--"

         "What does that mean?" asks Cee,          "Understood, drop-com, we'll see you on the other side--"          "Ezra, what does that mean?" You hear the rising panic in Cee's voice and reach for the thrower you keep stashed under your bunk.          "There's a storm coming," says Ezra, "Might close our take-off window."          "So we're stranded." Says Cee. She stands and gets in Ezra's face, "You told me this wouldn't happen."          "I can't control the weather, Birdie," says Ezra, "We launch into a blizzard and there's a chance we break up."          "Fuck--"          "How long?" You ask and they both snap their heads around as if they've forgotten you're there, "If we get grounded how long are we here?"          "You heard the man," says Ezra, "10.25 cycles."          "That's two hands," you say, "We can make that. We'll be fucking sick of Bitz-bars  but we've got enough margin."          "What if we boost now? Minimum checks--"          "C'mere," says Ezra, he sits on the edge of his crash couch and Cee takes her place beside him, "You too. Let me show you something." Ezra plops his battered data pad into Cee's waiting hands, she holds it so he can manipulate the touch screen. You hunker behind Cee, peering over her shoulder, hunched in the confines of the pod.          "I'm getting the same info yon freighter's getting from the weather sat, about a sixteenth delayed," says Ezra. He zooms into the northern quadrant where the pod rests near a large, frozen over lake.          "Ooo-oooh," says Cee, face pinched with worry, "That's bad. If that's from a sixteenth ago--"          "Conditions are likely worse by now."          "What are we looking at, Ez?" You ask.          "The lines are wind direction, the color scale is speed. We take off now, our boost curve takes us through the worst of it, right at the point of maximum dynamic pressure."          "That could tumble us."          "Could do worse than that," says Ezra, "Big gust could crumple us like a beer can."          "But if we miss the sling--"          "Artichoke's right," says Ezra, "We've got rations for at least 15. More if we stretch it."          "If worse comes to worse we can do some ice fishing," you say.          "Bleee-arrgh," Cee makes a wretching sound. You were harvesting the spiker fish for their odd, metal-rich navigation organs and you'd cooked one over the camp fire just to see what the meat tasted like. "That was like licking a battery terminal."          "Lick many battery terminals, Little Bird?" Cee laughs.          "Spend enough time in a pod and you'll do just about anything for fun."          "The spiker wasn't that bad," you say. Ezra and Cee look at you with mixed horror and fascination, "I've had worse things in my mouth."          "Didn't need to know that," says Cee.

         We best power down what we don't need, said Ezra, and the three of you began a systems check. Reading off the things you were each responsible for when getting ready to drop or boost. Proximity radar and chute pyro-batts were obvious. Local comms. External lighting. Scrubbers. You sure about the scrubbers? Air's fine, it's just cold, we can reverse the aft vents and draw heat off the RTG baffles.          "We're only talking two hands," you say, "Between the reserve tanks and the scrubbers we should be fine," and Ezra gives you a flat-eyed look that means you've strayed somewhere you're not supposed to be just yet.          "Two hands have a way of becoming more,"says Ezra, "We take what care we can. Clear?"          "Sure. Clear."

         The pod sounds strange half powered down. You don't notice the faint clicks and chirps of the guidance computer until it's offline. In your head you know it'll boot back up just fine, but it still feels deeply wrong having it off. Same with the Baas converter, all the hardware that does the thinking for you. The wind moans through the trees outside, a low warbling wail that resonates through the pod. You and Cee exchange glances. She's got her music player on, but her eyes are big and dark and scared, and you don't like this any more than she does. There's no snow on Falnost but wind is something you understand, driving sand before it that can etch windows, it never happened to any of your livestock, you and your father and brothers were too careful for that, but you'd hear stories about pink skeletons, stripped of flesh but still fresh enough to ooze from their marrow.          "We'll be fine," says Ezra, "We're stable." Eventually you drift into an uneasy sleep. There's nothing else to do.

          "We've definitely missed the window," says Ezra, confirming what you expected, "But we might as well have fun little while we're here, right?" You are barely awake, sipping fake coffee from a pouch.          "Fun?"          "Snow, stupid!" Says Cee, she's already wriggling her way into her thermal gear, "It snowed like crazy overnight! We can bury ourselves in it! We can make a snow fort! Let's go!" You smile, but you feel it curdle, you know what snow is, you've seen vids, and the way Ezra is looking at you you can tell that he knows, he knows you've never seen snow, never felt it for yourself, and you can't look at him. There is so much you don't know. You start suiting up out of habit, thermal gear for a cold world, outer layers for batt-assisted heating--          "Hey," says Ezra, "You okay, Prickle?"          "Sure."          "I know they didn't--"          "Yeah, yeah, we didn't have snow there. We didn't have RAIN there. We'd get a little bit of hard frost come winter but that doesn't count--"          "Easy," says Ezra, "Easy. Cee's just over excited." He nods towards the open hatch now venting your hard-won warmth. Cee's voice comes faint from outside, you guys coming or what? "She hasn't had much chance to play in the snow."          You exit the pod into a new world. The gravelly shores of yesterday are blanketed in white, the branches of the feather-trees droop in low arcs, burdened with snow. You can feel the snow collapse when you step in it, hear it, a small crumping sound beneath your boots, you turn towards Ezra, smiling and something frigid and granular and wet splatters against the nape of your neck, and you whirl, reaching for the thrower your left on the pod and Cee's laughing, her cheeks pink with the cold.          "Gotcha!" She crows and bends down, sinks her hands into the blanket of white. You smile. This might be your first snow but you know mischief when you see it. You scoop up two handfuls of snow and squish them together, noting the give and push-back as it compresses down even as you aim for your crewmate's head. You miss by an Ephrate mile, and her next shot catches you mid-chest. For every shot you land she gets in at least three, and at last you scoop up and armload of snow and start chasing her round the back of a huge feather-tree, and Cee throws up her arms in defense and splutters laughter when you dump it on her.          The two of you pause, laughing and out of breath, Cee's cheeks and nose flaming pink.          "Cee? Artichoke?" Ezra's voice peals out from the pod , "By your silence I am assuming you are up to no good and I will act accordingly."          "He's so goofy," says Cee, and grins at you, "Allies?"          "Yeah. Let's get him." Cee bends and starts making snowballs. Ammo dump, she whispers and you nod. Right.          "Cee? Prickle?" Cee leans around the tree trunk and yells.          "Come and find us old man!"          "Old man," you hear him mutter and Cee giggles. She knows just where to poke and how much pressure to apply, "You think you're so hard to track leaving boot prints in the snow--" Ezra rounds the tree trunk and you paste him, snowballs exploding all over his suit. You try not to aim for his head. Cee has no such compunctions. One of her snowballs catches him right in the face, and he shakes his head, snow caught in his mustache, wipes the snow out of his eyes--          "--Oh," he looks past you and Cee, his eyes wide, white limned, "Oh Kevva what's that?!" You turn your head to the dark undergrowth and there's the whine of a discharged thrower over your head and you barely register Ezra's laugh before you and Cee are buried in a shower of snow from above.

