#if i go missing go look in the local caverns in the sea i will be there with cool glasses

[moliaesglinnnn]

me when i me wh i w me i

[marlynnofmany]

A Worthy Sacrifice

Going on a food run for this spaceship usually didn’t end up in a debate over whose body parts are more expendable. Never, as a matter of fact. Today was the first. And it could have easily been our last.

The trip had such a peaceful start, too. Along with the usual supplies that we paid real money for, Captain Sunlight sent a handful of us to pick up a local delicacy: some plant. I honestly missed the name. I was more interested in the location — inside a vast cave complex with shafts of light filtering in from above, and multiple lakes of poison to make the perfect growing environment. Or maybe they were acid lakes. At any rate, extremely dangerous, and completely at odds with the lovely sun-dappled scenery and brightly colored plantlife.

I stood with some trepidation at the edge of the cave maze, holding an empty bag and wondering if there was maybe an entrance somewhere big enough for a hoverbike. Beside me, the hulking forms of the Frillian twins were similarly hesitant. You can’t punch an acid lake, after all, or lift weights at it.

Down closer to ground level, Mur just looked annoyed. “It’s fine,” he said, flipping a blue-black tentacle forward. “The locals pick these plants daily.” His own bag was on a dinky little hoversled that followed him like a flying puppy, leash and all. The sled also held a couple pairs of pruning shears in case the stems gave us trouble. Mur could have ridden on the sled himself, pushing off the ground like a squid-shaped kid on a snow disk, but that would have been undignified. Strongarms are proud of that tentacle-walking, after all.

And apparently they’re not phased by giant lakes of acid.

“If you say so,” I told him. “Lead the way.”

He did, grumbling. I followed, taking care not to trip over the sled, while Blip and Blop stood tall and brought up the rear.

The entrance tunnel was small, alongside many others, and a few turned out to lead to the same big cavern. My first impression was warmth. I regretted wearing a sweater, thin and utilitarian though it was. I took it off as we walked, tying it around my waist, glad that I at least had my hair tied back in its usual long braid. I didn’t need any extra sweat about my neck today.

Once the sweater was secure, I was free to appreciate the scenery. It really was pretty. The walls were a wash of reds and golds, with multiple types of greenery sprouting from every level surface and a few that weren’t. The lake far below was an evil purple, fading to the innocent blue of tropical seas at the edges. A solid fence lined the cliff edge, which I appreciated.

The wall behind us was awash in climbing vines with dangling blueberry-looking things that sure would be convenient if they were the plants we were here for.

No such luck. Those were on the far side. Lots of them. A vast jungle of treelike things, most of which were bent under the weight of head-sized yellow fruit. As I watched, one particularly spindly trunk lost its biggest fruit to gravity, and sprung upwards to fling the smaller ones away in a comical fashion. I could almost hear the splats against the cave wall.

“Well, they sure look ripe,” I said.

Mur wasn’t interested. “Where’s the— Oh, there it is. We took the wrong door. C’mon.” He slapped away along the path beside that fence, over to where a single large hover platform waited like a ferry.

We were just getting on, with me trying to hide my misgivings and the Frillians doing the same, when a chorus of more slapping tentacle-steps approached at speed.

“Wait!” commanded the large reddish Strongarm in the lead, who was colored much like the cavern walls. She was also shaped more like an octopus than a squid, as was the green one behind her. The beige-gray one had a pointy squid head like Mur.

Mur waited. He’d already figured out the controls for the platform, and he stood there in silence while I clutched the railing with the Frillians, and the newcomers climbed on.

With nods all around, Mur pressed a button to close the gate. Then he removed the lid of the fancy pottery jar big enough for a child to hide inside — I’d assumed somebody had left it behind — and he scooped out a bunch of those blueberry things. As I watched in curiosity, he opened a different lid, this one over a part of the control console that stuck out, baring a dark tunnel like an ominous toilet bowl.

He threw the berries in. The platform’s engine started.

Mur steered us out over the deadly lake, engines humming happily, throwing clusters of berries in every so often. I exchanged looks with the Frillians. The other Strongarms didn’t look impressed.

“Are those fuel berries?” I asked.

“Only for this engine,” Mur said, tapping a sign. “It takes anything organic. Nice of the locals to make sure there’s always a full pot here. There is a note here to refill what we use if possible, and I think we definitely should, but I’m sure that not everyone does.”

The red Strongarm made a flapping noise that I recognized as the equivalent of a snort. Yeah, she probably wouldn’t stick around to do her part.

(And remember that bit about “anything organic”? If you recall how I started this little anecdote, this is where you’ll start to get concerned.)

There was only a moderate level of worry in the air at that point, though. We hadn’t fallen in yet and the rails seemed sturdy, if sparse, and the jungle was approaching at a reasonable pace. The slight breeze even made the temperature pleasant.

When Mur docked the platform headfirst and opened a gate on the other side, I was the first one off among the trees. Picking the yellow fruits turned out to be a great time, especially the way they kept accidentally flying through the air. They were about as heavy as cantaloupes, but with such rubbery outsides that it was like they were made for high-impact comedy. I did my best to pick each tree thoroughly, hanging onto the bent trunk with one hand before letting go. I’d started by taking a single fruit from each tree, but that had not worked.

Blip and Blop had the most efficient strategy: one held a bag and the other shook a tree like they were taking its lunch money. Mur just climbed the lowest trunks and plucked everything he found. One way or another, we filled our bags quickly and met back at the platform.

The strangers were a little slower, but again, we waited politely. Soon enough, we were on the way across the lake that lurked distantly below like malevolent grape jam.

I was just thinking that it had been a while since I’d had a proper PB&J when the trouble happened.

The Strongarms, standing on one side of the platform with their sacks of fruit, produced blasters and demanded ours.

(Yes, Strongarms keep things hidden among their tentacles. Yes, it’s just as gross as it sounds.)

Anyway, they must have taken our politeness and healthy fear of death for the signs of a bunch of pushovers, and wow they were wrong about that.

Blip and Blop swung their sacks of fruit in unison while I dove to one side and Mur took the other. You’d think we did this sort of thing all the time. In reality, there were only so many directions to go in a fenced-in battleground like this.

The would-be bandits were too busy dodging the sacks to aim their blasters properly, though they tried. One shot Blip’s bag of fruit, making her even more angry as yellow globes bounced everywhere. One nearly singed my ear, but didn’t get a second shot when I roundhouse kicked him in the squiddy head.

The other one, the leader, was wrestling Mur, and her shot went right through the center of the berry pot, shattering it and sending the platform’s fuel in every direction.

I mentioned that the railings weren’t exactly close together. And that these looked like blueberries: the little round things. My point is, they rolled. With great talent and speed. Right off the sides and down into that terrifying lake, leaving only a few behind.

“Look what you did!” Mur yelled, wrestling harder.

Blop made an undignified squeak of concern, then tried to find an angle he could help from. He ended up stepping firmly on a red tentacle and pinning the blaster to the floor.

His sister, meanwhile, was slamming an alien cantaloupe against the green guy, whose own weapon was stuck inside a different fruit, making its leisurely way down towards the lake.

The gray dude was out cold, which was a surprise to me. I guess Strongarms are easy to concuss, I thought as I made sure his blaster was safe on our side of the platform. I’d considered throwing it over the side as well, but figured we might want it to keep them in line once they woke up. I sure wasn’t planning on giving it back, though.

Crunch went the third blaster, Ow went the Strongarm holding it, and “Stay down, you arm-dragging limp grub!” went Mur. The red Strongarm stayed down.

So. We won the fight. But we only had a scattered few berries left to fuel the platform, and it had coasted to a stop in what looked to me like the exact stinkin’ center of this terrible, poisonous lake.

Blop looked worried. “Now what?” he asked Mur.

“These?” Blip suggested, holding a yellow fruit out toward the intake.

“No!” Mur shouted, startling everyone. He blocked her path. “Those break the engine. Didn’t you read the sign?”

I glanced at the defeated Strongarms. “I think only you read the sign,” I told him.

“Well, it’s very clear!” he exclaimed, waving dark tentacles like he wanted to tear out hair that he didn’t have. “Only other organics!”

Blip set the fruit down. “What do we have?” she asked, checking her pockets. “I’ve got two shrimp sticks and one of those seednuts that Paint likes.”

We all took stock, coming up with a whole lot of nothing. The unconscious Strongarms woke, and submitted to sitting in the corner with their leader, injured and embarrassed and also not in possession of any spare fuel.

“Let’s at least see how far the berries take us,” Mur said grimly, picking up the nearest.

We gathered all that we could find, and it took us a little way. Pocket snacks and whatnot took us a bit farther. We considered clothes (most were artificial), the fruit-carrying bags (same), and even treating the toilet-looking thing in appropriate but mortifying ways.

As we got increasingly desperate, we were still far from shore.

“Pretty sure this is real leather,” Mur said as he dropped in the leash for his tiny hoversled. “That will take us … not far enough.”

We were sort of close, kind of. Relatively speaking.

“The captain will come looking if we’re gone long enough,” Blop said.

“She doesn’t know which tunnel we took,” Mur reminded him. “Searching could take days.”

“Won’t the locals find us?” Blip asked.

The red Strongarm sneered. “They just finished a work cycle, and it’s a regular holiday. You think we’d try to rob you if they could come in at any moment?”

Both Frillians groaned.

Mur scowled. “Yes, very smart. See where that got you!” Moving slowly for added drama, he picked up a pair of shears from his sled. “Who wants to volunteer something organic?”

There were desperate pleas at that, and stonefaced silence from Mur that I hoped was acting.

“What about them?” the leader said, pointing wildly at the Frillians. “Surely they don’t need all those frills!”

Blip and Blop regarded her with identical shocked expressions. “Yes we do!”

“Well, we need our arms! You think that wouldn’t hurt to cut off?”

The yelling escalated while something very obvious occurred to me. I stepped over to Mur and flopped the braid over my shoulder. “Do you think this would be enough?”

The Strongarms shut up immediately. And they stayed silent while Mur calculated, so silent that I started to wonder.

They answered my question before I could ask it.

“You would volunteer that?” asked the red one quietly.

Ohhh, they think it’s a tentacle covered in hair, I realized. Have they not met a human before? Never mind; let’s see if Mur plays along.

“Yes,” I said solemnly, instead of going “Yeah” like I usually would. “If this is the only way to save all of us, then I will gladly make that sacrifice.” I looked over at Blip and Blop, who were elbowing each other but keeping mum. Good.

Mur ushered me toward the intake with all the grandeur of a high-society attendant. “If you would permit me to do the honors,” he said, “I will be quick.”

So I stood in front of the thing with my back to it so the wide-eyed bandits couldn’t see, told Mur to cut just below the hair tie, and held up my sweater ready to wrap it around my head like a bandage.

Yes, I did feel silly. But the bandits deserved a bit of shame and secondhand anguish. Besides, I’d been wanting to try a short haircut for ages, but never found the right time to chop it all off.

This is definitely the right time, I thought. “Go ahead.”

Mur snipped through the braid with one clean cut — hooray for sharp shears — and I collapsed with an anguished expression and some artful whimpers. Blip helped tie the sweater “bandage,” while Blop shielded us from view and stared down the Strongarms. I didn’t see Mur drop the braid into the intake, since my view was somewhat limited, but I felt the engine kick on with a most welcome hum.

I really hope that was enough, I thought as I lay there with my arms about my head. It’ll suck if we have to snip this down to a buzz cut. That’ll be hard to keep up the act through. And I really don’t want hair THAT short.

But when the engine finally went quiet, it was to a cheer from the Frillians. We were close enough to jump.

Or, more accurately, close enough for Blip to fling Mur across the gap with one of my socks to gather berries in. Mur was a terrible shot when he threw it back, but enough berries reached us that we were able to close the distance.

I pulled the blaster from my waistband and nudged it over the side before I forgot. It was too small for the Frillians to use anyway.

Plus, we didn’t need it. By the sound of her voice, the lead Strongarm had been so humbled by my sacrifice that she might have been considering a career change.

She even offered their collections of fruit, and the other two didn’t object.

Mur accepted graciously. I managed to turn my chuckling into pained noises as strong Frillian arms lifted me. I didn’t uncover my head to look. By the sounds of it, the many fruits were being balanced on Mur’s sled and the shoulders of whichever Frillian wasn’t carrying me.

“Farewell,” Mur said haughtily. “Make better choices in the future.”

We left the cavern to the sound of the ex-bandits promising to do so.

I have no idea if they’ll really go straight, but wouldn’t it be hilarious if they did?

Once we were out of sight, Blip put me down and took her share of the fruit bags. I claimed one too. I felt much lighter without the braid. And the threat of impending death.

I looked at my crewmates cheerfully. “Let’s never do that again.”

“Not without significant backup,” Mur agreed.

“Or more spare headfur!” Blop said.

“I’ve definitely spared enough for one day.” I freed a hand to pull out the hair tie, marveling at how simple a process it was now.

My crewmates all told me I looked incredibly strange with short hair about my face like that.

