#gone fishing ghost kin

[tavs-kin-korner]

dOODLES OF aETHER (gENSHIN iMPACT), yUMA (gONE fISHING BY gHOST), aND tAMARI (qUALIA aUTOMATA)!

sORRY FOR THE WAIT! i PERSONALLY AM NOT TOO PLEASED WITH HOW THESE LOOK, sO i DEEPLY APOLOGIZE IF THEY AREN'T WHAT YOU WERE LOOKING FOR! fEEL FREE TO REQUEST MORE SOMETIME, tHOUGH, oR YOU (AND ANYONE ELSE READING THIS) CAN DM ME IF YOU WANT TO COMISSION A FULL PIECE! }:)

[eldal0te]

Every once in a while, I remember that crazy theory I once had about Círdan and Elmo. @sindarweek seems like a good moment to finally share it

———

The water has always fascinated him.

When Elmo was a child, he used to run after the fishermen, begging to be allowed to come with them each morning. When inevitably they would turn him away, his childish hands too small to be of any help, he’d go and pester the ferrymen instead. When their patience too would run dry, he’d turn to woodworkers, always building new boats or fixing the existing ones.

With everyone else done with him, he at least would turn to Miriel and beg her to tell him which of her friends has been asked to fix the fishing nets this time. It wasn’t as rewarding as being on the water, but at least there he was allowed to help knot the threads together.

His brothers never understood his fascination with the water. Elwë, though he usually listened patiently to his babbling, always appeared bored with the topics of boats pretty quickly and even Olwë, who seemed to share some of his interests, was left perplexed by the boy, never able to devote himself to the water in the ways his younger brother could.

Then Oromë found them and Elwë left with Ingwë and Finwë to visit Valinor.

When his older brother left them, Elmo was hardly anything but a child, idolizing his oldest brother more than anything in the world. When he came back, Elmo was already an adult who started to idolize the light in his brother’s eyes instead.

Olwë was different. Unlike their oldest brother, who always grasped at the word around them with open arms, he was more cautious. Ever since their parents disappeared, he quietly hated the world around them. Unlike most of their people, it’s neither the chance of experiencing the light on some deeper level, nor the promise of safe and prosperous lands that motivates him on a journey to Valinor. He wants to leave the world with ghosts of their parents and all the other dead behind.

When they first see the sea of Rhûn, Elmo proclaims it a wonder greater than anything he has ever seen before. Here, the small ships they used to build for fishing and ferrying people across the lake can finally turn into a grander idea.

Here, while their kin court and marry and bear children, he can finally find an excuse on the water for months without touching the dry land. When he at last unboards, it’s only to work with all the woodworkers who keep coming up with designs for better, grander boats than ever before or pester Miriel and her friends about the newest sails they’re sticking for them. That's the moment where the craft of ship-making finally becomes something more than a dream of a lonely child.

It’s only the promise of a wider body of water, an ocean as Elwë calls it now, that makes him go on when they finally decide to journey further. Once they leave, he takes the people likeminded to him and they push on west while the rest of their kin stay behind.

It is then, that the vision of what his brother talks about finally comes to him and seeing the light of Valinor becomes his greatest desire. He wishes desperately to see the Trees, and in their light continue on his newly found craft.

When Elwë gets lost, Elmo searches longer and harder than any of their kin, both out of brotherly love and a belief that in a new world they will need a leader who was brave enough to visit it when all of them were reluctant to.

There, so close to the final destination, Olwë finally shows a true interest in his craft. He also finally starts to speak his mind instead of deeming him too childish to talk to. He says that Elwë’s fate has intertwined with that of their parents and there is no reason to dwell. Their brother is gone and they have to accept that.

Vanyar and Noldor leave, and their host (they have started to call themselves the Teleri now) finally splits in between the three brothers. Half of them share Olwë’s conviction that they need to push on now, and while most of those who wish to remain do so only because of Elwë, some would go if not for Elmo’s desperation to prolong the search. They are the first ones to start calling him the Shipwright and if Olwë is a bit jealous, he does a good job of not letting it show.

He searches so diligently that he misses the chance to leave with Olwë and when Elwë comes back, completely safe and with a new divine wife instead of the stories of perils, he feels anger rather than relief. Is this really what he abandoned his greatest desire for? 

He used to idolize his brother as a child, but now the only thing they have in common is the change of names they both undergo. Elu Thingol remains with his people in the forests near the place where he first met his wife, while Círdan stays with his at the seaside, where they can at least remain building the ships.

It’s such a pity that they cannot leave until he builds a ship he keeps dreaming of. 

[poems-from-around-the-world]

The Statue of the Virgin at Granard Speaks - Paula Meehan - Ireland

It can be bitter here at times like this, November wind sweeping across the border. Its seeds of ice would cut you to the quick. The whole town tucked up safe and dreaming, even wild things gone to earth, and I stuck up here in this grotto, without as much as star or planet to ease my vigil.

The howling won’t let up. Trees cavort in agony as if they would be free and take off — ghost voyagers on the wind that carries intimations of garrison towns, walled cities, ghetto lanes where men hunt each other and invoke the various names of God as blessing on their death tactics, their night manoeuvres. Closer to home the wind sails over dying lakes. I hear fish drowning. I taste the stagnant water mingled with turf smoke from outlying farms.

They call me Mary — Blessed, Holy, Virgin. They fit me to a myth of a man crucified: the scourging and the falling, and the falling again, the thorny crown, the hammer blow of iron into wrist and ankle, the sacred bleeding heart. They name me Mother of all this grief though mated to no mortal man. They kneel before me and their prayers fly up like sparks from a bonfire that blaze a moment, then wink out.

It can be lovely here at times. Springtime, early summer. Girls in Communion frocks pale rivals to the riot in the hedgerows of cow parsley and haw blossom, the perfume from every rushy acre that’s left for hay when the light swings longer with the sun’s push north.

Or the grace of a midsummer wedding when the earth herself calls out for coupling and I would break loose of my stony robes, pure blue, pure white, as if they had robbed a child’s sky for their colour. My being cries out to be incarnate, incarnate, maculate and tousled in a honeyed bed.

Even an autumn burial can work its own pageantry. The hedges heavy with the burden of fruiting crab, sloe, berry, hip; clouds scud east pear scented, windfalls secret in long orchard grasses, and some old soul is lowered to his kin. Death is just another harvest scripted to the season’s play.

But on this All Souls’ Night there is no respite from the keening of the wind. I would not be amazed if every corpse came risen from the graveyard to join in exaltation with the gale, a cacophony of bone imploring sky for judgement and release from being the conscience of the town.

On a night like this I remember the child who came with fifteen summers to her name, and she lay down alone at my feet without midwife or doctor or friend to hold her hand and she pushed her secret out into the night, far from the town tucked up in little scandals, bargains struck, words broken, prayers, promises, and though she cried out to me in extremis I did not move, I didn’t lift a finger to help her, I didn’t intercede with heaven, nor whisper the charmed word in God’s ear.

On a night like this I number the days to the solstice and the turn back to the light. O sun, centre of our foolish dance, burning heart of stone, molten mother of us all, hear me and have pity.

[shembl]

Moby Dick FNP Chapter 3 - In the Inn

Hello again, it’s time for what turned out to be a really long chapter compared to the last few eh? this took us two or three sittings on stream to get through on stream a year or so ago.  Anyway, for those new; this is where My friend Andy (A proper writer!) and I (A fool) read through Moby Dick very slowly and attempt to make it a bit easier to read while probably massively misinterpreting things. This Chapter’s TL;DR is

-Ishmael stares at a painting and gets really annoyed about it -Everything around the painting is a nightmare hellbutcher dungeon kind of aesthetic -The guy who runs the place is a manic prankster called Peter Coffin -The best character in the book turns up, he’s called Bulkington and everyone loves him. He is also probably a ghost and I think he dies offscreen later on? -Ishmael’s room gets double-booked and he spends about 15 minutes hiding in the bed staring at his bedmate who doesn’t know he’s there, and then acts like it was his bedmate who was the problem. -Ishmael’s bedmate is Queequeg, who is the best actual character in the book even if there’s some weird racists shit surrounding him.

Anyway, enjoy or don’t, your call.

Chapter 3: In the Inn

So, you walk into this inn, right, and it looks like shit, like an old fucked up boat they dragged onto land and forced into being a house. And at the other end of it there’s this painting. No matter which way you look at it, it’s shit, incomprehensible, nightmarish, like something from the Age of Hags, a gross splat of bad imagery in a frame. You look at it from every angle, stand all over the place, ask the people nearby, they don’t know what’s up either, but maybe, you more you look at it and calm down a bit and you think ‘nah it’s not that bad actually’ and then your senses come back and you’re like ‘no it is bad.’

That’s my review of the painting.

It was shit, but there’s a lot of things you can say about shit. To me it looks like a lot of things, heaths, elemental conflicts, midnight gales, some awful time-smashing cataclysm, seas; which you know I’m a big fan of, but mostly I think it looked like a massive fish.

Maybe it’s just that I had fish on my mind, but my mind was telling me there was a fish on that painting. 

That’s how art is sometimes I guess.

Then it clicked though, it was actually a ship all fucked up and crashed with a whale doing a sweet jump over it, but sweet turned to sour for this aquatic lad, as he’s only gone and speared himself on all of three of the ship’s masts.

Total lunacy.

I wouldn’t paint it.

What kind of mad bastard would hang a painting like that?

Probably the same kind of mad bastard who would hang up a load of monster-mode clubs and other weapons. You’ve got your clubs with teeth in them, you’ve got clubs with hair in them, you’ve got spears and harpoons and lances and every other form of pointed stick that’s ever been used to cause harm.

There was even a sickle which had a shape to it which I can only describe as being like a long-armed lawn mower. Make of that what you will, for I dare not to dwell on it.

There was also this absolutely legendary harpoon that was all jacked up by the ravages of time, sea and whale, so that it now looked more like a corkscrew. People said it had once been used by a really cool and handsome whale slayer, he chucked it so hard at a whale's arse that even though the whale got away it came out through the whale's head years later.

Moving further in, you begin to figure out what this place is about. It’s a theme bar, and the theme is death. Death and whales.

It’s all covered in dusty, cracked and fucked up bottles and other glasswares, and at one end there’s a massive whale jaw so big you could use it as the foundation for a 6-person tent if you were a serial killer.

But this was no tent, not right now any way, this was a nest for a tiny man, dangerous eyes in his face, and a look about him that suggested he wanted to either get you drunk or kill you.

I could tell from looking at him, this was the kind of barkeeper who was a prick about measures. Always ripping you off and under serving like a villain.

I walked past some sailors who were having a nice time looking at some fish bones and went on up to the landlord and asked about a room. He looked me up and down, and said

“We ain’t got no rooms, but I reckon you’re a whale guy, so go share a bed with another whale guy. It’s just what whale guys do. You ARE a whale guy, ain’t ye?”

I said back to him, “It’s not so much about whether he’s a whale guy or not, I’ll share a bed with anyone, well, not just anyone, it really depends on the person, rather than their occupation, you know? Besides, it’s cold outside.”

“I thought so. All right; take a seat. Supper?—you want supper? Supper’ll be ready directly.”

I took a seat on one of those picnic table type tables and took a look around, one guy sat near me was fumbling around between his legs, his eyes were crossed and his tongue was poking out... I looked away after a while.

We went in for dinner, into the coldest room you could imagine, colder than Iceland I would say. 

“A fire would be a good idea here.” I said.

“A fire’s too expensive.” said the landlord.

So we sat, shivered, buttoned up our monkey coats, which were just a name for a type of coat, and not actually made out of monkeys, and burnt our lips with hot tea, which we held with half-frozen fingers, which really is pretty confusing if you think about it. What temperature am I supposed to be right now, you know?

The food was nice though, you’ve not just got meat, and not just potatoes, you’ve got both! And not just both! Dumplings as well! Good heavens! dumplings for supper!

One guy was going absolutely bananas over these dumplings (not me)

The landlord said “Me lad, you keep crammin’ down dumplings in such a manner, ye’re likely to have dumpling related nightmares!”

“Landord,” I whispered. “That’s not the guy I’m sharing a bed with is it?”

I was concerned that I might be sharing a bed with someone having nightmares in such a place with so many instruments of cruelty up on the walls as this.

The landlord laughed darkly, in that way people do when they are holding back some info in a way that is very funny from a certain perspective. “Oooooooh no me lad, your bunk-chum don’t bother with no dumplings, he only eats meat.” He laughed again. “Rare meat, the rarest of meats, ye might say.”

“Holy shit.” I said, not picking up on the giggles or anything. “Where is he then?”

“Oh he’ll be here soon.” The innkeeper smirked, laughed, waggled his eyebrows and then refused to make eye contact.

Something in my bones told me that there was something up with this other whale guy, and that if we were going to share a bed, I’d make sure to inspect his naked body before I got in with him. Safety first and all that.

Anyway, food was over and we trickled back to the bar. I didn’t have anything to do so I just kind of sat around looking at people.

All of a sudden there was a massive loud noise, sounded like a riot. Barely had the noise reached my ears when the landlord leapt up onto the table. “That’s the Grampus’s crew. I seed her reported in the offing this morning; a three years’ voyage, and a full ship. Hurrah, boys; now we’ll have the latest news from the Feegees.”

He must have really liked news from the Feegees.

They all came in, they were a rowdy bunch, especially for a bunch of sailors who looked like shit. Frozen beards and bad patch jobs on all their clothes. They swarmed the bar and started complaining about headaches to the innkeeper, who gave them booze.

Once they were drunk, they got more noisy, so the headache cure (booze) must have worked.

Rowdy as they were, there was one among them who was not so rowdy. He was huge, jacked, handsome, chest broader than a dam and he had nice twinkly eyes that seemed sad, and nice twinkly teeth that would look nice in a smile if only he weren’t so clearly struggling with some inner demons. He tried to hide to hide it though so he didn’t throw off the vibe his pals were enjoying. After a while he left and that’s when I first heard his name. “BULKINGTON!” shouted all of the sailors as they scuttled about the place as one unit, like a man-berg, looking for him. “BULKINGTOOOOON!” It was a great name for such a big lad. I hoped I was sharing a bed with Ol’ bulky. My future shipmate, if not in an actual ship, then perhaps in a little ship called a bed.

Anyway, everyone had gone. It was about 9pm and I had a good plan in my head, a plan that was in my head before all these sailors turned up actually.

Kinda weird that the innkeeper wants me to share a bed with a guy, especially the part about sailors sharing beds, I’ve been on boats and let me tell you, you don’t share a hammock, how can you? They’re all droopy. No, you get your own bed with your own blanket and your own skin to keep all your wet bits in.

Nobody likes to share a bed, it’s a private time. As the innkeeper continued to drill holes in the back of my head with his eyes, I began to have suspicions.

The more I thought about it, the worse this deal was looking, and besides, I was getting tired and wanted to sleep. But if I go to bed in another guy’s bed, which would probably have shitty linens on it because whale guys are gross, then what if I’m asleep and he comes back and he’s like “Who’s this guy in my bed?” that’d be pretty weird for him, but what if he gets the wrong idea and he’s drunk or a serial killer or something and then he just gets naked and gets into  bed with me, who knows what he’d do. I didn’t like it.

“Landlord! I’ve changed my mind about that harpooneer.—I shan’t sleep with him. I’ll try the bench here.”

I slapped the bench and winced at all the new splinters that had entered my hand.

The innkeeper looked sad for a moment before some manic energy overtook his face “Just as you please; I’m sorry I can’t spare ye a tablecloth for a mattress, and it’s a very uncomfortable bench!”

He hopped over the bar, lathe in hand.

“But wait! Me little Skrimshander, I’ve a lathe, and I’ll have ye snug enough shortly.”

He scuttled over and wiped down the bench with his handkerchief, and then went to town on the bench with his lathe. I thought about moving out of the way, but was paralysed by the ferocity in the man’s approach. He wasn’t looking down at his work, his eyes were fixed on mine and he was grinning like an ape. Over and over the lathe bounced off some indestructible knot in the wood. He was sweating, his arms were shaking and after a while, the strength left his wrists so that he was just sort of daubing away at the wood. His breathing was ragged.

“For god’s sake man!” I plead over and over again. “Stop! It was fine enough before, you don’t need to do this!” and yet still, huffing and puffing he scraped away at his own furniture.

After some time had passed, and I can’t tell you how much time, because I didn’t have a clock, he stopped, winked at me, and scooped up all the shavings, which took a few minutes.

Then he winked again scuttled over to the fire, and threw in all the shavings, a thrifty approach to the fuel crisis he had previously complained about.

Meanwhile, I was covered in sawdust. I was itchy.

I had a test-lay on the bench and it was too short for me, being big and tall, but I also had a big brain, so I figured I could fix that by popping a chair at the end to rest my legs on. The bigger problem was that the bench was a foot too narrow for my big muscly back, being what benches are, and the innkeeper had gone so mental with the lathe that my bed-bench was four inches lower than the other benches, and I didn’t want to ask the guy to lathe this one up because he would probably die, looking at him.

Also it was drafty.

This fucking harpoon guy! What a fucking disaster he was causing for me, the prick. I thought about heading up to his room, stealing his bed and locking the door, force him to knock me awake, that sort of thing, but then what if that pissed him off? He’d probably just punch me. I reconsidered.

I had another look around at this shitty sleeping arrangement I had made for myself and thought, maybe this harpooner isn’t so bad. Maybe sharing a bed with him could be the start of a beautiful friendship. Optimistic I know, but that’s just the kind of guy I am.

Other sailors came in, laughing, being friends and all that, going up to share beds and have a good time, but my harpoon guy, he was nowhere to be seen, and it was already midnight. I’d been waiting for three hours since the last time I looked at the clock. Who knows how long the innkeeper had spent of this time staring me in the face and planing the bench beneath me.

“Landlord!” I said, “what sort of a chap is this guy? Is he always back this late?” I was sleepy, but also annoyed.

“Uhuuhuuhuuhuu” chuckled the innkeeper, darkly, as if he had just heard some mean joke about me. “generally he’s an early bird—airley to bed and airley to rise—yes, he’s the bird what catches all the worms. But to-night he went out a peddling, you see, and I don’t see what on airth keeps him so late, unless, may be, he can’t sell his head.”

I had no idea why he said the word ‘early’ like that, but this guy clearly had more pressing problems, and so did I.