         You splutter and swipe snow out of your eyes, out of the open neck-hole of your suit. Cee shakes her head, a brief, indignant halo of flakes ringing her flushed face. Ezra howls laughter. He's bent double, face red, eyes squinched shut.          "You shoulda seen your faces--" he wheezes.          "That was cheating!" says Cee, "No fair--"          "That was tactics! That was strateegery--" Ezra takes a bad step and overbalances, flails his arm out and falls on his ass in the snow.          "That was Kevva's Flick!" You say and grin. Kevva's Flick is a marginally legal move in Ships and Kings, the kind of thing that will get you stuffed out an airlock if you try it in the wrong company. A badly missed stealth roll followed by a natural sixteen means that your opponent can flick one of your pieces off the board like dislodging and errant piece of lint. The only reason you even know about it is because Ezra pulled it on Cee and they spent the next eighth arguing and wasting precious bandwidth looking up the legality of the move over the drop-net. Cee throws back her head and laughs, bright and clear. Ez crawfishes in the snow and then manages to heave himself upright.          "Hmmm," says Ezra, narrows his eyes, but his dimpled smile gives him away, "I know where you sleep, little bird."          "I know where you sleep too," says Cee, "Call truce?" A hard gust bends the tops of the feather trees, sending snow down in slow whorls, a low moaning sound that makes the nape of your neck prickle.          "We should get back inside," you say, "Wind's gonna pick up."          "Truce," says Ezra, and flashes you a smile, "Let's get on in before our C5 friend freezes solid." You trace your tracks back to the pod, landing struts buried in white, it's uglier angles and dents covered over.          "Oh hey!" Says Cee, "We can make snow angels!" You and Ezra look at each other, but before you can say anything, Cee is stomping out into the wide expanse of unbroken white.          "It's easy, see?" She flops down on her back in the drifted snow and fans her arms and legs.          "We called 'em phoenixes back home," you say, and pull Cee to her feet, careful not to step in the wing shaped marks she's left behind, "Once things settled after a storm we'd draw pictures in the dust."            You take a few steps so you don't mess up Cee's snow angel and flop down yourself. It feels different. Not like the dust that would puff up in your eyes and stick to your skin but the motion is the same, cloud laden sky instead of the screaming bright stars back home. Cee offers her hand and pulls you up.          "Not bad, dirt-farmer," she says, "You do one, Ez.          "If I must." Ezra takes a few steps and drops into the snow like a felled tree, makes his own pattern beside yours and Cee's.          "I'm somewhat lacking in the wing department," says Ezra, "If I'm to be an angel--"          "Hold up," says Cee. She wanders away from Ezra, back towards the dark of the trees and roots around, finds a fallen limb, some feather-needles still clinging to it.          "My ass is getting awfully cold, little bird,"          "Stay still," says Cee, using the branch like a paint brush. "There." She casts the stick aside and offers her hand. She pulls Ezra up and turns him around so he can see her handiwork, a feathered wing traced in the snow, fanning out from the shortened arc at his right side.          "See?"          "Yeah. I see." Ezra pulls Cee against his chest, she stiffens, then lets herself be hugged, her arms creeping around his middle.          "S'okay, Birdie," he murmurs into her hair and you turn away, embarrassed, feeling like you've seen something you shouldn't. The next gust of wind comes with a raft of blown snow, rough and cold against your cheeks. You bend down and draw your name in the snow with an outstretched finger and think of how very far you are from Falnost, the only one in your family to make it up out of the well and see snow.            "Come on in before you freeze," calls Ezra, he stands at the ramp and waves, "The snow'll be here tomorrow." You smile.          "Yeah. I suppose it will."

         "Hey! Hey wake up!" Cee's voice cuts into your dreams, harsh and breathy and urgent and you are reaching for the thrower beneath your crash-couch before your eyes can unstick themselves.          "Whuzzit birdie--" Ezra's sleep befuddled voice murmurs someplace to your left          "Come on!" says Cee, and she's climbing into her gear, green witch-light shines through the pod's small, rounded windows, "You've got to see!" You pull on your thermal gear and follow her out the door and down the ramp, still half asleep.          "What is this?"          "I don't know," says Cee, her hand finds yours and the sky writhes overhead, shivering bands of green like curtains, like incandescent ribbons, dimming and shifting and brightening, columns that ascend into the dark, stars muted behind them. No sound at all, a silent ignition, silver-green edged in red. You feel Ezra fetch up beside you, his hand finding yours.          "What am I looking at, Ez?" He squeezes your fingers.          "It's an aurora," he says, "I think. I've never seen one before. Just vids."          "It's so quiet," you say, your voice dropping to a whisper without even thinking.          "It is," says Ezra. There is no sound at all associated with the shifting columns, the world gone so still that you can hear your crewmates breathing, hear the soft sussurration of your own pulse. You pull your eyes away from the churning sky to look at your friends’ faces, Cee smiles, wide and open, her pale hair frosted green, eyes alight. Ezra's face is a study in naked wonder, and it's like you’re seeing him for the first time, no spacer's charm, no worldly confidence, just him smiling up at the sky. You squeeze their hands and they squeeze back.

[oscarpiastriwdc]

the little landoscar in standing at your door gave me life and the fact that in your mind its canon that lando is a misdiagnosed carrier as well and oscar is too blind with fondness to notice he got him pregnant is just way too funny to me—it’s so them. also oscar’s mum taking one like at lando and going “buy a pregnancy test” takes me out. would love if you actually wrote a little story about it but in the end it’s totally up to you hihi.

also love the single dad charles idea, it’s so hilarious

A tiny snippet of unknowingly pregnant Lando spending the holidays with Oscar's family:

Lando has met Oscar's family before, at races and random McLaren events, but spending the holidays with Oscar's family in Australia is different. Bigger.

