#in the depths of the ocean with little tools to navigate

[lunastarhawk]

WiP proof of life Wednesday (Tides of Memories part 26)

Whisper it quietly, but I've all of a sudden found my mojo and picked up pace with this thing. I've got a little bit silly with it, but that's what I needed, I think.

A snipperoo...

The little silver bell on the mainmast rang a gentle welcome as Julian crossed the deck.  He stopped for a moment, turning around on the spot and taking in a deep lungful of salty sea air, the scent of tar, hemp and canvas wax, and freshly cured wood, the lowering sun warming his cheeks.  The sounds of the city were distant, but the shouts of dockworkers, the clanging of metal tools on wood, the raucous laughter of sailors and the singing of a sea shanty carried on the breeze were welcome. But The Southern Cross wasn’t just a ship.  She was a gate.  A magical one, no less.  A concept that Julian once would have been afraid of, poured scorn on, or been sceptical of - or all three - was here, beneath his boots.  He could feel it, with all of his senses.  The wooden beams and masts, the pine tar caulk, the hemp rope, the canvas sails, the steel rivets, all thrummed softly with magic.  It was barely noticeable, but when Julian closed his eyes and reached for it, it was there.  It was the sea and the stars, Altheia and him, where together they’d joined their magic, pulled the ship up from the depths of an ocean in the Arcana realms… together, the navigator and the privateer.   It meant that now, with his eyes closed and face turned up to the sky, he could feel her there, as if she were standing next to him, her aura surrounding him.  A fierce tempest, a summer’s tide, a spring storm, a dewy mist, all were her and her magic. He hadn’t realised he’d closed his eyes and was swaying on his feet with exhaustion, until a loud caw from above startled him awake.  He opened his eyes just in time to see Malak drop down and land heavily on the starboard rail, ragged wings spread to keep his balance as he settled. “Hello Malak,” Julian said with a tired smile.  “I don’t think I need you to watch out for me here.” NICE BOAT

Julian startled into jumping back at the sudden voice, nearly dropping his book, and stared wide-eyed at the raven. THE BOAT!  IT’S NICE! Julian winced; the raven’s ‘voice’ was hoarse, and loud.   “Firstly, she’s a ship, not a boat.  Secondly, she’s a she, not an it.  And thirdly… was that really you?  You’re talking to me?” Malak rustled his wings, and then turned to preening them.  When he didn’t say anymore, Julian smiled and shook his head. “I really am tired.  Sleep in the crow’s nest if you like.” He gestured to the top of the mainmast.  Malak squawked indignantly. RAVEN!  RAVEN’S NEST! Julian blinked; the raven sounded clearly disgruntled.  “Right.  Yes, if you like.” I WATCH. “There's really no need…” I WATCH! The raven glared indignantly.  Julian bowed his head, not quite knowing what to say.  Eventually he managed, “Good.  Thank you.”   Bewildered, and wondering if he really was so tired that he was hallucinating voices, Julian turned and pushed open the door to the cabin with his foot.

[chroniclers-circle]

chromium 3b

The third planet she visited in the Chromium system, labeled Chromium 3b by her navigational software, wasn’t really a planet—hence the ‘b’ designation. It was a moon, orbiting one of the handful of gas giants in the system, and it was completely covered in ice. Yet the ship scanners detected something interesting, and so she’d be finding her way down to the planet’s surface, somehow.

She sat in front of the bridge computer, tapping her fingers against the console. The imaging system was slowly compiling all the information the ship could glean about the makeup of the planet, so that she could attempt to figure out how on earth she was supposed to document the hostile surface of a planet whose winds carried ice-knives that would be able to chop her up into little pieces.

The console played the little jingle she’d composed during one of the inter-system flight periods as it finished compiling. She squinted at the screen.

It seemed this planet too had vast spaces underneath the crust of the planet—she realized what she would have to do. It was time to pull out the transporter matrix again. Not her favorite tool to use in the field if she could avoid it, but a tool that she could be content using all the same, and it would be able to get her down to the hollow spaces inside the planet without needing to try and navigate the treacherous atmosphere.