I told them to wait until I picked a final hairstyle, and I described hair gel to them.

~~~

The ongoing backstory adventures of the main character from this book. More to come!

[petrikaira]

The Maid

Demon City, pg 5 (Previous) (first)

Rating: G for General Audiences

They came to Mayra’s suddenly, and Nele could see the tapestries mentioned by Gerald in the windows. There were many blacks and reds, and a group of demons led by what looked like Prince Yuki through the mouth of a cavern. Many of the demons had missing parts, hands removed, feet missing, blood leaking and behind them through a perfectly circular hole was a beautiful bursting fire. “Founding of our city, 150 Canis coins.” Read the sign below the tapestry.

Nele’s heart sank. That was a lot of money. A lot of money she did not have. She wasn’t sure what the conversion rate was, but she was fairly certain whatever it was she did not have one hundred and fifty coins. Should she even go in?

Before she could voice her discomfort, Butler had opened the door for her. A bell above the door jingled, signifying their entrance and from within the depths of the shop came a “Welcome!”

“Go on, then. You can make it home by yourself can’t you, once you’re done buying your… blanket?” Butler asked.

“I can,” Nele said. 

She opened her mouth to say she wasn’t sure she could afford a blanket here, when Butler placed his hand on her back and pushed her in. She stumbled, feeling the warm shop air on her skin and suddenly drenched in brilliant colors. They were everywhere she looked, in all shades. All sorts of tapestries hanging on the wall, well embroidered, and numerous blankets folded on shelves and hanging over racks.

“Hello Miss!” The shopkeeper called, bustling out from behind a desk so stacked with folded clothes Nele could barely see them. 

They looked human enough, if a bit strange. They had pale choppy white hair that framed their broad face, and eyes as pure black as night. Other than that, though, fully human. Their skin was a warm brown, they had no horns, and they had no claws or strange bones sticking out.

“Oh, hello,” Nele rushed to say, swallowing her pride. “I’m the new maid at the Canis castle, and I was told you have the best blankets in town.”

It always helped a little to put some butter on the spin.

The shopkeep she assumed to be Mayra laughed. “I’d hope so, all hand made,” she said. “You said you were working up at the castle? You have a budget, or a particular set of wants?”

“Oh, a- a blanket I could afford on a week’s worth of wages?” Nele asked, feeling herself begin to sweat. What if there weren’t any options?

“I’d peruse the back left corner of the store, Miss, it’s where all of my blankets with local materials are stored. Since we get them here, they’ll be the cheapest. You’ll see the sign at the back. You let me know if you need any other help.”

The shop smelled of flowers and clean linen. As Nele walked back, steeling her nerves, she saw all sorts of colors. The darkest blacks. The deepest blues. Blankets that had been sewn to have lines of sparkling stones across them in stripes. Blankets with so many stripes of different colors it was dizzying. The fabric looked nice, too- soft, in some of the blankets and silky in others. Each new blanket Nele passed made her heart sink further. It really looked like she couldn’t afford a single one of them.

And then, she got to the back. The sign was right where the shop owner had put it, pinned up to the wall proclaiming “LOCAL MATERIALS” in a flowing script. It was exact and almost as pretty as the blankets. Nele scrunched her eyes closed, and took a step forward- and opened them again. 

She was stunned. There were brilliant pinks, soft peaches, a color that reminded her of the flesh of fish her parents had eaten on Friday nights from the sea. Deep purples came behind those, some more red and others more blue, like the petals of so many irises her mother had used to grow. The warmest browns. The grayest greens, the yellowest greens. They were the sorts of colors her family had had to pay extra for back in Byipi- well, everything but the browns. Browns were always easy, but these browns were a lot warmer.

She stepped forward, her fingers roaming over the blankets and looking at prices. Flaxen cloth was cheaper than wool, here, which she supposed made sense. Zillah had said that farm animals weren’t very common down here, but they obviously had plants if they could make such pretty dyes. The wool was at the end half under the “WOOL” sign. She assumed the wool was probably not local. 

She headed back for the flaxen cloth, running her fingers over it. She really loved the stripes that adorned the blankets- blankets that had a seam down the middle. Two panels, sewn together. Still, the stripes ran straight across the seam, undeterred, like they had been made as one. She liked the cream blankets, too, and she kept going back to the brilliant pinks. They reminded her of flowers, and some of the peaches too- and the browns-

Then she found it. A soft brown blanket, with three peachy stripes running equally across it. It was so pretty. Her fingers stroked it, feeling the soft give. Looking at the tassels tied on the ends. She found the tag, neatly tied on and flipped it over and braced herself for the price. 

C1.05 Her breath fluttered. Did she have enough? Her fingers found her coin purse on her chatelain, and she began to count. Coin by coin. Each had a dog face and made a satisfying click when they met each other. They were small, round, and also copper but much smaller than the coppers she was used to.

She stopped counting when she got to a hundred and fifty. There were still more in her coin purse, too. Excited, she took the blanket from its shelf and hurried back to the shopkeep.

“This one, please,” she said, putting it down and admiring the way the peachy pink looked so warm. It looked cozy. She really liked it. 

“One canis dollar and five cents, please,” The shopkeep said. “Glad you found something you liked. This one was done by my sister Mayra, she dyed the cloth herself too.”

Nele was surprised that the shopkeep was not Mayra, but she supposed someone had to run the store while the other wove. “Tell her it’s gorgeous, please,” she said. 

“Will do,” The shopkeep said once more, and once she had taken the pay, handed the blanket back.

Nele wrapped it to her chest. “Thank you,” she said again. 

She had her blanket now. And despite it being one of the cheap blankets, it was more beautiful than she could ever imagine. She couldn't wait to get it on her bed.

[mixedupmojo]

Danny phantom selkie au

Danny phantom selkie au 

Ok so semi recently I have discovered that there is a selkie Danny phantom au and as someone who absolutely loves selkies my mind immediately started racing with this au and all of the different possibilities until it eventually got to the point where I had to write it all down

so here are a couple of headcanons because this concept is just too good and there needs to be more content for it

Amity would defiantly be a costal/seaside town with potentially parts of amity even build into the water similar to Venice or those houses built on stilts 

Amity undergoes a lot of flooding, especially with the increase of sea monster attacks 

Fenton works being a converted lighthouse at the edge of the town on top of a cliff and annoying all of the locals with its blearing neon lights. it having an underground underwater observatory/ lab that runs through the cliff and is partially located in the ocean so that they have an optimal view of what’s going on beneath the waves 

The Fenton assault hover boat/Vehicle I can totally imagine Maddie and jack creating some wild Thornberry’s esk hybrid Vehicle that works on both land and sea.

Also, the idea of the accidental chaos that would be created if the Vehicle was part hovercraft is insanely funny to me    

Danny’s parents would most defiantly be marine biologists/sea monster hunters possibly from a long line of sea monster hunters that way it has been drilled into them that anything that comes from the sea is a threat 

With that, I mind it could also tie in with how Danny got his pelt in the first place. As it could have belonged to his however many great grandmother who originally was a selkie until her pelt was taken and she was forced to marry into the family, the pelt being hidden away until Danny found it

Sam, Tucker and Danny finding the pelt and getting Danny to try it on then all promptly freaking out as Danny turns into a seal and doesn’t know how to change back immediately 

Wacky high jinks ensue as they try to hide seal Danny from his parents and sister until Danny can eventually figure out how to take the pelt off

I love the idea of Danny having multiple seal forms depending on how he is wearing his pelt. Let me explain when Danny puts on his pelt completely he changes into full seal form, but when he puts it half on, say around his legs he turns into a mermaid version of a seal 

Danny being able to hold his breath underwater longer than any human or seal   

Danny is also incredibly fast while swimming 

As for how the portal could fit in personally I think it could be just the case that amity park has always had a sea monster/creature problem but with Danny officially putting his foot down and trying to stop it makes it more of a challenge than before to the local merfolk. However, I could see the portal work through either some B-movie logic that the Fenton’s accidentally open an underwater cavern, deep sea rift or something of that nature that allowed access to amity park or it could just be an underwater hell mouth situation spewing out some mystical energy or something that ended up attracting all of the local mer/monsters 

When it comes to Danny’s rogues gallery and allies I could see them fitting in a number of different ways such as:

-        Skulker when it comes to skulker there are two ways I could see him fit with this au So here are some ideas for both: 

-        First is shark mer skulker how is challenging Danny for his territory i.e amity park and wants to take his pelt as a trophy 

-        Second is poacher skulker who again is hunting Danny for his pelt. With this version I also imagine him having lost a lot of body parts from the various things he’s hunted and as such has various different prosthetics the most notable being a multipurpose hook hand which he can switch out for a variety of different weapons. Another disconcerting feature is the fact that he is also missing his nose which gives him a very skull-like look.

-        Box ghost being a boxfish mermaid nuff said

-        Technus being an electric eel mermaid 

-        Kitty and Johnny both being mermaids who love to cause trouble with the local fishermen and boats. shadow could be a manta ray or some form of malevolent water spirit or even just a regular shark

-        Ember I think would totally be a siren as her whole deal is music and singing with her goal being to lure people into the ocean to drown and eat them in classic siren fashion 

-        Walker I think could actually be a ranger as I’ve hear/read some stuff about how people have mistaken him for one in the past and I could see it fitting with his character, with him being such a stickler for rules and all. I could image him being a slightly corrupt law enforcer pick and choosing which local wildlife laws he enforces, and as such him causing problems for Danny when he is in human form. He sees Danny’s seal form as a menace to society and a danger to the local eco system despite the fact that Danny isn’t doing any harm. I could also see him becoming Sam’s arch rival considering how much of a nature activist she and if walker if following the rules to such an extent that it is causing more harm than good to the local wildlife then I can see them clashing as they both fight for what they believe is right.

-        When it comes to spectra for some reason I keep thinking that she would be a kelpie. For those who are not aware kelpies are water spirits that usually appear in the form of a horse but can also take the form of a human with the goal of luring people to the water so that they can drown them. She would still be Casper high counsellor only not only is she spreading misery just for the sake of it but she is slowly convincing people to go near large bodies of water so she can drown them later. going off one piece of kelpie lore that I heard about is that she is only able to keep her form through the use of her necklace which is how Danny was able to stop her in the end as she was planning on drowning jazz during her spirit speech which was being held at the beach instead of the school. but by taking her necklace Danny gained full control over her as taking a kelpie’s bridle allows the one who took it to have control over it he then threw it into the sea where spectra was then forced to go after it or it be lost forever

-        Young blood I think would still be a ghost but basing it around the episode “pirate radio” he would be a pirate in charge of a skeleton crew. This idea could also see him taking on a peter pan, Davey Jones-inspired role where he’s trying to get people to join his crew so that he has a never ending supply of people to play with. 

-        Freakshow would still be the ringmaster of the Circus Gothica only instead of ghost the circus consists of different types of merfolk. Danny was unfortunate enough to become one of freak shows main attractions when he got caught in his merseal form and couldn’t escape without blowing his cover as such Sam and tucker and surprisingly the A-listers had to come and rescue him before he was shipped away to perform circus tricks for the rest of his life (yes freakshow totally made bounce a ball on his nose as payback after some particular savage sassing on Danny’s part)

-        GIW are not just focused on ghosts but all forms of supernatural creatures however they lean more heavily into the conspiracy theorist and cryptozoology side of things and as such tucker has managed to spread a bunch of fake cryptid sightings in order to get them off of Danny’s trail. Sam hates them as they often do a lot of damage to the local wildlife whenever they are out hunting for cryptids. Wes is constantly trying to prove to them that Danny is a selkie

-        Fright night would be a deep sea mer from the deepest darkest parts of the ocean and a such there are a lot of local legends say that seeing him will cause you to die of fright. nightmare his horse is a hippocampus.

-        Desiree being a sea witch and granting people's wishes but at a great price. 

-        Vortex being some huge kraken leviathan with control over the weather. When he first showed up in amity park he cause such terrible flooding that the entire town was pretty much underwater.

-        Undergrowth would still be a plant creature only he would be centred around underwater plants mainly kelp and seaweed with his whole look would be based around a coral reef. He is extremely mad at the pollution that amity park is causing to the ocean and it’s what cause him to emerge in the first place as he was lying dormant for a long period of time so long in fact that he was one of amity’s parks local coral reefs before he woke up and started wreaking the town.

-        Nocturne being some ancient eldritch leviathan that no one knows what he truly is. 

-        Princess Dora and prince Aragon being sea dragons with the use of the amulet and regular mermaids without it also both of them living in a deep underwater kingdom populated with other mer which could potentially be stuck in a certain time period 

-        I think Sidney poindexter would just be a regular old mer but with a deep love and fascination for human culture as such I think he’s had a number a very bad experience in regards to interacting with human and as such can be hostile towards them especially the ones who act like bullies 

-        Frostbite and the yetis of the far frozen would defiantly be selkies potentially walrus versions as it ties in with their ice and cold theme either that or they could be merorca’s 

-        Clockwork being an ancient leviathan based off of some prehistoric fish like a Dunkleosteus

-        Pandora I think would be some sea serpent leviathan monster with a Greek twist of course    

-        Wulf being modelled after a wereshark as opposed to a werewolf and as such can survive on both land and in water 

-        Cujo I could see being a product of axion labs as instead of a tech company they could specialise in bio tech instead creating the mutant dogfish that is cujo who subsequently escapes wrecking the place in the process and causing Valerie's farther the loss of his job. Or alternatively, cujo could be just a normal merdog until he gets mutated by the toxic chemicals that axion is illegally dumping into amity park waters giving him his ability to grow massive (we all known that something shady is going on with this company)

-        Speaking of axion lab and the idea of them polluting amity waters it would also account for all of the animal ghost Danny fights in show, as instead it could be that Danny is fighting bioluminescent mutated fish, sharks and other deep sea creatures that have gone rabid

Vlad is a whole other kettle of fish admittedly I had a hard time thinking about how Vlad could fit within this world as a big issue is that a key point of his character is the portal accident which turned him into a hafa in the first place and how that fuels his character’s motivation so with this in mind here are a few ideas I have for how Vlad could into this au:

-        realistically part of me thinks that Vlad would also be a selkie as it fit with his character canon of him and Danny being the same and is the leading argument to why Danny should renounce his father and join him but then that raises the question how did Vlad get his pelt in the first place, so her is my idea Vlad was a selkie long before he met Maddie and jack at collage and instead of the portal incident Maddie and jack accidentally stealing Vlad’s pelt and nearly destroying it thus cause the rift in their friendship as I doubt Vlad would be will to trust them again even if it was an accident or they actually did succeed in destroying parts of it and as such Vlad has some serious health issue because of it (alternative to the ecto acne).  

-        Another idea is that Vlad gets accidentally cursed by something jack and Maddie found on a deep sea excursion and becomes some sort of sea monster forcing him to live in the isolation for years until he can eventually get control of it.  

Danny having water powers, now I know this I kind of straying from the traditional selkie mythos but I just really like the idea of Danny having the same sort of abilities that Cleo, Rikki and Emma from the tv show H2o just add water have (if you haven’t seen it I recommend watching it especially if you like mermaids). As not only would this tie in with Danny’s ice powers but Danny would defiantly take advantage of his water powers to pull pranks on people 

An example is that there is a running gag in h2o where Cleo will use her ability to control water to spray people in the face with their own water bottle which is something I see Danny doing to dash on the regular 

Also still running with the h2o theme Danny being affected by the Luna phases the same way the tide is and on full moons becoming a bit more mystical/feral than usual and feeling a deep pull towards the ocean   

Ever since gaining his pelt, there will be moments where Danny will swim fare out to sea purely so he can star gaze as there is quite a lot of light pollution in amity especially with his home being a lighthouse 

Danny will also sometimes help the local fishermen out by herding fish into their nets

Danny developing a big craving for seafood and ends up snaking on seafood sticks a lot much to jazz’s dismay as his room now reeks of fish

Lots of beach days and lots of swimming too the trio are the ones how are most likely the ones to be out swimming were as jazz prefers to stay on the beach reading 

Danny developing a collection of random sea junk that he’s found 

Sam and tucker finding full seal Danny in the most random of places 

Sam walks into the living room to see seal Danny on the couch surrounded by seafood stick wrappers “Danny you can’t just turn into a seal when things get tough” Danny making a woeful seal sound in response

Danny weaponing his puppy dog eyes against jazz, Sam and tucker when he need to or just to mess with them as none of them are immune to the cute seal stare 

Sam occasionally pretending Danny is her pet seal to get out of situations 

I feel like once Danny started to gain some popularity as phantom the entirety of Casper high would be fawning over cute seal pics of him much to Danny’s embarrassment 

Tucker would totally be the one supplying the pictures as well 

Instead of football Casper high is extremely into water sports with swimming and surfing being the most prioritised, football is still popular though 

Sam and Tucker taking the Spectre Speeder submarine out for joyrides with Danny swimming alongside

Danny constantly being worried about where he’s leaving his pelt as you know there would be a someone who would take it and use it against him. As such I think that he will often leave it with Sam or tucker.

This is a huge testament on how much he trusts them as he is essentially leaving an important part of himself for them to look after 

After jazz finds out he also starts leaving his pelt with her too  

There was a brief period of time where he was worried that Paulina would try and steal his pelt in order to make him her boyfriend but luckily over time, this seemed unlikely to happen. 

if Danny’s parents ever got hold of his pelt, it would be a serious issue as Danny would end up land locked and his pelt destroyed. 

so yeah those are my thoughts honestly this kina evolved into a full scale mer au. If I think of any more I will be sure to add them later. P.s sorry for any spelling mistakes

[delimeful]

the end of being alone (2)