It's been an exhausting season. The last two months are a painful blur of jet lag and physical exhaustion and muscle aches and getting unprecedentedly weepy every time he or Oscar are on the podium. Oscar's dad picks them up from the airport, claps Lando on the shoulder and wraps his son in a bear hug that makes Lando coo and Oscar blush. He falls asleep in the backseat of the pickup truck, lulled into a drowsy state by the motion of the vehicle and Oscar's gentle voice telling his dad about the final race.

When they arrive at the house it's just past noon in Melbourne but it's the middle of the night in Monaco; Lando doesn't even manage to greet the rest of Oscar's family before he's out cold.

Lando wakes up a few hours later to an empty bed, disoriented by his surroundings. It's still light outside, and the sun streaming through the window highlights Piastri family photos on the wall. He grins at one of Oscar and his sisters at the zoo, posing like flamingos.

He follows the sound of voices downstairs where he's met with Oscar sitting on a stool at the kitchen counter talking to his mom who's posted at the stovetop.

"Oh hi Lando, dear! How did you sleep?"

"Hi Nicole." Lando steps around the counter into Oscar's mom's open arms pulling him into a hug. "That mattress is amazing."

"How was the flight? I bet you're feeling hungry."

Oscar snorts, makes room at the counter for Lando to join him. "Mum, you don't need to baby us."

"Yes I do, I don't care how fast you drive those cars, while you're under my roof you're still my baby. Oscar told me you don't like fish but you do like chicken tenders, so I made sure to pick some up at the grocery store. I'll pop some in the oven, how's that?"

"That sounds good, thank you."

"Of course, dear." Oscar's mom sets to preheating the oven, removing the frozen chicken tenders from the freezer, and arranging them on a tray while she asks Lando about Quadrant and his parents and plans for the rest of the holidays. The chicken tenders go in the oven and, soon, the kitchen is filled with the scent.

Lando's stomach turns. He must make a face because Oscar turns to look at him.

"Everything okay?"

"Yeah, just jet lag."

Oscar's mom glances at them before removing the tray from the oven. Lando catches another whiff of the chicken and gags the way he only ever does when faced with fish. Oscar rubs a hand up and down Lando's back, soothing him.

The tenders get plated and slid across the counter. Lando picks one up, aware of the way Oscar's mom scrutinizes him, and nibbles a bite out. He has to force himself not to spit the food out.

"Have you been having unprotected sex?"

At that question, Lando does spit out his food while Oscar turns bright red.

"Mum!"

Oscar's mom tuts. "Calm down, Oscar. I'm going to run to the pharmacy, I'll be back in half an hour. Your sisters should be around if you need anything." With that, she promptly exits the kitchen, fetches her purse, and heads out the front door.

"What was that all about, Osc?"

"How am I supposed to know?"

"Well she's your mum, isn't she?"

Oscar and Lando bicker for a minute before they're distracted again, resulting in an impromptu make-out session on Oscar's parent's couch. They break apart and shuffle to opposite sides of the couch when Oscar hears the front door opening and pushes himself off Lando.

Oscar's mom marches in and sets a box down on the coffee table. Lando leans in to inspect. It's a pregnancy test.

"There's no way Oscar's pregnant, he never tops–"

Oscar throws his hand over Lando's mouth. "Please don't talk about this in front of my mum. And I don't think it's for me."

"Is it for one of your sisters?"

The room is silent while Oscar and his mom stare at Lando with mirrored, unblinking expressions. A minute later, Lando connects the dots.

"Oh. Oh shit."

[lashysdomain]

Sing me a Song of Severing

Book of Songs Solitude | Sympathy | Success | Scrutiny | Sentiment: Saccharine • Shattered | Severing

Tw for Mild Violence

Hearing the woman finally hang up Isatol sighs, hooking an arm around Artinos' arm, leaving the phone abandoned on the seadwellers bed as its owner is dragged away into his living room.

"Um... Isa...? What... Were we going to do tonight, anyway....?"

The fae glances back at Arti in silence, sitting on the couch and yanking the seadweller into the spot beside him.

"Food. Lets... Order something." 

He knows that it won't arrive before Arti's moirail, but he may as well have something to eat no matter what happens. Plus, it'll likely be the last night he'll eat on Artinos' dime unless the violet was particularly stupid, so he may as well order whatever he wants for once. Arti always seems to know what food he'd like at least and ordering in silence is over quickly. Still, knowing Justya, 45 minutes will be far too long for anything to get there in time.

"Guess... We're just waiting now, huh? I can find a movie or something to p-"

"Artinos," Isatol pauses for a moment, just watching the violet stiffen before looking to him, "Pass out already, would you?"

The sudden weight of Arti against his side makes Isatol grunt, grumbling under his breath while rearranging the fish about how much of a handful he is. At least now he can wait in peace without anymore goddamn questions or inane babbling.

Within minutes he hears the sound of a car coming up the street, the louder engine noises following he's however unaccustomed to. The bitch brought friends, hmm? What happened to saving your quadrants alone like some sort of annoying knight?

He has little time between his thoughts and watching the front door open. The orange blood strutting inside like she owns the place commands him not to speak, along with something else, but he doesn't quite care enough to pay attention.

It seems she'd told Arti something, but with Isa's magic still in effect the seadweller doesn't move. When she steps forward and begins loading him onto her shoulders Isatol snaps to be more present, wrapping a hand tightly around her arm to keep her from pulling his prey away.

"If he didn't get up I don't think he wants to go." he growls, eyes narrowing and slowly taking on a glow as he glares the short woman down.

"I recall telling you, not a moment ago, to keep your mouth shut."

She's stronger than he expected, easily pulling her arm away and pulling Arti to her shoulders. He could let them go, sure, but at least some fuss has to be made, doesn't it? If he'd had time perhaps things would have been different, but Artinos didn't mean that much in the end. Simply entertainment, and what good is the show you’ve created if you can’t get involved personally? Hmm. But that’d be effort, wouldn’t it.

Even so, his body slips between air and space to block Justyas path to the open door, lights within the house flickering as the air grows cold.

"And I think I told you that he didn't want to go. Put him down."

Isatol hadn't noticed the wrench in her hand until it's being swung at him— Or perhaps it wasn't there moments ago— But it distracts him long enough while she whistles, a searing pain in his side and a glance back making him realize that she's not simply brought one friend to take Artinos, but five.