“What do you mean ‘Can’t sell his head?” I made air-quotes to show that this was an insane thing to say to a guy. I was fucking pissed, livid. “Are you trying to tell me that this guy is out there on a saturday night, or now technically a sunday morning since it’s so fucking late, trying to sell his head around town”

“That’s precisely it,” said the innkeeper, “and I told him he couldn’t sell it here, the market’s overstocked.” He waggled his eyebrows.

I was getting really, really angry about all of this, I needed to get on a boat. “With what?” I shouted.

The innkeeper grabbed his own head by the ears. “With heads to be sure; ain’t there too many heads in the world?”

“Stop fucking about, Innkeeper. What are you going on about?” I’d calmed down a little bit. “Calm down with this weird chat, I’m not green.” Green is what you call people in Sailor language when they’re a bit new or daft.

“May be not,” He took out a stick, and in an instant, whittled it into a toothpick with his lathe. “but I rayther guess you’ll be done brown if that ‘ere harpooneer hears you a’slanderin’ his head.”

I lost my shit. “I’ll break his fucking head then if that’s what it comes to!” Really needed to get on a boat.

“It’s broke a’ready,” The Innkeeper said

“Broke?” I said “how do you mean, broke?”

“It’s broke! and that’s the very reason he can’t sell it, I guess.”

“Landlord,” said I, going up to him as cool as a big mountain in a snow-storm—“landlord, stop whittling. You and I must understand one another, and that too without delay. I come to your house and want a bed; you tell me you can only give me half a one; that the other half belongs to a certain harpooneer. And about this harpooneer, you keep going on and telling me the most mystifying and exasperating stories which frankly, invoke upon me an uncomfortable feeling towards the man whom you design for my bedfellow—a sort of connection, landlord, which is an intimate and confidential one in the highest degree.”

I had once or twice in the past dabbled with the legal profession, and thought that this might have been a good opportunity to scare an old man with courtroom talk.

“I now demand of you to speak out and tell me who and what this harpooneer is, and whether I shall be in all respects safe to spend the night with him. And in the first place, you will be so good as to retract that story about selling his head, which if true I take to be good evidence that this harpooneer is stark mad, and I’ve no intention of sleeping with a madman; and you, sir, you I mean, landlord, you, sir, by trying to induce me to do so knowingly, would thereby render yourself liable to a criminal prosecution.”

I folded my arms and snorted in that way I always assumed lawyers would do after making a good case.

“Wheeeeeeell,” said the landlord, fetching a long breath, “that’s a purty long sarmon for a chap that rips a little now and then. But be easy, be easy, this here harpooneer I have been tellin’ you of has just arrived from the south seas, where he bought up a lot of ’balmed New Zealand heads (great curios, you know), and he’s sold all on ’em but one, and that one he’s trying to sell to-night, cause to-morrow’s Sunday, and it would not do to be sellin’ human heads about the streets when folks is goin’ to churches. He wanted to, last Sunday, but I stopped him just as he was goin’ out of the door with four heads strung on a string, for all the airth like a string of inions.”

My case was lost, the landlord was making total sense. He wasn’t trying to trick me into anything, all that weird laughter must have just been his normal laugh, and he was thinking of something funny, like clowns or a puppet show he might have seen earlier on.

Still, a literal head salesman sounded like a pretty sketchy prospect to me, and I wasn’t super keen on sharing a bed with a guy who does weird cannibal shit.

“This guy sounds fucking nuts” I said. “You’d better be careful around guys like that, Innkeeper.”

“He pays reg’lar,” The Innkeeper said “But come, it’s getting dreadful late, you had better be turning flukes—it’s a nice bed; Sal and me slept in that ere bed the night we were spliced. There’s plenty of room for two to kick about in that bed; it’s an almighty big bed that. Why, afore we give it up, Sal used to put our Sam and little Johnny in the foot of it. But I got a dreaming and sprawling about one night, and somehow, Sam got pitched on the floor, and came near breaking his arm. Arter that, Sal said it wouldn’t do. Come along here, I’ll give ye a glim in a jiffy;” and so saying he lit a candle and held it towards me, offering to lead the way. But I stood irresolute; when looking at a clock in the corner, he exclaimed “I vum it’s Sunday—you won’t see that harpooneer to-night; he’s come to anchor somewhere—come along then; do come; won’t ye come?”

He was really keen on me coming, and that seemed reasonable enough since he was taking me to my bed, so I followed him, all good.

We got to the room and the bed was massive. Enormous, you could fit four harpooneers in it, even if they were massive like that Bulkington guy. A four Bulkington bed, what a thought! 

“There,” said the innkeeper, placing the candle on a crazy old sea chest that did double duty as a wash-stand and centre table, thrifty!; “there, make yourself comfortable now, and good night to ye.” after a while I turned round from eyeing the bed, but he had disappeared.

I took a closer look at the bed, it wasn’t fancy, but it wasn’t too bad, and it was still enormous. Besides the crazy chest there wasn’t much else in terms of furniture, just a few shelves and a big drawing of a guy hitting a while and a bunch of harpooneer paraphernalia including a big harpoon and a hammock.

Hammocks, famously, are for sleeping on. I thought it seemed insane that we had come to this; planing down a bench, sharing a bed with a head salesman, and yet no fucking mention had ever been made that there was a spare hammock going. Insanity. There even loads of hooks just strung about the place, it wouldn’t be hard to set up.

There was an object on the chest, being naturally inquisitive, I grabbed it, sniffed it, licked it, looked at it, sniffed it again, held it far away and looked at it again. It looked like a doormat, but it had holes in it like clothes.

What kind of monster human  would wear something so deranged?

I put it on out of interest, it was itchy and damp. I imagined this harpooneer must have been using it like some kind of raincoat.

I found a big shard of glass and looked at my reflection in it.

It looked like shit. I ripped it off my body so furiously and hastily that I pulled a muscle in my neck.

I thought about this Harpooneer and his doormat, and slowly started to undress. First my coat, what’s the deal with selling heads? Guy must be crazy. Then my smaller coat that I wear underneath the other one. Who wears a doormat? I sat there thinking a bit longer, figuring out how naked I could get without tempting fate and having this maniac burst into my room to punch me.

I made a calculated decision, got naked, and bunkered down under the sheets.

Whether that mattress was stuffed with corn-cobs or broken crockery, there is no telling, but I rolled about for ages, couldn’t get to sleep. At last I slid off into a light doze, and was nearly there into a proper sleep, when I heard a heavy footfall in the passage, and saw a glimmer of light come into the room from under the door.

I held my breath as he entered the room, his little candle didn’t reach me as I shivered under the covers. He put the candle down in the corner and started going through his bag. I couldn’t see his face, until he turned around and then I could. His face was a monster mash hodgepodge of all sorts of colours and shapes. Oh bloody hell he’s been out fighting and his face is covered in cuts and bruises and plasters, I thought, He’d be a horrible guy to share a bed with! But then I remembered hearing stories about people going to New Zealand and getting face tattoos, maybe that’s what had happened to this guy. 

He pulled out some weird items from his bag, including an axe and a hairy wallet, then he crammed this weird shrunken head down into the bottom of the bag and then the weirdest part came. He took off his hat and he was mostly bald except for a weird topknot thing on his forehead, awful! Let me tell you, I nearly fucking legged it, faster than I’d have ever eaten a dumpling.

I know it was my ignorance stoking my fear of this guy, but I’d never seen a guy like this before, and my fear, brought on as it was by ignorance was enough to stop me asking what his deal was, so it was like a little vicious cycle with just me in the middle of it, being afraid and thinking about jumping out of the window, but I’d come up a lot of steps to get here, and I didn’t fancy skipping them down to street level. Not naked anyway.

Speaking of naked, he was getting his clothes off now. His chest and arms were covered in the same sort of tattoos as his face. It looked like he’d been in a war for thirty years or so, and now wore the customary thirty-year war checkered plaster shirt. Maybe he was just really into chess, I didn’t know and I didn’t ask.

Then came the naked legs, these pins were tattooed as well, with frog footprints. I assume they were tattoos, it could be that he’d just been climbed on by some sort of exotic lizard which does tattoos as it goes. It’s a big world out there, you can’t ever say you know everything about it. Either way, this guy was a lunatic and I was pretty sure that these heads of his were the heads of his murder victims who were probably his own brothers, because look at him, what a monster! I only hoped that he hated my head so he wouldn’t think to take it with him later on. Heavens! Look at that tomahawk!

He still hadn’t seen me though, fixed as he was on the bag. He fished out some little black figurine, which he seemed to be very reverent about. He popped it in the fireplace and I was confused but thought it looked kinda cool in a way.

The fireplace placement started to make sense when the fella pulled out a bunch of wood shavings (what is it with this town and woodshavings???) and put them around the figure, before lighting them on fire and throwing a ship’s biscuit (or normal biscuit, to sailors like me) on top of it.

He then started making weird noises and then burned his hands quite badly trying to get the biscuit out of the fire. He offered it to the little figure, but it wasn’t interested, so he ate it.

Then he stuffed the figure back into his bag with all the un-ceremony of my shopkeeper bagging my bread.

I couldn’t think of much else he could be getting up to before getting into bed, and frankly, even if there was something I probably didn’t want to see it, so I thought it was about time to make myself known, or else he’d probably find me with his hands shortly.

But the moment I spent deliberating what to say was a fatal one. Taking up his tomahawk from the table, he squinted at it, holding it up to the light, stuck his mouth on the handle, and puffed out great clouds of tobacco smoke (wow!). The next moment the light was extinguished, and this wild cannibal, tomahawk between his teeth, sprang into bed with me. I yelped, I could not help it now; and giving a sudden grunt of astonishment he began feeling me.

I windmilled my entire body away from him, slamming up against the wall, I babbled various apologies and fumbled to get a candle or lantern going so I could explain why I’d been in his bed for so long, just watching him in the darkness without saying anything. I think he got the wrong impression.

“WHO ARE YOU? I’LL KILL YE!” He shouted at me, swishing that flaming pipe-axe around at me, scattering hot ashes around so that they nearly set the bedsheets on fire.

“Landlord, for God’s sake, Peter Coffin!” I shouted, bravely. “Landlord! Watch! Coffin! Angels! save me!”

“Speak! Tell me who ye be, or damn me, I’ll kill ye!” He continued to spin the axe around.

The innkeeper arrived with a light and a grin, I ran over and clutched at his shirt.

“Don’t be afraid now,” he said, grinning again, “Queequeg here wouldn’t harm a hair of your head.”

“Stop grinning!” I squealed, assertively. “Why didn’t you tell me he was a bloody cannibal?”

“I thought ye know’d it;—didn’t I tell ye, he was a peddlin’ heads around town?—but turn flukes again and go to sleep. Queequeg, look here—you sabbee me, I sabbee—you this man sleepe you—you sabbee?”

I did not sabbee, I had not idea what this meant.

“Me sabbee plenty”—grunted Queequeg, puffing away at his pipe and sitting up in bed. Instantly calm.

“Come, Get yerself abed, stranger.” he added, motioning to me with his tomahawk, and throwing the clothes to one side. He really did this in not only a civil but a really kind and charitable way. I stood looking at him a moment. For all his tattooings he was on the whole a clean, comely looking cannibal. What’s all this fuss I have been making about, thought I to myself—the man’s a human being just as I am: he has just as much reason to fear me, as I have to be afraid of him. Better sleep with a sober cannibal than a drunken Christian.

“Landlord,” said I, “tell him to stash his tomahawk there, or pipe, or whatever you call it; tell him to stop smoking, in short, and I will turn in with him. But I don’t fancy having a man smoking in bed with me. It’s dangerous. Besides, I ain’t insured.”

This being told to Queequeg, he at once complied, and again politely motioned me to get into bed—rolling over to one side as much as to say—“I won’t touch a leg of ye.”

“Good night, landlord,” said I, “you may go.”

I turned in, and never slept better in my life.

[viviskull]

“Ah!”  Her brows lift up in surprise at this turn around.  This being was another universe hopper, and one she knew more about on the topic than most when already dealing with stranger creatures of bizarre kin.  “I didn’t think I’d bump into another dimension jumper this far out into the south side.  Ya must’ve just gotten here then, I reckon.”

Vivi couldn’t help the all encompassing smile that took to lighting up upon her features.  Normally she would’ve gone as far as to scold the other a bit farther, if not to grill him some more as to why the other would’ve left his own dog unattended when Servo could’ve been at risk of getting the Pound called on the poor pup.  But when her only real exposure to other dimension hoppers only ever came at the occasional famous truck stop or the crashing traffic wormhole?  Tempo only had so much of a stronghold on the paranormal community when even its visitors were mostly monsters, ghosts, or the occasional random folk who didn’t even know that pizza was even real; and oftentimes folks who didn’t come here usually fell under the town’s disappearance radar.  It’s just her luck, she’d suppose.

“I’d say ya're mostly lucky we didn’t find him in the pound somewhere for all the ruckus this lil pooch has been causing throughout the week.”  Her light, bright hues flickered towards Servo for a moment as he gave a joyful yip.  This bucket of bolts was the only other thing for miles that could’ve caused all the odd summer commotion, which almost went to let this old fishing dock from up the beachy shore to be deserted had the Mystery Gang not been called by the minute.  The dame settles a palm to her jutting hip, the air seeming to relax with her unwinding posture.  “We’ve been getting people calling us all over Texas saying they’ve been seeing a metal dog running about the shoreline.”  She says.

             High Tide was well aware that his presence was intimidating without even trying to be. A robot this big could crush anyone with a single footstep effortlessly, the way the moon shined against his back to further enhance his looming figure together with the deepness of his voice as he spoke was not helping either. Despite all that, though, the dame stood there with her gaze meeting his momentarily; which, again, was something he was quite surprised with. People often ran away as fast as they could or would throw whatever was closest at him for self defense — even though he wasn’t doing anything to threaten them further, you know how that is.

             With the silence between them as he was gazed upon, the now transformed submarine analyzed her features. She seemed to be very young and determined, that he could guess, but the thing that caught attention the most was her generally blue look. Sure, he saw people with dyed hair a lot before, but he couldn’t recall the last time one had this bright shade of blue. It almost looked as if it was her natural hair color, in a way. That certainly was a curious feature about her, added to her seemingly curious nature that caught his optic the most. Well, aside from her dog having glasses, but he won’t mention it for his sake.

             “No, he’s with me most o' the time.” The reply was blunt and straight to the point, but it wasn’t like he was a criminal or something. That was just how the mech normally acted, aside from avoiding introductions at the time. He lifted his hand to scratch Servo’s head with his finger, the latter meeping happily at his owner. “I s’pose he came t’ this place via portal, we have a way t’ tell our locations when we are too far from each other, hence how I came here. Thanks fer lookin’ after him before I arrived, I hope he didn’t cause any trouble.”

[muraenide]

Coral Sea Myths And Folklore Chapter 1: Ghost Stories and the Supernatural

Just some random myth that’s open to discuss in threads if the needs comes up.

The Floating Circus. Legend says that in the open waters, one would sometimes run into a ship half-floating in the water. From afar the ship looked like it was abandoned, but if one swam closer to the ship they would hear partying noises coming from inside. The story goes that there used to be a wandering trope of mer who made a living by travelling from place to place and living off anything they earned from their performance. One time, after their name had gone viral they were invited to perform for one of the biggest aristocratic group of fish in the Trench. They never made it, because their ship was massacred by a great white shark and everyone died. Now, any mer would sometimes see their ships but if one knew the myth of the floating circus none would dare to go near the ship. Because those who are curious enough to approach the Circus would find themselves lured into a trance where they watch the trope’s performance again and again for eternity.

Haunted Kelp Forests. Some Kelp Forests are deemed safe to explore, but some are off limits. Atlantica tend to keep a record of what kelp forests are alright to visit, but the Trench didn’t impose such restrictions. The story is that while dead mer dissolves into seafoam or nothing, those with a strong enough grudge or dark aura could turn into dark water spirits and continue to haunt the sea. They hate light, so most of them would take refuge in Kelp Forests that are so dark that the light could not penetrate through. Young unexpecting mer who wandered into these Kelp Forests would then be lured deeper and deeper into the forest until they were either eaten by lurking predators or ultimately become prisoners of these dark spirits and keep them company for eternity.

Cannibals. While it’s normal to be consumed by one of their own kind, it’s generally discouraged to consume family members in large amounts. By the sea king’s curse, if a mer were to incessantly consume their own (mostly) direct family members, their form would evolve from half-human, half-fish into something much more distorted and twisted as a proof of their sin. There’s no systematic pattern to how a mer would evolve if they continuously consumes their own family members. Everyone evolves differently. Some might suddenly lose a lot of weight until their bones become visible. Others might slowly lose their tail and their hands might evolve into pincers. The more they consume the uglier they become. Most of them hide from Atlantica and even civilians of the Trench, and instead seek shelter in the depths of open waters where no one ever watches over. The curse only effects those who consumes their kin in large amounts, though.

Deep-sea monsters. There are deep sea monsters even to citizens of the Trench. These sea monsters sleeps in their dens at the seabed. They seldom move from the bed, but they would consume any curious folk who wanders down to explore. They’re usually seen as the primordial beings of the sea, and could live thousands of years but they are not immortal. For my Jade, he met one of these monsters in a different headcanon who gave him the last existing recipe to make love potions. Jade was simply lucky that he wasn’t turned into a meal, but things could have turned out differently. Their smallest kind had eyes that are at least thirty times the size of an average adult merman. They are often sleeping and it would seem as if they slept for eternity, waking up only if they’re disturbed.

[merryfortune]

on escapist fantasies.

Written for Launch The Ship | @launchtheship

Title: on escapist fantasies.

Ship: not applicable | Kaiba Seto/Ootaki Shuzo

Fandom: Yu-Gi-Oh! Duel Monsters

Word Count: 2,986

Rating: M

Warning: Choose Not To Warn

Tags: Post Canon, Not Canon Compliant, Age Gap, Second Chances, Pre-Slash, Past/Referenced Child Abuse

   He was meant to be dead.

   He may as well have been dead but the meant to part stuck on the side of Shuzo’s sense of self like a talon in his side as he came to consciousness but what a consciousness it was. Everything he owned, foreclosed. Everything he was, discarded. There was hardly a dime to his name. The Kaiba Corporation had swept this little incident under the rug and there was nothing left. Just shell company after shell company dispersing what had been his and was no more.

   It might have been more merciful for him to have been dead as Shuzo explored the halls of apartments that had once been his. He felt like a ghost. But the pulse in his veins was undeniable. He was alive, he was a human being but all that seemed debatable. The most tangible that he felt was how his stomach growled. He was hungry too but there was nothing to eat, nothing to buy even a sandwich with.