donation drive commission for @bumblebeekitten for the next chapter of TEOBA, with the prompt: patton & virgil fluff! hope you enjoy reading it as much as i enjoyed writing it!

chapter 1

warnings: miscommunication, false impression of a very bad situation for like .5 seconds, recklessness, sometimes you just gotta have a good cry

-

The next sunrise, they set out again, this time with considerably less weaponry and considerably more snacks. Roman held point again, since he was the one with the most practical experience in tracking. 

There had been a somewhat tedious argument on whether or not Patton should come, one that Roman had thoroughly lost, since it was Patton’s quick thinking and emotional attunement that kept the previous cycle’s encounter from descending into disaster. 

He had acquiesced in the end under the combined force of Logan’s reasoning and Patton’s disappointed look, but that didn’t mean he had to be happy about it. After catching barely a wink of sleep between restless nightmares, he was feeling more grumpy than generous. 

Still, his own irritation faded as they grew closer to the rocky cliffs where he suspected the Human was, shifting into an intense concentration on the task ahead. It was a miracle that their initial encounter hadn’t gone sour, a miracle that this Human seemed young enough to be somewhat nonaggressive, and while he hoped that whatever they had said to scare the young kit off hadn’t irreparably damaged their budding acquaintanceship, he wasn’t counting on it.

He had his underarmor on for a reason.

The other two didn’t quite share his concerns. Logan’s arms had been in an excited, information-gathering flurry practically non-stop since they set out, and he and Patton had been discussing the plants and insects in the nearby forest that were relatively non toxic to them (and so would probably be no issue for a Human), and how many nutrients they would provide. None of them knew how much or what a Human needed to eat, but Patton seemed firmly of the opinion that whatever the kid was eating, it wasn’t enough. 

“Fledgelings need plenty of food and the proper nutrients to grow up healthy! A lone child in the middle of one forest can’t possibly have all the variety they need in their diet,” the Ampen insisted, feathers fluffing up at the mere idea of a kid going hungry. 

“Another important factor to note is the planet itself is not the child’s home, and so may not have the necessary nutrients available at all, let alone in one localized area,” Logan added. 

“You two have enough variety in those packs to weigh down a mountain,” Roman interjected, “so how about we focus on not scaring the kid off before we even reach them. Human senses are ludicrously strong, enough so that they’ll hear you two yakking a parsec away.” 

They agreed to be stealthier, and just in time, because Roman was pretty sure he’d found a more solid trail than the ghost-like faded prints that seemed all to trek over the place. He gestured in Crav’n sign for the two of them to stay put and stay quiet, and then followed the fresh tracks until they came to the mouth of a small cave amongst the crevices and steep drops of the pale cliffs.

He slowly stalked into the cave, keeping his movements light and quiet even as the light grew dimmer and his vision more restricted. Before it could grow too dim, however, his gaze caught on round, un-rock-like silhouettes. 

It took a moment to identify the shapes as small, limp Humlilts, all piled up around the larger Human. He nearly physically recoiled at the sight. So, this was why the small creatures had gone missing: slaughtered en masse at the hand of a Deathworlder. Not for food nor shelter, not in defense of itself or others, just for the sake of the callous cruelty and disregard for life that Humans were apparently born with. 

Humlilts were small, but Patton was scarcely bigger. Once the Human got tired of playing at mimicry, would it try to add the Ampen to the hoard of bodies?

He wasn’t going to lose another family.

Almost against his will, a low, near-subsonic growl rumbled out of his throat. He took one advancing step forward, and then… 

And then, a tiny head poked up from the pile, small dark eyes staring at him over a long snout. 

Roman nearly tripped over his own feet, astonished. There was still a living Humlilt in there? 

Before he could even finish his thought, another head appeared, and then another, until there was a sea of fluffy faces and huge ears all pointed in his direction. The undersized ungulates were fine, each and every one of them. They had simply been sleeping, all cozied up with one of the most dangerous species in the universe. 

Roman felt a strange and overwhelming mixture of relief and shame, his scales flattening down guiltily. It was too late, though, the movement had already rippled through the group until it reached the Human. Their creepy mask was absent in rest, and they pawed at their eyes sleepily as they sat up to see what all the commotion was about. There was a red mark on one of their cheeks from where it had pressed against the cave floor.

The moment they saw who stood at the entrance of their little nook, all the color drained from their face. The Humlilts shifted uneasily, and Roman found himself bracing to have thirty miniscule sets of horns charging at him. They couldn’t really hurt him, but they were persistent little things, and Patton and Logan would not be happy if a bunch of Humlillts tried to drive them away from the Human before they’d even properly spoken.

Instead of siccing the plethora of tiny mammals on him, though, the kid whistled a few notes in a perfect echo of the Humlilts all-clear call, settling them down. They carefully detangled themself from the pile, trailing a few stray twigs and leaves behind them in the process. Roman wondered absently how long they’d been building the collection of plant matter that covered them. 

A few parting trills later, the kid was in front of him, holding their bony shoulders firm but unable to conceal the tremor in their legs. They raised their chin up in what looked like a friendly Crav’n greeting, but attitude-wise seemed more along the lines of a challenging stance. 

“No hurt,” they said firmly before Roman could say a word. “No hurt small--,” a few words in their own language here, “--small good. No hurt. No hurt. Yes?” 

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Roman tried to reassure them, “I swore, remember?” 

The kid stomped their foot once in… some kind of emphasis. “No hurt,” they started again with deliberate slowness, and then ended with the Humlilt whistle-greeting. Many of the Humlilts whistled back from where they were still observing the two of them. The small cavern echoed with the sound eerily. 

“You don’t want me to hurt the Humlilts? The small creatures?” Roman asked, gesturing to the pile of fluff and hooves, and was rewarded with the kid seeming satisfied. 

“Yes. Small good. Good good small. No hurt.” 

Roman extended his hand palm up for another oath. “I vow not to harm your small good friends,” he intoned solemnly. The kid patted his hand twice, bobbing their own head in a curious motion. Roman could only imagine the sort of notes Logan would be taking. 

Oh, right. He’d left the others in the bushes. 

“I brought my friends, too,” he informed the kid, who blinked up at him. “Logan and Patton, remember them? Little critter?” 

He said the last words in the chirps of the Ampen language, only a little strained by his accent, and the kid visibly brightened. “Little critter!” 

“Wait right here, and I’ll get them,” Roman instructed, lowering a flat hand to convey wait. The kid probably didn’t really grasp it, but seemed content enough to stay put, shifting from one foot to the other. 

It took no time at all to find Patton and Logan, who had progressively edged closer to the cliff face as he’d taken his sweet time in there. 

“Okay, so,” he started, “I know where all the missing Humlilts went.” 

---

Virgil shuffled his feet slightly, feeling the cool stone under his toes. 

He should probably leave now, because even if the fluffy chirp alien really was there, they knew or at least suspected he was a human, and aliens hated humans. All of them, even the ones that looked soft like birds or cool like dinosaurs. 

A soft, velvety nose poked up against his hand, and he squatted to gently pat the strange little singing puppy-antelope that had parted from the group to check on him. He couldn’t help but smile a little bit as it bumped its snout against his knee, sounding like a windchime. 

Okay. Maybe not all aliens. 

He looked up at the clitter-clatter of talons on rock, and then the fluffy chirping alien really did careen into view, feathers all puffed up like that very angry owl that had roosted outside his window for three whole hours one time. The other two bigger aliens came in only moments later.

Virgil couldn’t help but shrink back slightly from where he was still crouched, because aliens were weird and sometimes they did weird things that he didn’t really… get. Typically, this would be right before they started getting really mad or shaky, and screaming at him. 

Before Fluff-Chirp could get any closer, though, the puppy-antelope had charged between them, planting its little legs and lowering its head so that the little horns were pointed out in warning. Virgil went still, eyes darting between Fluff-Chirp and the little creature, who he was pretty sure was the one with the white spot on its forehead, the one he’d named Susan after his nice neighbor. 

The cool dinosaur alien had promised not to hurt them (he was pretty sure), but would it count if the puppy-antelopes attacked them first? 

Fluff-Chirp stepped forward a little bit, and Susan let out a shrill cry like someone blowing really hard on a flute. Virgil clapped his hands over his ears as he attempted to whistle the calm-down sound, but Susan would not be budged, even as the other two aliens got all tense and twitchy.

In front of it, Fluff-Chirp stopped advancing, and instead plopped down on the ground with a soft thump. They ruffled in their bag, and Virgil was struck with the fear that they would pull out a space blaster gun to shoot Susan for trying to protect him. Hurriedly, he crawled forwards and threw his arms around the puppy-antelope (puppylope?) and hugged it close to shield it from any laser gun beams, his eyes squeezing shut.

There was a grunt-grumble from the cool dinosaur, and the click-click-click of the bunches of arms of the blue one moving around, but all he heard from Fluff-Chirp was shuffling, and then—

“Hello good morning,” the fluffy alien said. Or at least, that was what Virgil thought the birdsong-like words meant. 

Fluff-Chirp always said it when waking up in their little camp, and Virgil had said it back, because that was just basic manners, especially when someone gives you stuff. Fluff-Chirp had given him a bunch of sweet sliced up fruit, kind of with the feeling of mangoes and the taste of strawberries. It had reminded him of home. 

It… kind of smelled like Fluff-Chirp’s fruit now, actually. 

—

Patton watched hopefully as the kid slowly opened one eye to peek over at them. 

He hadn’t meant to scare the poor little guy by rushing in, he’d just been absolutely delighted to hear that not only would he get to see some Humlilts after all, but also that the kid seemed to have some company after all.

Some very loyal company, if the one threat-displaying at him was any indication. Patton was careful not to engage, particularly since further back in the cave, he could see a whole assembly of tiny, reflective eyes. Roman would probably just hold him up in the air if there was any real danger, but it was the principle of the matter. He didn’t want to upset the little guys! 

Or the kid, who had finally spotted the dishes of fruit Patton had set out. 

“You wanna come eat with me, little critter?” Patton offered, patting the ground near him. 

“Little critter…,” the Human murmured. Their face was much more expressive now that it wasn’t mostly concealed by wood, and the kid looked painfully young. Probably no more than seven or eight sun cycles. Patton’s hearts twanged in sympathy.  

Slowly, like they were waiting for the rug to be yanked out from under their feet, the kid scooted forward enough that they could grab a few pieces of the dana fruit, setting one down in front of the Humlilt to distract it. Patton eye-crinkled encouragingly, and took a piece of his own to nibble on. 

“Do you remember me? I’m Patton. Patton,” he emphasized, ‘pat’-ing his own chest in example. 

The kid paused mid-bite, and then swiped their wrist over their mouth before mumbling, “Patton,” back. Patton glowed with happiness. 

“And that’s Logan,” he said, bolstered by one apparent success. Logan obligingly stepped forwards and gestured to himself. 

“I am Logan,” he enunciated clearly. 

The kid, who had stopped eating to focus wholeheartedly on this new task, scrunched his brow up. “I am Logan?” 

“No, not quite,” Logan corrected gently. “Logan. I am Logan.” He cast a meaningful look to Patton. 

“And I am Patton!” he added cheerfully, gesturing between the two of them. “Logan! Patton!”

“Logan,” the kid mimicked, looking at the Ulgorii and then the Ampen, “Patton.” 

“You got it! Good job!” Patton noticed that the kid was very careful to keep their hands in their lap, and wondered if Humans were normally this withdrawn, or if exposure to other aliens had caused this reticence. 

“Good job?” the kid echoed, wide eyed. They looked to Roman curiously, though only for a moment before dropping their gaze. 

“I am Roman,” Roman surprised them both by beating them to the introductory punch. 

“... Roman?” the kid offered, and got a chorus of nonsense praise for their effort. They bared their little teeth and clapped their hands together, and it took the three of them an alarmed pause and exchange of glances to realize that they weren’t, in fact, being threatened by a youngling. 

“Joy? Or perhaps, contentment?” Logan was mumbling to himself. “The skin around the child’s eyes folds much like an Ampen expression of happiness, so…” 

“It would make more sense to be happy after receiving praise, right?” replied Roman, who had gotten a bit bristly from nerves for a moment. Patton resisted the urge to elbow the both of them into not saying long, confusing sentences. Luckily, the kid seemed too occupied with their own thoughts to notice. 

“Patton, Logan, Roman,” they recited, looking at each of them in turn. Then, very carefully, they reached up and patted their own chest. “Virgil. I am Virgil?” 

There was a brief moment of stunned silence, and then Patton trilled in delight, clapping his hands in an echo of the Human’s gesture, in hopes that it would convey his own happiness and pride in the kid’s quick learning. The kid jumped, but then did that teeth-bearing smile again.

“Virgil!” he tested out, not quite getting the Human tones right, but that was okay because he could practice! “Virgil Virgil Virgil! Yes! That’s you!” 

“I am Virgil!” the Human was practically bouncing in place as they matched Patton’s energy, and Patton couldn’t help but dart forward and try to bump his head to the Human’s affectionately. 

Roman hissed something exceedingly panicked, but Patton was already using one of the Human’s bent legs to reach, and then he was brushing his antenna to the kid-- to Virgil’s forehead, and then the Human was lifting their arms slowly and curling them around him, and okay now Patton was a little bit concerned, but. 

But, all Virgil did was lean into him slightly, arms bracing but not suffocating, and sniffle once, like they were holding back tears. Any resolve Patton had to not give his teammates stress ulcers faded away like dust in the wind, and he leaned in carefully and wrapped his arms around as much as he could reach of the kid’s shoulders and neck, which Roman would tell him was stupid dangerous because necks were weak points on Humans and they would absolutely react defensively-- 

Virgil promptly burst into tears, their chin coming to hook over Patton’s shoulder as a stuttering little wail worked its way out of their system. Patton made soothing nonsense croons and sung Ampen lullabies as the kid shuddered their way through a good cry, and tried not to feel too alarmed that unlike Ampens, Humans apparently leaked emotions while they cried.

Once Virgil had more or less settled down, they seemed completely wiped from the outpour of emotion, eyes drooping, body tilting to one side. For the first time since they’d arrived, the kid looked too wiped out to be nervous. Sure enough, only a few moments later, they shifted to curl up on their side, falling asleep on the cold stone easily.

Patton looked up at his teammates from where he was sitting in the center of the curled c-shape of the kid’s body, and offered them a sheepish shrug. “Well. Now we know that Humans can experience touch hunger?”

[jarienn972]

La Sirena - Chapter Three

Captain Swan Supernatural Summer

My intent had been to post this latest chapter update for @cssns​ yesterday, but neither Tumblr nor my internet at home wanted to cooperate so Chapter Three was a little bit delayed. I decided with this chapter to jump a few days ahead so that Killian was partially recuperated and able to start exploring his new surroundings.  He’s discovered that his “angel” is a mysterious, lonely woman who has been stranded on this stretch of shore for a very long time and he wants to learn more about her.  Will he get more than he bargained for though?

I have to say thanks again to @courtorderedcake​ for her beautiful artwork featured here and to @kmomof4​ for being an amazing beta reader!

The first two chapters can be found on AO3 and FF.net or here: One  Two

Chapter Three: A Glimpse of the Unknown

By the third sunrise since arriving on this distant cove, Killian was at last feeling recuperated enough to venture beyond the protected thicket. He'd been gratefully accepting Emma's offered sustenance and had enjoyed the few, brief conversations they'd shared. The fruits she'd brought had served to nourish his weakened body, especially after a week or so subsisting on the unidentifiable gruel the pirates had shoved at him. More so, her pleasant words may have been few, but they had helped ease his troubled mind and he hoped to entice her into talking more now that he had recovered enough to carry on an intelligent discourse.

What had brought her here to such a seemingly lonely place? Was she truly alone here or were there others living nearby? He had no inkling whether she'd answer him, but with little else to do, he'd relish the challenge.

For now, he was anxious to stretch his legs and discover a bit more of the isle he'd landed upon. Using a nearby palm tree stump to aid in keeping his balance, Killian found his footing and pushed himself fully upright for the first time since he'd escaped the doomed pirate ship. He'd crawled about the clearing as needed and he'd of course been able to sit cross-legged in the sand to eat, but standing suddenly felt foreign. His legs protested the exertion, although not nearly as much as his throbbing head. He had to pause for a few seconds to allow the dizziness to pass, but he pressed forward despite the realization that he'd likely underestimated the severity of the blow he'd taken from the ship's rigging.

It was also at this moment that it dawned on him what a fright he must look. His uniform had been torn to shreds in battle, made worse during his imprisonment, and now hung in tatters on his gaunt form. The relentless waves had shredded the fabric even further but had barely touched the dark stains. His current state was completely unbecoming of an officer but he was a long way from a tailor so he'd have to make due. He was determined to do one thing to improve his outward appearance - bathe. He'd not bathed properly since he'd departed Liam's ship nor had he shaved. His chin itched of several days' growth of whiskers and he found himself idly wondering if his lovely companion might have soap or better yet - a straight razor - in her possession.

Taking each step slowly and deliberately, he followed a narrow, well-trodden path through the patch of cycads, emerging onto a pristine expanse of shoreline. The sand squishing between and beneath his toes was warm, but not uncomfortable as he trudged toward the water's edge. He'd not yet seen Emma this morning. Perhaps he'd risen before her? He was tempted to turn back towards the rocks and search for her, but he knew she'd come find him in time. Right now, he was eager to wade into the crystal clear bay that stretched out before him as far as the eye could see and allow the seawater to wash away the grime and ease the aches in his joints.

And if the fair maiden wasn't around to see him, he could shed his torn, bloodstained linen shirt and the stiff, uncomfortable wool uniform trousers. A least for a few minutes…

The scratchy trousers were the first to go, followed quickly by his shirt. He'd not even bothered undoing all of the buttons as several were already missing. By the time he reached the water, he'd left a trail of clothing behind but as long as he was still alone on the beach, his dignity remained intact.

He waded into the surf, noting that the shallows extended only a short distance from the shore before dropping into unknown depths. At least the waves were calm as they broke against his legs. He dared only to venture in waist deep, not prepared to test his swimming ability so soon lest Emma need to rescue him again. As he bent his knees to lower his torso into the cool, salty water, he watched the little fish darting around. He cupped water in his open palms and splashed it onto his face, careful to avoid the gash on his forehead as he scrubbed away layers of grime. His wound still stung enough without introducing more saltwater to it.

He wasn't normally a contemplative person but even he had to recognize how recent events had altered his perspective. For days in captivity, he'd had nothing but time to think about those he'd failed. His crew. His brother. Himself. Maybe he lacked the necessary skills to be a proper leader. He'd sailed his crew into certain death and yet, here he was - left to wallow in guilt. Liam would have fought harder. He wouldn't have allowed his crew to be taken prisoner.