Slipping back to a place beside Justya he takes a firm grip on his prey, giving a hefty pull and barely moving him at all. He does, however, manage to draw enough ire that the wrench is now in his face.

In the back of his mind Isatol is more than a little happy that people stopped using iron for everything, but the strike still sends him onto the floor, the lime hue of his blood painting it's way across the floor in streaks.

Catching Justya leaving in the corner of his eye he shifts again, holding his mangled face in one hand, the others nails growing long as the strange women Justya brought with her once again move in to keep him occupied.

---

Artinos begins to stir as he's carried, catching something in his moirails voice about 'not knowing how to take a hint', his vision clearing just enough when he's set down to know he's in the backseat of a car.

"Justya...?" His voice is groggy and faint, head lifting just enough to spot her form beside him.

"Belt. On." she commands, shutting the all too loud door in some unknown rush. His limbs are heavy, but he does manage as the car is taken out of park.

The cars horn makes his head hurt, and the thumping of something under Justya's wheels doesn't do much to make him feel any better. He's silent for a while, just letting his senses slowly return as his moirail speeds far from his home.

Eventually their eyes connect in the rear view mirror, the most actual worry he's seen on her face making his stomach drop.

"You... Feeling okay?"

"Tired... But yeah, I'm alright..." shaking his head he tries to rid himself of what fogginess lingers, scooting to the front of his seat to lean over her shoulder and watch the road. "What happened...?"

"Picked you up from your place. Didn't like how that prick butted into our call. You were passed out in his lap when I showed up."

Justya shrugs, glancing back at him to make sure he's coherent enough to hear her words.

"Guy's a freak, Arti; he kept teleporting all over the place. Every time you're done being around him it's like you're coming down off something. I don't like it."

He slumps against the seat back held upright by his chin with a sigh. "I... don't either... I've never had any health issues but it feels like... More are happening when I'm around him.... Or something...." Arti pauses, not wanting to acknowledge that he's been lying to himself for the last few months. "I keep thinking it's stress..."

"I don't think it's stress. At least not the kind you're thinking of." Justya seems like she wants to say more, but doesn't continue on that line of thought. "Lets just... Get somewhere safe. You'll have to put up with some looks but we'll be fine."

Arti nods, waiting for her to slow down before slipping over the center console into the passenger seat for the rest of the ride. He has a feeling he won't be hearing from Isatol any time soon at least.

[raitrolling]

its time for the yearly 12th perigee present post (yeah i know its still christmas eve in other timezones im Impatient)

nancor gifted gliese some sunflowers in a cool gothic-style vase since he thought she'd appreciate the contrast, as well as some dark chocolate

dismas gifted maidel a really rare and difficult to find video game that she mentioned wanting to play once. he may have also blackmailed everyone who tried to bid on it on the online auction website he found it on to ensure that he was able to get it at a good price

callan gifted gerrel those clawed gardening gloves because he thought they were funny and also useful (and the pair he bought are in his shade of green, the most fashionable colour out there of course), and some seed packets so he can grow all the veggies he needs to put on a pizza. which callan totally doesn't want to taste test

ashell gifted cheran a couple books, as well as a set of inks and brushes that he thought cheran could use for his anatomical sketches (which he bought from jikiro's company lmao). he gifted jikiro a little hamper filled with different types of berries and some fancy glass jars because he read that they can be used to make ink as well as be eaten, as well as a box of chocolate truffles and a cute tanuki print stationery set because he got anxious that his initial gift idea wasn't good enough lmao

velour made jamie a couple button-up shirts, one covered in subtle star patterns that show off different constellations, and another that has an embroidered kookaburra peeking out of the shirt pocket. he also made a couple bow ties as well, which he says when he's feeling better he'll enchant so the fabric is a bit more interesting. he also made socks and gloves for jikiro and kana, ji's pair being black with classy striped accents in all his quadrant's colours, while kana's pair are patterned to look like tanuki paws

mikiel was a bit unoriginal and gifted both lyvere and thrixe cookbooks, but he did make sure to buy them books based on whatever cuisine they're currently most interested in

lusien gifted anirus a really nice and expensive bottle of scotch (the kind that you only want to drink on special occasions) as well as a fresh batch of homemade jams and preserved foods they can keep on their ship without worrying about them spoiling too quickly

sharle gifted jamie books on how to speak italian, french, and monegasque (remarking that it took him hours to find the last one) since he knows that jamie was trying to learn those languages. he also gifted tira a limited edition snapback (because he collects them), gave quinne a fishing rod (because she mentioned that she likes catching fish but didn't own a rod), and ropikk a bottle of very expensive perfume (because he googled 'gifts for women')

viltau gifted jikiro some custom-tailored silk pyjamas decorated with a regal japanese maple design, a matching silk robe, and would treat him to a candlelit dinner... provided that ji can solve the scavenger hunt vil has prepared for him first. kitaer also gets send on a scavenger hunt, but his reward is the bodies belonging to the perpetrators of a crime kitaer was trying to solve. and also a traditional 12th perigee pudding and some homemade mince pies, because he is capable of catering to his kismesis' lack of a sweet tooth sometimes. viltau's employees also got a big bonus of extra cash and some gift cards

glasya gifted mikail another new plant for his apartment, and will take him out on a trip to the beach so they can go look at the rock pools together and then get a nice dinner at a beachfront restaurant. they also made bags of candies for all their friends using thematically appropriate candy moulds

vallis gifted epsilo a life-sized moray eel plushie, while zanzul and tuuya were gifted starfish and sea snail plushies respectively

linnae went out and picked some pretty wildflowers and ingredients to make potions with for arctus, and also gave a couple wildflowers to his other friends as well

everyone else also gave gifts to their quadrants / close friends but i couldn't think of something specific because i'm braindead. imagine a really cool gift here for every ship (romantic or platonic) i missed

[emilys-scstudyabroad]

Preface

This entry is a bit longer because it consists of two weeks, but I hope it will entertain and enrich. I would also like to warn you that at some point there are rather graphic images. I thought of leaving them out, but this is reality and the step before you eat fried calamari, that we rarely think about.