She typed in the command for the computer to unfold the matrix from storage, and then left to go put on her space-suit once again.

Sys.log: First Impressions

It was like standing in the lungs of the planet. Dark, for the most part, save where her finger-lights and helmet flashlight shone, with each ray of light catching the glittering formations of ice that made up the walls around her. She breathed out, and pretended she could see the water vapor crystallize in the air.

She trekked through the cave, keeping an eye out for any unusual features. The twisting cavern led down, further into the bowels of the planet, and she took a moment to consider whether she truly trusted the depths below—or whether it would be best to explore in the other direction, where it would be easier for the ship’s transporter matrix to pick her up.

She wasn’t here to stay in her comfort zone. The depths of the planet called to her, and she would simply have to deal with whatever mysteries lay beneath as they made themselves known.

Sys.log: Oceans Inside Glaciers; Further Ruins

She didn’t expect the moment where the ice turned to stone. Nor did she expect the moment where water began to lap at the stony shore next to her boots. The cavern had opened up around her nearly a mile behind her, as she’d continued to walk. She peered out at the darkness, wondering how far into the distance the water stretched. Was it a lake, or something more?

If she weren’t in her suit and helmet, she would have tried to taste the water to figure out the truth. As it was, she had to settle for running a chemical composition test on her limited personal scanners, and waiting to see the results.

Saltwater.

On any other planet, this would be a sign that the body of water before her was large enough to consider an ocean—but with the limited vision and limited sensors and scanner arrays available to her, she would just have to hypothesize. Though her perceptions of the planets she explored counted for much, they did not count for the totality of the professional judgment. She frowned and set off along the shoreline.

A twisted obelisk carved from ice and a pale white stone loomed out of the darkness at her, and she slowed down to regard it with curiosity. She hadn’t seen anything like the stone before, and the ice had all but vanished at this depth.

She circled around it, trying to gage the detail, the size, and the embellishments that had clearly been carved into it. Upon reaching the other side, she stopped and stared. There was a statue embedded into the obelisk, a statue with humanoid proportions and with shapes that in every way reminded her of another human.

It was lithe, the figure, and vaguely mammalian, with unusually smooth skin. Like a human, the figure has hair on its head. Unlike a human, there was a third joint on each of six delicate fingers, and a thin web that stretches between each finger at the first knuckle. A tendril emerged from the base of the alien statue’s elbows, and twisted around the forearm, only to break free and flex alone at the wrist. She raised herself onto her tiptoes trying to get a better look at the statues’ face.

It blinked at her.

His eyes were as icy as the rest of planet, with a pupil that looked as though it were caught in the middle of mitosis, part way through division or consolidation, something half and double all at once. He smiled at her with sharp teeth, and one hand curled into a fist to rap against the ice that trapped him inside the obelisk.

She stepped back in shock, and the alien’s face shifted to look something like regret, fingers splaying out to press against the glass with a remorseful tilt to his head. He tapped the glass again, but this time with one elegant finger.

He wanted to be free, she realized. Her heart hammered in her chest. She could set him free, if she wanted to—if she thought he wasn’t a threat. He was the first humanoid that she’d seen in months, maybe even years, if she allowed herself to think about how long it had been anywhere other than in her bed on her ship during assigned sleeping hours. Here was the chance for her not to be so alone anymore. He was the chance for her not to be so alone anymore.

She swallowed, and began to investigate the obelisk that trapped him. It’d be so nice not to be alone anymore.