   So, the best that the once grand and illustrious Ootaki Shuzo of the Kaiba Corporation’s financial council did what he did best. He meandered on to find the closest aquarium which had a penguin exhibit installed inside of it. 

   He barged past the admission but when the freshly into college ticket administrator saw him, and how dejected he was, he was left alone. With his shoulders drooping and his once proud nose pointed down, Shuzo wandered the pathing and he found his way naturally to where he wanted to go.

   Shuzo placed his hands on the railing and he stopped. He watched. He even managed to muster a smile for his beloved penguins. He breathed in deep the stench of fish and salt water but unlike most who may have a distaste for such a smell, Shuzo loved it. His heart swelled and he envied them.

   They were pure. They did not know money or greed, just hunger and fullness. They did not know that they had kin who could fly, they were content to swim in waters. They lived in beautiful ignorance that their habitats were declining and that life for them were worsening, nor that it was because of human interventions for humans were also who gave this flock their fish and their toys.

   Shuzo took a deep breath. In the back of his head, words from his now deceased parents echoed. His mother berating him for feeling such feminine feelings towards animals, such as sympathy. And his father telling him to focus on something much more practical, that he ought to pull himself up by his bootstraps. Then, such kernels of cruel advice, they resumed the perpetual fighting that he remembered them as.

   Shuzo decided that he would find a job and he did not need to look very far.

   He removed himself from the penguins and he returned to the entrance of the aquarium but they had a noticeboard and it caught his eye. It was festooned with pieces of paper on pieces of paper and freshly pinned on top was a notice for a few jobs. Mostly shit shovelling, of which Shuzo had no interest in but just before he dismissed it, he saw a position for a new accountant and he decided then and there that he had been given a second chance for a reason. So he could, perhaps, accomplish something kind with his time, rather than being another cog in the war machine.

   Shuzo applied and once his credentials were verified, he was hired on the spot with disbelief. They couldn’t believe his pedigree but if he was happy to be with their little family run-type company which travelled at a loss more often than not, then so be it. And, funnily enough, Shuzo was happy to.

   He hadn’t gone to work quite so happily in a very long time. Not since he was a lad. What followed was not opulence or a return for Shuzo, however but he was content. His earnings put a roof over his head and food on his plate. It was a huge departure from what he had known, even as a child, but he didn’t find himself complaining. No, not once. He liked working at the aquarium and the aquarium liked having him.

   His co-workers, in time, even came to describe him as pleasant. Not at first but as he came out of a decades’ tough shell, eventually, his good qualities began to bud. Shuzo couldn’t believe it either but he was doing good work. With him whipping the books, they weren’t necessarily turning a huge profit but they were doing better for the animals and even for the staff. He was appreciated, which he couldn’t believe - and not appreciated with cash bonuses or anything which would lend itself to being a later corruption, which he couldn’t believe.

   But he liked it. He liked this new, quiet existence that he had somehow found himself in. He hoped that it would continue. He didn’t know what happened to his other, previous co-workers but he hoped that they found peace all the same as him. He didn’t have to wonder regarding President Kaiba. Seto, the boy prodigy who would be king some day.

   His name was always plastered all over the news, he always seemed to be up to some odd exploit or the next with buzz about rocket ships now on the cards, literally,  but Shuzo doubted that their paths would ever cross again. It was likely better that way. Or, so he thought.

   It was just another normal day, the same as any other from the past couple years from his turning point after the Big Five Incident. So, just like any other normal and dull and ordinary and painfully middle class mundane day, Shuzo had taken his lunch break, eaten in the staff room and then made his daily journey to the penguins exhibit to watch them. As his stomach settled, he enjoyed seeing them play and fight and get into mischief. It was a far better entertainment than reading something depressing on the news or whatever the latest celebrity gossip was playing on the staff television.

   But as Shuzo stared ahead, with something of a smile on his face, no less, a movement caught his eye as he pined once more for his penguins. He had to do a double take, however, as he thought it was something inconsequential which had distracted him in his peripheries. A balloon, maybe, a woman’s dress, something ordinary and familiar to his daily ritual of watching the penguins at his no longer quite so new job but no.

   It was President Kaiba. Seto Kaiba. It had been his jacket that Shuzo had instinctively learned to detect; an instinct he thought would have long since gone cold but apparently not.

   Shuzo choked on his breath as he realised that flash of white had been his gregarious and eccentric white jacket. He held onto the railing, gawking as President Kaiba was by himself - though, presumably, his little brother wasn’t too far away, same for his security detail. And it seemed that he had noticed that there was a familiar face in the crowd as it ebbed and flowed. 

   “Fancy meeting you here.” President Kaiba smirked as he came closer. He practically swanned as he drew in to join Shuzo by his side.

   “Yeah, fancy that.” Shuzo grunted, unimpressed. “What are you doing here?”

   “I’m here to duel the queen.” President Kaiba rolled his eyes. “What do you think I'm doing here? I’m killing time whilst Mokuba has something to eat.”

   “Ah. I see. How is he?” Shuzo asked.

   “I would prefer not to say.” President Kaiba sneered and Shuzo considered that fair enough.

   He knew well that he wasn’t exactly the most trustworthy adult in President Kaiba’s life - or even vicinity. Still, there was a peculiar twinge of rejection. One which Shuzo desperately wanted to remedy so he just blurted out a seemingly random question to keep the rapport, however barbed, going: “I thought you preferred pandas?”

   “I do.” President Kaiba retorted, irritated, nose in the air.

   Of which, the air around them turned stale despite being outdoors. So much for at least attempting to keep communication going as that made it damn right up. Worse still, Shuzo felt defensive with this… this teenager around him. He didn’t know what to say, what to do and so he prickled. He thought maybe this would be it and President Kaiba would just walk off but no. He stayed. He even watched the penguins.

   His gaze was suitably icy as he watched the tiny, blue penguins flit about on the ground of their enclosure. Being their adorable little selves but President Kaiba’s expression was of contempt. He clicked his tongue and Shuzo was ready to be irate but President Kaiba’s problem was with him, not the animals.

   “So you like a jobless bum these days? Just hanging out here until you get shooed off or what?” President Kaiba asked.

   “No, actually I work here.” Shuzo said.

   “As a keeper? You don’t smell like fish.” President Kaiba’s nose screwed up.

   “No, like before. I work in finance and such. Thanks to me, this zoo’s finances are in tip-top shape and as thank you, I was allowed to give my favourite exhibit a little bit more budget for enrichment and maintenance than usual. After I earned my keep, of course. But that new mural to the far side, of their native New Zealand, all thanks to my handiwork with the books.” Shuzo said and he said it proudly. He puffed out his chest. “And before you ask, no I did not have to cook said books to get my way.”

   And that appeared to please President Kaiba. He puffed out his own chest, as though it was a competition and had a greedy look in his eye.

   “Good to know you haven’t lost your touch in the game then.” President Kaiba praised him. Surprisingly.

   “Thanks.” Shuzo grunted. 

   “I take it you like working here then? At some third rate zoo? It suits you though.” President Kaiba, predictably, followed up with insult-coated inquiries.

   “I do.” Shuzo said, more measured in voice than before. He wasn’t going to let some teenager bully him when he had pride in his work. “It's good work here. Not like before. I feel like my meaning of life is sharper here than at your shithole.”

   President Kaiba laughed raucously. He couldn’t believe it. A former employee of his, calling Kaiba Corp a shithole. He wasn’t wrong though and that just made President Kaiba laugh harder. Shuzo rolled his eyes and continued his spiel about working here.

   “There’s something more exhilarating about working for joy, for entertainment than for violence.” Shuzo said. “I feel like I’m making a positive difference, not just to myself but for others. Sure, they may only be animals but they deserve a good quality of life all the same as us. Knowing they’re happy, that makes me happy and that makes the visitors happy. It's better than mongering war, striving only for greed, furthering a cycle of violence. I’m sure you would understand, wouldn’t you, little gamer boy?”

   President Kaiba did not take kindly to being called a ‘little gamer boy’ but Shuzo did. He relished the awful glare that President Kaiba gave him. One which managed to meld into something else, a mutter.

   “Yes, I would, wouldn’t I?”

   Shuzo blinked. He felt his heart skip a beat, almost. Something more mannish than that. It was of guilt, not of anything fanciful. He exhaled with rue and looked out to the penguins which had comforted him as a boy. There were more personal matters of violence which he had continued through inaction, alongside his more calculated decisions of money to create and sell weapons, helping curate the profits of them.

   He should have been a better man. For Seto’s sake. He was so young. Too young. And he? He was old but he had been that young boy in a situation which was not conducive to growing up well. Shuzo blamed himself for being a bystander, washing his hands of responsibility even though he knew that Gozaburo was an abusive piece of shit but because Seto wasn’t his kid, Shuzo dismissed the evidence and chose not to care. He was just some orphan who should count his lucky stars, he should have been living the dream. Other excuses welled up inside of Shuzo, too, as he had this uncomfortable realisation.

   “Hm…” President Kaiba mused. “You have your penguins and I have my dragons.”

   Shuzo couldn’t believe his ears. That quiet, little hum. He could have - he was probably meant to - missed it in the hustle and bustle of the crowds. Of people coming and going, of the penguins making their calls and silly noises but he had heard it. President Kaiba was agreeing with him; he was emphasising with him. Hell should be frozen over right about now because of it, Shuzo was sure.

   “Pfft, fine, penguins are fine. Pandas are still better if you want to see an animal which is black and white but penguins are whatever.” President Kaiba brushed over his sentimentality for his own escapism. 

   Shuzo made a wry expression. It seemed that the young man had gone and had a change of heart somewhere along the lines. Either regrew one or something. Unbelievable. He had to take another look at President Kaiba, to see if he had really, truly changed and when Shuzo glanced at him, he did realise something.

   President Kaiba had grown up some more. Gotten a little taller, filled out more. That was good, that likely meant he was eating well, that pleased Shuzo though he couldn’t pinpoint why. His expression had changed somewhat, as well. He wasn’t wizened nor was he cheery but there was a colour to his cheeks. He wasn’t haggard or failing in some way, driven mad with responsibilities which should never have been his or crushed by his failures. It was respectable to Oozaki, at least, but to President Kaiba, it must not have been.

   “Why are you staring, old man?” President Kaiba growled. 

   “No reason, no reason at all.” Shuzo lied.

   He looked straight ahead to the penguins. They both did. Shoulder to shoulder. It was an odd feeling, especially since President Kaiba was so much taller than him. Always been, of course, but still. He was an indomitable presence and one which Shuzo wanted more of as he wanted to believe he had changed just as much as the young CEO. 

   There was a pregnant pause, a terse feeling and before the end of it, already Shuzo wanted another look at President Kaiba and so, he stole a glance at the young man. Shuzo felt his heart lurched in his chest. There was a twitch in his finger, one he tried to steady because he knew it was insane to yearn for affection from this twisted, younger man but they had a connection. 

   He averted his eyes and returned to the view of his beloved penguins. Something of a smile tried to tug at lips as he watched the flightless birds waddle around, dawdle and coo, fight and swim. Just living their lives in a simulation of their real environment. He knew all of these birds’ stories by heart as he cared about them deeply. Some couldn’t live in the wild because of past injuries, others this was all they knew. It was still somewhat sad to him but just as Shuzo got into the thick of abysmal and miserable reveries, something unexpected happened.

   President Kaiba touched him first.

   He smacked Shuzo’s shoulder, jolting him and causing him to turn his head. He had a reactionary glare on his face but it just delighted President Kaiba all the more. He beamed. His expression all arrogant and bratty. It should have pissed Shuzo off but it didn’t.

   “We should catch up some more some day, Shuzo.” President Kaiba said.

   Shuzo felt his eyes dilate, he was taken by surprise - again - by the President. He swallowed, “I would like that, if you would have some of such a low standing.”

   “I collect dorks these days.” President Kaiba snickered. “So, if you ever want your job back, you can have it. I’m not that attached to the current person filling that role.”

   “Well, fortunately for them, I don’t want it back.” Shuzo replied, defensive.

   “I knew you would say that.” President Kaiba said and he sounded too fond. Way too fond for the President Kaiba that Shuzo once knew but maybe that was proof, too. They had both changed. President Kaiba shrugged and sighed and carried on a treat. “I need to go find Mokuba but I enjoyed meeting you like this again.” He fished his mobile phone out of his deep jacket pockets and with just his thumb, he dialled something up and then Shuzo’s phone beeped.

   Shuzo fumbled with his phone which continued to beep incessantly to let him know he had a new text. The marimba was obnoxious but did little to help Shuzo locate it. He knew that his phone was in his back pocket but he never remembered which. President Kaiba laughed at his bluster but again, there was an endeared shine in his blue eyes. Shuzo was wary of it but when he looked at his phone’s screen, he had a new contact: President Kaiba’s latest, personal details.

   “See you around, Shuzo .” President Kaiba said and waved Shuzo off, nonchalantly.

   Shuzo watched as he carried on. No doubt planning his route to the panda exhibit with his precious younger brother in tow but Shuzo didn’t mind. He had an odd feeling in his chest. President Kaiba had changed. So had he. Maybe he could hope to learn more of this over wine, like civilised men.

[bewaretheidesofmarchyall]

Hey, i really like minecraft and used to watch mcyt's back when i was younger. I was wondering if you could maybe guide me into the dream smp series. I have no idea where to start or what people are partaking in it. It seems so active rn and you seem to be invested in the plotlines and such so i thought maybe you can help me?

Okay!

The Dream SMP: A History

Warnings for drugs, the selling of drugs, drinking, war, death, explosions, and human/fish relationships

So, once upon a time, there was a Minecraft server.

It didn't have much of a plot or drama, everyone was just kind of playing the game

Then Wilbur showed up.

An important thing to remember about this server: It’s all Wilbur’s fault, except when it’s Dream’s.

Anyway, Wilbur decided to start a Minecraft drug empire (re: potions) out of a hto dog van (I did not misspell that. It’s called the hto dog van).

But they all lived in Dream’s server (Dream is the main Ruler/God/Inconceivable Green Dude of the SMP) and under Dream’s rule. 

He interfered with their “drug” business, so Wilbur did the only logical thing: Declared independence and formed his own nation to sell more “drugs”!

The nation was called L’Manburg, but Dream wasn’t a fan of any of this

And so the Revolution began!!

Part One: The Disc Wars

The main players were Wilbur (the most theater kid of them all), Tommy (The closest thing to a shonen protagonist this thing has), Tubbo (sunshine personified, likes bees, can lie though), and Eret (fuck Eret /j) (In all seriousness, they're awesome)

It was a hard battle.

Dream had way more people. The revolutionaries were outgunned, outmanned, outnumbered, and out planned. And that was before Eret betrayed them.

Eret killed off all of their fellow revolutionaries in exchange for Dream giving them a kingdom.

All seemed lost (Tommy even tried to duel Dream despite being 16 and not the best at combat. He got killed quickly.)

Tommy hadn’t really cared about the revolution in the beginning, but at the end he gave up his most prized possessions (his music discs) to get Dream to leave them alone.

And L’Manburg was an independent nation!

Everyone celebrated in the ways they knew best

In Wilbur’s case, that was sleeping with a fish (yes. a fish. it was a salmon, if that clears anything up) named Sally and having a son: Fundy, furry extraordinaire!

Somehow the middle ground between Salmon and Human is Fox, as Fundy is an anthropomorphic fox.

He was the first person born in L’Manburg, and it seemed like there was to be peace throughout the land once more.

Take one flying guess who screwed that up.

Part Two: The Election

If you guessed Wilbur, we have a winner!

He decided that he needed to win an election to rule the country, and ran as POG 2020, or Wilbur for President.

But he wasn’t unopposed.

Enter Quackity (yes, this is the guy Trump vague tweeted), wanting power but being chill about it, as usual. He decided to throw his beanie into the political ring as Quackity 2020.

It seemed like an easy race, since Wilbur had liberated the nation and Quackity was just Some Guy at this point.

Then, Fundy and Nikki decided to run as Coconut 2020 in a third party bid for the presidency.

THEN, when Schlatt (senile old goat, the corrupt businessman archetype, often drunk) came up to the stage to endorse a candidate, he instead rambled into the mic that he was running for president too.

Like the senile old man they all thought he was.

Little did they know.

Wilbur still could have easily won this election. He was popular and everything. Then, he made a decision.

(Wilbur didn't need to do this, but like all tragic heroes and/or theater kids, he had hubris and was going to make it Everyone's Problem)

He went up to Quackity and suggested that they combine their votes. Quackity wasn't going to win either way, but this way he'd get to be vice president.

Quackity saw that it made sense, but decided that he wanted to be petty that day, and decided to combine votes with Schlatt instead.

And then the votes were counted

Team Coconut came in fourth because they cheated

Team Schlatt came in third because no one wanted the drunken, senile goat to be president

Team Quackity came in second

And Team Wilbur won in a landslide, taking 45% of the votes! 

Tommy ran out of the video to tell his mom they won. And then Wilbur revealed the deal Quackity and Schlatt struck. 

Quackity+Schlatt got 46% of the votes. Schlatt was president of L’Manburg. 

Schlatt immediately takes the podium and starts giving a dramatic speech that sounds less Senile Goat more Dangerous Dictator Goat. He orders that Team Wilbur leave the nation of L'Manburg Manburg (he renamed the country) under threat of death.

Part Three: The Festival

Team Wilbur became Pogtopia, Schlatt and crew became Manburg, and L'Manburg became a nostalgic dream.

The Pogtopians hope to reclaim their nation, and get this absolute madman on their team.

The dude spent a year just farming potatoes to beat someone in a contest. He regularly quotes The Art Of War. He's a die-hard anarchist.

Behold: Technoblade.

So Manburg is a dictatorship at this point in the tale, and Pogtopia is trying its best. 

They have Technoblade, Tommy, Wilbur, probably someone I'm forgetting, and Tubbo. 

Tubbo is their spy on the inside (so is Fundy, but he hasn't even told Pogtopia he's spying for them, so he's regarded as a traitor)

Then the Festival rolls around

Wilbur has been spiraling, and having a little corruption arc because of course the theater kid decides to kin Hamlet (or is it Macbeth in this situation?) 

A day before the festival, he reveals that he's planning on blowing up L'Manburg, because if he can't have it no one can.

The festival comes around, and surprise! Tubbo is publicly executed in front of a crowd!

Schlatt figured out he was a traitor, so he ordered that Techno execute him.