In The Water

I drop into a blue abyss. I inhale 1, 2, 3, 4, and exhale 1,2,3,4. My breath so easily taken for granted on land is suddenly a miracle. I sink lower in a lateral position, feeling the pressure in my ears. I press my nose and gently blow out to equalize. The sea seizes my weight and I slip into a horizontal frame with my fingers on my elbows to stabilize myself. My breath continues with a sound so unique, you can only recognize it as a scuba diver or a Darth Vader fan. I customarily have a minute of panic because of the loss of my noses function and obvious danger I face in that moment. I anticipate, validate, and breathe. The feeling dissipates and for the next 40 minutes I live in the now and worry of nothing. I simply marvel at my surroundings, understanding how special it is to see these creatures alive. I hover over a giant sting ray camouflaged below me, and spy a Maury eel peek its head from its coral reef palace. The fish are all different, some in swarms of silver, and others colorful and gliding by in search of their next meal. The sand, which seems so dead on land, is full of life.

My guide gives me the thumbs up, and I know it is time to ascend. Slowly, I swish my fins back and forth, propelling my body to the surface. I spend a quick 3 minutes soaking up my last few glimpses, and allowing my body to adjust to the nitrogen levels and pressure. My computer flashes and beeps, telling me I can return to the sky above. I give 2 powerful kicks, and as my head breaks the seal I am immeadilty transported to reality. I am diving off the coast of Ecuador at a location called Isla de la Plata in 76 degree water in the middle of January. 

It was a whirlwind week that began on Saturday morning at 530. I uber to the bus with my classmates and together we traveled 12 hours. We winded down the Andes, through the cloud forest, and into endless miles of banana plantations.

We rolled through massive concrete jungles like Guayaquil and bounced down rough dirt roads in small towns like Babahoyo, where we stopped for lunch. At sunset we finally arrived to Santa Elena and ran straight for the beach. After a quick dip, the locals warned us that “sharp creatures” come out after dark so we scurried back for showers, some much needed food, and finally, some sleep. 

I awoke every morning at 630 to head to the beach for some yoga and a morning swim. In this insane week of research, adventure, and fellowship, this special time in the morning kept me sane. 

The majority of my day consisted of surveying the rocky intertidal zone of Ecuadors coast. This is the part of the beach that is submerged under water according to the tide schedule. We worked at low tide, so the times were different every day. My job in this experiment was to place quadrants in the high zone (splash zone and the least biodiverse) and survey the life I found. This mostly consisted of tiny periwinkle snails and filamentous green algae. However, every once in a while, I would catch sight of a unique piece of nature. The cool dudes below seemed to watch me work and were just as stunned and fascinated by me as I was to them. 

The Ecuadorian sun is draining, and after every survey we always spent a couple hours relaxing at lunch.

Everyday, sometimes 2 or 3 times a day, we took advantage of the powerful waves and played like little mermaids. We visited a different beach everyday to survey, but had 2 separate hotels throughout our time, to return to at night. The second of which was located in a calm surfing town called Ayampe.

The streets are littered with yoga retreats and little cafes. Our hotel was one of pure luxury, in my mind. We may have had to sleep under mosquito nets with no AC, and take quick, cold showers, but to me, the view was all worth it. 

Two excursions during our day stuck out to me the most, one of death and another of life. We visited a typical fishing market. Some were intrigued by the endless barrels of creatures they call delicious. 

However, I was overcome with a sadness. This week connected me to the earth on a spiritual level, and looking around it was as if I was viewing rows of caskets of my fellow brothers and sisters. You may not understand this, and thats okay. However, the reason I study the environment is because I do not see a difference in value between a humans life and a sharks. I see us both as interwoven pieces of this planet and creations of the divine. This is so clear to me when I have experiences like I did underwater. On our last day, we rode an hour and a half to Isla de la Plata. We dove twice, soaking up the sun and snacks on our breaks in between. As we sliced through the waves on the way back, they rocked me to sleep and I awoke when we stopped at the dock. 

We spent our last evening compiling data, while listening to the spiritual ceremony a group of visitors were completing outside. They drink a psychoactive plant called Ayauscha to begin and throughout the night they dance, howl, and meditate. It was truly beautiful to witness, even for the short time I watched. The next morning we pilled back into our bus to make the 12 hour trek back to Quito, where I again ubered home and collapsed into my bed. 

The following week my group and I gathered our research question, wrote a paper, and presented our findings. I linked this below if you’re a science nerd like me, and find this interesting. On Friday, we finished this class, and sat in orientations for our next class and adventure.

I spent my Saturday on a spontaneous trip to the teleferico. We rode cable cars to a stunning view overlooking Quito and the volcanoes that surround it. Lastly, I connected with my roots and hopped on a horse. This special piece of home rejuvenated me from the harsh week I had endured, and left me ready for the next. 

The differences between Ecuador and the States were highlighted to me through the election process that commenced on Sunday. Ecuador has around 270 political parties, and by law you are required to vote. They also have the Ley Seca, which occurs from Friday to Sunday, in which drinking alcohol is not allowed and punishable by a 200 dollar fine. Ballots are filled out on paper, but mailing in is not an option. Families travel all across the country to their place of birth, if they have not gone through the process of changing their home voting station. This process enlightened me to the different government styles besides the US. Neither is right or wrong, just different. 

These last two weeks have challenged and enriched me. I move onward with a heart full of gratitude and a head full of new knowledge.  

With Love From Ecuador, 

Emily Sikora 

[robins-den]

robin im buying you food whgat u want (love language

AWW.... KID ....... uhhh i really like sushi but thats usually expensive so uhm .. a milkshake :)

Simmons and Grif are on top of Red Base. A soldier in red armor (Donut) is walking up the ramp behind them.

Simmons: Hey, that's not exactly what happened.

Grif: Yes, it is. You said, "I'm not going to the Vegas quadrant," and then the next thing I know you're in an escape pod headed for-

Donut: Excuse me, uh, sirs.

Grif: Sirs? (turns to Donut) Ah crap.

Donut: I was told to report to Blood Gulch Outpost Number One and speak to whoever's in charge.

Grif: Sorry man, Sarge is at Command getting orders. Ain't nobody in charge today.

Simmons: Actually, Private, he left me in charge while he's gone.

Grif: You are such a kiss-ass.

Simmons: Also, he told me if I had any trouble from you I should... (clears throat then poorly imitates Sarge) "Git in the Warthog, and crush yer head like a tomato-can."

Grif: That's the worst impression I've ever heard.

Simmons: Okay rookie, what's your story?