NEXT PLANET

[thelonelyreaderr]

Blood in the water

Staring at the children playing in the shallow end of the ocean the old man’s eyes narrowed. They reminded him of old times when he was a little boy playing with his friends unaware of the dangers the ocean held. But he had learned the dangers the hard way. As he closed his eyes to reminisce the childhood memories the children ran towards him shouting. “Mister! Mister!” “Do you have any stories from the sea?” They asked curious “I have a few...”The old man sighed trying to figure out which would be best for them. “Oh-I know just the right one. It was a long time ago” He started “I had just had my eighteenth birthday and was full of courage, I only had one goal- become the captain of my very own ship. I mean there wasn’t much to do in the old port city I used to live in. It was either you settle down and become a family man or hitch a ride on a departing ship and explore the world.” He explained to the kids as they sat in a circle around him. “Of course I did feel bad about leaving my family and essentiality my whole life behind but curiosity got the better of me and I wanted to see the world. I was naive, blunt, and snarky but I ended up on the crew of The Hearteater, she was a beauty...to this day I haven’t seen a ship as magnificent as hers. The captain of The Hearteater was Sir James Scott, a brave man who could have gone to do brilliant things if he had-” His story was cut off as the old man went on a coughing fit, the children quietly waited for him to continue, and after recovering he started back up. “If he had not taken the Hillion shortcut. It was clear when we set sail that day, that the shortcut would have shaven 60 miles off of our voyage if we had done it the correct way but our navigator wasn’t the sharpest tool in the box and he got our coordinates mixed up. Instead of going down the Marine sea, we went through the Start Isle” The old man paused for dramatic effect as the children gasped hearing the old man survive the Start Isles. “Now don’t call me crazy know what I saw but...when we got closer to the center the skies got dark and a savage storm started to toy with our ship. Our Captain was standing at the deck giving out orders when it appeared out from the depths of the sea. Or more so it’s tentacles appeared and started to break apart our ship. I myself am not quite sure how I survived but I thank every god that exists that I live each day.” The old man concluded. "That's it?!" One of the kids was disappointed. The old man chuckled, "Afraid so kid, If I could remember more I would tell but" He shrugged disappointing the kids was never fun but all he wanted to do was slightly scare them after all. The children stayed by his side listening to him tell more about his adventures, it was only when the mothers came out to collect their children did the children leave this side.

----

That was bad I know but I had to write it for my class and thought why not post it here for fun? I wrote another short story that is even worse so I'll try to post it tmmr and if I have to write another story in class I'll post it aswell. :D

[starseedfxofficial]