And yet Liam was the one who'd given the order to scout the uncharted island. The order had come from him. He was the Captain. Liam had imparted this fate upon them with his order…

Killian squeezed his eyes shut and lowered his head, willing himself to banish those thoughts. No, Liam was a good captain. He would never knowingly endanger his crew, especially not with his younger brother leading the expedition. It had been an unfortunate series of events that Killian alone had survived to lament. Fortune had intervened and spared his life, bringing him here to another uncharted, idyllic locale. The cove and its beguiling inhabitant were both ripe with beauty and intrigue.

At some point, his senses became aware that he was no longer alone. He didn't know how long she'd been watching him but he couldn't halt the flush of embarrassment from darkening his cheeks as he splashed an abrupt about-face in the water.

"Apologies," she shouted from the shore. "I didn't intend to startle you."

"'Tis alright," he replied, stupidly arguing with himself as to whether he should cover himself.

"I followed your trail from the grove," she began, waving an arm in the direction of his discarded clothing littering the beach. "If I had known you wished to bathe, I would have recommended the spring-fed pool inside the cavern as being more preferable…"

He chuckled to himself as he gave his head a little shake. Of course, it would have been… "I'll remember that for future reference."

"I am pleased to see that you're feeling stronger today," she smiled while a breezy tradewind fluttered the hem of her tunic, giving him a glimpse of her pale but enticingly shapely legs.

"Yes," he gulped, suddenly even more aware of his current state of undress. "I am feeling much better this morning…"

"That is wonderful. I've refilled the carafe for you back at the grove and brought you some fresh fruit. Is there anything else you might need?"

"You wouldn't happen to know where a man might get some new clothing and perhaps a straight razor around these parts? Is there a town or village nearby where I might find such things? My former uniform is rather an unacceptable mess at the present."

"I'm afraid that the nearest place you'd call a village is more than a day's trek up the peninsula from here and it's certainly not a place where you'd find such goods."

"Ah, pity. We truly are quite isolated here, are we not?"

"Afraid so, but you might be surprised by what this bountiful cove can provide. I believe I may be able to locate some clothing for you and perhaps some personal implements as well. Come join me in the cavern and we can take a look?"

"Ehh…," he stammered, blushing an even deeper shade of crimson. He'd not thought of himself as a prudish person but he was far from a brash braggart who would dare reveal his nudity to an innocent maiden yet. "That sounds like a wonderful idea…"

She seemed a tad confused when he didn't exit the water but after a moment, she understood his hesitation. "Ah - I am truly sorry… I have had little need for modesty in my solitude. I'll leave you be and meet you back beneath the trees in a few minutes."

"Much appreciated," he responded as she turned toward the swaying palms, all the time hearing the ghostly echo of Liam's laughter ringing in his ears.

**********

After ensuring that the coast was clear of prying eyes, Killian padded self-consciously out of the sea. He collected the remnants of his threadbare shirt and used it to give himself a precursory drying off as he fetched his trousers. He would have preferred to burn them rather than don them yet again, but with no other option for clothing presently available, he'd have to suffer and make due. He didn't have the foggiest notion of what Emma had meant when she spoke of the provisions of this bountiful cove, but he had to trust her. He was the outsider here and even though he still knew little about her, he doubted she would have mentioned anything if she couldn't be of assistance.

He chose not to bother putting what remained of his shirt back on as he followed her footprints back into the cycad grove where he'd spent nearly every waking moment since being marooned on this shore. The canopy had provided shade and shelter to him, although he was thankful the skies had been fair. He'd spent the past decade and a half aboard various ships, his leave in port usually brief so this was an unfamiliar experience for the seasoned mariner.

Not necessarily an unpleasant one though, he thought to himself as he arrived to find Emma kneeling in the sand, splitting apart a fig. She silently offered him one half as she bit into the other. Killian accepted it with a nod, popping it into his mouth before realizing she was staring at him with her intense green eyes.

"Have I done something wrong?" he queried with a furrowed brow, concerned he had offended his host with either his actions or his partially clothed form.

"No, no…" she assured him, averting her eyes with a hint of shame. "I was just admiring your pelt…" Her face scrunched in disgust at her errant choice of words. "No, that's not the right word…" She shook her head, trying desperately to come up with the proper term as Killian looked on in confused amusement. "I was drawn to the dark hair that covers your limbs and your torso… The males of my people, they simply do not possess body hair in such patterns."

"Your people don't have body hair?" he asked, incredulously, lifting a curious eyebrow as he wondered how they'd gotten to this conversation.

"Not to the extent of yours… They are able to grow facial hair but only fine, pale hairs adorn their bodies…" Her attempt to explain what she meant only began to exacerbate her awkwardness. "A thick coat of fur is not needed for warmth in our land so I have never seen anyone with such an impressive display of hair…"

"Well, it isn't really for warmth where I come from either. I inherited it from my grandfather, I believe…," he realized he was blushing while he rambled on, suddenly wishing he had something to cover his bare chest.

"Please - do not be embarrassed. I had no intention of shaming you and I should not have been staring - it's not polite - but it has been a very long time since I've been this close to anyone."

"How long?" he caught himself asking, cringing immediately as he blurted out the insensitive question. "Forgive me, please. That wasn't proper for me to be asking."

"It's no matter. We've both made our blunders, have we not?" She mused with a shy grin, the first time he'd truly noticed her smile. It was only visible for a split-second as she abruptly changed the subject, reverting back to her stoic front. "You should come with me to the cavern now. I believe you shall find some of what you seek there."

"Inside the cave?" There was a heavy dose of disbelief in his voice. What on earth would be inside that cavern that would be of use to him?

"Please, just follow me. You will see."

He might have still been skeptical but he was also of the opinion that if a beautiful woman asked you to follow her, you followed her. He'd be damned if he wasn't going to do as requested.

The mouth of the cavern was deeply recessed into the jagged outcrop, making it virtually invisible from the bay. It was dark and uninviting but as they made their way over the ridge and passed into the void, Killian was pleasantly surprised to learn that the interior was relatively well illuminated. Streams of sunlight filtered in through cracks in the cavern's ceiling and he also recognized the acrid scent of smoke lingering in the tempered air, likely residue from the series of torches and lanterns lining the rock walls that Emma used to navigate the tunnels.

With Emma leading the way, they rounded a shadowy corner in a dim passageway that became ablaze with light as they neared. Emma was only a few steps ahead of him, but suddenly there were torches roaring to life. He'd not seen her stop to light the flames, but he shook it off as a trick of his weary head. His injury must be toying with his imagination.

The chamber they'd now entered was clearly Emma's living quarters and Killian swallowed back a swell of unease at invading her private dwelling, although she didn't appear fazed. He noted its simple furnishings as they passed, this not being her intended destination. Tucked away in an alcove, he saw only a mattress fashioned from woven raffia grasses and a series of colorful ceramic carafes like those she'd used to bring water to him. She seemed to have little need for creature comforts or material goods, so different from the women he'd encountered in various ports around the realm.

"Just a bit further," she stated, drawing his attention away from her dwelling and back to the passage. He noted the trickle of water off in the distance, likely a stream or brook formed from the spring she'd mentioned earlier. They pressed forward into another chamber that again seemed to illuminate as they drew closer. The experience was a tad disconcerting to Killian but he was determined to keep his mouth shut - at least until his jaw fell slack by the revelation of stunning wonders all around him.

The narrow corridor weaving through the rock opened into a broad, expansive subterranean room, awash in brilliance from its own natural skylight which opened directly above a sparkling pool. Faint tendrils of steam arose from the surface. This must be the spring Emma had recommended for bathing and it looked incredibly inviting.

"This is the spring you spoke of earlier?" he queried.

"One of them. This is the mineral hot spring. There is also a cool, sweet water spring around the bend. It feeds into this pool as well as one deeper into the cavern," she advised.

"This cavern… I've seen others similar on my many adventures. It's an old lava tube, is it not?"

"Very astute and yes, this entire cove was formed by an ancient lava flow."

"It is quite a lovely place and I see now many of its provisions, but I still fail to see what assistance this is to be for me…"

"It was not the cavern itself that I was referring to. This happens to be where I have stored some unusual items that originated in your world."

"My world?" he asked, confused as she lowered herself to her knees and lit a lantern conveniently sitting at her feet. When she raised the lamp, he could now make out the objects she'd been so cryptically taunting him with - four large marine chests in varying states of decay.

"Are these not from your world?" She brought the lantern closer to the nearest chest. It was covered in faded, cracked leather and decorated with ornate brass fittings and latches that were marred with heavy patina. He surmised that there was once a matching padlock that was lost to time but there was no evidence that it had been removed by force. The whole thing had seen better days, bearing extensive visible water damage. Depending on how well it had been constructed and the quality of the leather casing, it could potentially still be watertight. "I find these washed up on the shore from time to time."

"They appear to be merchant chests, used for transporting goods. We had many like these on my ship, although these appear to be much older."

"I assume they came from ships that have sunk in the treacherous waters surrounding this land."

"Around this placid bay?" he scoffed. "These waters are far too tranquil. These must have traveled here from afar…"

"Do not allow the tranquility of this cove to fool you. These waters are teeming with untold dangers. Your very survival was nothing short of miraculous!" Even in the half-light cast off by the flickering lantern, he noted the stern admonishment that spoiled her visage before she hastily turned her face away from his view. She paused with a haunting silence as she calmed herself before continuing with the prior topic. "These chests, I have searched through them, though they contain little to serve my needs, save for the bits of fabric and notions. I do believe that you will find objects that will conform to your needs so please, feel free to peruse their contents at your leisure. I am going to return to the bay so I may find some shellfish for our next meal. If you need my assistance, just shout. Voices carry well in this cavern and I have excellent hearing."

She extended her arm towards him, offering him the lantern she held. She wouldn't require it to make her way out of the cave. He took hold of the handle as she pushed herself back to stand. Emma paused momentarily as Killian crouched, flipping open the latch on the first chest to uncover the hidden treasures beneath.

"Thank you. This was not at all what I expected…" he said as he poured over goods that had survived their journey well. He glanced over his shoulder with a wide grin crossing his lips, one that instantly faded when he discovered she'd already departed.

How? He'd barely averted his attention for a minute or two… How had she vanished so rapidly and so stealthily? One more mystery to add to his growing list…

When he emerged from the cavern, he sported a billowy black silken tunic featuring tiny mother-of-pearl buttons and linen trousers that were the color of the sand. He'd needed to draw the laces quite tight to prevent them from sliding off of his slender hips, but they were exceedingly more comfortable than what was left of his woolen uniform pants. He'd fretted over not finding a razor in any of the chests although he did locate a short-bladed cutlass within a chest full of treasure, likely once the property of a long-dead pirate. It didn't sit as comfortably in his grip as his service rapier but it was a solid, capable weapon. It would certainly prove useful to split a coconut or filet a fish.

He tucked the blade back into its scabbard as he caught sight of Emma on the horizon. He was prepared to thank her for the clothing he'd found, but there was something about the expression on her face… She looked worried, even frightened and she was running toward him.

"Emma? You look vexed, love…"

"Get back inside the cave!" she ordered. "There's a storm coming. It isn't safe here…"

Killian's brow lifted in confusion as he glanced skyward, seeing only a few sparse, puffy clouds against the azure backdrop of the heavens. There was no foul wind blowing to indicate an impending storm. Whatever was she talking about?

"What storm? There's no sign of rain clouds above…"

"Killian…," she pleaded, catching his arm as she hurried past him and tugging him back to the shelter of the cave. "Don't argue with me. Just return to the cavern, back to the pools. You can not be caught up in this…"

"In what?" he pressed for more information while trusting her judgement and retreating beneath the rocky overhang. He expected that she would remain here with him for the duration of this coming storm but once he was safely out of the elements, she released her grasp and scrambled back toward the ridge. "Emma? Where are you going? I thought you said there was a storm coming? That it wasn't safe?"

She stopped at the crest of the ridge and lowered her head. He wasn't sure what to make of her body language or the consternation etched into her face as she glanced over her shoulder.

"It isn't safe for you," she replied sternly. "but this storm - it's here for me."

[crusherthedoctor]

The beach trope: another one that often comes early in Sonic's quests, and this one's no different, though expectations are very mildly subverted by making it the third zone instead of the very first. (Careful Crusher, you had the audience on the edge of their seats there.)

More importantly though, it's possibly one of the most famous and celebrated level tropes in the series. Emerald Coast is undeniably iconic, Seaside Hill is just as iconic while also merging with the Green Hill setup, and Wave Ocean... is a poor man's Emerald Coast, but it's probably better than most levels in '06 by comparison, so it too is iconic, from a certain point of view. We can't forget Jungle Joyride either, even if that's mostly because we got to see the frame rate die before our very eyes.

So how do you make your interpretation stand out? How do you prevent having a Wave Ocean 2: Wave Oceaner on your hands? Well, it's actually very simple...

Creating Zone 3: Coastline Resort

3-1: Shining Shore

Remember when I said that sometimes all it takes to make an environment feel different is the time of day, or a change in weather? This is one of the first major examples of putting that philosophy into action, as compared to previous beach levels, which were usually content with taking place in the bright sunny daytime, this one takes place under a pleasant purple sunset.

This of course contrasting heavily with not only the blue sea, but also the sands, which although given a mild touch of purple courtesy of the sunset, cannot fully hide their natural shade of white.

And of course, waterfalls.

We can’t forget the waterfalls.

Despite being a true blue beach level first and foremost, there are also a few hints of plaza, further setting it apart from the Emerald Coasts and Not-Emerald Coasts of old times past. This aesthetic in particular is based heavily on the seaside town of Whitby.

No doubt Sonic would admire this place, at least when he's not forced to go deep underwater. Maybe when the adventure is over, he can come back here and have a relaxing moment with... someone. Dunno who though. I doubt Eggman would be interested, and not just because he's actually in-character. Oh well, plenty more horses in the sea.

Speaking of, what about the underwater sections? Shining Shore does have them after all, in full 3D, as opposed to making them bottomless pits in disguise. Unsurprisingly, everything's a lot more blue than purple down there, gorgeously so, but the coral reef provides its own variety of colour.

The local fishies don't seem to mind you being in their line of sight... nor do the Badniks, but probably for a different reason.

Since we're three zones in, you might have noticed by now that each zone, regardless of their overall colour scheme, has one element in at least one act that goes all rainbow with the colours than everything else. You had the flower patches in Gleaming Meadows, you had the wood barriers in Tricky Tropics with their rusting paint jobs, and now we have the coral reef in Coastline Resort... any reason for this?

Alas, the answer is a mundane one: it's just a little way of tying all the zones in Viridonia together. As this quest revolves around the mystery of the elusive Ethereal Zone, this seemingly inconsequential aspect is a way of ensuring that it will always remain at the back of your mind. It may be relatively more subtle and easy to miss than, say, a giant moon glaring down angrily at you no matter where you go on the map as it literally comes closer and closer to killing everyone, but the intention is effectively the same: the central meat of the setting and story is always present in some form, however indirect, even if the characters aren't currently discussing it.

Also, shout out to the lighthouse that helped our heroes by inadvertently blinding the pursuing mechanized orca.

You really put a dent in Heavy Gunner's strategy.

First Section (calm): Lagoony Tunes (Crash Bandicoot 2: N-Tranced) Peach Field (Mario Hoops 3-on-3)

Second Section (adrenaline): Lost Palace (Team Sonic Racing) Hang Eight (Crash Bandicoot 2: Cortex Strikes Back)

3-2: Crazy Rapids

Being a whimsical water park, made even more whimsical to fit the video game format, this one explains itself in a lot of areas. But let's go over the finer details anyway, shall we?

As mentioned in the fic, the park has been made to fit in seamlessly with the ruins present in the area, thus creating a Good Future-esque wonderland of nature and technology in harmony. For an idea of how the ruins aesthetic would work, imagine something akin to the Sunset Beach Resort in Jamaica, particularly the long bridge and archways you can see in both of these shots:

Kind of has an Aquatic Ruin vibe, doesn’t it?

Even then, that only applies to half of the architecture, as the other half breaks up the yellow with some white, reminiscent of a certain OTHER watery location in Sonic's past...

We also have the giant fountains sprinkled around the place. There are two types of fountains to be exact, both of which may seem familiar to the attentive eye...

The difference? They're larger. MUCH larger. As in, you can actually platform your way on and around them.

As for what’s inside? It's exactly how you'd imagine it to be, albeit exaggerated even further to befit a Sonic level.

And in-tune with the beachside mood, the Chao Garden found nearby would take a page from the one in Station Square...

...with a little extra flavor of this...

...complete with miniature water slides and the like for the adorable inhabitants... the inhabitants that Eggman currently has an unexplained interest in. How do the Chao factor into his latest plan?

Heh heh, only I and those I've discussed it with in PMs know that for now.

First Section (outside): Windy and Ripply (Sonic Adventure) Ocean Palace (Sonic Heroes)

Second Section (inside): Data Select (Tee Lopes) Wii Shop Channel - Mii Channel (Super Smash Bros. Wii U)

3-3: Aquarium Gallery

Disappointed that Crazy Rapids lacked that smooth red-on-blue contrast that Aquarium Park from Sonic Colours had? Well we can’t all be in the same league as Eggman sadly, but fear not, for the similarly named Aquarium Gallery gets right in on the action, combining red walls and an overall upper class aesthetic...

...with the expected quantities of shimmering blue that comes with the aquarium setting. And with glass tanks of great size, comes great fishies to go along with them.

The black and white checkered floor would also be a must. It's a Sonic game, we gotta have a checkered pattern somewhere. It just works. /ToddCrusher