Donut: Private Donut reporting for duty, sir. I'm ready to fight some aliens.

Grif: Couple things here, rookie. First off, Private Donut? I think somebody needs a new nickname. Secondly, what's with the armor color?

Donut: This IS the standard issue red.

Grif: Yeah, I know. Listen. Only two kinds of people wear standard issue armor: officers and recruits. And since you're not threatening to gut me like a fish, you're probably not an officer.

Donut: (looks at Simmons) Well, he's wearing red armor.

Simmons: No, my armor is maroon. Your armor is red.

Donut: Well, how do I get a different color armor?

Simmons: I bet the blues don't have to put up with this kind of crap.

Church, Tucker, and a soldier in standard issue blue (Caboose) are looking at a tank.

Caboose: So I say to the guy, "How're you gonna get the tank down to the planet?" And he goes, "I'll just put it on the ship," and I go, "If you've got a ship that can carry a tank, why not just put guns on the ship and use it instead?"

Tucker: Hey, kid.

Caboose: Yeah?

Tucker: You're ruining the moment. Shut up.

Caboose: Oh. Okay. You got it man!

Church: You know what? I could blow up the whole god damn world with this thing.

Cut to the Reds.

Simmons: Okay, Private Donut, here's the deal.

Grif: I just refuse to call him Private Donut!

Simmons: We've got a very important mission for you. You think you can handle it?

Donut: Absolutely!

Simmons: We need you to go to the store, and get two quarts of elbow grease.

Grif: Yeah and uh, pick up some headlight fluid for the Puma too.

Donut: The what?

Simmons: He means the Warthog.

Grif: You do know where the store is, right, Rookie?

Donut: What? Yeah, yeah, of course I do. Sure, no problem.

Simmons: Well, get going then.

Donut starts running across the base.

Grif: Other way.

Donut turns around and goes the other way.

Donut: I knew that. Just got turned around that's all.

Grif and Simmons watch Donut running off into the Gulch.

Simmons: How long do you think until he figures out there's no store?

Grif: I say... at least a week.

Donut runs through the Gulch, stops, and turns to talk to himself.

Donut: Elbow grease... How stupid do they think I am? Once I get back to base with that headlight fluid, I'm gonna talk to the Sergeant.

Cut to the Blues.

Tucker: You know what? Forget what I said before. We can definitely pick up chicks in this thing. Probably two or three chicks a piece.

Church: Oh man, listen to you. What're you gonna do with two chicks?

Tucker: Church, women are like Voltron: The more you can hook up, the better it gets.

Cut to Grif and Simmons.

Simmons: You think that we were too mean to the kid?

Grif: Nah, he'll just wander around on the cliffs for a few hours. What's the worst that could happen?

Donut approaches Blue Base.

Donut: Finally, there it is. ...Oh sweet! They sell tanks!

[inhexe]

on oz, its history, and general characteristics.

the land of oz is a vast, roughly rectangular parcel that sits in the midst of the deadly desert. the sands on each side are impassable for an ordinary person, although they can be crossed via flight. they are impassable because they are both magical and alive, seeking to devour whatever they touch; whatever living thing comes in contact with them will turn to sand themselves.

oz's founding and ruling:

the founding mythology of oz claims that four witches joined their power to summon living land out of the desert, creating the four quadrants of oz and each claiming a portion for herself to rule. this is not true, but has served as justification for centuries of rule by witch families in the north, south, east, and west. a following myth describes the institution of monarchy in the form of the ozian royal family, centered on the capital, the emerald city: the four witches were supposed to rule as a council or assembly, but infighting made it impossible, each jockeying for total control of oz, until the first king of oz established the emerald city as a political center and brought peace by uniting the quadrants under his rule.

the royal family of oz ruled until the arrival of the wizard (timeline to come), when he killed the king, pastorius, and seemingly his daughter and heir ozma. he assumed the king's role in the governing politics of oz, roughly a constitutional monarchy in which each currently-ruling witch represents the political interests of her region, with ultimate decision-making power resting with the wizard. the royal family, and now the wizard, has control of oz's standing army, as well as the majority of its tax revenue. having the wizard's ear is crucial for the well-being of one's region.

oz's regions:

the different regions of oz are vast and consist primarily of temperate biomes, especially forests in the west and south, with temperate grasslands and steppe in the east falling away into scrubland the closer it comes to the deadly desert. each region has its distinct characteristics, cultures, as well as a unique nickname as depicted on the map above (based on an LFB-approved map). these nicknames have a varying register depending on context, and using them can either be considered simply informal, all the way to outright rude and insulting.

a rough description of each region is as follows:

north: "gillikin country" is so-called because the people are "gilly": its central feature is the weathering river, which runs from some unknown source deep in the deadly desert through the center of the region and empties into a massive lake at the foot of the emerald city. with numerous branches of the river, other, smaller rivers, and many lakes, this is a region known for fishing, panning, water-based trade routes, and many tourist hotspots for healing and magical baths. (most of the popular, touristy locations have 0 magical efficacy whatsoever.)

south: "quadling country" earned its name from the traditional foodstuff of its inhabitants, a simple and heartening porridge called "quell" (similar to how rice, corn, pasta, etc. are traditional and culturally-important starches in certain areas of our world). "quadling" is in that sense a rude name based on the traditional food of the region. there is a long belt of old-growth forest that cuts across the lower middle of the region, with the land on the further side, nearest the deadly desert, considered poorer and less habitable. the northern half of the country, nearest the emerald city, is primarily used for agriculture, which forms the south's central economy.

east: "munchkin country" is rudely named because its inhabitants tend to be shorter by a head to a head-and-a-half than other ozians, with some outliers on either end of the spectrum. the belt of forest crossing the south stretches into the east and opens into a mountainous and forested area on the southeastern tip of this region, with the rest of the region consisting of temperate grassland (and scrubland nearer the deadly desert). although every part of oz has its own educational institutions, the east is known for its intellectual output with cities growing around colleges and universities, as well as a central river called the blue river (and sometimes, rudely, "munchkin river") that stretches into the north and connects them to valuable trade.

west: "winkie country" derives its name from the stereotype of a westerner: someone coming up from a dark mine, miserable and hunched, tilting up his face with a disfiguring squint as the sunlight blinds him. hence, "winkie." this is the most densely mountainous and hilly region of oz, with numerous vital deposits of ores and gemstones providing its economic engine. it is crucial territory given the need for certain gems and ores both by the state, the luxury economy, and by magical practitioners who depend on their certain specific qualities for success. however, it is also shrinking, rapidly losing land on the far west border to the encroachment of the deadly desert. more on this to come.