Introduction: A Laugh, Some Depth, and Where It Begins Trading forex without the right tools is like going hiking in the wilderness without a compass. You might make it out alive, but your chances aren't looking great—unless, of course, you have some hidden insider tricks up your sleeve. Enter the Price Oscillator, an unsung hero for those of us interested in NZDUSD and a pretty nifty trick that top-level traders use to navigate through the wild market swings of this currency pair. If you're reading this, I'm guessing you don't want to get lost in the market like a pair of hiking boots stranded in the wilderness. You've come to the right place, my fellow trader. Here’s the deal—the Price Oscillator is that compass. It’s an often-overlooked indicator that helps identify the true direction of a trend, like a secret whispered in a busy market square. This post aims to do a lot more than just introduce you to the Price Oscillator; it's here to help you avoid those beginner-level mistakes (think buying a pair of shoes on sale, knowing you'll never wear them) while taking you through elite tactics, advanced insights, and little-known secrets that top traders use to make NZDUSD their playground. Price Oscillator: The Hiker's Compass for Trading Okay, let’s be real—when we talk about the Price Oscillator, most people’s eyes glaze over like they’re watching a bad sitcom plot unfold (no laughs, just cringe). But this little tool has a lot to offer when used right. Think of it like your personal trend-tracker. It’s calculating the percentage difference between two moving averages, essentially helping you see what’s actually happening under the surface. Imagine it like those "Before You Buy" YouTube reviews—giving you a behind-the-scenes look, minus the unboxing. How Does the Price Oscillator Help in NZDUSD? NZDUSD, also known as the “Kiwi,” isn’t your average currency pair. It’s notorious for having volatile swings—not unlike my coffee addiction. One day, I’m all about a mellow blend, and the next, I’m gulping down espresso shots like they’re going out of style. The Price Oscillator is particularly useful here because it helps to manage those swings by providing clarity on momentum. So why is it perfect for the NZDUSD? Well, the Kiwi is often influenced by economic events from both sides of the ocean. You’ve got New Zealand’s dairy economy on one hand, and on the other, the ever-surprising policies coming from the US. By using the Price Oscillator, we can decipher who’s actually wearing the pants in this currency relationship. Underground Tip #1: Avoid the Common Pitfall The most common mistake traders make is treating the Price Oscillator like a definitive buy/sell signal. It’s actually more like a suggestion from a good friend—one you might want to listen to before jumping in. Just like that time you accidentally hit the 'sell' button instead of 'buy' and your portfolio spiraled like an out-of-control shopping cart, consider the context! Combine it with other tools like RSI or Bollinger Bands to see the full picture. The Price Oscillator Magic Trick: A Hidden Formula Only Experts Use This is where things get real, folks. The trick to using the Price Oscillator on NZDUSD is not just in reading the numbers—it’s in reading between the numbers. Think of the Price Oscillator as a mind-reader, giving you a glimpse into how other traders are thinking. Look for divergences—those sneaky signals that tell you something is amiss. If the price is moving up but the Oscillator is trending down, something’s cooking, and it’s probably not a good idea to jump on that long train without caution. Here’s an advanced trick most traders overlook: use a double divergence. This involves waiting for two instances of divergence—the extra patience weeds out false signals, which makes it a powerful way to spot reversals. It’s like double-checking whether you left your stove on—better safe than sorry, right? Why Most Traders Get It Wrong (And How You Can Avoid It) Here’s a brutal truth—the majority of traders misuse the Price Oscillator by ignoring timeframes. I get it—we all want to make a quick buck. But if you’re staring at a 5-minute chart, the signals you're getting may not translate into anything meaningful. It’s like getting investment advice from a random guy at the bar—sure, it could be gold, but most likely, it’s just that day’s happy hour talking. To really capitalize on the Price Oscillator’s potential, focus on longer timeframes. The 1-hour or daily charts are more reliable for a currency pair like NZDUSD. It’s all about spotting the hidden trends and underground movements that might give you an advantage over the masses. Plus, these timeframes make it easier to stay objective, avoiding emotional decisions like closing a position out of panic. How to Predict Market Moves with Precision Here’s where the fun really kicks in—let's talk prediction. By combining the Price Oscillator with Fibonacci retracement levels, you’re suddenly wielding a tool that’s like having an "in" with the market’s puppet master. It’s a little-known technique, but it works wonders when paired with NZDUSD, whose movements often align with Fibonacci ratios. To put this into perspective—look for a retracement in the 50%-61.8% range. Once you identify the point where the Price Oscillator is confirming the trend (meaning it's showing positive momentum after a pullback), that's when the magic happens. Think of it like aligning the stars—you’ve got the retracement, the oscillator, and price action all playing in harmony. —————– Image Credits: Cover image at the top is AI-generated Read the full article

[prouvaireafterdark]

Stede Bonnet’s Crew as D&D Characters

I know this in an incredibly niche post but I just really needed to exorcise it from my brain. So here, have Stede’s crew (+ Ed and Izzy) as D&D classes:

Stede - Oath of the Open Sea Paladin

Two Tenets of the Open Sea are to “Explore the uncharted” and that there is “No greater life than a life lived free.” It’s not hard to see how these would be appealing to someone longing for adventure and freedom from the prison of compulsory heterosexuality.

Also, Stede may not be much of a fighter, but if he somehow manages to make it to level 20 he’ll be able to “channel the spirits of historic sea captains to become a true paragon of adventure.” If that doesn’t sound like something Stede would have dreamt of when he left his family in Barbados I don’t know what does.

Also he did make an Expeditious Retreat at the end of ep 9, which the Oath of the Open Sea paladin gets at level 3 😬

Ed - Fathomless Warlock/Swashbuckler Rogue multiclass

Long before Ed took the name “Blackbeard,” he made a dark bargain of sorts, forfeiting a piece of his soul in order to become the Kraken and eventually build a life on the fathomless depths of the ocean. 