Techno did, but because he was peer pressured. 

Then Techno killed pretty much everyone at the festival with fireworks!

Wilbur tried to blow up the place, but lost the button to detonate the TNT (Side note: The TNT was given to him by Dream. Because of course.)

Part Four: The Revolution 2 (Electric Boogaloo)

By the time the true war for L’Manburg rolls around, next to no one is on Schlatt’s side.

Quackity betrays him, Fundy betrays him, even Eret is back on the side of Pogtopia.

The war went by fast, and Schlatt was surrounded by former allies and enemies alike.

Schlatt had a heart attack before anyone could actually kill him, and died as pathetically as he’d lived. Anti-climactic, but everyone was happy.

Wilbur declared Tommy, our protagonist, president.

Tommy declined the presidency, saying that he needed to search for his discs first. He declared Wilbur president of L’Manburg once more.

Wilbur declined the presidency and declared Tubbo president

Tubbo accepted and gave a lovely speech

And then it all goes to shit. "Surely not all of it?" Yeah. All of it.

Wilbur (yes. it was wilbur.) explodes L’Manburg, finally pressing the button to destroy his nation despite his dad trying to stop him.

His own father, Philza, kills him

Stabs the Wilbur

Everyone panicks

And that's when Techno decided it was Chaos Time.

He stands on the ashes of L'Manburg, and said that no government will be allowed to rise in the entire SMP. Tommy objects, and Techno gives this speech:

do you think you’re a hero, tommy?

the thing about this world tommy, is that good things don’t happen to heroes. let me tell you a story, tommy. a story about a man called theseus. his country—well his city-state technically—was in danger. and he sent himself forward into enemy lines. he slayed the minotaur and saved his city.

and you know what they did to him, tommy?

they exiled him. he died in disgrace, despised by his people. that’s what happens to heroes, tommy. the greeks knew the score. but if you want to be a hero, tommy. that’s fine.

do you want to be a hero tommy?

THEN DIE LIKE ONE.

And then he spawns two withers (one of which is named Subscribe To Technoblade) and all hell breaks loose.

Part Five: The Aftermath (aka Where Are They Now?)

Since then, Tubbo has been trying to rebuild L’Manburg. It’s a canal town now, and it looks lovely. He’s a good President.

Tommy isn’t the best Vice President, but once he stops banning people from the country he should be good.

Nikki has left the fox Wilbur gave her in Pogtopia.

Speaking of abandoned foxes, Fundy’s dealing with the death/betrayal of his dad, as well as not getting on that well with the others. He’s also engaged to Dream.

Yes, you read that right. Dream and Fundy are getting married. Fundy met their eldritch overlord on what was pretty much a blind date, and they just clicked.

Eret is adopting Fundy! She has no kingdom any more, but she’s recovered some honor and now has a son.

Philza is dealing with the fact that he killed his son, and may try to resurrect him.

Schlatt is still dead (but is he really gone?)

Quackity is....doing some worrisome things, getting vague tweeted at by Trump, ate Schlatt’s heart, and might be possessed by him??

Technoblade is still doing his own thing, I think

And Wilbur? Wilbur is an amnesiac ghost, blocking out the memories of when he was hurt or a bad person.

There’s way more to say on the subject of the Dream SMP, but this is the basics! Hope this helped!

[hlcreators]

AUTHOR REC: mediawhore / @mediawhorefics 

Be sure to show some love and leave kudos and a comment!

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[takerfoxx]

Blood Island, Chapter 5

A gift given freely is not free. Only pay the price you know in advance.

Nuriel left the basket where it lay on the steps. Morning had brought both hunger and thirst in great quantities, but she was not so desperate as to trust the red-eyed monster’s benevolence.

She wasn’t exactly sure what she was expecting from the deck of the ship, but she was surprised by how little she found. At a cursory glance one might be forgiven for not realizing that a war had taken place at all. Here and there she found a dark feather stuck in the timbers or a dark stain of blood, but there were no mangled corpses, no shattered bones or shredded organs. Nuriel made her way to the rail and peeked over. Even the sand looked like it had been cleaned and swept.

Interesting.

Holding her aching stomach with one hand, Nuriel then turned her attention to the place that had started the whole mess. The captain’s quarters were no longer shut tight like she had left them. Rather, one door was lying ajar.

Nuriel considered leaving it like that. The last time she had poked around that place had proven to be a very bad idea. For all she knew a straggler of that flesh-hungry flock had taken up shelter in there.

But then, just leaving it there could be just as dangerous. Besides, given what a thorough job those snarling creatures had done chasing them off, she truly doubted any were left.

With a sigh, she limped her way over.

The musky scent of the bird’s nest hit her before she even reached the door. Nuriel wrinkled her nose and frowned. Yes, the stench was still there, but not nearly as bad as it had been the other day. In fact, it smelled much weaker. Huh.

Nuriel edged the loose door open with her foot and peeked inside. A moment later she opened it all the way.

The nest was gone. She hadn’t really gotten much of a good look at it the day before due to having all of her attention taken up by a face full of awful, but she did remember a disgusting mess of twigs, bones, and broken furniture, all of it streaked with droppings.

But now it was all gone. The mess had been cleared out, the destroyed furniture removed, and even the droppings had been cleared away, leaving a wide open space. It wasn’t exactly homey, but it wasn’t a nightmare either.

So, during what fitful moments of sleep she had managed to capture, her supposed “friend” had not only snuck a breakfast into the hold for her to find, but also thoroughly cleaned the place up, removing all trace that the birds had ever been there at all.

That scared her even more than the thought of sharing the island with a host of monsters.

All of the other monsters she had encountered were just monsters of the normal kind. They were dangerous and pitiless and hungry and spiteful, but in the end they were just animals, and if she managed to learn their habits then she could probably coexist quite peacefully with them, assuming that she didn’t upset anything like those birds again. But the red-eyed monster was completely different. It was intelligent. It had thoughts and feelings like a person. It had somehow wiped out an entire flock of flesh-eaters in a matter of minutes and cleaned up the evidence. It was leaving her notes. It was leaving her gifts. There was someone else on the island, and they knew that she was there. They had fixated on her.

There was nothing in the world more dangerous than the attention of another person.

Indifference was safe. To be ignored was to be given a chance. But to have a being of power pay attention to her was the worst possible scenario, especially when it was someone that she didn’t know anything about. Were they even a person at all? It was clear that they were probably something more than human.

Nuriel had never had much to do with the unseen world beyond her own. Oh, she was certain that it existed in one form or another, but so long as it was content to ignore her then she was going to extend the same courtesy. And if God was how the priests and reverends described him, then she was quite certain that he was more occupied with the comings and goings of kings, popes, and heroes to pay much attention to a lonesome girl scraping a living at the bottom of the barrel.

But that strategy was predicated on mutual disinterest. If there were gods, devils, ghosts, angels, fairies, and the rest of their otherworldly kin out there, then she was going to respect their privacy and stay out of their way.

But now she had attracted the attention of this one.

This wasn’t good.

…

Nuriel threw the whole basket of fruit over the side of the ship.

It was a rash decision, but she wasn’t going to accept the gift of some unknown devil. After all, wasn’t that what all the stories warned of, about not taking gifts of food from fairies, spirits, and other principalities? Just taking a single bite could cost Nuriel her soul!

However, as she stood panting at the port staring down at where all the fruit lay in the sand below, Nuriel came to realize two unfortunate drawbacks from her hastiness.

First, the monster would likely return, and it would see how its gift had been rejected.

Second, she was still famished. She had eaten nothing other than a few coconuts and those fruits taken from the monkeys, and in that time she had done a great deal of walking, running, and being terrified for her life. If she didn’t get something to eat soon, then it wouldn’t matter if she angered the red-eyed monster or not.

Nuriel closed her eyes and mentally counted down from ten. Then she did it again. She couldn’t afford to panic. Now was her most dangerous hour, and what she did next could save or damn her. She needed a plan.

Nuriel looked over to the captain’s quarters again. She hadn’t taken more than a cursory glance before, just enough to confirm that it had been cleaned out. Maybe something had been left behind, something she could use.

Keeping the doors wide open, Nuriel went back inside. The furniture was all gone, though given the sort of condition it had been in, that was probably for the best. The bunk was still set in the wall, sans mattress. And the windows were all smashed in, no doubt by the birds themselves to allow for access, which pretty much eliminated the room as a viable place for her to live unless she managed to find a way to board them up.

Regardless, there didn’t seem to be anything of value left. Seeing how she had yet to see any corpses, the surviving members of the crew had probably already taken everything that would be of use and abandoned the ship, probably only to meet some other fate deeper inland.

Or maybe they were still out there. Maybe she wasn’t alone on the island after all.

Nuriel wasn’t sure how she felt about that. After all, having actual grown men about would increase her chances of survival, sure, but that was presuming that they took her in no questions asked. Plus, a bunch of sailors marooned on a deadly island would no doubt be quick to find use for a young girl that had suddenly shown up in their midst, use that wasn’t all that preferable to what the monsters would do to her.

As the thought sent shivers down her spine, Nuriel found herself hoping that they were dead.

Of course, it was still possible that this was the red-eyed monster’s ship. Maybe after it had been run aground, it had found no further use for the crew and ate them. Now that was a cheery thought.

Sighing, Nuriel turned toward the door.

Then she paused. There was something there, something she had missed during her cursory scan.

It was a small wayfarer’s chest, only a foot in length and a third of that in height. It was old, its edges cracked and faded and metal bolts black with corrosion. But it was on one piece.

Nuriel swallowed. Another “gift,” one that required her to manually open it to see what was inside. Anything could pop out at her, like a serpent or some kind of explosive. She carefully cracked the lid open and looked inside.

Then the breath caught in her throat.

It was a sailor’s chest, filled with any number of useful tools. There was a small bronze spyglass, a compass, a large hunting knife, a small mallet, several spools of flax thread, a ticking pocket watch, and a small glass flask filled with something orange.

This was a far greater gift than the fruit had been. In here was just about everything she needed to survive.

But should she take it? She wasn’t sure. The fruit was one thing. Everyone agreed that food offered by otherworldly beings was not to be touched. This, however, was clearly of all human make, and had probably been left in the ship by the crew. More than likely her red-eyed friend had simply left it for her to find when it had cleared out the captain’s quarters. That ought to be all right, wouldn’t it?

Nuriel bit her lip. Her hands were shaking. Yes. Yes, this at least she should make use of. She would be foolish not to. After all, they were merely tools. And her soul would do her no good if she were dead.

That decided, Nuriel pillaged the chest.

…

The lagoon was unoccupied, save for the local herons wading around in the shallows. They stared at Nuriel as she stumbled over but didn’t retreat. That was fine. So long as they didn’t follow their nastier cousins’ example and start stabbing at her with those big, long beaks of theirs, then they were going to get along just fine.

As Nuriel stepped into the water, she noticed several quick movements beneath the surface. Fish. There was fish in the lagoon. That was what drew the herons. Now, there was a useful bit of information. Man did not live on fruit alone, or however the phrase went.

But that was something to be left for later. Nuriel headed for the falls, cupped her hands, thrust them beneath the curtain, and drank.

She was so thirsty that she expected to just drink and drink until her stomach burst at the seams, but the moment her throat was wetted, nausea twisted up from within her, doubling her over as she heaved.

There was little in her stomach to hurl back out, but by God it was going to try anyway, so Nuriel could do little more than remain bent over, her head partially in the waterfall’s spray, heaving nothing into the lagoon. She kept going and going until something spicy and disgusting came up. She spat it out and finally managed to straighten up.

The waterfall was splashing over her shoulder, splattering her face and soaking her hair. That was good. It hid the mess her face was. She sniffled, stepped out from the falls, and wiped away her blotchy eyes and stuffy nose.

Then she noticed the herons standing around, staring at her. Nuriel scowled at them. The hell were they looking at?

At least the sick feeling had left her. Sighing, Nuriel held her hands out and tried again.

Once her thirst had been quenched, she waded out from the lagoon and sat down on a rock in the shade of the willow trees.

Well, she had fresh water at least, and she had cleaned up a little. But she still needed food, oh she needed food. Hunger gnawed at her stomach, an ever-growing hole that demanded to be filled.

She…she could still go back and gather the fruits she had thrown out. They probably were safe, and it would do her no good to let them go to waste just to make a point.

No! That was how they got you! She had to remain strong! Besides, the island was probably full of food. She just needed to go find it.

As Nuriel sat there musing, she heard something chirp.

It sounded like a bird…and yet it didn’t. There was a bit of a growl to it, like the squeak of a rat. And it was near.

Nuriel leapt to her feet, only to instantly regret it when the cuts in her stomach flared up. Wincing, she pushed the pain away and looked.

There was a…thing nearby. It was about the size of a turkey but it looked more like a lizard, standing on two long, skinny legs in the sand, with a stiff tail that stuck of its back and two tiny arms clutched tight to its chest. Its neck was long and curving, and its head small and elongated, with tiny sharp teeth protruding from its grey snout. That being said, its body wasn’t scaly like most of the monsters she had seen, but was covered with a thin coat of fuzzy down of grey striped with black, with a red crest around the head.

The chirper seemed to be part lizard and part bird, combining aspects of both the lizardlike animals she had seen and the vicious birds that had attacked her. And Nuriel, who now deeply mistrusted anything with feathers, didn’t care for it at all.

The chirper gazed up at her, its large, yellow eyes wide and curious. It chirped again and hopped forward, its tiny claws kicking up sand.

Nuriel picked up a rock and threw it.

The chirper immediately scampered away, but stopped once it was out of throwing range. It turned to stare at her again.

What’s it thinking? Nuriel wondered. Was it simply curious about this strange, fleshy new animal? Or was it wondering if she was good to eat?

Nuriel didn’t feel like waiting to find out.

She charged, yelling and waving her hands about like a madwoman.

This finally seemed to convince the bird/lizard that the odd pink stranger wasn’t worth investigating, and it ran off.

Nuriel warily eyed it as it fled across the beach. She wouldn’t feel comfortable until it had left completely, and even then she didn’t trust it to not start shadowing her steps, waiting for the opportunity to dart it and see how she tasted.

Then, to her horror, she heard another chirp, one that hadn’t come from the chirper. This was followed by another, and then another, and then another.

A whole flock of the things came running across the beach to greet their comrade. Nuriel hastily bolted behind a large tree, silently praying that the one she had driven off wouldn’t inform the others that something soft and potentially tasty was mucking about.

Trembling, she peeked out. There had to be at least twenty of the little squeaking things. Maybe even thirty. Forty? It was hard to tell, more kept running out of the shadows. They were all gathered in a loose circle, chittering and squeaking at one another, some of them bouncing up and down while others frantically bobbed their heads. They were clearly communicating…something.

And that something was probably news of an easy meal, a strange, hairless monkey with soft pink skin.

Nuriel slid St. George from his sheath.

However, the chirpers didn’t look toward her. Rather, they were moving away from Nuriel’s hiding spot, back toward the Carmilla’s Fancy. Well, good! Let them! If they wanted the boat, they were more than welcome to it! Let them deal with the red-eyed monster!

Run. Now. While they’re distracted.

It would be the smart thing. Nothing was ever gained by following potential danger, only from moving away from it. She had gotten a lucky break. She would be a fool to waste it.

Forget it, girl, Father’s husky voice growled. Let it be.

Nodding, Nuriel stood up and started to move away from the boat. She could find some other means of shelter.

Then she stopped. She stopped and looked back over her shoulder, to where the chirpers were excitedly rushing after…something.

Something that she kind of wanted to know about.

Damn your curiosity, girl! It’ll get you killed!

True, true. But still…

Don’t do it, Nuriel. Just go.

Nuriel did not go. In fact she found herself turning back around. From she started moving the opposite direction that she ought to be going, back towards the boat, back to see what the chirpers were up to.

Suit yourself, girl. But don’t come crying to me when you show up here in Hell.

Nuriel followed the tiny, birdlike tracks in the sand and the sound of the chirps. It didn’t take long to catch up to the flock. The chirpers had all gathered beneath the Carmilla’s Fancy and were fast at work.

However, as she drew near Nuriel came to realize that they had no interest in the ship itself. Rather, the reason for their excitement was what lay below, in the sand.

The basket of fruit Nuriel had hurled over the side was still there, and the chirpers were busy dislodging all the fruit from the depressions they had made in the sand. Once they had gotten all the pieces loose, they pushed against them with their long hands, rolling them across the beach. Each piece of fruit had anywhere from three to six chirpers working together to move them along.

Well now. That was…strange.

Nuriel started to relax a little. Maybe the chirpers were fruit eaters? If so, then she had nothing to worry about.

Maybe.

Still, why were they pushing the fruit along instead of cutting them open and eating them where they found them? Maybe they had a nest nearby, with little baby chirpers to feed?

Now even more curious, Nuriel continued to follow the flock, maintaining a healthy distance while keeping them in sight. They led on a winding path of sand, one that wound between several hills that looked to be a high tide away from becoming islands, until they were moving around the cliffs.

As they rounded a corner, Nuriel came into another bit of good luck. The cliffs opened into a large grassy alcove, one that contained several gnarled trees that bore the same lumpy red fruit that the red-eyed monster had included in her fruit basket.

Nuriel almost wept with joy. A reliable food source, one that wasn’t guarded by territorial monkeys! All right, maybe she wasn’t doomed after all.

Unfortunately, there were other creatures about. She saw several other chirpers emerge from the grass, all of them pushing more of the red fruits along.

Hmmm, that could be a problem. If they fed on fruit, then they might object to her taking a few pieces for herself. Still, seeing how they weren’t sticking around to feast, it could be that they just visited the grove to grab a few choice pieces and bring them back to their nest. Maybe she could snatch a few bits when they were done.

The new fruit-pushing chirpers joined the ones she had been following, and they continue on, a bizarre procession of bird/lizard creatures, just rolling large pieces of fruit across a beach. If her life wasn’t still in mortal danger Nuriel might have found the sight hilarious.

The fruit grove was a lucky find, but Nuriel continued to shadow the flock. Maybe if she found out where the nest was, she could make sure to avoid it.

The flock rounded another corner of the cliff, and suddenly Nuriel found herself looking at a slope, one that led all the way back to the top.

And the chirpers continued on, now pushing the fruit up the slope.

Well. Damn. The cliff wasn’t nearly as high around here, and the slope wasn’t exactly all that steep, but the chirpers were still very small, and some of the fruits were larger than they were. Still they endeavored on, taking it slow and working together to get all the pieces up the slope. It was the damnedest thing Nuriel had ever seen, and there were now a lot of competition for that title.