what might be called the fifth region of oz is, of course, the emerald city and its environs. more to come.

oz's culture, in broad strokes:

each region of oz has its own distinct culture, driven by its unique characteristics and economy. there is also a degree of insulation from each other region given the prevalence of mountains and dense forests across the whole of oz, although rivers--each zone having its own, central river and usually several smaller ones--provide vital transportation into and out of each cardinal region, as well as enabling trade and the flow of information.

all ozians speak the same language, usually just called "common," but each cardinal region has its own accent and traditional dialects, with more rural and especially more desert-bordering communities having thicker and less readily-comprehensible versions. there is also an accent typically found in the emerald city which other parts of oz describe as being nasal, clipped, and rapid. a dialect that is shared among regions, with some differences, is "river cant," spoken primarily by ozians who travel and work on the many rivers of the country.

the technologies available in oz are roughly equivalent to the technologies available in the mid-19th century. there are some train lines, especially from the emerald city to other cities, and especially within the east, which has railways connecting its major university towns. the emerald city as well as some other large population centers have trams, primarily horse-drawn although some neighborhoods use steam engines. that said, the majority of transportation is conducted via horse-drawn technologies, on water, or for the unlucky, on foot. there is a government-operated postal service. there are also printing presses and a broadly shared literary culture.

ozian culture is centered on a theme of hospitality, a value which is shared across all regions. traditional ozians feel a strong sense of obligation to neighbors and community, as well as to strangers in need. it's not uncommon to receive a knock on your door in a rainstorm with the expectation that you'll welcome in and shelter the traveler until it's safe for them to leave. that said, this tradition has been fading in recent generations, especially because the network of obligations in small communities has become strained by population growth and movement, as well as the development of larger cities. it also causes chafing and antagonism even among the most traditionalist ozians, simply because placing demands on others/having them placed on you can be very annoying. ​

[altustechnotrends]

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[grave-trolls]

Tibbles 🐟

Appearance Their sign is Leittanius, which is the sign of the Emphatic, meaning that they are a Prospit Dreamer and a Void Player.

General Information Name: Tibble Blood: Olive Nicknames: Tibbs, Tibbles, Fatass, God Gender: Agender (any pronouns) Orientation: N/A Age: 11 Sweeps (22 years) Height: 5'10" Lusus: Lion Headcanon Voice: N/A Interests: food, gaslighting, eating trash, breaking into peoples hives unannounced and stealing their food, free food samples, tuna fish, sandwiches Trollian: grandioseCharlatan Quirk: ฅ^•ﻌ•^ฅ < the quick br⏣wn f⏣x jumps ⏣ver the lazy d⏣g.

Quadrants Matesprit ♥️ - N/A Moirail ♦️ - N/A Kismesis ♠️ - N/A Auspistice ♣️ - N/A

Other Information He loves food and will go out of his way to steal it from people They have a lewd vocabulary He will ask people to give him money, whether it be real money or robux. She loves tuna, salmon, sardines and whatever else fish you can think of! They will ask people to do favors for them, but won't do them in return for others.

[happyhappybios]

Atelie Sainha

This page contains mention of cannibalism, death and blood.

Danger scale: Dangerous

Key notes: Sculptor, Cannibal, Obsessive, Royalty, Two-faced

🎨Atelie's mood🎨

Name: Atelie Sainha

Age: 16.62 sweeps (36 y.o.)

Height: 6’2 (190 cm)

Blood colour: Violet

Wiggling day: 14 January   

Symbol: Sculptor

Gender: Female (She/Her)

Orientation: Pansexual

Occupation: Sculptor

Place of residence: Big hive inside the cave - almost in the water

Lusus: MothersPiranhas (Tiny size; A lot)

Hobby: Harvesting meat, Sculpting

Hemoloyalty: She thinks anyone can be a great sculpture

Fetch modus: Sculpture. Create an item from… uh, yeah

Strife specibus/Weapon: Cleaver/Knife Kind

Typing quirk: infamousSculptor [US]

Typing quirk example: Puts { } in the beginning and in the end of the sentences, likes to put smile in the end as well

[US]: { Hm, something wrong? :) }

Personality:

If you ever decide to visit one of Atelie's exhibitions, the only advice I'll give you is...

...ESCAPE.

Escape as soon as possible because Atelie will definitely try to turn you into her 'perfect sculpture'. Atelie would appear to be a sweet and bubbly person in public, a troll who is fun to hang out with, but deep inside, she's a sadistic, cruel and obsessive troll that enjoys the beauty of other's suffering.

Atelie is obsessed with sculpting, but her obsession isn't about improving her skill and becoming the best version of herself. It's about the pleasure of acknowledging the troll's pain that went through it to become a sculpture. The pain which she forced on them or her pals, Voghel and Draaco.

Atelie is a dangerous troll to be around. It's hard to spot her odd behaviour, even if you watch her closely as her true intentions are always hidden in front of the public.

Outside of her obsession, Atelie is... the same. She doesn't change her behaviour drastically, she's just good at hiding a cruel part of herself. But she can be pretty passive-aggressive towards trolls that she finds annoying. This is the only time her nice mask slips.

Her methods are simple: she uses her nice attitude to make other trolls drop their guards down around her. After all, she's super cute and trustworthy, right?

If you are an artist yourself and visit a bunch of exhibitions or just a seadweller, then you probably heard rumors about her infamous sculptures. Better to just avoid her.

Likes:

Sculpting

Her own sculptures

Art exhibitions

Art Festivals

Spa Days

Ice scream

Other's pain and suffering

Meat (all)

Dislikes:

Vegetables

Sweets

Spice food

Rumors

Haters

Silk

Mornings

Annoying trolls

Trivia:

Yes, all her sculptures are made of dead trolls, that's why she's an infamous sculptor.

Most of the time, Atelie orders dead body parts for her sculptures from a familiar assassin, Draaco or her friendly pal Voghel brings extra limbs that they couldn't dispose of. She just finds it time consuming to do it herself.

Yes, she is a cannibal. She eats all the extra limbs after she is done with her sculptures.

She's not interested in any other artistic hobbies, but she respects it.

Atelie takes good care of her teeth, sharpening them from time to time.