Don't worry about the living conditions for the fish here, by the way. Eggman mechanizing them aside, the people who work at the park - and those who visit it - make sure to treat all the marine life with the utmost respect and kindness. Just a shame that they're apparently not so willing to lend that same understanding to Trudy... but it does provide an early hint that despite the few genuine bad apples who are outright antagonistic towards Trudy, most of the folks ignorant to her condition are exactly that at worst: ignorant. Meaning, despite first impressions, most of them are not bad people at heart, and with a little help and persistence, it's not entirely impossible that they can eventually learn to understand and sympathise with Trudy's situation.

In other words, they have more dimension than the background characters in Sonic Boom, where they're all mostly a bunch of one-note arseholes with little redeeming qualities and don’t deserve to be saved by Sonic in the slightest.

Anyhow, eventually, after a trip through one of those sweet underwater tunnels...

...we find ourselves in the cavern area, where red is exchanged for turquoise, and there are reflected ripples galore. Since the Marble Caves in Chile already look halfway to being a Sonic level due to its unique formations, that's the best comparison I can make here.

Too blue, you might say? Well, the sunset from earlier would be poking through the holes in the wall, adding some warm to the cool once more... the giant seashells everywhere help spice it up too.

Like these, but bigger than Ken Penders’ ego.

If that’s even possible...

First Section (aquarium): Rooftop Run - Night (Sonic Unleashed) Coconut Mall (Mario Kart Wii)

Second Section (caves): Sea Shell Shenanigans (Crash Bandicoot: The Wrath of Cortex) Dire, Dire Docks (Super Mario 64)

3-4: Hydro Plant

The outside structure for this place is shaped like a giant wall, which predictably brings the Hoover Dam to mind:

And that applies inside as well, at least initially. The similarities indoors come mostly from the generators, as well as the sheer size of the place.

Since it's considerably rustier however, we have darker lighting in place, with the sunset outside preventing it from being too dark inside. There’s also a copious amount of daring graffiti caused by hoodlums... or maybe Eggman, since he'd probably be the type to do that to any property that isn't his. Some of this graffiti would look very impressive...

While others would... uh...

Look, they tried, okay?

With all this graffiti, that means there’s opportunity for a generous helping of cheeky references to previous installments if you’re able to find them... and if you can understand them. To this day, the typo in “make belif reborn” has not been corrected. Absolutely disgusting.

But as the fic dictates, the further you go on, the tidier and more high tech it becomes. Simply put, this section would remind one of Aquatic Base from '06, mainly because I've always liked the idea despite its characteristically terrible level design, so why not salvage the concept and give it a second chance?

With some added flavor to make it less monotone, mind you. Like actual water sections, some green lights to break up all the blue, giant crab robot threatening to kill you... the works.

Sonic may be glad that this zone is behind him, but little does he know, it's not the only zone with intense water action around these parts. Luckily for him, that won't be for a while, so he can breathe a sigh of relief for now. Still, we know Eggman has other ways of keeping the gang on their toes...

First Section (rusty): Wily Stage 2 (Mega Man 7) Pokey Pipes (Donkey Kong Country 3)

Second Section (high tech): Ocean Base Act 1 (Sonic Advance 3) H2 Oh No (Crash Bandicoot: The Wrath of Cortex)

[theworldbrewery]

how to build a world so you all have fun

The cardinal rule for building an entire game world from scratch is very, very simple:

Don’t waste your time.

Now, what that advice means in practice varies dramatically between gaming groups and even between PCs. To help address some of that, I’ve broken my advice into two categories: Friends Playing Together and Meeting Strangers. 

Friends Playing Together

The most important thing about this type of worldbuilding is that as the DM, it is not only within your power, but it is your responsibility to take into account the characters your players are inventing. But that’s not the first step, so we’re breaking it down.

Come up with big-picture stuff.

For my campaign, I first developed a world featuring natural disasters and dangerous weather conditions, and then decided that society coped by either clumping together in massive cities or retreating into isolated communities with little-to-no interaction from outsiders. 

You might decide that ley-lines cover the world, and magic-users on those ley-lines see a major increase in powers, then figure that because of this, mages are seen as explosive, dangerous, and unpredictable, putting them in a lot of social danger.

This might be when you decide on gods for your pantheon, a rough outline of locations and cities (you don’t have to name them yet), and potential ways this world can affect the player characters.

Then, share that big-picture stuff with your players. This is when they should be designing their player characters--as a response to your world and how it works. You don’t need towns or cities; you need the rules of your world, so the players can decide how they fit into it.

They’re going to come up with things that you didn’t have in mind. They’re going to ask ‘can we do [thing you the DM didn’t plan for].’ 

Keeping your world pretty open (like not settling on WHY things are the way they are, on a global or even national scale) leaves you opportunity to let the players tell you what they’re interested in without knowing they’re doing it.

Let them flesh out the characters, decide race/class/background, but you don’t need to demand a complete backstory just yet (if an eager player supplies you with one, roll with it; they’re doing the worldbuilding work for you! The only thing you truly need from the PCs at this stage is a goal they have. It doesn’t matter what scale the goal is.

Your next step is simple: look at what your players gave you and develop those elements.

Does your party have a barbarian trying to avenge their family? Invent a reason their family was killed (politics? jealousy? a local, vengeful deity?) that matches the world you’re making and build it into that. Let’s say you have a rogue whose end-goal is to expose a corrupt politician; then you can develop a world where politicians are corrupt, and why. Are they threatened by a dragon clan, or being bought by the fantasy Mafia? Is this nationwide or just in a certain town or city?

This also tells you what kind of game your players want. If they come back to you with goals full of intrigue and social interaction, they probably aren’t looking for slash-and-burn dungeon crawling. When they come to you with a mix of things (your rogue wants to get Stuff, your paladin wants to proselytize, your ranger wants to be an animal rights activist) then you tailor your world accordingly.

This prevents DM burnout. If the players are looking for adventure on the high seas and exploring abandoned ghost towns, you don’t need to prep the politics of your world too deeply. Don’t get me wrong; do enough so that if someone asks a surface question, you can answer it quickly, but it can be quick-and-dirty. Don’t plan out a line of kingly succession if no one’s going to care about the usurper because they’re busy fighting spiders in the Underdark.

From there, keep going back and forth with your players. The more they give you--the more towns they describe and NPCs they invent--the more material you have to work with, and the less you have to create on your own. This takes a huge burden of work off your shoulders, and it directs your attention toward the things your players will actually enjoy. Like I said: don’t waste your time.

Meeting Strangers

When it comes to this type of worldbuilding, it’s harder to get what your players want, but it’s also much more straightforward. Typically, the meeting-strangers game happens when A) someone (often the DM) sends out a call for players online and recruits them, or B) the players meet in-person at a gaming shop or convention and don’t have the luxury of spending days of worldbuilding back-and-forth. With that in mind, the ideal structure works very differently.

As the DM, you can start off by building your world. As much as you want, and whatever elements you want. You may want to have a campaign premise, almost like the back-cover blurb on a book. 

Do you want to run an eldritch campaign, or a horror campaign Curse of Strahd style? This is your sandbox right now. Devise your elements. But remember to prepare potential situations, not plotlines. If the party misses a clue because you were expecting High-INT characters and got a gaggle of idiots instead, you need to be able to roll with that, not let the dropped thread bring your campaign to a halt.

Your campaign premise should be your advertisement to players saying: THIS IS WHAT TO EXPECT. That way, they can decide if they want to play the kind of game you’re proposing. Lots of DMs put out a call for players without saying what they have in mind.

Example: “In a world where volcanic activity rendered the earth’s surface uninhabitable, a group of brave adventurers are about to leave the caverns belowground for the very first time. What monsters and dangers await in the lands above? Will they find what they’re looking for?” In something like that, prospective players know exactly what to expect. The game is combat, survival and exploration oriented, but there’s a hint of a larger quest going on as well. Players hoping for lots of social interaction are likely to be disappointed, but they read your campaign premise and now they won’t get into a game they won’t enjoy.

Once you have players who like your premise, follow the steps above for longer campaigns by checking in with your players about what their characters are like and getting a sense of their personal goals.

If you’re playing a one-shot at a convention or just testing the DM waters, skip all that; prep a more generic adventure with a mix of different types of play, so that your players hopefully get what they want from the game.

If this is intended to be a recurring game (at a game shop or online), continue to learn your PCs’ goals and other elements they’re designing their PCs around. Follow the steps above to prepare situations, but remember that since you made your world in advance and recruited based on your premise, the players aren’t likely to throw as many surprises your way; they’ve already bought into the type of game you’re presenting.

Whichever game setup you have, keep in mind that this process is ongoing. Do NOT prep cities and towns until your PCs demonstrate some interest in going there. Give them names, give them a short description, more if it’s a PC hometown (and they ask for it), but only build what you need in the current arc and what you think you’ll need for the next. Otherwise you’ll spend hours developing intricate ideas for things the party never sees.

[natromanxoff]

Queen live at Victoria Hall in Hanley, UK - October 31, 1974

The setlist is apparently the same as last night's.

The sound in Victoria Hall was not up to par for plenty of people who witnessed concerts there, as the acoustics were more suited for classical music than rock music. (x)

Fan Stories

The 70's, what a decade, Glam Rock, flares, platform heeled shoes, being a teenager then was one of the most exciting periods of my life. Having just left school in the summer of 73 and having just started working a few months earlier, like most kids I saved most of my wages to purchase my first record player, which eventually bought and was a 'top of the range' Ferguson stereogram, one of those teak coloured sideboard looking affairs, laughable now really! This period was the defining moment of my young life; musically I was mainly into two bands, the first one being 'Queen', and the second 'The Sweet', in that order! Queen sang and played songs about Fairy Feller's, Ogre Battle's and Great King Rats etc. Whereby Sweet sung about Hellraising, fighting, and stealing your girlfriend! Both bands had a profound affect on my musical upbringing. They both had a great visual image, superb vocal harmonies and in my opinion two of the best lead guitarists of all time in Brian May & Andy Scott, which incidentally was always the main factor that got me into Rock music in general. Having first heard Queen's second British single, the monumental 'Seven Seas Of Rhye' in my local Woolworth's music department of all places, I handed over my 45p and rushed home to play it. The 'A' track and its (vastly underrated) 'B' side 'See What a Fool I've Been' is still one of my all time favorite Queen tracks even after all these years! It wasn't long before the classic 'Queen II' album came out and became part of my regular record deck playlist. The album also confirmed what I had believed all along that the band were hard edged rockers, that used grandiose, interesting lyrics, but more importantly melodies in conjunction with guitar riffs to spread their message. Having now been converted 100% to the Queen cause and with both single and album gatecrashing the mainly Soul music dominated record charts, it wasn't long before I heard that the band were aiming to tour Britain to support their recently released vinyl offerings, along with their 3rd album Sheer Heart Attack, that was just around the corner. Stoke-on-Trent was not, and still is not the Rock 'n' Roll capital of the world, although we did have a couple of decent music venues in the town, (and a reputation for giving visiting bands a hard time if they couldn't cut it live.) The main one was the Victoria Hall a large, cold and cavernous place, one that was more commonly used to promoting orchestral concerts, although bands like UFO, Budgie and the like had played here. It was also here that Queen were booked to perform a show (supported by Firefly/A&M records recording artists 'Hustler'.). Unbeknown to me at the time, but this was Queen's second visit to my hometown. Apparently the band's first trip was when they supported 'Mott The Hoople', in November a year earlier, where it was also reported by colleagues of mine who had attended that particular gig that "Queen had simply blown Mott off the stage, they were so good!"

Proceeding to convince a couple of 'none Queen believer' friends of mine to also attend the show I purchased three 80p tickets (if only ticket prices were still this reasonable!) and waited. It wasn't long, before the show date arrived. The concert hall building being a major landmark was on my way home, (I used to pass it on the way from doing part time college studies), imagine how shocked I was one afternoon to see in its main reception area a large colour poster advertising the Queen show. Being a bit brave and with no one looking, I carefully prized the poster away from the wall, rolled it up and proceeded to walk off with it. The poster printed in gold and purple (see inset) is still one of the best posters I have ever seen. It still has pride of place on my landing wall and is the envy of many of my friends. As evening approached I collected my friends and made our way to a pub that adjoined the venue. On entering the hall and considering this was a quiet Thursday night, the place seemed pretty full. We entered midway through support band Hustler's set, but they were very entertaining and played some really good songs, I remember being impressed by one particular tune called 'Little People' which I think was released as their first single? After they had ended there was the usual delay whilst the stage gear was removed, but then at around 9.30 the house lights went off and silhouettes of the various Queen band members could be seen entering the stage to the instrumental fanfare intro of 'Procession'. The band were wearing superb white and black 'Angel type winged costumes' designed and made for them by Zandra Rhodes I believe (similar to the stage costumes that they wore a year later for the televised BBC London Hammersmith Odeon concert). The stage lighting was quite dark at times but Freddie, Brian, Roger & John opened proceedings with the excellent Now I'm Here. Soon they broke into Ogre Battle and then White Queen, before launching into a brand new song, Flick of the Wrist. I believe we then had an excellent medley of, In The Lap Of The Gods, Killer Queen, The March Of The Black Queen and Bring Back That Leroy Brown before they proceeded with a couple of Queen I songs, with Son & Daughter and Keep Yourself Alive. I seem to remember we then had two more brand new songs, with the superb Stone Cold Crazy, followed by Lap of the Gods Revisited which went down really well with lots of people now rammed up close to the front of the high hall stage. They finished with Son and Daughter I believe. Freddie thanked everyone for attending and said a few words about the new album coming out soon. As they left the stage the crowd were going mad and demanding more, and eventually, the band returned for the encore, which I seem to remember was Big Spender, and Jailhouse Rock. The sound quality of the show wasn't perfect, but this was normal at this venue, a criticism that affected many bands that visited the Victoria Hall. Nevertheless the band went down extremely well with the a very enthusiastic audience, in fact there was a broad mixed age range which was good to see. On this performance you can understand why they went on to achieve the fame and success they did, it was impossible not to think that they wouldn't as the fan base just had to increase especially with the 'Killer Queen' single having been released about a month earlier. I saw Queen perform on a few other occasions (maybe I'll report on these other shows in a future issue) but none of them impressed me as much as this show, they were quite sensational. My only regret of the night was not going backstage and hunting down some band autographs, never mind it was still a great, not to be missed performance. - Chris Wood

[scullymakesmefeelautopsyturvy]

Several Times Scully Got Locked Out Of Her Motel Room In Her Scanties (First Time Smut Ensues) Chapter Two

Chapter One here.

Irresistible (Season Two)

They stood pressed against one another in the foyer of Donnie Pfaster’s mother’s house in Minneapolis, Mulder holding her head, a steadying hand on her upper back as she cried her terror and relief into his chest, finally letting go.

The handcut Swiss voile table runner Pfaster had used to gag her was still tied at the back of Scully’s neck as Mulder rested his lips against her bloodied, tangled hair and softly assured her things were all right. 

They weren’t all right, they weren’t all right at all. They were so far from all right she didn’t know how to process it, and could only cling to him in her effort to remain upright, and present: to remain real, somehow. 

A part of her was glad her father had not lived to hear about this. She couldn’t have faced telling him; couldn’t have met his eyes, knowing that he knew. She had broken his heart by veering from a career in medicine to work at the FBI, but she’d always felt certain in her conviction that she was still following the path he’d foreseen for her: to use her skills and her training to help those in need.

Yet here she was, entrusted to protect others from the predators of the world, and she just seemed to keep falling victim to them.

She had disappointed her father, and now she had failed herself.

She attempted to calm down with the technique Dr. Kosseff had outlined, closing her eyes and noting what her senses could detect in the room around her, rooting herself in her environment. 

What she could hear: Pfaster being cuffed and read his Miranda rights; that was no help. 

What she could smell: Mulder’s laundry detergent, the salty, sea-air tang of his deodorant, the earthen aroma beneath it that was all him. She sucked it in through her nose, filling her lungs with the scent of him between heaving sobs. That was better. 

What she could feel: the full body press of his every contour against her aching, bruised form. The safe, scratchy cavern of his shoulder, where her stricken face was hidden from the gaze of the local field agents; his muscled arms, hesitantly encircling her; his ribs, crushing her breasts painfully as she clutched him tight; and his manhood, making lengthy, innocent contact with the soft swell of her stomach. That was… confusing at this time.

She took in a deep breath, the flow of her tears stemmed for now, and patted Mulder’s back in thanks, stepping away. He watched from a close, anxious distance as she untied the makeshift gag and ran her fingers through her hair, averting her eyes from any and all inquiries as to her health and wellbeing as she waved off medical attention.

“I’m fine. I just want to go to the motel,” she insisted, in a quiet voice.

Agent Bocks drove them back, Mulder silently riding up front, Scully pressing herself into the corner of the back seat against the door, her hands folded in her lap as she vehemently admonished any teardrops that dared to appear in the corners of her eyes. At a stoplight, the driver behind braked a little late, and she snapped her head back, bracing for an impact that never came. 

A female agent had retrieved her bag from the trunk of her wrecked Lariat rental, and it awaited her in her room.

She turned on all the lights.

In the bathroom, Scully peeled off her dusty, bloodstained clothes and dropped them to the floor, hanging her red satin robe on the hook at the back of the door. She inspected herself in the mirror, fingering the abrasion on her chin, the contusion above her right eyebrow. There were angry stripes on her wrists and ankles from where they’d been roughly tied. There were too many cuts to count. Purpling weals were beginning to marble the pale skin of her hips, knees and arms. Her back too, probably: the raised welts a catalogue of every individual violent contact made with walls, stairs, floors. She felt each blow anew as her hands explored the injuries.