Picking up levels in rogue and taking the swashbuckler subclass leads him to being the formidable swordsman and duelist that he is by the time Stede meets him. 

The warlock spell list has a lot to offer someone looking to strike fear in their enemies’ hearts with a little fuckery, such as Fear, Major Illusion, Mislead, and Weird.

The Fathomless warlock also has access to tentacle-themed spells, for all you monsterfuckers out there. 

Oluwande - Light Domain Cleric

Oluwande is a literal ray of sunshine.

That’s it, that’s all I got.

Jim - Oath of Vengeance Paladin/Assassin Rogue multiclass

Jim swore an oath to themselves to track down and kill the Siete Gallos to avenge their family.

The quick knife skills they learned growing up have turned them into a formidable assassin, able to strike before their enemies even know they’re there.

Jim’s also obviously proficient with disguise kits. 

Buttons - Circle of Stars Druid

As the ship’s navigator, Buttons needs to keep his eyes on the stars to accurately chart their course and no one knows the stars better than a Circle of Stars druid.

Access to water-based spells suggests his close relationship with the sea, and with spells like Animal Friendship and Speak with Animals it’s no wonder he’s built such strong connections to the birds in his life.

Also something tells me he’d really want access to Moonbeam.

The Swede - Divine Soul Sorcerer

The Swede has the voice of an angel, but what if he’s also got the blood of one?

High charisma would play into that divine performance he gave during the fuckery.

Also, having high intelligence isn’t far up on a sorcerers list of priorities, which would account for the Swede’s whole “the teeth don’t go back in” revelation.

Frenchie - College of Glamour Bard

We know our boy loves to sing and play music, but he’s also an excellent con man with enough charisma to charm even the stingiest French aristocrat out of his money.

He’s also very superstitious, so either he learned his craft from a fey creature who was fucking with him or he made intelligence his dump stat. Maybe both.

Black Pete - Swashbuckler Rogue

Black Pete knows what he wants and that’s to be a classic pirate fearsome enough to sail under Blackbeard.

He’s not quite there yet, but that won’t stop him from trying.

(He’s also definitely got a set of woodcarver’s tools.)

Lucius - College of Eloquence Bard/Thief Rogue multiclass

Lucius definitely has the high charisma of a bard and the sticky fingers of a thief.

He’s also skilled at recording tales of adventure and spends a lot of his time inspiring people to action with persuasive speeches.

Roach - Way of Mercy Monk

Although Roach seems to favor his meat cleaver over his fists, this monk subclass’ description as an order of “masked bringers of macabre mercies” who make “grim choices rooted in reality rather than idealism” does seem apt considering his approach to dealing with the infection in Lucius’ finger.

As the ship’s doctor, he could definitely use the proficiency in medicine.

(Also he definitely would take the Chef feat.)

Wee John - Circle of the Moon Druid

It is not enough for Wee John to PLAY the cat. 

He must BECOME the cat.

Izzy Hands - Zealot Barbarian

Between Izzy’s ceaseless rage over Stede and Ed’s growing relationship and his fanatical devotion to the abstract idea of Blackbeard, Zealot barbarian just feels right.

I also fully believe that if Izzy was killed, he would simply refuse to die out of sheer spite.

[elizabeethan]

Find Strength in Pain, Find Strength in Me- 1/3 (I Think)

After defeating the wraith, Emma Swan is dragged through the portal they sent it through and suddenly finds herself in the land in which she should have grown up. Lost, overwhelmed, and desperate to get home to her son, she accepts help from the gruesome pirate Captain Hook— and his accomplice. 

A Season 2 AU in which Emma ends up the the Enchanted Forest alone, and she and Hook (try to) work together to get to the Land��Without Magic.