As the chirpers finally neared the top, Nuriel caught sight of a tree with many low-hanging branches at the top of the cliffs, near the edge that overlooked the sea. She hurried over to the rough wall on the side of the slope and climbed up.

Here, the top of the cliff was covered with what looked like a divided field, one made up of two kinds of grass. One was shorter and greener, while the other was tall, dry, and yellow. The shorter green grass took up about two thirds of the field, while the tall yellow grass held the rest, pressing up against the jungle about half a mile off.

Nuriel hurried over to the tree and climbed up about a third of the length. Pulling out her new spyglass, she took a gander at her surroundings.

There was a herd of animals in the green part of the field, great, humped beasts with greenish-yellow skin and long faces with humped noses. They were big, easily over three times the size of a fully grown horse. Yet they didn’t seem to be aggressive. They were lowing about, lazily grazing. A pair of calves bounded around the adults, hoarsely crying out and chasing each other around. Each one was large enough to Nuriel to ride on.

As for the chirpers, they were almost swallowed up even by the shorter grass, though Nuriel could still track their movements by where the fruit rustled as they were pushed forward. Nuriel watched as the chirpers continued to move their bounty forward, heading toward the tall grass.

And then, right at the edge where the two grasses met, they just…stopped.

The fruit was all pushed together into a pile, one that rose up over the top of the grass. It looked almost like an offering.

The chirpers swarmed over the fruit, and for a moment Nuriel thought that they were finally going to feast. But no, none of them actually bit into the fruit. Instead they scratched at them with the tiny claws on their hands and feet, making them bleed. Red, yellow, green, and clear juice dribbled down the sides of the pile.

And then the chirpers simply vanished, darting away from the pile of wounded fruit to disappear into the grass.

Nuriel still had no idea what was going on, but now she was fascinated. Something was definitely up, and she had to know what it was.

Keeping absolutely still, Nuriel remained sitting in the crux of the tree’s branches, keeping an eye on the pile of fruit. It was then that she noticed that the herd of grazing animals were keeping a healthy distance between themselves and the tall yellow grass.

Except two.

The two calves were heading over to the pile of fruit, no doubt following the smell of the juice. The adults hadn’t noticed that their young had wandered off, and continued their contented grazing.

Nuriel felt a chill sweep down her spine. She was starting to put things together in her head. The pile of fruit wasn’t intended to feed the chirpers’ young, nor was it an offering.

It was bait.

The calves had reached the pile. They nudged the fruit with their snouts, their fat, red tongues coming out to lick the juice. One of them took an investigative bite. Finding it good, they began to eat.

Nuriel climbed a little higher to get a better look. Something was happening. She couldn’t see anything in the tall yellow grass, but she was certain that there was something in it.

Then she saw it. Movement. The tall yellow grass was swaying back and forth. Could it be the wind? No. There was only a gentle breeze, and it was blowing in from the coast, and the tall yellow grass wasn’t bending with it.

Heedless of their peril, the two calves continued to feast.

Suddenly one of the adult beasts lowed loudly in alarm. One of the calves raised its head to blink stupidly at its herd.

Another one of the beasts bellowed, and three of them broke off from the rest of the herd, rushing over to the calves, who continued to just stare at them. But Nuriel wasn’t focused on them. She was watching the tall yellow grass.

Despite this, when the attack came, it came so suddenly that Nuriel almost dropped out of the tree in surprise.

A high-pitched shriek filled the air. The calves leapt in response, but it was too late. Something hit them, something that was the same dry yellow as the tall grass.

Nuriel watched in morbid fascination as the predators swarmed over the two poor calves. It was hard to figure out how many of them there were, or what they even looked like, but they weren’t chirpers, that much was for certain. They darted in and out, striking again and again, until the calves’ greenish-yellow skin became streaked with red, their hides bleeding as readily as the fruit had.

The charging adults came to a stop. The calves screamed for help, but their parents didn’t answer. They could already tell that it was too late.

One of the calves tried to push itself out of the attack only to succumb to its wounds. With one final scream it collapsed. As it did, one of the predators climbed onto its back, and Nuriel was finally able to get a good look.

It was yet another bird monster, though this one had more in common with the chirpers than it did with the actual birds that had attacked her the previous night: same bullet-shaped body, same stiff tail, same S-curved neck, same nimble claws instead of wings, and same long head ending in a toothy alligator snout rather than a beak. However, it was much, much bigger, standing nearly the same height as a fully grown man, and longer than two horses from snout to the tip of its tail. And proportion-wise, it was much thicker than the chirpers: more heavily muscled legs, longer claws, bigger neck, and bigger head. Its body was covered in a short coat of pale yellow feathers with black stripes, and though she couldn’t really make out its eyes even with the spyglass, they seemed to have a distinctly golden hue.

But there was something else special about it, something she could just barely make out. Nuriel focused the spyglass on the creature’s feet, which were digging into the fallen calf’s back. They also bent forward like a chicken’s, though obvious were much more densely muscled. But while the tips of the toes ended in sharp, dragonlike claws as expected, each foot had a special claw on the middle toe, one that was much larger than the others, curving up like a scythe.

As Nuriel watched, the creature leaned forward to grip with its hands, and it began scraping its feet across the calf’s back, its scythe-claws slicing through the hide like a butcher’s knife.

Nuriel swallowed. Butchers. Yes, that was a good name for it.

Both of the calves had mercifully expired, and the butchers set to work, methodically slicing off chunks of meat and gulping them down. Now that the killing had ended and the feeding began, Nuriel was able to get a better count of the things. There seemed to be around six…no, eight. There was eight. Five of them were about the same size as the one she had seen perched on the calf’s back, but three others were much smaller, probably young juveniles.

Despite the savagery of the kill, there did seem to be an odd orderliness about how they fed. The adults went first, slicing off great bloody chunks and gulping them down. But before the carcasses were even done, they moved back, allowing the juveniles to move in. They weren’t as precise as the adults with their slicing, but they made up for it with enthusiasm. Somehow two of them ended up with their jaws clamped down on either side of the same strip of meat, and rather than let go, they began to fight over it, tugging back fiercely while trying to jerk it free. Irritated, one of the adults walked over and swatted one of the fighting juveniles, making it release its end.

Further down the field, the adult grass-eaters looked on as their young were devoured. Then they slowly turned to walk back to the herd, writing the two calves off for their foolishness.

The butchers fed well but fed quickly, filling their bellies. When it seemed as if they had all eaten their fill, three of the adults moved forward. It was then that Nuriel noted that these three were different from the others, in that each of their snouts had a bright red dot on the end, and the pattern of black stripes was more wavy. They each cut off several slices of meat and lifted them with their mouths, but they didn’t eat them. Their prizes now carefully held, the whole pack left, disappearing quickly into the tall yellow grass, leaving the bloody carcasses behind.

When they were gone, the chirpers reappeared.

They seemed to come out of nowhere, swarming over the bloody bones, feasting on what bits of flesh that the butchers had left behind. As they did, Nuriel came to understand the full significance of what she had just seen.

Even with their numbers, the chirpers were obviously too small and weak to take down one of the larger animals. But somewhere and somehow, they had learned to get around that, to use the fruit to lure dumber animals away from the herd and nearer to the butchers’ hunting grounds, and in return the butchers would leave them the scraps. How such a relationship had formed, and how the chirpers had even learned to do such a thing, Nuriel couldn’t begin to guess, but she applauded the tiny creatures for their ingenuity.

As for herself, Nuriel’s own curiosity had taught her two very important things. First, the location of a fruit grove, one where she could harvest food on her own.

The second was even more important: stay well away from long grass.

At any rate, Nuriel had seen enough, and with the chirpers busy with their own feast, the grove was unattended. She quietly slipped down from the branches of the tree and headed back down the slope. As she ran, an idea was starting to form in her head, an idea given to her by the chirpers. They were tiny, defenseless creatures in a world of monsters several times their height, and yet they had learned to use what they had available to gain an advantage with no risk to themselves.

Maybe she could do the same.

…

The sun was finally setting. Nuriel had survived another day.

And not only had she survived, she now had a mission. She was going to catch her “friend” in the act.

She was positioned on top of a small, sheer-sided hill that sat upon one of the many tiny islands that dotted the main island’s outskirts. The top of the hill was covered with thick grass, and she was lying on her side, watching the Carmilla’s Fancy through her new spyglass.

It wasn’t exactly comfortable. Her belly was still healing, and lying flat upon it hurt too much, hence why she was on her side instead, which still ached whenever she shifted her weight. Thankfully the night was warm and the sky clear. If it were to start raining again then she might as well just throw herself into the possession of the red-eyed monster.

The Carmilla’s Fancy sat empty and abandoned. Nuriel had no idea how long it would take for the red-eyed monster to return, but she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that it would be back. She just had to remain alert and be ready when it arrived.

Nuriel checked the clifftops. She caught sight of a couple of those dome-headed assholes knocking their heads together like territorial mountain goats, but not much else. Presumably most of the monsters lived further in.

The night insects had already started to sing. Good. If they stopped, it was a sure indicator that her visitor had arrived.

Then, somewhere far off but not far off enough for her comfort, the Dragon roared.

Nuriel winced. Of all of the island’s mysteries, that was one that she hoped to never uncover. Let it reign over its realm however it saw fit. She was content to stay on the outskirts, well away from its jaws.

It was getting darker, but the sun had not fully set. Nuriel shifted her weight, carefully scratched her stomach in between the cuts, and settled herself down.

Time passed. The sun dipped lower.

Nuriel yawned. Damn it. Her sleep the previous night had been anything but complete, and now that she was lying still on soft grass, it was really catching up to her.

She shook her head. No, she couldn’t afford to doze off. She needed to stay awake and aware.

But the night was so warm, and the grass so soft…

Blinking, she reached up and gave her ravaged ear a squeeze.

The sharp pain surged through her, chasing away any thought of sleep. She winced, but hey, it had done the trick.

Then the insects stopped singing.

Nuriel held her breath. She looked this way and that, and then hurriedly snapped her spyglass back into focus.

The deck of the Carmilla’s Fancy was still empty.

Nuriel licked her dry lips. Come on, where was it? It was near. She could practically feel it. Every hair on her body was on edge, her skin prickled with goosebumps despite the warmth of the night.

She checked the cliffs in hopes of seeing it climb down. No, nothing. The only thing moving were the leaves of whatever plants were tough enough to take root in the crevices along the stone wall.

The beaches were also empty. There was…wait! Something was moving, something big was striding across the sands near the lagoon and…no, wait, damn it. It was just a heron.

Nuriel’s face twisted up with frustration. Where the hell was it? It had to be close. It was the right place, the right time of night, the right everything! Wasn’t it at least curious to see if she had left a note in return?

Then, as she swept her gaze over the brig’s deck for what felt like the hundredth time, she heard a feminine sigh of exasperation, coming from directly behind her.

Nuriel gasped and spun around. This proved to be a poor decision, as the sudden movement sent lances of pain across her stomach, causing her to double over. She pushed it from her mind and forced herself to look.

There was nothing there.

The sound of Nuriel’s heartbeat pounded away loudly in her ears. She had heard it, hadn’t she? She was sure of it! It had been right behind her?

But now there was nothing there at all.

As Nuriel surveyed the beach, she then heard what sounded very much like a young girl’s giggle, coming from somewhere close by.

Nuriel came very close to pissing her own trousers.

Where was it? It was near, It had to be! It was near, and…

…it knew where she was.

Nuriel suddenly felt very exposed. Not that the Santa Camarilla would have provided much in the way of shelter should the red-eyed monster decide to come for her, but it had to be better than where she was!

Nuriel slowly sat up straight and listened. The insects still weren’t singing, nor were there any animals calling out. It was still there.

Somewhere.

Lifting her spyglass back to her eye, she frantically searched the shadows, looking for any glint of red.

Then her spyglass slipped through her fingers as she clapped both hands over her mouth to keep from crying out.

There was someone standing on the deck of the ship.

It was again too dark for her to make out any features, but there was undoubtedly a woman there, over by the remains of the mast. Nuriel snatched up her spyglass, but her fingers were shaking so badly that it fumbled in her grasp and fell back into the grass. Mentally cursing, she grabbed it with both hands and brought it up to her eye.

The deck was empty again. There was no one there.

Nuriel let out a moan of despair. No, no, no, no! It had been right there! She had been looking right at it! Where did it go?

It knew you were there. You only saw it because it let you.

As Nuriel frantically searched every square foot of her surroundings, she felt her gut twist and sour. Despite all of her careful preparations, she had been found out, and easily at that.

She ought to run. She ought to run…where? She was exposed, out in the open, and if it wanted to run her down it could do so effortlessly. Hell, it probably had been standing right behind her! That was that sigh and laugh were all about. It had found her quite easily and thought that her attempts to expose it were amusing! And it somehow then crossed the distance between the hill and the ship in mere seconds just so she could see it!

Even if she did run, where would she go? If she went too far, she risked running into the various night predators that roamed the island. The birds could find her again. Maybe even ghosts. After everything that had happened, she would not be surprised to find that the island truly was haunted! Hell, the red-eyed monster probably was some kind of dead, maybe the soul of one of the long-dead natives, or perhaps someone from the Santa Camarilla. That would explain why it was hanging around the ship!

Tears welled up in her eyes. Sniffing, she wiped them away with the back of her wrist. She hated feeling trapped. Being all alone on an island of monsters was one thing, but being trapped was so much worse. She would have rather that she had drowned.

You’re alive, reprimanded the memory of Papa’s voice.

Yes, but-

So stop your whimpering. You’re in trouble, but you’re alive. Every problem has a solution. Figure this one out.

Nodding, she let out a long, shaky breath. Papa was right. Nothing good would come from sitting around crying. Even if she couldn’t flee, she still had to act. She had to do something!

Unfortunately, the only real something was to return to the ship.

But she couldn’t! The red-eyed monster might still be there! It could be waiting for her!

Then, as Nuriel sat torn between possibly walking right into the devil’s lair and complete inaction, the night came back to life.

The insects began to sing again, filling the silence with their song. One of the domeheads showed up on the top of the cliff and started chuffing and grunting as it clawed at the ground for some reason. Night birds called to each other from across the jungle.

Nuriel slowly breathed out. That was as good an indication as any that the red-eyed monster was gone. Not a perfect one, true, but it was as good as she was going to get.

One hand holding onto her spyglass and the other clutching Saint George, Nuriel stood up.

…

If sitting alone on the top of that grassy hill had left Nuriel feeling exposed, then climbing back onto the deck of the Carmilla’s Fancy left her feeling outright naked. Already she had been attacked by that fucking bird, besieged by its friends, and had been visited by ghostly apparition that could apparently cross great distances within the blink of an eye and silence the night with its mere presence.

She pulled herself up from the branch onto the ship, only to wince in regret when it sent a flash of pain across the cuts in her stomach. She shook her head to clear it and tried again, this time more carefully.

The deck just seemed so much unsettling at night. The sky was clear, so there was plenty of moonlight shining down, but that just made the shadows from the masts reach longer. It reminded her of monoliths in a cemetery, monuments to the dead.

Nuriel glanced around. Well, nothing was jumping out at her, which was a welcome change. Still, she kept her steps light as she crossed the deck to inspect the place.

She didn’t have to look long.

Another basket of fruit was waiting for her; the same basket in fact, recovered from where she had thrown it. And from the look of things it had been filled with the same kind of fruit as before, and in the same quantities.

What was more, there was a note lying on top of it.

Nuriel was shaking as she picked it up and held it to the moonlight.

Nice try! it read in the same elegant hand as before. Next to it was a drawing of a girl’s face, one with long dark hair. One eye was winking and her tongue was playfully sticking out of one side of her mouth.

Below it in one corner of the paper was a rough sketch of a boat sitting in a bunch of tree limbs. Across from it in the other corner was a hump, on which a figure was lying on its side, pointing a spyglass at the boat.

The sketches were rough and obviously done quickly, but the fact remained that they had been done, while she had been watching the ship and entirely without her knowledge! The red-eyed monster had taken note of her spying, written out an amusing response complete with illustrations, retrieved the basket where it lay, filled it with fruit, and put both the basket and the note in place, all with her only catching the quickest of glances of it, and that had probably been intentional!

She had no chance of winning against such a foe. This wasn’t like the monkeys or the monsters that inhabited the island, which when all was said and done they were still only animals. This was a demon. Monsters she could handle, but what could one do against a demon?

Sweet Christ, what was she going to do?

[tavs-kin-korner]

hello! would i be able to request neutral/masc names for yuma from gone fishing - ghost and pals? (hes the guy with the white hair) ty in advance!!

hERE YOU GO! }:D

Aleyn - Meaning "A fisher king"

Fisher - Meaning "Fisherman"

Fysk(e) - Meaning "Fish"

Abyaz - Meaning "White" or "Pure"

Gavin - Meaning "White hawk"

hOPE YOU LIKE THEM! }:)

V

[Here you go!]

[Hope you like them!]

[minvaleria93]

DAECHWITA • chapter 1

Summery: The king leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees as he watched the scene before him with a small smile dancing in the corner of his mouth.

"Know your place, girl" the royal advisor gritted his teeth. "You are standing before your kin-"

She spat in his eyes.

The royal advisor's jaw hung open and his eyes squinted shut. He whipped his eyes. "Why you -"

"Release her." The command was cool and strong like steel, dangerously calm, effortlessly powerful and everyone turned their heads, but Isabel who locked her eyes on the royal advisor. 

Pairing: Yoongi x reader

Genre: romance

Words counted: 3224

The village had a smell. It first smacked you in the face when walking through the entrance of the first market. That old familiar scent which was a mix of a shirt from a vintage clothing store and spices. 

Further into the village, people were everywhere, and walking in opposite directions, some had items wrapped in fabric on their backs and others had animals on leashes that were pulling carts behind them. A wide variety of stalls lined the nearby streets: tables with food, antiques, clothes and art, jewelry and accessories. The people flocked to them like fireflies to a lamp, enthusiasm accentuating their features. 

The village was visually stunning, defined by the people, culture and buildings. The people were energy, feeling, and movement that create emotion, splashed against the canvas of the architecture. The buildings provide a stark, static contrast and permanence to a town that was stuck in time. 

A young man, walked in the mist of the village. He wore the traditional garments of the village, and a sedge hat which covered his face just enough from revealing his handsome features and scar. His name was Min Suga Agust. 