As she began to draw the bath, the sound of the cascading water sent her mind reeling to the image of Pfaster falling backwards into the tub. She saw him collapsing over and over until she wrenched off the faucet. The final few droplets fell from the chrome-plated plumbing, and as she looked down onto the settling surface she saw herself submerged below the waterline: lifeless, immersed in billowing scarlet seeping from severed veins. 

She had to get back on this aqueous horse without delay. Baths were her respite, her lone sanctioned self-indulgence: scalding, frothy, synthetic-scented Elysium. Dana Scully did not shop ‘til she dropped. She rarely imbibed more than a single glass of wine. She hadn’t smoked a single cigarette since completing her undergraduate thesis. She had been averting her eyes from lingering, suggestive gazes since Quantico. She would absolutely, resolutely, categorically not allow Donnie Pfaster to ruin baths for her.

She made sure her gun was within reach, resting atop the cistern.

Climbing into the bubbleless water, she laid back against the tub, her eyes wide open. She listened to the room. The faucet dripped every few seconds. The shaving light above the mirror buzzed. A clock mounted over the TV in the bedroom counted passing seconds. God knew what time it was. She risked a few long blinks.

Behind her eyelids, she saw white. A bright light. A gurney. Her own abdomen; distended, illuminated, invaded. Images so familiar, of which she could make no sense. It looked like a dream. 

It felt like a nightmare.

Like the other nightmares that shocked her awake at all hours, gasping and sweating and reaching for her weapon on the nightstand: Eugene Tooms squeezing through her hallway air duct; Duane Barry silhouetted outside her bay window; darkness, and the insistent droning whir of helicopter blades.

She sank beneath the water to soak her hair.

She washed herself; then, when the temperature began to drop, dragged her body up and out of the bath, gingerly drying off, dabbing rather than rubbing at the sore spots, which were legion. The plughole gurgled as the last of the bathtub contents spiralled away, and she shrugged her robe over her shoulders, tucking her SIG-Sauer, still in its hip holster, into the pocket.

She walked towards the bed and was about to dig her pajamas out of the open suitcase when she heard the noise behind her. A rustle of some sort. A breath, or a shuffle, maybe. She grabbed for the gun as she spun around, unclipping the holster and flinging it away from her. Safety off, she held both her arms ramrod straight and aimed for the bathroom. Her heart pounded, the only noise she could now hear the thumping of her own blood in her ears. She didn’t wait around to see if there was something else she might be missing, but backed out of the room, sidestepping the bed. Once outside, she slammed the door shut with excessive force and screamed.

Long. Livid. Loud. Not a scream of fear, but of abject fury.  

She knew there was no one in that room. She was simply on edge, her body reliving her panic, her mind re-experiencing her abduction. Abductions. She didn’t need to wait another few months to know these Pfaster flashbacks weren’t just going to disappear. 

Goddammit. 

How would she ever escape this hell when it lived inside of her?

A body has a story to tell. 

Would her own body be telling her this same story for the rest of her life, returning to the beginning at every unexplained noise, every unexpected knock, every headlight in the rearview?

She screamed again, raging against the closed door, slamming her gun-toting fist into it.

Fuck. Another bruise she’d have to nurse. And no one else to blame for this one.

“Scully?” came a quiet voice from her left. Mulder was standing outside his open motel room door, clad only in T-shirt and boxers, holding a toothbrush in his right hand. A curtain twitched across the courtyard.

“I locked myself out,” she said, just now realizing it was true, and huffing the statement through gritted teeth, as though it were the worst thing to happen to her that day. She brought her left fist to the door and thumped the side of it into the flimsy but unyielding wood for emphasis, and because she was still indescribably irritated by her overreaction.

Mulder stepped away from his door, making room for her to pass. “Scully, get in here,” he said, sounding annoyed. She glared at him, but let her shoulders drop in defeat, and obeyed.

Inside his room, she put the safety back on her handgun and left the weapon sitting on a chair. She stalked over to the empty desk and stared at herself in the mirror. The only light came from a bedside lamp.

“Are you okay?” Mulder asked, closing the door and audibly locking it.

She caught his gaze in the reflection and rolled her eyes. “Mulder, I’m-”

“Fine, yeah, I know. I thought that’s probably why you were pistol whipping your motel room door in the middle of the night. Because you were fine.” His face was stony.

She scoffed at him, pushing out her chin in vexation.

He walked towards her, dropping the toothbrush onto a small table, posture and voice both softening. “Talk to me, Scully. You can trust me. Don’t you know by now that you can trust me?” 

“I don’t want to talk,” she said, looking down at her knuckles, regarding her fingers spread out on the table top. Fingers that Donnie Pfaster had wanted to disarticulate with rusted gardening shears and keep in his freezer next to his peas and carrots. She balled her hands into tight fists, and pressed her lips together, hard.

“What do you want, then, Scully?” he asked, his eyes searching hers in the mirror.

She studied her reflection. Wet hair and red robe. This wasn’t the first time she’d stood before him in a motel room like this. She thought about what she’d wanted, even then.

She didn't want to be paralyzed by fear anymore. She didn’t want to have to be protected. She wanted to protect herself. She wanted to rid herself of the traumas that resided within her body. She wanted to be her own kind of Persephone: ride into the underworld of her own volition, driving her own chariot, and emerge triumphant. 

She wanted to rewrite this story, to start it when she chose to, take it where she liked, control it and end it; end it for good. 

Mulder was behind her. He was right behind her, only inches from her skin, which was bare beneath the flimsy robe.

“I want you to touch me, Mulder,” she stated, loud and clear, holding his gaze.

He tenderly reached out and rested his palm on her shoulder, his eyes worried. Kind.

That wouldn’t do at all.

“No,” she said, still staring at him in the reflection. “I want you to-“

Like he did.

“I want you to grab me.”

A look of horror washed over Mulder’s features.

“No,” he said, aghast. He withdrew his hand, rubbing it over his rough stubble.

“Mulder,” she said, low and deliberate, shifting her hips so that the scarlet satin of the robe grazed over the curves of her ass, pushing out her chest so that her nipples brushed the fabric, visibly rippling the front of the garment. “I need this.”

She watched him watch her in the mirror, his pupils enlarged in the gloom. He razed his eyes over the hills and valleys of her figure, then looked away.

“Scully,” he pleaded.

“You said you could always use my help, Mulder. Now I’m asking you for yours.” She steadied herself against the desk with her hands once again. “I need to do this, on my own terms. If I need to find someone else, I’m sure I can. But Mulder,” she paused, making sure he met her gaze in the mirror once again. “You’re the only one I trust.”

Mulder stood, motionless. “I’m not certain what you’re asking of me, Scully,” he murmured.

Scully let her tense muscles ease a little. “Come here,” she instructed, softly, turning around to face him. She reached out her hand, and he took it.

Scully sat herself on the edge of the desk, her knees spread. The fabric of the robe draped over her inner thighs. A minute shift one way or the other would expose her to him completely. She pulled him towards her, tugging him close until his face was directly opposite her own, their fingers entwined, resting on her knee. 

She kissed him. His lips were soft, his cheeks scratchy, and he didn’t stop her, but he didn’t give himself to her fully, either. She pulled away.

“What’s the matter, Mulder?”

“Scully,” he whispered. “I don’t - you’re not yourself.”

She sighed, taking his face in her palms. She realized she was shaking. She levelled her gaze with his. “Mulder,” she began. “That man, his crimes, I’ve never felt anything like this. I need you to bring me back to myself.” She moved her hands, resting them on his shoulders. “I want to feel human again.” She searched his eyes, silently reassuring him this was okay. “That’s what I’m asking, Mulder. Stop looking at me like that, and show me that I’m more than just his victim.”

Mulder blinked, long and hard, and this time, he kissed her. Not gently, not tenderly, but with purpose, intent. He opened his mouth to hers, and she rolled her tongue against his, powerfully, without fear or shame.

She tucked her arms beneath his, reaching up with one hand and pushing her fingers into the base of his hairline. With the other, she tugged on the fabric of his shirt at his lower back, feathering the pads of her fingertips against the skin that emerged beneath. They were still kissing, hard, and Mulder took hold of her firmly around the ribs. She gasped, half in pleasure and half in pain, as the heel of his hand dug into one of the bruises she’d examined in the bathroom earlier. 

He immediately broke off their kiss, pulling back to gauge her reaction.

“Don’t stop,” she panted. “That means I like it.”

He resumed his kissing, but this time against the side of her neck, one hand falling to her left hip, the other trailing up to cover her breast through the robe. A shock of desire ran through her body right to her core, the first she’d felt tonight. This had been mechanical before; a means to an end. She’d had herself half convinced this carnal, obliterative odyssey could be undertaken with just about anyone. It was only now she remembered how much - how often - she wanted this man, specifically. 

She turned her face towards his, compelling his lips to return to her own. He complied, his breath sweet and sharp from the recent brushing, and she willingly swallowed his pomegranate kisses, hoping she could return to them in better times: harvest the unmarred fruit of their evident mutual attraction, so ripe with possibility. Not this sour, infested imitation, spoiled, and rotting from within. 

She tried not to think about the differences between this encounter and the tender romance she’d previously imagined when daring to envision their sexual union. It would still be him. His body, inside hers. Carrying her away from herself, dragging her beneath the earth with the frantic merging of hot, sticky flesh, freeing her, and making her anew.   

She fumbled at the rear waistband of his boxers and delved her flat palms inside, grabbing hard fistfuls of his smooth cheeks, pulling him towards her. She inched forwards on the desk, her robe parting beneath the tie at her waist and falling away at the crease of her thighs. His sex rubbed against her own through the cotton of his underwear, and she tilted her hips to gain purchase, to feel the full, swelling effect of his desire against hers.

Mulder clamped his lips down more insistently upon hers, his hands pushing into her wet hair, thumbing her earlobes, pulling her jaw up towards him. His chest pressed against her breasts, and she lifted his T-shirt at the hem. They broke contact only so that he could pull it off over his head. 

When he returned his mouth to hers, Scully shoved her hand down the front of his underwear and wrapped it around his now fully hard cock. She ran her thumb over the already oozing tip, and Mulder jumped in her grasp, moaning into her mouth.

She tore her face from his, breathless. She held him in her palm, pulsating granite.

“Protection?” she asked, and he reluctantly extricated himself from her grasp, walking over to the nightstand and opening his wallet. 

After a few seconds he held up the square plastic packet, a look of immense relief on his face. “Thank god,” he grinned, and she returned the sentiment with a smile of her own.

He walked back towards her, slow and steady, his gaze assured. Arriving at the space between her knees again, he pushed his boxers down his legs and discarded them to one side. Scully took a long look at him now. Good god, he was enormous. This was going to be perfect. 

He tore open the wrapper and rolled the condom down onto himself using both hands, then reached to untie the knot at Scully’s waist. She stopped him, shaking her head. “Like this,” she said, pushing the robe open even wider over her thighs so that Mulder could get his own unobstructed view. She reached for his hand once again, and deliberately maneuvered it between her legs, where he ran two fingers between her drenched labia. 

She turned her mouth to murmur into his ear. “I’m ready, Mulder,” she instructed, and pulled him forward by the waist. 

She heard him grunt as his sheathed tip bumped against her upper leg, and she spread her knees even further to give him better access. She felt him reach down between their bodies to guide himself into her, and steeled herself for the pain. 

She wanted the pain.

It had been a while for her, almost three years since she’d been penetrated by anything larger than a tampon or her own two forefingers, and Mulder’s girth was considerable. He stretched her inner muscles inch by glorious inch as he eased himself into her body. Her breath caught at the back of her throat as she tried to relax herself around him. He took it easy, but she wished he wouldn’t. 

“More Mulder,” she pleaded, “I can take it.”

He grasped her by the hips, and she leaned her head back into the mirror, looking down to see him pull himself out of her a fraction before driving back in, slowly, all the way to the hilt. She felt the soft, peach-fuzz pressure of his balls against her body, and the ache in her center deepened.  

“That’s good Mulder,” she encouraged. “That feels good. Now, hard. I want it hard.”

His head shot up to question her; he opened his mouth to argue.

“I said hard,” she demanded, grabbing for his ass to guide him as deep as he could go. “Please.” 

He seemed to relent now, because he began to pump into her, forcefully. He placed one hand against the mirror for support, and held the small of her back with the other. She crossed her ankles behind him and relished the feel of him creating new bruises, her shoulder blades pressing sharply into the glass. 

Mulder was working hard, building up a sweat, and she kissed his forearm where it swept up past her face, biting his briny flesh between her teeth in her sweet agony. “More,” she said, scraping her nails across his flexing glutes. “Faster.”

Mulder’s jaw set with anger, or determination, she didn’t know which, but either way he increased his efforts, and her thighs burned where she held them up, her sex ached and clenched around him, and her head slammed into the mirror over and over. Yes, this was good.

Mulder, in an effort to shield her, moved his mirror hand behind her crown, cushioning the blows. No, no, that wasn’t what she was after: a lessening of the punishment.

 Another thrust, and her hair caught between his fingers, a shock of pain tugging at her temple. Well now, this could work.

“Mulder,” she panted, desperate now. She was close, so close to the relief she sought. “Pull my hair.”

He closed his eyes as he continued to fuck her, not willing to engage on this one.

“Dammit Mulder, I said pull it,” she insisted, digging her nails into the muscles of his rear, hard.

He reacted to the tearing of his flesh with a moan and a vicious thrust, clenching the damp strands in his hand and boring his now open eyes into hers. She looked up at him, her mouth agape, a single teardrop falling down one cheek and into her ear. He gripped tighter, pounding her harder, and she nodded.

“Yes Mulder,” she said. “Yes. Yes.”

His cock was driving into her, Charon’s oar plunging into the River Styx and stirring up the forbidden pleasures of her Catholic girlhood. He collided with her G-spot again and again, and she arched into him, pressing her clit into his abdomen as he grasped her hair and steadied her hip and stared her down, willing her to those dark shores. As soon as she began to climax, shaking and swearing and tilting her head back into his fist, Mulder came as well, his thighs tensing as he lifted her off the desk and gave her everything he had for the final few thrusts.

They were still afterwards, Mulder breathing heavily into the space between her ear and shoulder. After a while, he leaned backwards, sliding himself out of her and looking her in the eyes once again. Wordlessly, he reached for the knotted belt of the robe, and this time Scully allowed him. He loosened it, pulling the slick tie open, letting the garment fall open at her center. Scully swallowed hard.

He traced the lines of the robe down over her cleavage, and softly nudged the material apart, revealing her naked skin in a widening swath. The satin fell from her shoulders and down her arms, and she was fully visible to him now, her mottled skin marked at front and back, the bruises already several shades darker than they had been less than an hour ago in the mirror. They were coming out nicely now. 

Mulder dragged his eyes from injury to injury, his eyes reflecting the pain as though they were his own. He reached out to touch the discoloration on her ribs, where he had first grabbed her, but pulled away.

“Scully,” he rasped, and hung his head.

She closed her eyes for a moment, gathering her strength.

She dipped her head, seeking his gaze, and gently placed two fingers beneath his chin. She lifted his face until his eyes met her own, and watched as the tears began streaming down his cheeks.

She opened her arms, and he stepped forward, his chest hair rubbing against her naked torso, his wet face tucking into her warm neck.  

He shook with grief, and Scully steadied him with a hand on his lower back, delving her free hand into his hair once more. She kissed the side of his head.

“It’s all right, Mulder,” she whispered. “It’s all right.”

***

They eventually made it to Mulder’s bed for a few hours before their flight home, and reached an uneasy truce, her wrapped up in the robe once more, him spooning her, both of them sleeping fitfully. She heard a few unidentified noises, but didn’t reach for her gun. On the way to the airport, Mulder drove, and she watched the faces of other drivers in the rearview, but kept her panic at bay.

Waiting at a red light, Mulder broke the heavy silence.

“You know, last night-“ He cleared his throat. “Last night, I thought you called me Pfaster.”

She frowned at him. 

“Near the end,” he clarified. “You said: ‘More, Pfaster.’ I thought.”

“Oh my god,” she said, horrified. “I said ‘Faster’, with an F.”

“Well, that’s what I figured. Hoped.” he nodded.

“Mulder,” she said. “You thought I called you Pfaster, and you kept going?” She was incredulous.

Mulder shrugged, looking ahead at the traffic. “You seemed like you needed to work through something.”

She gulped, tears forming. He was entirely too good for her.

Pfaster.

She closed her eyes.

Her mind wandered to another of her tormentors: Luther Lee Boggs. She’d told him to his face she’d be happy to throw the switch and gas him out of this life for good if Mulder died as a consequence of Boggs’ actions. And she’d meant it. 

Donnie Pfaster was evil, pure evil, she was sure of it, but she knew she was fully capable of being monstrous too. She lay her palm across her weapon, nestled at her right hip, and imagined a different end to her stair-fall with Pfaster the night before. A few seconds more, and she might have been able to grab the gun and end it all, blast him directly between the eyes and send him straight back to hell, where he belonged. 

But then how would she be any different to him? What destination would be awaiting her at the end of her days?

She suspected it would help her nightmares in one way if she knew he were dead, if she asserted control over that herself, but that it would exacerbate them in another. 

She’d probably been wrong to make use of sweet, tender Mulder to try and exorcise her demons last night. Great as it had felt, she suspected she wasn’t out of the underworld just yet.

As they pulled into the Lindbergh terminal Lariat parking lot, returning to her most recent traumatic beginning, she reached out and gently squeezed Mulder’s knee. He placed his hand over her own, looking over to smile, gently. 

He saw the good in her; he always had. 

Maybe she could let him be her savior, follow his light and climb back out of Hades’ realm, reclaiming her faith in herself.

As Pfaster’s only living victim, she was going to have to be a witness. Perhaps this was her true opportunity to rewrite the story. Her own story. 

She would argue for leniency. She would ask the judge for life.

She was going to change the ending, after all. 

AO3 link here.

[officialleehadan]

White Sand Sky

Waking up was unexpected and painful.

Even winced and screwed his eyes shut again at the first glimpse of far too much sun for his salt-gritty eyes to stand.

Sky.

There was sky above him. The same brilliant blue he and his team had enjoyed all through the trip here.

He must be dead.

The last thing he remembered was letting himself drift in that incredible cathedral cavern, not even bothering to watch his air count down anymore.

Sitting up hurt.

When he got a good look around, he turned out to be on a beach. White sand sprawled as far as he could see in both directions, with palm trees behind him. He couldn’t hear any sound of people nearby, but that didn’t mean anything. There could be a house around the corner for all he knew.

Evan dragged himself upright and looked himself over, wondering how he could possibly have survived that cave. All his gear was gone. There wasn’t a scrap of anything on him except his wetsuit.