There are very brief descriptions of near-drowning at the very beginning of this, so if that’s troubling for you, skip the first couple of paragraphs

This fic is all @donteattheappleshook​'s fault. she also beta'd it, so it would be nothing without her. I think it will have 3 parts but you know... we'll see

Rated T (for now)

Also Available on Ao3

Read my other stuff

Tagging: @courtorderedcake @kmomof4 @stahlop @klynn-stormz @laschatzi @emelizabeth88 @lfh1226-linda @kday426 @elisethewritingbeast @timeless-love-story @captain-emmajones @gingerpolyglot @ebcaver @ilovemesomekillianjones @teamhook @superchocovian @itsfabianadocarmo @tiganasummertree @gingerchangeling @jrob64 @onceratheart18 @xhookswenchx @winterbaby89 @swampmedusa @ultraluckycatnd @dancingnancyy @love-with-you-i-have-everything  @shireness-says @snowbellewells @hollyethecurious @ouatpost @daxx04 @the-darkdragonfly @donteattheappleshook@therooksshiningknight @eeteeaytay​​

Part 1

The frigid salt water burns her throat and nose, choking her as she struggles to differentiate up from down through the blackness surrounding her. The sudden change in scenery is jolting. Just a second ago she was in Town Hall, and now she finds herself drowning and struggling against the crashing waves. 

The irrational part of her, the part that hasn’t recognized how close she could be to death, wonders where she is, where she’s ended up. But a larger, more frightened part of her panics, paddling her arms as forcefully as she can against the strong current that continues to pull her beneath the swell of the water. 

She crests over the surface once more, struggling to take in a breath before being assaulted by another crashing wave, her lungs filling with abrasive water as she begins to feel herself slipping out of consciousness. It can’t end like this, she thinks desperately, trying to fight against the warmth she feels threatening her. It would be so easy to give up and let the warm feeling take her. Her body can only take so much more abuse.

She shakes these thoughts of giving up from her mind. Once more, she tries to find the surface so that she can take a breath, but before she can, she takes in more salt water.  

Not like this. 

She’s fading fast, blackness taking over her vision far too quickly, before she feels a heavy, rough weight thumping against her and circling her arms. As if by second nature, she grabs into the object, unsure of whether it’s a rope or a piece of seaweed, and clings for dear life. It’s her lifeline, or perhaps a security blanket to ease her fears as she succumbs to the death that seems all too impending. 

Hugging the thick and heavy object close to her chest, she feels it tugging her against the strong current until she’s out of the waves, the cold air welcome against her hot and freezing flesh. A pair of rough hands grab her beneath her arms and hoists until she’s tossed to the ground. 

“Good girl,” she hears from above as she coughs violently. The velvet voice is almost enough to distract her from the fire in her throat. “Get the sea out of your lungs.” 

“Who are you?” she rasps, shaking suddenly against the freezing air. 

“The name is Hook. Captain Hook. Welcome aboard the Jolly Roger, my dear.” 