The rumours circling Suga had everyone look at him with a curious frown. Some said he was a troublemaker who started a riots in the market place. Some people called him a gang leader, waiting to be brought to justice. Some even whispered that he was the twin brother of the young king.

Suga kept his head down as he strolled though the village, but watched the people from the corner of his eye as he passed them. The sound of children running around and laughing filled the air, and the faint sound of a tune playing somewhere in the distance. He could hear the salespeople shouting different prices, he hear the chopping of meat and the sharp knives hitting the chopping boards.

With every step he took he was getting closer and closer to his target, but just as he was about a few paces away, fishermen men walked opposite him. One was slightly taller than the other. One had dark hair and a beard, and the other had a lighter shade of hair. Just as they walked past each other, Suga's shoulder collided with the young man with the beard, making the young man swing his fishing rod on the other ones head. 

Suga didn't stop to apologise or see if they were alright. He kept his head down and continued on walking.

"Ey!" The light headed one looked at his friend. "What is your problem?" He reached his fist out to his friend's face, but he dogged and attempted to kick him which didn't work.

The butcher just finished washing his knives and cleared his station, when he spotted Suga approaching him. "Ah, troublemaker," he chimes, as he placed his washed knife down. He reached his hand clean hand out towards the young man and he took it without hesitation. "Back in town, I see" he stated, and Suga smiled at the man.

••••

It was sunset. The yellow ball of fire changed to hues of orange, and then almost tangerine. It merged with the sky, like juice-mix dissolving in a glass of water. The clouds were cotton-candy, as though they blushed at the warm touch of the sun. Silhouettes of birds flew home across the sky.

There were now a few lights and candles lighting up the village. Not many people were out shopping during this time of the day. Some had long gone home, and others were heading home. Most of the stalls were closed and cleared, while some were still selling off their last items. 

He stood in the shadows of the alleyways, watching a young girl with long, dark, brown hair that was pulled back into a loose ponytail. She had a porcelain-like face and hazel eyes. This was Isabel.

Suga attempted to approach her, but stopped as he saw another girl no older than sixteen grabbing a brown scarf with gold and wrapping it around her shoulders and laugh. This was Rose, Isabel's little sister.

The two girls were part Korean, from their father's side and part British from their mother's side. They grew up in a loving and caring family, but after moving to Korea and their father passing at war and their mother abandoned them while their father was away, they were left with each other. So, Isabel took on the role of not just being the older sister, but also the mother and father. She wanted her sister to have everything and anything, she didn't want her sister to look at something and not tell her that she didn't want that dress, or scarf, or shoes, or food. 

Isabel turned to the salesman and just as she opened her mouth ready to ask how much the scarf was, someone wrapped an arm around Rose's shoulder and spoke before she could. 

"Agust D!" Rose chimed as she hugged Suga. 

"You're seem to have grown a few inches," Suga hugged the her back, before they broke apart and his eyes moved to Rose's sister who looked like she had seen a ghost.

••• Flashback Three Year Ago •••

The night sky was a marvel. The pitch black background looked like it was a tablecloth with sugar scattered everywhere. Isabel has just finished her shift at of the restaurants since it was her turn to lock up everything. She had to make sure every tables looked like a mirror, that the windows add doors were locked and that the kitchen was spotless. 

The low breeze kissed her skin like a soft whisper, and her body felt cold one moment and next she was hot again. As she continued her way down the deserted village, the sound of chatter reached her ears. She looked up and saw a three men staring by the the alleyway that she had to walk through to her to her house. Her heart raced with each step she took. Men, especially during this time of night were like hungry animals just waiting for their next meal to come their way.

It's been three years since the young king succeeded the throne after his father fled the war. During the first year of his reign the young king cared about his people. He would help those who asked, made sure that his people were taken cared off and made promises of changes. But the last two years he showed his true colours. The young king has done nothing but made things hell for the people. If anything, he was far worse than those before him. He didn't care about the people, or that there were beggars and homeless people on the streets. Orphans left to fight for survival with no shelter over their heads. If people came to home with problems he would reward them with a punishment instead of help. The only thing he did care about were the people terrorising others in his name. That fed him. 

He was a ruthless king. He killed with no mercy and wanted the whole country as his own. And if anyone came for his throne, disrespected his name, or even showed the slightest sigh of power he beheaded them and hung their heads like lanterns around the prison in his palace for his prisoners to see what awaited them.

Isabel wanted to turn back and look for another way home, but there were two problems; that was her only way home and also, she was spotted. She bit her tongue and kept her head down and continued walking. 

"What a sight," one of the men said as he motioned his friends to the girl heading their way.

Isabel didn't as so much peak to look up or where she was going, and that's when her path was blocked. "Such a pretty girl," said the man standing before her, his voice was deep and manly. 

The third men stood a few steps behind her, eager to get his large hands on her body. "Could you please move—" her voice came out small and soft like a whisper.

The men laughed in her face. 

"What's the rush?" She heard the one behind her ask. She could feel something inside telling her that she needed to get away from this men as soon and quickly as possible. But before she could come up with a plan, or even move her legs she felt the rough fingertips of the man behind going up her arm and then as he wrapped his fingers around her upper arm and held her in place for his friends.

The fear she felt in moment sat on her like a pillow that covered her mouth and nose. She tugged and fought back to break free, but the man holding her was too strong. 

Her heart all but gave out when she was dragged behind a building and held against the wall by now two men. She then felt the hand of the man in front of her between her legs. "HELP!!!!" She screamed so loudly that she thought her lungs would burst. She was surprised that no neighbours arrived to the scene. 

"Stop shouting," they whispered in her ear. "We're going to have some fun."

And just then, a gush of cold wind washed over Isabel's body when the man who stood in front of her and the two men who held her to the wall were pulled away from her. Isabel leaned against the wall, her chest heaving and her heart drumming. Fear spoke to her in its cackling voice. It told her legs to go weak, her stomach to lurch and her heart to ache.

"Get lost," the men blew off. "Or you and your friends will be sorry." 

Suga rubbed his chin with one hand and had the other tucked in the pocket of his jeans, as he approached the man in the middle. The moonlight breaking from the the corner shone on the side of his face and his scar was exposed. And the man knew exactly who was staring him in the face. 

"You're that rebel," he pointed at Suga. "The boss everyone has been talking about."

"Oh, the king will be pleased to know that we caught you."

"We will be rewarded handsomely."

As the man reached his hand out towards the young man, he grabbed the mans arm, bending it in the process before he threw him onto the man beside him.

There was a very pregnant pause that lingered in the air. Isabel looked at the people standing in front of her with a shocked expression on her face. A fight had broken out.

One of Suga's men, who was tall and wore a headpiece dislocated one of her attacks arm from his socket. She watched a the man broke down and wailed in pain. 

Another on of Suga's men, who wasn't as tall dodged a few swings. He moved his shoulders in a swaying motion before he caught his opponent wrist, pulled him forward to only have his face met with a rock-like fist. The man's head flew back backwards with one hand covering his nose. But his pain was nothing compared to what his way next. The young man twisted his arm over his shoulder and cracked it like wood. "AAAHHH!!!!" 

A sharp and shiny blade caught Isabel's eye in the moonlight and her heart dropped to her stomach as she watched the man that tried to force himself on charge at Suga. But to her surprise, Suga was too fast to react. He grabbed the mans wrist in an iron grip, and he watched as his face became red not just from the pressure but also from tying to break free. Suga looked the in the eyes with a plain expression through his curtains. With one nudge the blade fell from his hand and Suga tugged him forward before his elbow met with the man's chest and released him.

Isabel stood still, eyes wide and mouth hanging slightly open. She was stunned, as she watched the three men limping away quickly and disappear around the corner. 

"Are you alright?" Suga's voice caught her attention. 

••• End of Flashback •••

The sky was black tranquility married to a poetry of stars. It was the softness that called body and brain to rest and let the heart go to its steady rhythm. Night came as a reward of sorts, a restfulness above to calm the soul. The doors to the pub were open, chairs and tables were outside the building with candles lit on each one. And inside the pub we're more tables, the black iron chandelier hung down from the wooden ceiling, illuminating the pub in a warm yellowish tone and to the right there was a bar table with a bartender.

The sound of laugher and chatter filled the air as they sat outside the pub. It was late and they were already close to finishing their first bottle of Soju. The low breeze felt cool on her arms and made a shiver run down her spine. There was no one inside the pub, except for the owner, his wife and young son cleaning up. 

Isabel sat next to Suga at the end of the rectangle table, their fingers intertwined as they watched their friends enjoying themselves. Next to Isabel's right sat Namjoon, and next to him sat J-Hope. And on Suga's left sat Rose and Hana. The laugher continued, but there weren't that many people out at this time. There was a couple sitting in the far back with nothing but a lit candle on the table. They seemed to be exchanging words of love that must have sound like poetry, there were three elderly men sitting next to where Isabel and the others sat. One of them had a guitar and the other two sang old songs. 

"Shouldn't you be sleeping?"J-Hope asked Rose, who looked at him with an arched brow.

Namjoon chuckled and shook his head. "She's been with us this whole time."

"I know," J-Hope said. "But it's late— it's past her bedtime—"

Rose's laugh cut him off. "Are you talking about yourself, J-Hope?" 

'Oohs' left everyone's lips at the table. Namjoon placed a hand on his friend's back while laughing. J-Hope scoffed at Rose. The two never got along and watching them disagree on the smallest of things was the most amusing thing anyone had the opportunity of witnessing. 

It was around eleven when everyone broke off to go home. Hana, Namjoon and J-Hope disappeared around the corner, their chatter echoed the empty street and then faded completely.

Ever since Suga took matters into his own hands things became somewhat better. The streets weren't as dangerous as they used to be, there weren't orphans out on the side fighting to survive. He was the boss.

Rose reached inside her pocket for the key and unlocked the door before entering. Isabel stopped in the doorway and turned to look at Suga. They didn't exactly have time to themselves since he showed up at the market and she wanted to spend at least a few minutes with him alone. She wanted to hear him breath, to feel his chest rise up and down as she leaned against him, she wanted to feel his arms around her and just be with him in the moment. 

"Do you want to come in?" She asked him, and he responded with a small smile.

The entrance of the house had a small hallway that led to the main living room. The wooden floor was covered in blood red carpets here and there, there was a sofa with two armchairs and a coffee table sitting in the middle, and opposite all that was a fireplace that had two windows overlooking a beautiful view. 

"You have school tomorrow," Isabel said as she stood at the bottom of the staircase that led to the upstairs bedrooms. "Your uni—"

"I know," Rose called from her room. Isabel smiled and bided her sister goodnight before she went to the living room to find Suga sitting on the sofa flicking through the book that was on the coffee table. 

She leaned against the doorframe with her arms crossed over her chest and a smile on her face. She continued to watch him in silence, taking in the sight  in front of her. He had been gone for a few months without exactly telling her what it was that he was doing. He said it was best if she knew less because what he was planning was dangerous. 

"You know, it's not polite to stare," his voice snapped her out of her thoughts. She shook her head and blinked a few times which made a chuckle escape Suga's lips as he placed the book down. "Come here," he said, gesturing with his arm for her to sit next to him. Isabel smiled and sat down with her back against Suga's chest as he wrapped one arm around her waist and the other played with her long locks.

The warmth of his chest on his back made her heart skip a beat and her stomach feel like it was doing backflips. They sat like that for a while just talking about what each of them were up to while they were always from each other, and then Isabel sighed and snuggled in Suga's chest. He looked down at her and smiled. "What's with the sigh?"

Isabel turned around and laid on his chest as she looked up at him. "I just missed you so much," she replied. "It feels surreal that you're here."

Suga moved his hand from Isabel's locks and had both his arms wrapped around her. "That's impossible," he said, sarcastically. "You couldn't have missed me as much as I have missed you." 

Isabel rested her head on his chest and laughed. The sound of her laughter sounded like music to his ears. He reached his hand down towards Isabel's face and cupped her warm, rosey cheek before he placed a soft kiss on her lips. He kissed her like the world was rolling right off a cliff like he was trying to hang on and he had decided to hold on to her like he was starving for life and love and he never knew it could ever feel this good to be close to someone.

Yeoboseyo!!!!!!

Well, this is it! 

THE FIRST CHAPTER OF DAECHWITA!!!!! 

How do you like, ey?

I really do hope you enjoyed this first chapter of this book, and I can't wait for you guys to read the chapters I have in mind for you guys.

I will be following the plot of the MV, but I'll be adding a slight twist so my storyline also matches with the MV.

I will try my best to make this book as original, dramatic and actionable as possible. I want you guys to be on the edges of your seats when reading, or to stay up at night just to finish a chapter, or reading in secret while I'm class. 

The first chapter may seem a little off, but hey! That's just the first chapter and chapter two will have you biting your nails and hyped.

Valeria 💛🖤💛🖤💛🖤💛🖤💛🖤💛🖤💛🖤💛🖤💛🖤💛🖤💛🖤💛🖤💛🖤 

[the-light-finds-its-way]

Kahun Tu’mak

Guardians name: Kahun Tu’mak

Age: Entirely unknown, but seems young, somewhere in his mid adult years.

Race: Cabal

Call signs/alias: Traitor, Son of Zavala, The Pale Titan

Pronouns: He/him

Class: Titan

Preferred subclass(es): Arc

Ghost's name: Gul’tan

Their Vanguard: Zavala, Ikora, Cayde-6

Fireteam name: Harbingers of Destiny

Fireteam teammates: Magnus, Dominus Ghaul, Anthem-99, Velliks, Gadrax, Kahun

Favorite legendary weapon: The Messenger

Favorite exotic weapon: Memoriae, a custom exotic I came up with for his backstory. It’s a rocket launcher made from Ghost shell fragments. The gun is made to represent the combined might of every fallen Guardian, and to keep their memory alive. Its name is from Latin, a dead language, because “Things may be dead, but they aren’t gone so long as we continue to hold onto them.” It’s a metaphor for the fallen Guardians, and how their identities cannot be forgotten, either.

Favorite exotic armor: Curiass of the Falling Star

Favorite ornament armor set: Phenotype Plasticity

Favorite weapon ornament: Bloodline Memorial

What stats do they focus on: Resilience, Mobility, Intellect

Are they offense, defence, or support: Offense and defense equally

Do they prefer being close, mid, or long range: Close to mid range

Do they lean more "Element of Surprise" or "Upfront and Aggressive": Upfront and aggressive

Strikes, Gambit, or Crucible: Crucible

Who was their mentor(if they had one. If it is a character you created, tell us about them!): Zavala

Who are they mentoring(if they are. If it is a character you created, tell us about them!): Nobody, Kahun is a fairly new Guardian, and thus doesn’t have the knowledge or skill to mentor anyone yet.

What ship do they have: High Gravitas

What is their Sparrow: Golden Pride

Favorite Ghost shell: Predator Sun

Favorite shader: Horizon Blush

Favorite color: Red/gold

Favorite food: Popcorn

Favorite piece of Pre-Collapse tech(if they've seen any): Laptops. Kahun is fascinated with computer technology from before the Collapse began, but especially the first portable computers. They’re slow bricks compared to what is available now, but they’re still full of interesting components and mechanisms!

Favorite Pre-Collapse music(if they've heard any): Finntroll

Favorite place in The Last City(if it's a place you created, give a little description!): The Tower

Favorite NPC(s): Zavala, Saint-14, Lord Shaxx, Ikora, Amanda Holliday, Ada-1, Tess Everis, Eris Morn, Asher Mir

Favorite patrol location: The Crater on Io. It’s quiet, lonely, he can think, and it’s relatively close to the Traveler, which he always desires to bond and connect deeper with.

5 things your Guardian likes(can be anything): Solitude, combat, allies/friends (they’re one in the same to him), learning, kids

Least favorite food: Fish of any sort

Least favorite shader: Dead Zone Bark

Least favorite patrol location: Anywhere on Mars

Least favorite Pre-Collapse tech(if they've seen any): Corded telephones

Least favorite NPC(s): Emperor Calus, Mara Sov, Lakshmi-2

Least favorite weapon ornament: Coup de Main

Least favorite ornament armor set: Luxe Titan

Least favorite legendary weapon: Timelines’ Vertex

Least favorite exotic weapon: Devil’s Ruin

Least favorite exotic armor: Eternal Warrior

5 things your Guardian dislikes(this can be anything): Disloyalty, mistrust, betrayal, ignorance, malignance

Your Guardian has to rest. What is their living space like: It’s very neat, very minimalistic as Zavala has inadvertently influenced him to be. It’s across the hall from Zavala’s room, and is rather large to fit his huge size.

Does your Guardian have any casual wear?(Y'all remember Polyvore? The website URSTYLE works very similar if that helps!):

What hobbies and/or skills does you Guardian have: Translating Ulurent, construction and architecture, astrophysics

What would your Guardian's lore book be called: Solemnity and Turbulence

Where was your Guardian reborn?(If you created the location, give us a little description!): Frigid Wastes. It’s a now-destroyed Cabal base on Mars, most notable for its gladiator arena where Cabal would kidnap Guardians, slay their Ghosts, then challenge the Lightless to their death in attempt to show the universe what Guardians are truly worth. The place used to be grand, almost like a castle, but has now become rubble and dust coated in layers of pemafrost.

What were they wearing when they were reborn: Busted Cabal power armor, and a broken rebreather.

What was their reaction to being reborn: Absolute confusion

What was their reaction to their first rez: Kahun had no idea what was going on, and couldn’t understand what was happening to him.

After being reborn, did they meet friendlies first or hostiles: One friendly person, and lots of hostile people. The only friendly person was Zavala, whom Kahun stood up in front of with a blank look of sheer confusion on his face, not knowing why everyone else held a gun aimed at him.

Who was the first other Guardian they met?(Same thing! If you made them, give a little description!): Going before res, Kahun met countless Guardians whom he never knew the names of, sadly, and all of whom were slain by his comrades. After res, there were many Guardians in a whole legion, swarming him cautiously except, again, Zavala.

Did your Guardian get reborn with, or find, any indication of their past life? If so what do they have/found: Kahun has learned a LOT about his past life, despite Zavala constantly deterring him from this. First and foremost, Kahun was resurrected in the remains of his base, with lots of dead Cabal around him, leading Kahun to question what he was doing there. From this question sprang many others, eventually drawing Kahun back to his former base whereupon he learned he was formerly a Gladiator, forced to be there by Calus’s orders, and slay Guardians for their Final Deaths. Kahun looked in the rubble of the arena and located thousands of Ghost shell fragments, all of which scattered about, and he knew he unwillingly partook in this. There, Zavala told him Kahun jumped in front of a rocket to protect Zavala’s Ghost because he wanted no more pointless deaths, and died on impact, therein protecting the commander and his Ghost. This is why Zavala feels a major duty to raise and protect Kahun: a debt repaid. Kahun now uses those Ghost fragments and has made Memoriae with them to defend every Guardian and innocent soul in the galaxy with the combined might of everyone who’d been slain in the arena.