Even his mask was gone, just adding to the impossibility that he was alive. It wasn’t like anyone could have stolen it while he was unconscious; the sand around him was washed smooth and the only marks on it were the ones under his hands.

The growl of an engine woke him from his confused musings. A small motorboat soon tore into the cove and headed straight towards him.

Not knowing what else to do, Evan raised his hand and waved. Someone waved back and he breathed a long sigh of relief. Getting back to town by himself was a daunting thought. He didn’t even know what direction town was.

The person who waved at him turned out to be a tough-looking older woman. She jumped out of the boat and hurried over to him,

“Are you Evan Ross?” she asked him, kind but every inch a professional. She was tall and her short grey hair still had strands of blonde in it. “We’ve been looking for you.”

“Yeah, that’s me,” he answered hoarsely. His mouth and throat were dry and raw from using his rebreather for too long.  A man joined the woman at his side and together they helped him to his feet. “How—how did you find me? I was in a cave that must have been miles from here.”

“We got a call that a man had washed up on the shore,” the woman told him when they were in the boat and her friend had them headed back to sea. “I’m Anita, by the way. Your team is probably frantic by now. Feel like letting them know you’re not dead while we get some liquids into you?”

Unable to do anything else, Evan nodded again. He felt entirely overwhelmed and his head was spinning from more than just dehydration and exhaustion. Anita dug in her cooler and produced a sports drink that promised electrolytes. Evan reached for it greedily.

“That would be good,” he admitted after he gulped down half of it fast enough to make his stomach twist warningly. “Cave collapsed half an hour in. I have no idea how I got out. Last thing I remember is being too cold to keep going.”

Anita patted his shoulder consolingly and proffered her phone. “Don’t think too hard about it. Just be glad you’re alive. We’ll get you back to town.”

Chris picked up on the third ring.

“This is Chris,” he said, voice heavy with grief and resignation. Evan understood. They had both lost more than one friend doing their sort of work. He should be a statistic. Instead he was a miracle. “Who is this?”

“Hi Chris.”

To be fair, Evan hadn’t expected the sound of the phone hitting the floor, and then the sounds of a scuffle, some muffled bickering, and then Javen’s voice.

“Who the hell is this?” the diver demanded. His voice was a furious growl.

Javen didn’t always handle surprises well.

Evan couldn’t help but chuckle, too tired for anything but humor at this point.

“Hi. I’m not dead.”

“…Evan?”

“Ev? Is it actually you?”

That was Tony’s voice. Apparently Javen had put him on speaker. That explained the bickering.

“What was the name of that chick you picked up in Rome? Lucius, right?”

It was his last job with Tony, and they had gotten done in time for some local festival. Evan had never seen Tony so drunk. The videographer danced with a drag queen for nearly an hour before realizing his partner wasn’t female. The drag queen, by that point, had covered him in glitter, left red lip-prints on both cheeks, and delivered him safely back to Evan, citing that it wasn’t nice to take advantage of drunk boys.

Evan had never let Tony live it down.

“Holy crap.”

“Kid, you’re not dead!”

“What the hell?”

His friends’ voices stumbled over each other as they all tried to talk at once. It took them a minute to figure out who got to talk first. Chris won.

“Where are you?”

“I’m on a boat, headed back to town. I think they’re Search and Rescue?”

“We’ll meet you at the dock,” Chris said firmly. “Don’t you dare vanish on us before you get there.”

Evan chuckled tiredly and hung up before passing the phone back to Anita. Behind her, the older man who was driving the boat was on the radio calling in the rest of the Search and Rescue group that had been looking for Evan. From what he could hear, they had a good little fleet.

“They aren’t too sure I’m real,” he told he when she left the radio to check on him. “But they’ll be at the dock when we get there.”

“You should take a few days off. Go to a doctor and rest for a while,” Anita advised, taking a seat across from him easily despite the bouncing of the little boat across the waves. “I can tell from here that you really need more water and some food before you try to do anything else. Get checked for the Bends too, although I think you probably dodged that bullet.”

“What the hell?” Evan said softly, looking down at his hands curiously when he checked himself over and realized she was right; he didn’t have a single symptom of decompression sickness, and he should. “No, really. What the hell? That can’t be possible.”

“Don’t think too hard about it,” Anita told him, before pulling a pair of business cards from her pocket and handing them to him. “One is mine; the other is the local doctor’s. Go see him. I’ll let him know you’ll be coming.”

Evan nodded numbly, his mind still whirling around the mystery of his survival.

“Ev.”

Evan looked up to see Chris, Tony, and Javen on the dock. Anita gave him a push.

“Get your cute butt moving, sweetheart,” she told him firmly, but not without a smile. “Jakob needs his boat back and I need to get back to headquarters to tell a bunch of officials that you’re not dead.”

That… seemed reasonable, and Evan let her help him out of the boat, unsteady on his feet but better for the liquids.

Chris didn’t even say hello before grabbing him in a tight hug. Evan stifled a yelp as the older man squeezed him.

“We thought you were dead,” Chris said once he set Evan on his feet again. “Saw the roof come down. It looked like it was right on top of you.”

“Missed me, but not by much,” Evan told him honestly. “I couldn’t dig through. Waited for a while before I went looking for a way out. Guess I found one. Now I just have to figure out how.”

+++

HGE - Riptide

Evan Ross survived what no one before him ever has, and now he’s on the hunt for answers. His only clue is a single word that echoed through the water of a flooded cave.

Breathe.

Under Stone

+++

MORE STORIES!

+++

[ordinary-wonder]

Former Spanish-held territory.

“If only I could be in Africa and Europe at the same time… Oh, wait! I can! I can go to Melilla!”

I’m a fan of the odd, the unusual, the out of the ordinary, but when you combine that with some history, I’m hooked to the point of obsession. North Africa, or alternatively the southern coast of the Mediterranean Sea, has seen its share of invaders and occupiers, most of which came from across the selfsame sea. The Phoenicians, Carthaginians, and Romans were here, as were the Arabs, or course, but more recently, within the last century, the area was occupied variously by European powers such as England, Germany, Portugal, Spain, and France. Even Italy wanted in on the action. Ultimately, the French and Spanish prevailed and divided the country into different spheres of influence with the Spanish having the north and south while France occupied the middle. The exception being Tangier which, for all intents and purposes, was an international zone.

“Mapa del sur de España neutral” by Ecemaml – From Polish Wikipedia, translated to Spanish and neutralized.. Licensed under CC BY-SA 3.0 via Commons

Eventually, the occupiers left. The French, though they left their language, ceded the whole of their claims to the country back to Morocco, The Spanish, however, gave back only 99%. They kept little bits and pieces along the coast.

Along the northern coast of Morocco, there are numerous land holdings that Spain still considers part of its territory, part of larger Spain. Two of them, Ceuta and Melilla, are autonomous cities, while the many islands off the coast, and one tiny peninsula, are predominately used as military bases. (See the map at the left for more details.)

From below

Morocco, to no one’s surprise, disagrees with Spanish claims and argues that the land should be given back to them as was the rest of their former northern claims. They are fond of comparing the status of Gibraltar, a territory of the United Kingdom, which has long been s thorn in Spanish pride. Spain did return a small southern, coastal claim, Sidi Ifni, (See the Ifni War) in 1969 after increasing tensions in the area and due to international pressure, but the littoral areas remain Spanish as does a small island in the middle of the sea between the two countries. The Spanish Sahara, now sometimes called the Western Sahara, was relinquished to Morocco after the Green March in 1975 in which “some 350,000 Moroccans advanced several miles into the Western Sahara territory, escorted by nearly 20,000 Moroccan troops…” (Wikipedia). More recently (2002), there was a minor crisis between the two countries surrounding Perejil Island which Moroccan soldiers occupied and which Spanish commandos retook without casualties.

The bell on the old convent.

The population of Melilla, in speaking with locals, is divided roughly 50/50 with people of Spanish decent and people of Rif Mountain Amazigh (Rifian) decent in fairly equal proportions. Thankfully, since I don’t speak a lick of Spanish, I was able easily find Arabic speakers when I needed help or directions. In fact, it was a bit surreal. Here I was ostensibly in Spain, but surrounded by what looked like everyday Moroccans in both dress and complexion. It was the best of both worlds.

Being on the African continent has its challenges as ell. Both Melilla and its sister city Ceuta have become focal points for refugees seeking asylum.Refugees from sub-Saharan Africa and the Middle East come seeking sanctuary in Europe through the gates of the cities, as was mistakenly made famous by Donald Trump in a rant about immigration in America.

Being a strategic peninsula, Melilla is dominated by an ancient citadel, or fortified city, overlooking the sea from a craggy outcropping of stone. Over the years, it has grown and been added to in six distinct phases, each with its own architectural touches. The museum I went to showed each stage and highlighted each variation. It was a nice little museum that dedicated an entire wing to Sephardic and Amazigh heritage. I met and spoke with one of the curators, an Amazigh, who was very helpful in showing me around.

The citadel

In fact, the entire citadel is quite well-preserved and interesting. There are large, cavernous cisterns for holding water in ancient times, an archaic chimney jutting up from the shore, an old, though functioning, drawbridge, as well as extensive cave systems used by nuns who lived in the convent and in which they would spend the time in contemplation. It was quite impressive, but best of all is that it’s completely free to visit and see all the areas, even the museums, such as the military museum.

The official imprint of Melilla that honors its multifaith population living in harmony.

Perhaps the best part of Melilla, since it is steeped in Spanish cuture, is the tapas. Across from my hotel was a little tapas bar that for between €5-10 I could get four or five delicious tapas and a few beers. I had intentions to dine out for a more formal birthday dinner, but I was more than contented visiting the various tapas offerings than blowing a wad of cash on something fancier. And Hell, it was my birthday, after all.

Not really Spain and not really Morocco, Melilla is a wonderful little anomaly not to be missed. Despite its divergent cultures, its people live in harmony. Most telling of this, perhaps, is in the city’s official logo. In it, one can see a melding of the four dominant religions within the city. (See left) Above the city name are the four sounds of “m” in each of the four languages, Hindi/Sanskrit, Arabic, Hebrew, and Spanish.

It’s a beautiful town. There are lovely beaches, great food, and plenty of interesting history.

An older citadel

Cannon face the sea

The citadel

Within the citadel

Grafitti

Grafitti

Amazigh and Jewish museum

A church atop, and within, the citadel that was also used as a convent

Excavations

Cactus tree

Ancient Arabic coins

Promontory

The citadel

The citadel

Rooftops

Coastline

Coastline and chimney

A new citadel on a different hill

American Dreams

The citadel

The citadel

An old chimney

From the citadel

The citadel

Rif definition

The citadel

Cannon

Chillin’

A Gaudiesque bulding.

From below

Citadel facade

The bell on the old convent.

Steeples

City mural

Jewish Amazigh-style pins

Atop the citadel

Palm trees

The citadel

City plan

Community park

Standing guard

One of several churches

Within the citadel

An old lighthouse along the coast

The official imprint of Melilla that honors its multifaith population living in harmony.

Canada House

Cannon and lighthouse

Coastline

Another citadel on a different hill, built later

Excavation

The citadel

The oldest part of the citadel dating from the 14th century

Many houses have tiles above their doors.

Carthaginian boat docks as depicted in the museum

Statue of a Spanish explorer

A monument that, on each side, has words written in the four languages of faith within the city

The citadel

Cannon

Perching seagull

The citadel

An odd statue of a boy and his cat in the city park

The town rambla

Melilla "If only I could be in Africa and Europe at the same time... Oh, wait! I can!

[zrtranscripts]

Season 8, Mission 17: Red Right Hand

Worth Dyeing For?

~

AMELIA SPENS: Janine, you do look dreadful.

JANINE DE LUCA: I'm perfectly able to participate in this mission, Miss Spens. The nanite control box was smashed, and the scientists on Dearg aren't answering our messages. But in the absence of a cure, I refuse to surrender to my illness.

AMELIA SPENS: Oh goodness, I wasn't suggesting you retire to bed. We need you on this mission. I was merely suggesting a little concealer might be in order? No one suits that "just climbed out of my death bed" pallor.

DUNCAN MACALLAN: For goodness sake, lass, have a little tact!

JANINE DE LUCA: You needn't concern yourself with Miss Spens' manner, Chief Macallan. Five and I are quite used to it.

AMELIA SPENS: And it's not lass, if you don't mind. It's Prime Minister.

DUNCAN MACALLAN: We don't recognize the authority of the British government here!

AMELIA SPENS: But I'm sure you recognize the authority of a fully-armed nuclear submarine parked off your coast. Besides, you lot are in no position to complain after the mess you've made of the mainland. There are red fungus infestations on beaches all down the west coast.

DUNCAN MACALLAN: That's got nae to do with us.

AMELIA SPENS: The fungal seed pods were carried on currents from this island and they left here on the day your people arrived, Janine. We burned most of them out before they could get a foothold, but Bangor was swamped before we knew it. [sighs] If I hadn't kept a burn cube aside for a special occasion, we could have lost the whole of Wales! And you lost the Edda, the only thing that might help us understand how to fight the fungus.

JANINE DE LUCA: We believe Jones may have had some help from someone on the island. That may be who has the Edda now.

AMELIA SPENS: And tracking down that someone will be my next priority. But first, we must discover the source of the red fungus. My sub has released a dye north of Mor Island into the same current that carried the seed pods to the mainland. If we follow the dye on the tide, we can locate the origin.

DUNCAN MACALLAN: I can see it. A bright green stain on the waves.

AMELIA SPENS: What are we waiting for? Let's go.

~

DUNCAN MACALLAN: The green dye doesn't seem to be putting into land. It's following the curve of the shore. This could be a long run.

AMELIA SPENS: I'm sorry, are we inconveniencing you, Chief? Did you have something better to do with your day than save the entire United Kingdom? Maybe there's some minor theft or trespass that needs investigating?

DUNCAN MACALLAN: You were the one who wanted me to come on this run, if you remember.

AMELIA SPENS: For your local knowledge, not your stimulating conversation. You should take a leaf out of Five's book. Never a wasted word.

JANINE DE LUCA: Chief Macallan, did you tell anyone else where we were going?

DUNCAN MACALLAN: No. Uh, why would I?

JANINE DE LUCA: Because there's a figure on the moorland to our left, watching us. Miss Spens, my eyesight is not what it was. Can you describe what you see?

AMELIA SPENS: I can't make out much. The gray of their coat blends into the sky and the rocks behind them. I can see a broad purple stripe down the front. They have their hood pulled up to cover their face.

DUNCAN MACALLAN: Oh my Lord. A skincoat!

AMELIA SPENS: I beg your pardon?

DUNCAN MACALLAN: That's what they call the coat they're wearing. I haven't seen them for a long time. They were fishermen's coats originally, oiled with caraway to keep out the water. That's what gives them that pale green color.

JANINE DE LUCA: And the purple stripe?

DUNCAN MACALLAN: Aye, well, that's something else. The skincoat came to be a badge of office, you see, for those chosen to guard the island and its ways, the role of the coats passed down through families. It was all done away with when we appointed a modern police force.

AMELIA SPENS: Modern-ish.

JANINE DE LUCA: So what does it mean that someone's wearing one today, and watching us?

DUNCAN MACALLAN: Ach, I'd hoped it was just talk. Every since your torpedo uncovered the old sculpture, Prime Minister, some people have been saying it's a sign, a calling back to the old ways.

AMELIA SPENS: Why do the old ways always sound so sinister?

JANINE DE LUCA: It needn't necessarily be – oh. The person in the skincoat, they're gone. I didn't see them leave. Did you, Five?

AMELIA SPENS: Well, if they want to dress up in silly clothes and lurk about looking spooky, that's all very well. But we've got more important things to worry about. The leading edge of the dye is drawing ahead of us. We can't let it out of sight. Chop chop!

~

AMELIA SPENS: The dye's leading us around another dreary, rock-strewn headland. How delightful. It escapes me why anyone would choose to live here.

DUNCAN MACALLAN: This place is in our blood. We've tended it for centuries and it's kept us safe. At least until you outsiders came along. No offense, Janine. But we did fine when we kept to ourselves and our old ways.

AMELIA SPENS: You kept yourself safe by sending your murderers off to kill people on the mainland.

DUNCAN MACALLAN: Aye, well, Jones never fitted in here.

AMELIA SPENS: And yet he seems obsessed with the island and its traditions.

JANINE DE LUCA: He was quite fixated on this king of the rocks ceremony of yours.

DUNCAN MACALLAN: "When gale blows and the moon shines, then gather at the silver pools. Swing around the rocks that stand. Give fruit to the sea to bless the land."

AMELIA SPENS: What?

DUNCAN MACALLAN: It's a rhyme about the king of the rocks. Bairns here learn it at their mother's breast. It explains how to do the ceremony. Gather at the rock pools on the night of the full moon. Pull the three standing stones upright if they've toppled, and dance around them. Then throw fruit from the cliffs into the ocean. In some ways, the king of the rocks is Mor Island. It's no wonder Jones was obsessed. It was the only piece of home he could keep with him.

JANINE DE LUCA: That, and the Edda.

AMELIA SPENS: I've had a team of the very best Norse scholars searching for sources on the missing fragment that Jones stole. We found a line drawing of the outside of the document. It's bound in white lamb leather embedded with rubies. Not the sort of thing that someone could hide in plain sight.

JANINE DE LUCA: I gather your men are conducting house to house searches?

DUNCAN MACALLAN: Which isnae going down too well.

AMELIA SPENS: I'm supremely uninterested in the islanders' delicate sensibilities. The Edda and the fungus, these are the only things that matter.

JANINE DE LUCA: We're one step closer to locating the fungus. The stream of dye is moving shoreward at last. Quick, we mustn't lose sight of it.

~

AMELIA SPENS: You were right, Janine. The dye-stained waters are near to making landfall. We're very close to the source of the red fungus, and once my men have located the Edda, I can leave you people in peace. Not to say tedium.

DUNCAN MACALLAN: What about Janine's cure? I thought she was a friend of yours.

AMELIA SPENS: Oh, Janine will be just fine. The scientists will find a way to fix that nanite machine for her, or Five here will perform some last-minute death-defying rescue. You don't know the residents of Abel the way I do, Chief. They're annoyingly resilient.

DUNCAN MACALLAN: Is that a note of respect I hear?

AMELIA SPENS: Heaven forfend.

JANINE DE LUCA: Look! The dye is heading for that cave mouth.

DUNCAN MACALLAN: There's a disturbance in the water near the shore, can you see? It's churning like crazy!

[water splashes, zombies growl]

JANINE DE LUCA: Zombies, two of them. Probably stragglers from Jones' invasion force.

AMELIA SPENS: We can't let them cut us off from the cave mouth. It will be a month before we can conduct this experiment again.

JANINE DE LUCA: Then we will need to run.

~

[zombies growl]

DUNCAN MACALLAN: The zoms are still on our tail.

AMELIA SPENS: Can't you do something about them, Five? Lead them off down a side tunnel or something?

JANINE DE LUCA: These caves are a maze, Miss Spens. Five could become entirely lost.

AMELIA SPENS: But on the plus side, so could the zoms. Oh, they look awful covered in that green dye, as if someone's toy soldiers came to life and then started rotting.

JANINE DE LUCA: Look up on that ledge. It's very high, but isn't that a skincoat, Chief Macallan?

DUNCAN MACALLAN: Aye.

AMELIA SPENS: Just standing there watching us. You! What do you think you're doing?

DUNCAN MACALLAN: Gone again. Just faded back into the wall. Oh, this is troubling. The skincoats did keep justice here, but their idea of justice was often rough. Torture, and hunting men across the islands. I dinna like that someone wants to bring those traditions back.

JANINE DE LUCA: How did they get here before us? Ours was the most direct route, and we've been keeping a good pace!