Panting, she collapses against the aged deck of the ship she’s found herself on, letting her cheek rest against the wood as she finally succumbs and fades into unconsciousness. 

~~~~ 

“She can’t very well eat a meal while she’s asleep, can she, Mr. Smee?”

“N-no, Captain. Of course not, Sir. I merely thought that if the lass were to wake sometime soon, she’d likely be famished.” 

“Aye, I’d imagine she would be. But I suppose we won’t know until she wakes, will we?” 

“Certainly, Sir. It’s just that she’s been asleep for a day, and I thought she may want sustenance.”

“And have you become a mind-reader overnight, Mr. Smee? Are you able to predict when she’ll wake?” 

“Of course not, Sir.” 

“No need to waste food on a sleeping damsel, then. Save it for the crew until we know she needs it.” 

“Aye aye, Captain.” 

She lets herself shift on the small, firm mattress, rolling to one side and groaning at the throbbing behind her eyes once the voices quiet and she hears a door latching shut. The moment she makes a sound, her lungs protest and she’s coughing again. 

“Ah, she lives,” she hears, and she starts in surprise, grabbing for the thick quilt that covers her and pulling it up to her chin. “Worry not, love, for I am a man of honor. I shan’t look if you’d prefer I didn’t.” 

“Who the hell are you?” she rasps, coughing some more. “Where am I?” She’s so disoriented from her experience and the resulting headache that she can hardly tell what sort of space she’s in.

“My dear,” he chuckles. “We’ve had this conversation already. Call me Hook; I’m captain of this fine vessel. You find yourself aboard the Jolly Roger.” He knocks a metal appendage against the wall of the cabin, smiling pridefully.

“The hell is that?” she asks in confusion, unable to stop the venom from lacing her voice. Then she realizes what she saw him do, looks at his arm, and notes that there’s an actual hook where a hand should be. “Wait… did you say… Hook?”

He smirks, raising a brow in such a dramatic way that Emma can hardly believe him to be real. In fact, she must be in some limbo between life and death, because there is no possible way that she’s in the presence of the Captain Hook. She doesn’t remember the damn Disney character looking like that. 

“Ah, so you’ve heard of me,” he quips playfully.

In an attempt to make sense of the situation she’s in, she changes the subject, unable to give any more mental energy to something so far from possible. “Just—” She coughs once more. “Tell me where I am. I fell… I mean…” She’s certain her words aren’t making sense. She can’t very well tell this stranger the truth, that she was sent here by magic, despite the fact that he seems to think himself a fairytale character. 

“You wish to know what land you’re in?”

“Yes.” 

“You’re in Misthaven, love. Some call it the Enchanted Forest.” 

She groans. The Enchanted Forest. That’s where her parents are from; where she was supposed to grow up. How the hell did she find her way here? (And seriously, did she have to land in the middle of the ocean?)

“Well I need to get home,” she insists firmly, sitting up and pulling the quilt tighter to herself. Her clothes have been removed, likely due to them being completely soaked, and she finds herself in only her underwear and a thin, black linen slip, trying not to think about who put her in it. “And I’d like my clothes back.” 

He hums, pushing himself off of the table he was leaning against and walking towards the door. “I’m sure you would. Peculiar outfit you were donning, love. Where, pray tell, might one find such clothing?” 

She gives him an indignant look, raising a brow and reaching a hand palms up towards him expectantly. He chuckles, then exits the room to leave her alone and confused. 

She looks around the space curiously, noting the windows to her left overlooking the sea that almost claimed her. There’s a table with four leather-bound chairs, the surface decorated with a candelabra and a strange looking navigation tool. Shelving along the windows is covered in maps and books and strewn-about pages. There’s a chest in the corner, tucked away in a way that makes her curious. She’s about to stand and explore, but the door opens once more and the confident captain swaggers back in. 

“There we are, lass,” he says, passing her neatly-folded clothes to her with a cocky smile. “It seems we both have an affinity towards leather, aye? I do enjoy the deep red, very… sensuous.” The smirk on his face is somewhat unnerving. The depth with which he stares her down makes her squirm, but she thinks that’s exactly his goal so she schools her features, dedicated to not giving him any satisfaction. 

“Some privacy, please?” she asks, although it’s not as if she’ll be taking no for an answer. 

“If the lady insists,” he concedes, continuing to smirk at her as he bows dramatically, his coat sweeping the ground as he sinks- but he still doesn’t leave.

“She does,” Emma says slowly, raising her brows and nodding towards the door. 

“Tough lass,” he chuckles, stepping away from her. “Very well, love, I’ll give you a bit of privacy. But when I get back, you and I are going to have a little chat.”

“Can’t wait,” she mumbles. 