Atelie has a big collection of perfume that she uses regularly.

Relationships:

Matesprit - Open!

Moirail - Open!

Kismesis - Open!

Auspistice - Open!

Out of quadrants

Acquaintance - Voghel. Atelie met Voghel in one of her Art Exhibitions where her actual art was displayed. Sometimes they bring her extra limbs which Voghel couldn't dispose of. She's really lucky to have such a good pal. :)

Acquaintance - Muarae. Atelie and Muarae met in a garbage warehouse where both of them tried to get rid of evidence. Sometimes they met at cafe and talk about their hobbies.

Acquaintance/Assassin - Draaco. Atelie is very pleased with his work and always orders killing from him.

Backstory:

Atelie was one of the grubs who hatched in the deep ocean. The environment of the deep ocean is hostile, full of dangerous fish-lususes and lack of natural light. Only the strongest and smartest grubs could survive it.

Atelie was one of these grubs.

She was the only grub from the group who survived.

There is still a speculation between jades who was there to watch it, on how she was able survive alone. It was known in jades circle that grubs of deep seadweller make a small group as soon as they hatch and swim to the surface while avoiding danger.

But Atelie as a grub did it alone, no wounds or no tiredness from swimming, just a wide smile... It's a mystery to this day.

Soon enough she got picked up by MothersPiranhas. They took good care of her and taught everything a seadweller should know and even more: feeding her troll's meat.

Atelie's childhood wasn't that much different from other trolls as well as her teens. The only noticeable things were that she was crueler before, realizing being politely nice and sociable was profitable for her future, and that she was a cannibal. The last was less of her concerns.

When she reached her adulthood, Atelie didn't really have any idea what she wanted to do, so when she saw a poster about sculpting classes on the street, she decided to try it out.

The worst decision ever.

Atelie was bored as hell in the class, regretting for even considering joining it in the first place. But on the positive note, she befriended a few trolls in class and was invited to hang out. At that time, Atelie was practicing to be nice to trolls and it was working.

One day, after the class she was heading home with one of her friends,chatting about something unimportant. Suddenly, out of clumsiness or awareness, her friend stepped and slipped on something.

BAM.

Atelie could only see a pile of blood under her friend's head. There was a metallic box near with the same blood color as Atelie's friend. She was looking down at her friend who was barely conscious and...

...something clicked in her mind. A familiar smile spread across her face.

What if she makes sculpting more lively?

...

After the incident, Atelie finished her classes and became an infamous sculptor. She never talked with anyone about the death of her friend and it doesn't seem like trolls cared about them much.

Her life becomes consistent with a few new faces appearing in her life (Draaco, Voghel and Muarae). There were a few events that negatively affected her, but it's all connected to Art festivals and exhibitions.

And that's her life.

[stringphone]

A Walk in the Woods

Join Chanticleer Walk (yes that is his name) on his sojourns through the natural world.

------------------------------------

Grainhorse and Sparknart - 2/8/24

Hello my dear Walkers, 

First and foremost, I would like to apologize for my absence in our most recent edition. I was away on one of my "excursions" and I missed the memo that we have changed to an electronic platform. As per usual, I had sent my handwritten notes, to which you have been accustomed, back to our offices by way of my beloved rare German green-snouted blue-tongued carrier weltbird, Handel. Unfortunately, none of our other writers, or even our editor, took the initiative to transcribe, scan, or at the very least summarize my notes for your enjoyment. I am deeply sorry. As a token of appreciation for your understanding and an apology for the inconvenience, I will detail two discoveries this week instead of the usual one. 

The Grainhorse

During my travels in the Amazon Rainforest this past month, I had the wonderful privilege to be one of the few people in the world to lay eyes on the gorgeous grainhorse. The grainhorse is an animal who has only been spotted in the northwestern corner of the southeastern quadrant of the central Amazon Rainforest. As if a barrier keeps it in place, the grainhorse seems to stay within a 5 mile radius. Despite its minute area of habitation, the grainhorse is one of the most elusive animals. 

The grainhorse is an odd looking creature. Imagine a horse that is roughly the size of an armadillo, and you would be getting close. The front legs of the grainhorse move more like arms and have claws that appear to be primarily used for digging. While it is most often seen walking on all fours, looking much like a human walking on all fours, they have been noted to stand and walk on their hind legs. The fur of a grainhorse looks quite like a field of wheat. The fur appears to bristle out at the top much like a single stalk of wheat. It even has the golden sheen. It can be deduced that its name stems from its appearance. The grainhorse makes its home digging small burrows. We found at least seven different grainhorse burrows in this area. While that would lead you to think there are multiple grainheese, so far only one has been tagged. This tagged grainhorse is also the only one we ever see. We assume the grainhorse most often travels from burrow to burrow using an underground tunnel system and can only be seen when it comes out to gather food in the canopy above. The grainhorse diet primarily consists of very small mammals found in the canopy or on the forest floor. The grainhorse also has been seen eating berries, often shortly after eating a small mouse or some other rodent. It is guessed that they are having a little dessert after their meal. As such, the grainhorse is an omnivorous animal. The grainhorse was one of the more interesting animals I have ever come across, and I hope we find more grainheese. 

The Sparknart

The next animal I would like to discuss was one I came across while on a whale watching tour just off the coast of Unga, Alaska. While I was watching off the port bow, looking through my binoculars in hopes of catching sight of a slapping whippy or a jumping pantoon, I caught sight of a very bewildering beast. 

The large fish looked much like a bluegill, but was the size of a tiger shark. The vibrant and electric, almost neon, greens and blues stood out against the white backdrop of the ice and snow. The color palette of a deep sea dweller, where I can only assume it makes its home, coming to the surface only to feed when food down there gets scarce. As I later found out, the sparknart, as it is apparently called, is incredibly rare. Only a handful have ever been seen, none have been caught. Little is known from a lack of documentation and an inability to research it consistently, but here is what we know. The sparknart is a large fish who preys on smaller fishes. The sparknart uses its striking coloration in an intensely disorienting dance to ward off potential predators. The sparknart has only been spotted during waning crescent moons. Should you ever attempt to witness a sparknart, make sure to plan your trip accordingly. Scientists at Unga, Alaska are continuously working to uncover more information about the sparknart. Maybe the next time I see one, I will have more information for you.

I hope you enjoyed this week's special edition walk. 

Until next time, Walk on!