DUNCAN MACALLAN: There could be more than one. Traditionally, there were nine skincoats. Nine guardians for the island.

JANINE DE LUCA: We've bigger things to worry about. The dye-filled stream is heading westward into that side tunnel. We must follow before we lose it.

DUNCAN MACALLAN: And before the zoms catch us!

~

AMELIA SPENS: I can't hear the zombies. Have we lost them?

JANINE DE LUCA: Perhaps they find these caverns as confusing as we do. Wait. I do recognize this cave. It's where you located Jones' original camp, Five.

DUNCAN MACALLAN: And look, we've reached our destination. The green dye is sinking into a borehole in the center, but I don't see any signs of your red fungus, Prime Minister.

JANINE DE LUCA: Five, help me to quarter the area. We must conduct a thorough search.

AMELIA SPENS: No need. Look up!

DUNCAN MACALLAN: At the cave roof? There's nothing up there but island pomegranates.

AMELIA SPENS: Those aren't pomegranates, they're seed pods. Can't you see the way the four leaves are folded open?

DUNCAN MACALLAN: Aye, I suppose. So what?

AMELIA SPENS: So that is the source of the fungal infection, you moron. There were pictures of those things in the Edda. The fungal spores were held inside.

JANINE DE LUCA: Five, didn't you say that Jones had a fire burning here when you found him? Perhaps the heat caused the pods to ripen.

DUNCAN MACALLAN: Oh. I suppose that explains why the Dearg scientists were so interested in them. They took some away for study years ago. I remember it because we all laughed at them in their hazmat suits, acting like the wee small things were dangerous when we'd had them on the island as long as anyone could remember.

JANINE DE LUCA: Do you mean to say these fungal pods are found in more than one location on the island?

DUNCAN MACALLAN: They're scattered about in the caves. No one paid them any mind.

AMELIA SPENS: And the scientists from Dearg were studying them years ago, before the zombie apocalypse?

DUNCAN MACALLAN: Aye, I think so.

AMELIA SPENS: Janine, your cure has become a lot more of a priority. Or should I say cover story. You need to go to Dearg immediately.

JANINE DE LUCA: They may not let us in. They've been refusing to respond to our comms requests.

AMELIA SPENS: Then you'll just have to find a way in without their help. We need to know what they're doing with the pods and why, and we must find out where the rest are located! [sighs] I suppose I'll be staying on this godforsaken rock longer than anticipated, or at least in my stateroom on the Undaunted. If we can't find and eradicate all the red fungus, the mainland will never be safe.

~

[quentinsquill]

Eliot Waugh and the Case of the Cocooned Conjurers: Chapter 7

I hope you enjoy the new chapter! 

Summary:

Eliot and Quentin travel to the New Jersey shore to search for clues as to the identity of the killer.

Read it on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17218352/chapters/41895011

                                 Chapter 7: Dr. Quentin Coldwater

The next morning, as we breakfasted on soft-boiled eggs, toast, and a strong, exotic Turkish coffee, neither Eliot or Margo mentioned what had occurred overnight, for which I was grateful. They treated me as they had since we’d met, and as Eliot finished his food, he gave me a bright smile that made him look boyish and lit up his amber eyes with an almost incandescent quality.

 “Are you ready to travel to New Jersey? I’m almost certain that’s where the sandstone came from.”

 “The coastline runs for miles, how do we know where to begin?” I asked, sipping my coffee, and Eliot pushed his plate aside, empty all but for a pile of toast crusts stacked off to one side.

 “Have you heard of Bradley Beach?”

 “That used to be part of the Neptune Township.”

 “Yes, only now it’s incorporated and its own entity. They offered sea bathing access to locals and tourists all summer, but it’s been closed since September.” He lit a cigarette. “The absence of people, coupled with the recent improvements made to the shoreline, could make it convenient for a killer to hide evidence there.”

 “Then why not just do so at the riverfront?” I asked.

 “Too many tourists, and they come all year round. That statue they erected in the harbor brings scores of people here each month, and that’s too many eyes for someone looking to conceal their murderous motives.” He stood. “Come along, the days are getting shorter, so we shouldn’t delay.” He kissed Margo’s cheek as he floated his plate and cup to the nearby sink. “Do try not to throttle any of your shop’s patrons today, you tend to be less patient when I’m not there to rein in your prickliness.”

 “You love my prickliness,” Margo drawled, accepting his kiss. “Watch over each other on your travels.”

 “We will,” Eliot nodded as he opened a portal and waited for me to fetch my coat, scarf, and cane. A moment later we left the comfort of the apartment behind and found ourselves on Bradley Beach. It was deserted and windswept, the lowering grey the same color as the ocean, which was topped with dollops of whitecaps that reared and plunged like miniature steeds. The tip of my cane sunk into the damp sand.

 “It doesn’t look like much,” I observed, and Eliot narrowed his eyes against a bracing wind that flung granules of sand into our faces.

 “Which makes it the ideal place for a killer to perform his dirty deeds, my dear doctor!” Eliot removed the piece of Permian sandstone from his pocket and opened the lid of the small metal container he’d kept it in. He passed a hand over the stone, murmuring, and I recognized a magnetic charm both in language and incantation. The rock rose out of the container and zipped away like a bullet, its outer edges glowing orange. Eliot nodded.

 “It will lead us to its source. Hurry along now!” He followed after it, his loping stride a bit encumbered by the deep, shifting sand. I kept up, determined to not be left behind. I used my cane like a lever, digging the tip deep into the sand and hauling myself forward, taking the longest strides possible. Eliot kept glancing back at me, but I waved him on.

 “Go! I’m all right!”

 He paused only a moment before hurrying on. The stone sailed down the chilly coast before dropping down to vanish under a decrepit wooden pier. It stood at the end of the man-made beach, where huge boulders and craggy outcroppings of smaller rocks marked the end of the safe stretch of sand. A large sign that read KEEP OFF had been jammed between the rocks and the pier, and Eliot ducked underneath the discolored wood.

 “This way!”

 The dock was tall enough that I barely had to stoop to step under its cracked planks. Large wolf spiders, common enough near bodies of water where prey is plentiful, scuttled around the pier’s underside to hide in the cracks and crevices as I passed by. They didn’t frighten me, as I’d seen predatory spiders the size of full-grown horses in the fairy realm, but I moved ahead with a shiver of distaste at how silently they vanished.

 “Quentin! There’s a cavern ahead!” Eliot called, and I hurried to catch up. He’d set a delay on the magnetic spell, and the sandstone buzzed in midair like a furious bumblebee. At the pier’s end, some of the supporting rock had crumbled away, leaving a hole about four feet tall and only slightly wider. The entrance was blacker than an old fountain pen’s nub. I swallowed against a sudden spate of anxiety.

 “We’re going in there?”

 “Indeed we must, if we’re going to find out why this stone was in the dead man’s mouth.”

 “But suppose it’s too small once we climb inside? Or our presence causes a cave in?”

 “My time as a spy taught me to fly in the face of suppose.” He grabbed my wrist and tugged me through the gap as he stooped down low to enter. I gave a startled yelp of dismay, but Eliot was intent on the stone as it raced ahead of us. The cavern’s walls shut out the wind, for which I was grateful, but the cavern’s absolute darkness and fetid odor made me balk. I straightened up, rapped my head on the low, rough ceiling, and Eliot reached back to grip my wrist.

 “Steady, doctor!” He said, and the squeeze he gave my wrist reassured me enough to take a slow, deep breath.

 “Sorry. I was momentarily disoriented.”

 “I understand. It’s darker than the inside of a black cat’s asshole in here! Cast a Chackril’s Sun for us?”

 I nodded and pulled my wrist from his grip before pressing my palms together and murmuring in Arabic as I slowly twisted and pulled them away from each other again, letting the mini sun grow between them. I set it free and it glowed as it bounced against the cavern’s ceiling, illuminating the space and Eliot’s stooped form. He lifted his gaze and pointed at the far end of the cavern.

 “Gods above, look!”

 The cavern’s ceiling sloped upward and the rear expanded to nearly twenty feet across, although it ceased in a dead end about forty paces from where we stood. Eliot headed toward the blind wall, straightening his spine as he was able. The floor of the cavern was a mix of sand, crushed sandstone, and dried seaweed that had washed into the space after countless storms. Eliot crouched down and scooped up a handful of sand before letting it sift between his long, slender fingers.

 “Be a good fellow and bring that sun closer? Yes, there we are,” he nodded as I brought the light closer. He pulled a thin metal tool from inside his vest and expanded it with a flick of his wrist and used one end to search the floor. “Ah!” He exclaimed after a moment, pulling a white fragment of bone from the sand. “Look here, Quentin!” He held it up to the light. “It appears to be a human distal phalanx of the right hand, judging by the angle of the tip.”

 “A finger bone! And all three bodies found were missing their hands.”

 “Indeed they were . . .” Eliot crouch-walked as he used his speculum to unearth more bones. Most of them were fragments and had an oddly polished appearance. I found a thumb with the first three joints attached by a ragged line of decayed tendon, but the bones themselves had that same polished look.

 “Curious,” I muttered, reaching into my inner coat pocket for my spectacles, slipping them on to get a closer look. Eliot glanced over his shoulder.

 “What?”

 “These bones . . . it’s as if they spent years being polished by the tide, the same way water smooths sea glass, yet if these bones are from our victims, they can’t have been here more than a few weeks! The first body was only found about a month ago.”

 “A clever conclusion,” Eliot nodded. “And if these are the same bones, which I daresay they are, what do you think polished them? Think logically, doctor, put magic aside for the moment and use your scientific mind.”

 “Some predators are known to lick or suck bones clean,” I said after a moment. “Large predators especially, such as big cats and omnivorous apes.”

 “Precisely.” My colleague nodded, his eyes bright with excitement. “It seems we’ve found the den of our enemy, where it brought its prey to feast on the hands before bringing the bodies into Manhattan to dump them.”

 “But why only the hands?” I asked. “Why leave the rest?”

 Eliot’s reply was cut off, lost in a sea of sound, one that made us clap our hands over our ears as the terrible squealing sound threatened to render us deaf. We gaped at the source—the same type of webbing we’d seen on the murder victims was now sealing the mouth of the cavern as if knitted by invisible needles. The ground beneath our feet began to bubble, as if it had sprung some inner leak. I gasped in surprise as cold seawater swirled around my ankles. Eliot gave me a shove.

 “Go! Toward the entrance!”

 I obeyed, but the webbing sealed the cavern opening before I could reach it. I backed away, shivering, as the frigid water continued to rise all around us.

[pizza-soup]

I have a few ‘homes’ out there.

There’s one on a cliff in Big Sur, overlooking a sheltered cove filled with jade and moonstone. When I see it in pictures, I can hear the waves and gulls, feel the cold exposed rocky shore and the crystal clear water, taste the salt. I can see myself outside myself climbing down the sandy wall, bag in hand as I pick up interesting stones, shells and driftwood. I’ve seen the area angry with a storm, and calm as a cradle in the spring. I lived in that area for a few months in a campsite. I knew the town, Cambria, like the back of my hand.

Another is a small suite in a hotel in an old part of a city, run by a nice Indian family. His wife was beautiful in her sari, I loved her laugh. I played checkers with their young daughter. I went to the bookstore down the street every evening, it was right across from a laundry. I read about photography as I waited for my clothes to dry. As a treat, I’d go to a local teppanyaki restaurant, so much so the owner knew me by name and what my usual was. I miss those garlic chips.

I miss Morro Bay. I miss the laidback culture and artsy vibe. I befriended a lot of people there and a seal named Bobby. I’d go to the farmer’s market every sunday for strawberries and fresh red leaf lettuce, an old vendor, probably in his 80s, always had a kind word to say to me when he saw me. “ Your aura is smiling today!” He always threw in peaches for free. I looked up to an older woman who raised her own beehive and was battling cancer. She had a very quiet strength to her. She was so lovely. One summer I kayaked a little further than I normally do, and found a colony of sea otters. One jumped up on my kayak and left a rock inside. I still have it.

There’s a home waiting for me off an interstate in Arizona. A middle of nowhere rest area with a few sitting areas. The wildlife at night is something. I’ve never seen so many unidentified insects roam around. Apart from the usual camel spiders, ant lions and vinegaroons, there were insects with human-like heads, two tailed scorpions, moths that look like pieces of old newspaper. And a beautiful, delicate pink mantis that I collected and transferred to my garden three years ago. It’s offspring carried the pink clay coloring trait to this day. The stars are beautiful there too. Miles from any light pollution, it’s the perfect spot to take a telescope and spend a night just gazing out into the sky.

There’s others. In a little canyon in Ojai, CA. In a natural corridor made of red rock near a ghost town on the border of New Mexico and Colorado. A shallow cavern filled with fluorite up a dirt road near Anthony, NM and the truckstop I always go down the freeway. I revisit these places in photos when I’m sad, something about them comforts me, mainly because they just exist and how lucky I am to exist in this place and time to see them, document them and share them with others.

[wadjaya]

You find a small, beat-up notebook amidst a deserted campsite. There are some entries surrounding observations of the area interspersed with notes about local flora and fauna.

Log #1- 8/13/2118

I’ve begun my journey to the South Carolina sinkhole. My funding has been allocated toward equipment and food rations for the trip- I suggested spelunking equipment in the event we encountered the area beneath any wells. Hard to say what to expect- no one has been down there and written about it.

According to the locals, beasts tend to enter and exit the caverns in the darkness of night. Hard to say what exactly is going on- these people give me the creeps. More than a few of them have explained at length how ‘God’ wants them to leave the tunnels intact. The rest seem nervous, but I’m not enough of a people-person to really figure out why.

It’d be nice to have Eliana around for these people.

Log #2- 8/16/2118

We’ve surveyed the first hundred or so feet of depth at the site of the sinkhole. The townsfolk were right, this place is crawling with nocturnal creatures. Off the top of my head we’ve encountered Bearvine, no few varieties of bats, and Prowler coyotes. Frankly, this job would be a wash if it were anyone but me here. 

Fortunately, they requested the best. That’s always been me. I do wish the locals would leave me alone- Wep would have smashed in a few faces with the leering I’ve noticed. I wish I could say I honestly believed it was him being ‘territorial,’ and not just ‘protective.’ Maybe someday.

Log #5- 9/02/2118

Seven days ago, this whole operation went sideways. The group that was with me disagreed on the path we should take. Instead of debating it like rational people, they opted to split off and leave me to fend for myself.

Of course, I offered to simply go their way begrudgingly. They didn’t want to hear it, though. Something is wrong with this place- it’s affecting us. Maybe it’s just some form of claustrophobic response, they just happened to select me as the sacrificial lamb.

No matter- they’re not my problem. Honestly, they’ve done nothing but slow me down since we made it underground. This place is lovely in many ways- a perfect place to observe the effects of Evoviral Mutation on subterranean mammals and insects. But I’m not here to observe every species in this system, lovely as that might be. The locals mentioned hearing whispers.

Those fucking weasels are around- and I will find them before they can influence me.

Log #12- 9/16/2118

In another time, I had a minor interest in psychology- like most low-empathy teenagers. What I recall from those days includes a little blurb about what isolation can do to the human mind. 

On an unrelated note- I’ve been hearing voices. I know I’m alone, so that’s unlikely. Perhaps there are people in surrounding tunnels, but who in their right mind would live here? No, it’s more likely that I’m suffering from some form of isolation-induced paranoia. I’ve been unable to relax enough to get any proper sleep, and it’s too dangerous to risk using my tranquilizers in these tunnels. What if I was found, and couldn’t wake up?

Besides, I kicked that habit in Montu. Surely, Wepwawet would be hurt. Who knows what kind of effects giving this addict a hit could have. 

That aside, I think there’s something magical about this cavern. On a whim, I inspected some of the local flora- the mosses and lichens from previous entries primarily- and noted an unusually strong Metabiological signature. These plants have almost M-DI levels of magical output. But why?

It certainly correlates to paranoia, but something about them seems welcoming. Going forward, I should avoid them like the plague.

Log #16- 9-30-2118

There are people here. According to my depth meter, this must be somewhere in the range of 11,000 feet below sea level. I hypothesized that this tunnel system would close up eventually, but it only seems to become more complicated deeper down. Fortunately, I had the good sense to begin using some form of coded markers- remnants from my time at Montu- to indicate my path. 

I hope I can find my way out when the time comes. My pocketwatch fell out of tune, I estimate, sixteen days ago. Frankly, I have no inkling what time it is- nor if my date is even correct. I hope I’ve been counting my rest cycles properly, but I could be wildly out of sync with the surface world. 

Wepwawet must be worried. I miss him. What I wouldn’t give to- there is a rough squiggle on the page, as though something startled the author.

Log #17- 9/31(?)/2118  10/01/2118

I was rambling in the last entry. My apologies. Whenever I think about the others- the individuals that have made a home here, my mind wanders. It’s a strange sort of effect, even simply writing about it makes me feel as though I’m thinking about the wrong thing.

What’s important is getting out of these caverns.

I’m doing it again. I need to isolate one of these robed humanoids and ask them what the hell is going on. I don’t even know if they’re actually human. They certainly behave like people, but their treatment of this…. This dark underworld is almost fanatic. 

I’ve found a handful of sites where I presume they worship. There are markings that conjure to mind the symbology of cults and fundamentalist religious sects. I’ve noted what I can only presume to be Catholic crosses defaced, Jewish 6-pointed stars partially melted, even some Nordic iconography I would assume is associated with their idea of the World Tree. All of it seems ironic, as though these individuals are mocking the other faiths.

As best I can tell, the symbols they do believe in appear to be abstract(?) in nature. No two are alike. But they are always present at the head of their isolated altars. I’ve only gleaned two words I recognize. One in French, one in English. 

“Bedlam.”

“Chahut.”

Strange. I knew a man who called himself Bedlam once, but I can’t think of any other connections. He isn’t related- I watched him die. Something weird is happening here.

I wish the voices would stop.

Log #20 10/13/2118

I think I’m losing it. I tried responding to one of the voices the other day, and it’s like it heard me. Responded to me. Nothing they have said has made any logical sense.

I suddenly have the overwhelming sense that I am not welcome here. Maybe that’s just the paranoia. The floral growth is unfettered here, I believe the cultists down here live as one with the fungi. They’re human, or rather they’re human-like. I’ve encountered a few dead bodies amidst the patches of fungus, but it’s been dangerous to get a good look. I’m low on filters, and I don’t know how dangerous it is to inhale these spores.

Based on what I’ve seen- very dangerous. 

Log #21 10/14/2118

I heard Wepwawet. He asked me to come home. I want to, very badly.

But he’s not here. I know that. Even so, I keep seeing his face in the stones. Frankly, it’d be rather embarrassing if anyone saw. Like a schoolgirl with a crush, only ever thinking about the boy she liked. 

These people are too far gone. There’s nothing I can see to do for them. They don’t process auditory language, and what few I’ve seen alive have attacked me on site. Perhaps if I-- the writing cuts off abruptly here.

I miss my warm bed. I miss my Wepwawet. I want to go home.

Log #?X  ??/??/2118

Bedlam.

Rancor.

I’m so sorry.

The rest of this book is filled in with several names over and over with the occasional ‘I’m sorry’ or rapidly deteriorating musing about home.