How did your Guardian get their name(if they didn't rez with past life momentos): Kahun remembered his name upon being resurrected. When him and Zavala formed a tight enough bond, Kahun suggested a last name for the both of them so they could be considered family: Tu’mak. In Ulurent, this name means “United”.

Going back to your Guardian's lore book, what would be some some quotes or passages from their book: One text would certainly be about forging Memoriae. I’m currently working on his lorebook and compiling the passages in it on AO3. It’ll contain record logs of his training with Zavala when both met, tales of Kahun discovering his past and lamenting over it, and his endeavors as a Guardian to make the galaxy safe against anyone who dares threaten the innocent.

Does your Guardian have a significant other: No, not at the moment. I can’t decide on one.

Did your Guardian go explore first before going to The Last City? If so, where to: He did! Zavala kept him in the EDZ for a while before going to the Tower, and trained him there so nobody would panic upon seeing a Cabal Guardian.

What was their reaction to first seeing The Last City: Sheer awe and wonder. Kahun had never seen anything like this, and never knew such unity or peace. In fact, he never knew peace at all, he wasn’t taught it as a militaristic Cabal. He was entirely shocked, and in love!

Is your Guardian a part of a clan: The Traveler’s Legion

Does your Guardian's clan have a back story? If so, what is it?(if you want to or able to share): After Dominus Ghaul was resurrected, and worked with Magnus to unite the Cabal under one banner, Ghaul offered Kahun to form his own Legion of Guardians who’d be ambassadors to the Cabal, and thus Kahun formed The Traveler’s Legion.

If your Guardian would have a quote as a flavor text for a weapon and/or piece of armor, what would they be: “To have and to hold... I’ll hold your Light, I promise. Until we meet again.”

If your Guardian has had any interactions with any civilians (The Last City/The Farm), Eliksni, Cabal, Vex, Hive, Taken, Scorn, Rouge Lightbearers, or Iron Lords/War Lords(if your Guardian is an Old Light) tell us about it!: Kahun’s first interactions within The Last City were entirely hostile, full of people trying to hurt and hunt him down. Kahun was not allowed out alone, and it took years for anyone of Humankind to accept a Cabal is a Guardian. Cabal around the galaxy hated Kahun and attempted to slay him for having gone against his kin, until the unity came and Kahun was given position as a Primus. Kahun has befriended many Eliksni, and he thinks they’re adorable. He loves children from The Last City, and many come swarming him curiously during his patrols to ask questions about him being a Cabal. Kahun always answers happily, and teaches the children that no species is entirely, inherently evil, and anyone is capable of doing great things. Kahun is devoted to the Crucible, so he doesn’t enjoy seeing Lord Saladin or any of the Iron Lords around. But he believes Saladin may someday come to his senses and recognize what he’s done.

Does your Guardian have any unconventional allies or connections(By Vanguard standards): His connections to Ghaul and Magnus. Kahun tries to separate himself from most of Cabalkind due to his past, but he maintains his connections in the form of The Traveler’s Legion in hopes that other Cabal will someday be seen as worthy by the Traveler’s standards as he and Ghaul were.

How does your Guardian feel about themselves or others using Stasis: Kahun doesn’t trust it himself. He sees and understands why others use it, but he couldn’t be paid to use Stasis himself.

Did they run The Last Wish raid? How did they react to seeing a live Ahamkara a.k.a Riven: N/A since Kahun isn’t actually playable :(

Did they run The Deep Stone Crypt raid? How did they react to the Crypt and seeing Exo Eliskni: N/A

Is your Guardian from D1? How did they react to seeing Taniks alive once again: Kahun isn’t from D1, so seeing Taniks alive was just a sort of “Who are you?” moment.

Where did they go and what did they do during The Red War: Kahun was still enslaved on the Gladiator base on Mars. He was avoiding fighting Guardians at all costs, and in fact, worked to set many of them free before their final fights.

Here are some characters that are either polarizing or have created a strong enough mass emotion within the community. What opinion does your Guardian hold on each of them(These are only a handful of characters!)>>>

Osiris, First Warlock Vanguard, originally exiled: Kahun admires him and looks to Osiris for wisdom.

Eris Morn, Bane of the Swarm: Pity. Kahun wishes she still had the Light, that she was still safe, and untouched by the Darkness. He truly feels bad for her, and just wants her to be ok but knows Eris will never know peace again.

Cayde-6, Sixth Hunter Vanguard: Insane and utterly self-destructive. Kahun wonders how he’s still alive...

Ikora Rey, Second Warlock Vanguard: An absolute guiding force. Ikora has taught him lots, and give him great insight into the Light.

Commander Zavala, Second Titan Vanguard: Dad.

Saint-14, legendary Titan, First Titan Vanguard: Absolute admiration. Kahun deeply appreciates and aspires to be like Saint, even trying so hard as to mimic his moves in the Crucible.

Lord Saladin, Iron Banner handler, One of the last remaining Iron Lords: Kahun hopes Saladin will realize the error of his ways someday, and make amends as he is doing himself.

Lord Shaxx, Crucible handler, Hero of Twilight Gap, living megaphone: His teacher and other guidance. Like Ikora, Shaxx taught Kahun how to vent his feelings in the Crucible by fighting and using his adrenaline.

The Crow, New Light, Ex-Enforcer to The Spider: A friend and child who MUST be protected at all costs. Kahun knows who Crow truly is, and he wants Crow to be safe as a Guardian.

The Spider, The Shore's Only Law, founder of "House" Spider: Untrustworthy, and not somebody whom he’d turn to unless absolutely necessary.

Uldren Sov, Prince of the Reef, Master of Crows: A disaster who, like him, was manipulated and controlled.

Mara Sov, Queen of the Reef, Queen of the Awoken, Ex-Kell of Wolves: She must pay for her crimes by death.

Variks, the Loyal, founder of House Judgement: Indifferent. If he hadn’t released Uldren, then Crow wouldn’t exist. But at the same time, what Uldren’s release cost the galaxy might not be worth Crow. Kahun doesn’t know what to think of Variks’s past actions, and certainly doesn’t let them go or forgive them.

Mithrax, the Forsaken, Kell of Light, founder of House Light: Kahun trusts him entirely and wholeheartedly. Mithrax is an ally and friend.

The Exo Stranger/Elizabeth "Elsie" Bray, Granddaughter of Clovis I and Sister to Ana Bray: She can be an ally, someone to rely on if necessary, but he’d rather not trifle with the Darkness in any way.

Eramis, of House Salvation, Kell of Darkness: Nope nope nope, he will fight her on site because the Darkness isn’t something he’d like to have hanging around, even if it can be harnessed by others.

Empress Caiatl of the Cabal Imperial Empire: Hhhhhhh don't trust!!! Calus bad, therefore Calus family bad! Right? RIGHT??!! HHHHHHHEEEELLLLLPPP!

Taniks the Scarred, the Perfected, the Abomination, the Shadow Thief: “Who the everloving fuck is this dude, and why is he after me???”

The Darkness is fast approaching. How is your Guardian handling it: Kahun is anxious, but ready to go head-on. He’ll fight as best as he can, no matter how hard that may be to do. Kahun will stave the Darkness off at literally any cost, including his own life. Ride or die.

And finally, does your Guardian have any advice for any New Lights: “The Traveler chose us for a reason, and it’s our duty to uphold that reason. Debts are repaid only to make new ones, but just maintain your duties as a Guardian, and you can someday die knowing you’ve done the right thing.”

[warrior-verse8]

Random Warrior Facts!!

Random Warrior facts -First leader with nine lives was Windstar -First leader to die was Shadowstar -Dawn of the Clans takes place in 1950s -Warriors takes palce in Southern England -The Prophecies Begin take place in 2000s -If a Kit dies when its eyes are still closed, its eyes will be open in StarClan -If a Queen dies before giving birth, they will probably give birth in StarClan -The Moonstone is actually some sort of crystal -The twolegs with the Beavers were wildlife scientists who wanted to re-introduced beavers to the area -Tribe of Endless Hunting cats keep there injures -Tribe of Endless Hunting cats age and fade away -The Tribe's ancestors dont have stars in there pelts -Spottedleaf was 3-4 years older then Firestar -Scourge struck 9 major organs, each one enough to kill Tigerstar on its own -Boulder was the one who suggested allying with Scourge -Rainflower was sorry for how she treated Crookedstar -Leopardstar died from diabetes -Squirrelflight requested Hollyleaf's Warrior name, so that she could be named after her true mother Leafpool -Brightspirit, Braveheart and Shiningheart were originally from SkyClan -Sol was once a Kittypet known as Harry -Rock is dead and is more of a spirit, than a ghost -Midnight is actually dead, and is a ghost -The "clear, shiny, sticky water" in RC was gasoline -Tigerstar liked Bramblestar more then Hawkfrost -Hollyleaf is scared of thunderstorms because of what happened with Ashfur -Mousewhisker and Minnowtail were mates and why they went to the Dark Forest -Cinderpelt and Brackenfur were apprenticed before they were 6 moons old -Bramblestar loved Hawkfrost as his brother -When Bluestar crossed Thunderpaths, she thought of Snowfur -Firestar thought he was being replaced by Silverstream -Spiderleg neglected his kits cuz his parents had more kits -Graystripe favored Feathertail -Brightpaw loved Swiftpaw -Average age for a cat is 8-10 years -Leopardstar loved Tigerstar -Tigerstar hated Firestar cuz he reminded him of her father, Pinestar -Darkstripe loved Tigerstar -Honeyfern was expecting kits when she died -Pure-bred RiverClan cats have webbed paws -Tigerstar loved his kits -Sunstar loved Moonflower -Bluestar named Firestar after Oakheart -Most med cats are gay or lesbians -Hawkfrost loved Ivypool -Crowfeather never loved Nightcloud -Mousefur loved Redtail -Briarlight loved Jayfeather -Bramblestar was once in love with Sorreltail -Breezepelt was the runt of his litter -Sandstorm cheated in her warrior assessment -Blackstar was a polydactyl, he had 6 toes -Scourge hated the teeth and claws in his collar -Sasha went back to being a kittypet after the clans left -Firestar always wanted a son -RiverClan cats can hold there breaths for 20-25 seconds -Tornear loved Ashfoot -Frost was blind in one eye -Firestar favorite food was vole -Jake loved Nutmeg more then Quince -Berrynose loved Honeyfern more then Poppyfrost -Russetfur loved Blackstar -Purdy can understand twolegs -Barkface was the longest med cat -Graystripe loves Silverstream more then Millie -Cinderheart had a crush on Jayfeather -Daisy doesnt believe in StarClan -Barley believes in StarClan -Echosng was pure kittypet -Sweetpaw was bured alive and died from suffication -Cloudtail is tring to believe in StarClan -Tribe cats have an accent -Shrewpaw had a crush on Squirrelflight -ShadowClan saved Tigerstar as a kit from a fox -Sandstorm is a 3 moon older then Firestar -Heavystep had kidney disease -Yellowfang has persian blood -WindClan came up with the thought of mentors -Blackstar has WindClan blood -Stormfur blamed himself for Feathertail's death -Crookedstar named Stonefur "fur" after Bluestar -Mudclaw went to StarClan -Cody told Princess about the Clans leaving -Millie can speak dog -Icecloud secretly liked fish -Leopardstar hated Graystripe -Leopardstar loved Whiteclaw -Mothwing had a crush on Leafpool -Nightstar had asthma -Foxheart had a small crush on Scorchwind -Tigerstar loved Goldenflower more then Sasha -Crookedstar kept his broken jaw in StarClan -Nightcloud badied Breezepelt -Sandstorm was ThunderClan's best hunter -Graystripe may have had a eating disorder -Bumblestripe may have had a eating disorder -Ashfur hated kittypets -Tigerstar was afraid of the Moonstone -Fish Leap had a crush on Half Moon -Jessy is kin to Jingo -Ravenpaw 3 moons older then Graystripe -Snowfur acts like a mother to Mosskit -Crookedstar's jaw aches in Leaf-bare -Brackenfur was almost made deputy -Ravenpaw died in his sleep -Gray Wing had asthma after the fire -Squirrelflight and Leafpool are 5 yrs in Bramblestar's Storm -Stormtail never really loved Moonflower -Shellheart will always love Rainflower -Stormfur had a crush on Squirrelflight until Brook -Ashfur helped Hawkfrost to try and kill Firestar -The three lost there powers in Dovewing's Silence -Border between Dark Forest and StarClan is a white light -Runningnose was allergic to moss -Thistleclaw always loved Snowfur -Blackstar regretted killing Stonefur -Littlecloud had a crush on Cinderpelt -Tawnyspots had stomach cancer -Pinestar is older the Leopardfoot's parents -Cloudtail was unaware that Daisy had a crush on him -The kit Yellowfang lashed out on when she 1st came was Ashfur -Feathertail watched over Leafpool's kits -Mistystar was made deputy cuz Leopardstar was making up for killing her brother -Half Moon died from a vomiting sickness -The journey from forest to lake took 100 miles -Goosefeather went insane after Moonflower's death -SkyClan left the forest 20 years before Bluestar was born -Sorreltail had nightmares about Deathberries -Tigerstar was spoiled as a kit by all the queens -Brick ran away after The Darkest Hour -Jaggedtooth made the sign for Tigerstar to become leader -Appledusk blamed Mapleshade for his kits deaths -Hollyleaf befriended a baby fox -Sorreltail was kept an apprentice for 10 moons due to an injury -Reena didnt go to StarClan -Willownose is Appledusk's mother -In Clan legends, if a cats born during a thunderstorm, they have a great destiny ahead of them -The Tribe of Rusing Water was formed 60 years ago -The water in the Dark Forest is slimy, bloody mud -Runningnose's cold goes away in StarClan -Palebird had post natal depression after Finchkit died -Shellheart and Pebblefur dead of cancer -When Breezepelt dies, he will go to the Dark Forest -Rock's fur was once greyish-brown coloured -Jayfeather's biggest fear is water -Sunstar was only given 8 lives cause Pinestar was alive -Graypool was surprised that Stonefur and Mistystar thought she was there mother -Brightheart has post-traumatic-stress disorder from the attack -Graystripe is very sensitive that he eats a lot -Russetfur is older then Blackstar -Clawface was once loyal to ShadowClan -Bluestar thought Runningwind wouldnt make a good mentor -Loners are the least common non-Clan cats -The cat that trepassed on Scourge's territory was Brokenstar being thrown out of ShadowClan -Queens threaten kits with the Dark Forest when there bad -Brightheart doesnt go to the lake cuz she doesnt wanna see her face -Mapleshade had hallucinations driven by grief -Speckle loved Sol and wish he was her kits father -Leaf discivered ThunderClan's revine -Thistleclaw never sat vigil when he was made a warrior -Holowflight liked Ivypool -One Eye might be the first Dark Forest cat -Jayfeather hated learning how to fight -Dark Forest cats can give a leader a life -Dark Forest cats dont feel hunger -Leopardstar hates half-clan cats -Dustpelt hated that Ravenpaw was his sibling -Bone's collar was dark blue -Scourge had a high-pitched voice -Cats dont normally mentor kin -Willowbreeze was named after her WindClan heritage- breezw -Graypool was named after her WindClan heritage- pool -Mistystar was the first half-clan leader of RiverClan -22 cats have trained in the Dark Forest -15 cats have died and gone to the Dark Forest -Sorreltail broke her leg as an apprentice -Whitewing never liked Ashfur -Bluestar wished she fell in live with Thrushpelt -Smoky loved Floss more then Daisy -The river in RiverClan runs down to SkyClan's gorge -Harestar had a crush on Heathertail -Mousewhisker had a crush on Hollyleaf -Willowpelt loved Tawnyspots most -Crookedstar still loved Rainflower

[thunder-the-ranger-wolf]

A Proper Gathering

Excerpt from the Mute!Firepaw Ghost fic

@official-darkforest if you feel like reblogging this for the people interested in that AU, I’d be grateful. I wasn’t sure how much of this would fit in a submission.

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The clearing was packed. Cats milled around with others, scents mingled as the four groups interacted in an almost friendly manner for the first time Firepaw had seen since he took this job. Several voices called out his name, all of them sounding like the bells that the humans put on their doors to tell the weather. Ghosts often sounded like that but it was more obvious when they were emotional. At least this time it was because these cats were happy to see him. The ginger tom was suddenly knocked off his paws by a rush of air. A mountain of fur surrounded him as each young cat clambered to be seen.

“Firepaw, you made it!” Thornkit of WindClan crowed. “This is the first Gathering I’ve been to ever, there are so many cats!”

“Alright, alright now, let the nice tom find his paws. I’m sure he’s just as excited as you are to be here.” One of the queens, a cream molly from ShadowClan, drawled fondly. “It’s good to see you well, Firepaw. One good thing about ThunderClan is they make sure their kittens are properly fed. Why, I bet the only Clan better at that would be RiverClan, with all their fishing.”

“Don’t you fish as well, Birchpool?” One of the apprentices snickered. “We live in a marsh!”

“That we do, kit, but the fish we find in the marsh aren’t always worth going after. Especially when the rest of those creatures are willing to fight you for it.”

You… have to fight your prey? Firepaw muttered, surprised.

“Has any cat ever mentioned a snapping turtle?”

No… I know what a turtle is, I think, but I’ve never seen one. And I didn’t know they could bite.

“I’ll take you to the marsh sometime and show you what I’m talking about. You won’t be so keen to visit us ShadowClan cats once you know how we eat.”

“Well, he might like it. I bet it would taste really good!” The apprentice, Branchpaw, crowed.

“How do you know, kit? No one’s ever gone after a turtle and lived to bring it back.”

“It’s prey!” Branchpaw scowled. “I bet I could kill one easy!”

“Maybe when we get back to StarClan.” Another apprentice scoffed. “They’re only ever easy hunting there!”

“Why can’t Larchfall see me?” A young voice that sounded close to tears asked quietly. The other ghosts stepped back to reveal a small tortoiseshell kitten with silver-blue eyes. “He’s my kin. I thought he loved me but he never talks to me anymore. He talks to the others, though! Why not me?”

“Well, kitten…” Birchpool crooned. “It’s because he can’t see you. He would talk to you all the time if he knew you were there.”

“But I am here! And you all can see me just fine!”

“It’s different, honeycomb.” Another warrior murmured, wrapping a ginger-spotted tail around her similarly colored kit. “Larchfall isn’t ignoring us, little one, we went to sleep. Remember how we couldn’t see or touch anything after that?”

“Yes.” The kit mumbled. “I wanted to climb a tree once but I just went right through it. I figured out how later though! We can fly, did you know that?!” The kitten crowed, fur bushed up.

“Yeah, it’s amazing!” Branchpaw chirped. “What’s your name? And who’s Larchfall?”

“This is Petalkit. Larchfall is my mate, I’m her mother’s sister, Lilystem.”

Well, Petalkit, why don’t I tell Larchfall that you’ve been asking after him? He might start talking to you if he thinks you can hear him. Firepaw prompted.

“You… you would do that?” Lilystem murmured, astonished. “He’s been so alone in RiverClan. I mean, of course, the Clan is there for him, but we never had any kits of our own and now we can’t reach Petalkit’s parents in StarClan because we got stuck here-. I mean-.”

“We get it.” Birchpool offered soberly. “It’s always rough when you figure it out. Oakheart was the most recent RiverClan cat to pass, he could probably tell you more about why we’re stuck here.”

The red-brown tom appeared by Lilystem’s side as if he’d been summoned by the sound of his name but said nothing.

“Oakheart… That’s one of Rainflower’s boys! He’s my nephew. Petalkit is his cousin by my other sister, Echomist. She and Hailstar are up in StarClan having a grand old time but I don’t think they know Petalkit is missing. They’d die of shock all over again.”

“Ouch…” Birchpool muttered, one eye closed as she tried to imagine what the tortoiseshell before her mumbled.

Okay, that’s… a lot to deal with and no doubt her parents are worried sick by now, but Larchfall should know that you’re still here and we, well, I, can do something about that. Do you want me to?

“I… yes. If only because he’s getting on in moons and it looks like he’s giving up and I don’t want that for him.” Lilystem insisted.

Okay. I can tell him. Let me get someone who knows how I talk and we’ll go from there.

“Well, if it’s because of that throat then Stormheart might have an idea of what to say.”

Stormheart?

“Oakheart’s brother.”

Oh, the RiverClan leader. He had the same warrior name as his brother?

“That happens sometimes. It did with the ThunderClan deputy and her sister. Their names were Bluestep and Snowstep.”

She’s the leader now. Firepaw crowed. And she’s mentoring me. She’s a great cat!

“No doubt she is, kit.” Lilystem chuckled. “Thank you so much for helping us get through to Larchfall. It’s been hard on Petalkit, not being with her parents and then getting stuck here like this.”

“Yeah, a lot of us had to figure that out the hard way.” Birchpool grumbled.

I can’t empathize completely, but I know it’s tough being separated from cats you love. Let me at least help you contact this one.

“You’re a sweet one, Firepaw. Good luck.” Lilystem murmured. Firepaw nodded his thanks and got to his paws, weaving through the crowd, and leaving the rest of the group to talk among themselves as they waited for him to get back.

“I wonder if it’s lifted yet. The barrier, whatever it is.” Birchpool mused. “I mean, WindClan is back in the forest and ShadowClan can’t drive them out again. Surely StarClan will welcome us once more now that the forest is balanced.”

“Firepaw’s not sure that’s what’s keeping us from StarClan.” Oakheart corrected nervously. “He thinks it’s something about Brokentail and now that WindClan is back, I’m inclined to agree with him. I don’t think StarClan can interact with the living as long as that tyrant is alive.”

“But that’s… he’s got nine lives! StarClan gave those themselves!”

“Maybe not.” Branchpaw scowled.

“What?” Lilystem hissed frantically, covering Petalkit’s ears. “Why would you say that?!”

“Well, you know ShadowClan is old-fashioned.” Branchpaw offered warily. “We’ve always been a bit more strict about the warrior code. Even though we accept rogues and were at the front of the kittypet raids, we taught those we recruited the Clan ways as we saw them.”

“Oh, yes, I remember hearing about the kittypet raids. Roachstar stopped them and everyone was outraged when Brokentail announced his new warriors from the Twolegplace. I’m surprised all four Clans didn’t rise against him right then and there!”

“It’s… complicated.” Birchpool added. “But we know there are other skies because of those kittypets and we choose to devote ourselves to StarClan. But with the news of other skies, well, Branchpaw might be right to say that another set of ancestors could have given Brokentail his lives.”

“What kittypet’s ancestors could give such a wretched being that much power?!” A new voice spat. “And who in their right mind would?!”

“Never said they were in their right mind, Thrushpelt. Just that it might be possible.”

“I hope it’s not.” Thrushpelt shivered. “I can’t imagine any spirit seeing Brokentail as a worthy leader.”

“StarClan wouldn’t.” Branchpaw insisted. “Not after all he’s done.”

Heads up everyone, I’m back with Larchfall and Longtail’s agreed to help me speak. Firepaw announced.

Indeed, Firepaw was followed by two cats, one a cream tom with dark stripes and the other a darker-furred elder with misty green eyes.

“Well, kit. This ThunderClan cat said you wanted to tell me something about my kin. What are we doing here?”

Firepaw nodded and trotted off, returning shortly with a flower that he placed on the ground. He pointed first at the stem and then at the petal of the flower. Then he pointed at Larchfall’s chest.

“Firepaw usually approaches cats when he knows a StarClan cat has mentioned you. In this case, there are two and you know them well. I think one is… Petal?”

Firepaw nodded and raised his paw so that it lay stiff in midair halfway between him and the ground.

“They’re smaller than him so it’s probably Petalkit?”

Firepaw nodded and pointed to the flower again.

“The next one is a cat with Stem somewhere in their name.” Longtail muttered. “Bigger than Firepaw, so either an older apprentice or a warrior.”

“Lilystem is my mate and Petalkit is her sister’s kit. You’re saying you heard from them? Did they come to you in a dream from StarClan?”

Firepaw made a “not quite” gesture.

“Firepaw can see the spirits of our ancestors.” Longtail explained. “Most of them are in StarClan but some of them come to visit their loved ones.”

“So… Lilystem and Petalkit are here.” Larchfall murmured. “Can they see me? Will they know if I talk to them?”

“They’ll always know.” Longtail said at Firepaw’s nod. “In fact, Petalkit thinks you should talk to her more.”

“Does she?” Larchfall chuckled roughly. “I… I can do that.”

“Good.” Longtail offered. “Thank you for hearing us out.”

The black tom nodded awkwardly and padded off, more than a bit stunned.

“Thank you, Firepaw.” Lilystem whispered, voice thick with tears. “I think he might actually believe you.”

Hopefully. But even if he doesn’t, he’s got something to think about.

“Yes… yes, I think he does.”

Petalkit pranced around her aunt, tail waving and face glowing with cheer.

Firepaw flicked his tail, signaling to Longtail that he could go if he wanted, and tuned back into the conversation being had around him.

“So… about this barrier.” Thrushpelt scowled. “What, WindClan being back wasn’t enough. It’s specific to Brokentail?”

“Looks like it.” Oakheart offered soberly. “And until this is resolved, I don’t think any cat will go to StarCla when they die.”

“What, like they’ll be stuck like us?! They won’t even know their ancestors are waiting for them?!” The other ShadowClan apprentice yelped.

“Be quiet, Pikepaw!” Branchpaw snapped, eyeing Oakheart nervously.

“Oh…” Pikepaw mumbled, following his fellow apprentice’s gaze. “Sorry. I didn’t meant to-.”

“It’s fine.” Oakheart sighed. Pikepaw licked his chest fur embarrassedly and curled up beside his friend, burying his nose in his own pelt and mumbling to himself.

“But yes, they’ll be stuck like us. And… we don’t know what it has to do with Brokentail. I said earlier that his lives could have been given by some other ancestors, but even that’s just a theory.” Oakheart insisted. “We don’t know that this will be resolved with Brokentail’s death.”

“Even if it is, as far as we know he’s never lost a life. How are we going to get to StarClan if he’s the one blocking our path and he’s got the nine lives of a leader?!”

A tense silence consumed the ghosts and Firepaw twitched his ears and bared his throat.

“Is Firepaw trying to say something?” Birchpool asked warily. “That’s an awful wound he’s got. Does he need a medicine cat?”

“A medicine cat can’t help.” Thrushpelt admitted. “But usually he does that to get a cat’s attention. Or if he’s talking to us, it means he’s nervous about what he has to say. Or doesn’t want to say it.”

“Makes sense.” Oakheart murmured. “But in this case… I think he’s trying to say something about his throat.”

Firepaw nodded awkwardly, hoping he wouldn’t have to say the rest aloud.

“He doesn’t need a medicine cat, so aside from the fact that the wound exists, nothing’s wrong.” Birchpool offered.

“He… we were talking about Brokentail just now. Could Firepaw be saying something about his throat has to do with Broktentail?”

“What, like Brokentail gave him that wound?!”

“No, we know who gave it to him and it wasn’t Brokentail.” Oakheart muttered bitterly. “Maybe he’s saying we have to hurt Brokentail… possibly like Firepaw himself was… hurt.”

“Oooo…” Several cats cringed or turned away at Firepaw’s confirming nod.

“He’s a leader, though. IF he dies, he’ll just come back and wreak havoc on the living all over again.”

“Then someone will have to make it an injury he can’t come back from.” Branchpaw insisted darkly.

“Stars above, Branchpaw!” Pikepaw yelped. “How in the name of the First Ancestors do you come up with this stuff?!”

“The same way he thought it was a good idea to slaughter us.” Branchpaw snapped, getting to his paws. “He deserves every scratch he gets! One for every star in the sky and ten for every cat he’s ever gotten killed! I bet Badgerfang would agree with me.”

“Badgerfang isn’t here!” Pikepaw howled. “You can’t speak for him and you can’t speak for me!”

“Don’t tell me you want that monster to live?!”

“No!” Pikepaw snapped. “I just… this isn’t right! We’re talking about killing a cat nine times over in the worst ways possible! He’s-.”

“Deserving.” Branchpaw sneered. “For all the pain and misery he’s caused this forest and every cat in it. He’s lucky all ShadowClan did was blind him.”

“If every ShadowClan cat is as vengeful as you are, we might not have to do anything to Brokentail. We could just let the living handle it.”

“They won’t.” Pikepaw scoffed. “They’re not fox-brained enough to risk dying at his claws when he comes back, and that’s if they succeed in the first place! This is mouse-brained and fox-hearted and I can’t believe you all are thinking of this!”

“Don’t you want to go to StarClan?” Branchpaw asked quietly. “Your mom and dad will be there. And your siblings.”

“Like that’s something to look forward to.” Pikepaw scowled. “I was the runt, remember? It’s why I died in the first place.”

“C’mon, Pike, they didn’t mean-.”

“They meant it!” The grey tom howled. “They never wanted me, none of them did! They were glad when I was chosen to start training!”

“Pikepaw…”

“You’re plotting! You’re planning for another cat to die just like Brokentail planned for us to die and kept at it until we did! My mother pushed me out of the nest early for that scheme of his and you want to try and turn it back on him?! When he’s the one who came up with all this in the first place?! It won’t work and we’ll all die! Why do you think my mother gave me up?”

“That’s a load of foxdung and so is she.” Birchpool growled.

“I… I can’t exactly blame her.” Pikepaw admitted. “She had to focus on the ones who had a chance. I was going to die anyway-.”

“You don’t know that.” Oakheart insisted. “You’re here because Brokentail was a cruel leader but more than that, your mother was cruel to you. That’s not your fault and it’s not your job to defend a cat that would do such a thing.”

“When it comes to Brokentail, it looks like the only way to restore this balance is to kill him.” Birchpool sighed. “But since we’re ghosts, we would have to use the world around us to do that. Possess a dog and set it on him, maybe. Or get someone to poison his food. We can’t interfere directly, though. The living will have to find some way to strip him of those lives.”

“You don’t have to be involved, Pikepaw. None of us have to do anything. The living cats are already upset with him. It’s only a matter of time before someone is desperate enough to want him dead completely.”

Firepaw found that he couldn’t listen anymore, too sick at the thought of all that Pikepaw had admitted. But the ghosts planned well into the night and decided to meet again in three sunrises after they got input from other Clanmates.

Firepaw didn’t know how this Mission would end, but these groups were some of the fiercest he’d ever run interference for.

[sailynthesayaad]

The Beginning Pt. 2

Part one.

“Ah dun care! Ah dun care!” Sail beat her fists in against her sisters chest, tears streaming down her cheeks, tail slapping down in against the floor of their small room. Despite the past four years passing by, Sail was still a full head shorter than her sibling. In the short time the two had been in the small city they had spent most of their time cheating and scamming other people, it was the best way to survive. Turns out the reason the city was so happy to take on two unlucky orphans was simply because a disease had infected in their stalk of food as it traveled from another small fishing village. The other village did not survive at all from the plague and was now a ghost town. The city was better managed but it still left many pairs without mates, other children without parents and Matriarchs without children to watch over or pairs to be with. The current Matriarch they were with had lost everything, became a drunk and a generally sunken, abusive male. The goal and hope was for him to have a turn around in being given the chance to look after young ones again, that unfortunately did not become the case. So it was up to Sail and Mast to get money and supplies for the house and take care of things. Mast also needed to trade for her voyage, which was proving difficult with the amount of time she had to spend taking the brunt of things from their current care taker, looking after Sail who despite her current state had become rather rebellious in her growing teenage years and seemed to enjoy stirring up quite the trouble which of course came back onto Mast. Mast sighed heavily, grabbing at her siblings wrists rather roughly and pulling them up over her head to keep her from striking further. “Sail! Enough! Ya kno’ ah got ta do dis. Our people grow weake’ an’ weake’ ‘ere an’ we dunno ‘ow other our kin are on da other A’lurs. We haf ta keep our traditions strong and our people.” A soft smile touched Masts lips as she let go of her, “So dun be sayin’ ya dun care abou’ me, when ah kno’ ya do. Ya gonna hurt someone’s feelin’s sayin’ that some day. Ya know no one gonna know ya as well as ah do, don’ let ‘em misunderstand.” Sail slowly began to calm down, sniffling back tears and snot, moving hands to rub at her eyes. “Ah dun wanna be alone. Ah dun like it.” “Then you don’t haft to be.” Came a new voice from the window of their bedroom, startling the pair of them, which caused the owner to chuckle. “Ah sorry sorry, didn’t mean ta jumps yas. Pretty nice speech there ya know eh? Ya two clearly close, and why people gotta splits such a bond eh? No no, don’t be sitting right by me.”  They couldn’t tell if the person in their window was male or female, as they leaned into it, resting chin on wrapped arms as they spoke and looked over the pair with keen eyes. There was an open strange wonder to their eyes that Sail was rather curious about, as if this person had seen wonders beyond their comprehension. Sail stepped in forward, “So then..ya kno’ ‘ow ah can stay with Mast?!” Another chuckle came from the elder as they went ahead to pull themselves through the window to stand with the pair, Mast quickly going for her spear to hold it stead fast to the invaders throat. They put up their hands but didn’t seem to even flinch over it, their attention seeming focused on Sail. “Oh yeah, don’t ya going worry over that. Look i’ll be straight with yas, not ta brag, but i’m from another world-”  Mast cut them off by pushing the spear in a bit more sharply, actually cutting into their skin, “That’s impossible! Dun lie!” A sudden gasp came from her, spear lowering slightly as eyes widen from the pair. The strangers blood wasn’t blue like their own, it was green. Slowly they moved to cover the wound, rubbing their hand over it and withdrew. The cut was gone, only a smear of the blood remained.”Well that’s one way of showing it a bit. But iffen ya need more proof why not come on with me?” Moving on they go out of the window they came through, with little hesitation Sail makes to follow before Mast grabs her by the arm, “No! We dun kno’ anythin’ about ‘em.” Hissing to her. Sail pulls away, “Iffen they can make it true dat i dun lose ya then ah dun care. Besides, iffen ya go what else am ah gonna do? Ah don’ got nothin’ ta lose in dis it seems ta me.” Shrugging a shoulder as she moves ahead to go out the window. Mast sighs, her sister had a point in any regard, least she couldn’t argue against it. Moving in along, she too would move out the window to follow the stranger. They would walk on in silence heading down towards a more abandoned rough part of the city, even in Sails and Masts dealings they avoided this part of the city. The entered into an abandoned storehouse, used for the colder months to store food. Within, standing in the middle, was a large metal seeming craft. A type of home or cocoon maybe? The siblings stared at in confusion, tilting their heads as they stared at it with uncertainty. This made the stranger chuckle. “Ya two truly are close.” When the pair looked in towards the stranger once more, they looked completely different. Rather then webbed toes they had hooves, their tail went from thick and scaly to thin and wired like with barbs running down it near the spine of back and curled tip end. On their back was a pair of webbed wings with dual claws in the midst top of the wings as they spread out. A pair of horns sprouted from their forehead curling up and back, spiraled into pointed steeps. One arm swept back with extended wings and the other curled forward in front of themselves, bowing forward. “Let me introduce myself, I am Sh’taria. I am a Sayaad of the Legion. We are a collective from across the universe seeking others to follow in our path, to bring about a peace like none ever known. But pretty words wont do here, why don’t i just show you?” In those yellow eyes a sparkle appeared that spoke out to Sail, the promise of a sight unknown, of expanses to be yet explored. It excited her. Heart beating in her chest as she stared wide eyed in wonder with something to knew and strange. Taking a steady step forward, toes drawing in together before they could touch back on the ground as her sister stopped her. “We don’ kno’ wha this...thing is. It’s no’ safe.” Mast spoke softly, seeming to glare over to the claimed being, Sayaad. “Iffen she wanted us dead, then we’d been dead already.” Sail spoke aloud looking over to her sister. With a small pause the elder sibling would sigh once more and withdraw her arm, moving to follow in along to see to just what this creature wanted. Sh’taria opened the hatch to her ship, lowering the door to reveal stairs and moved on ahead insider to start it up. At first the noises seemed to have dismayed the curious Chalurin younglings, but their curiosity grew and got the better of them, even Mast couldn’t help but desire to know exactly what was going on or just what this -thing- was. Once they had entered the ship, they never imagined how much their life had just changed with a door simply closing behind them. How much they would change, how much they would see and do and most of all how much regret Sail would soon live with.