Once he’s finally gone, she can do what she’s been wanting to and explore her surroundings, taking in all of the information about him she can before he returns. She hops into her jeans quickly, nearly dropping to the ground as she does, but determined to find something she can use on him in case he threatens her somehow. Tossing her shirt over her head and dropping the too-sheer fabric to the ground, she scours the room as quickly and silently as she can, opening books and shoving loose pages aside as she moves along the shelving. She finally gets to the chest and opens it up, finding a small, aged piece of parchment resting on top of its contents, as if it was placed there carefully and with loving respect. 

She hums, removing it from the chest to observe the detailed sketch, noting the subject’s beauty— her thick curls and her kind eyes— and the doting way the parchment is placed in the chest, as if being hidden and placed on display all at once. She wonders what else this pirate has up his sleeves based on the care he’s used to store this work of art. She wonders where this woman could be; who she could be. 

As she ponders the sketch, the ship rocks and the glimmer of sunlight against metal catches her attention. She glances down and sees exactly what she needs: a small, sharp dagger. Perfect. 

She hears the footsteps approaching and jumps, rushing to pick up her jacket and hoist it over her shoulders, hiding the short blade in her sleeve as the door swings open immediately after a soft knock. “Decent, love?” he asks as he pushes through holding a small plate. 

She answers affirmatively, although it doesn't seem to matter because he’s in the room before she could’ve stopped him. He hands her the plate with a smirk that she doesn’t think ever leaves his face and walks around her to take a seat in a chair. He gestures in front of him-- though she’s unsure if it’s towards the small mattress she slept on or a chair before him-- and commands, “sit.” 

She pinches her brows together suspiciously but listens, choosing to step back and sink onto the surface of the mattress. “What the hell is this?” she asks once she looks down at the contents of the plate he handed her. 

“Hardtack and salted meat, love. What’s wrong, would you have preferred gruel?” 

Glancing back down and the bland, overly beige food, she makes a face of disgust and takes a bite of the dry-looking biscuit she desperately wishes was a strawberry Poptart. She feels the crumbs drying her mouth and throat and she begins to cough again. 

He shakes his head and tsks, taking out a small flask and walking towards her to press it to her lips. She takes it from him with force and tosses it back, sputtering again at the burn as the liquid sides down her throat. “Are you trying to torture me?” she demands as she pushes him away. “Don’t you have water?”

With another smirk, he says, “torture, you say? Well, you are my prisoner. Perhaps that’s not a bad idea.” 

“Water?” 

“All we have is grog, and I’m afraid you wouldn’t like it much more than the rum.” 

Picking up the strange, rigid meat by one end, her face sours at the thought of eating jerky offered to her by a pirate who probably hasn't seen land in months and likely doesn't know much of meat preservation. But she’s starving, having apparently been unconscious for a while, and she can’t resist. “Anything’s better than the lava you just forced down my throat,” she says around the salty food. 

“Very well,” he concedes, then shouts, “Smee!” 

She jumps just slightly, noting the barely-there ringing in her ears as her head throbs as a plump, stocky man enters the room. “Aye, Cap’n?” 

“Fetch the young lady some grog, if you please.”

The man nods once, scurrying from the room. The Captain scans the cabin while he’s gone, taking note of the shirt she left on the floor and narrowing his eyes. “I keep a tight ship, lass,” he chastises. 

She almost wonders if she should be worried as his gaze reaches hers, hot and angry at the sight of the small mess she left behind. But the man returns with a goblet, handing it to her with a shaky grip and stepping backwards. “Anything else, Sir?”

“That’ll be all, Mr. Smee. Ensure we aren’t bothered.” His tone is bordering on threatening and her pulse quickens in her veins.

He nods and slinks out of the room once more, latching the door behind him. She looks down at the large cup that was proffered to her and doesn’t think it’ll be much better than his rum, as he tried to warn her, but chances it and takes a sip. 

It’s awful, completely disgusting, but it’s all she has and it doesn’t burn quite as much as the rum had. She makes a sound of disgust, sticking her tongue out and reaching for the jerky again in hopes of getting the taste out of her mouth. 

“Quite dramatic,” he remarks, and she realizes he’s been studying her with a pensive look on his face, right eyebrow never dropping.

“It’s terrible.”

“Water that sits stagnant tends to collect green slime, which I can assure you tastes far worse than that.”

“So instead you add poison to it?” 

He guffaws, tossing his head back and pressing his hand to his middle. “A bit of alcohol is hardly poison, love.”

The meat actually doesn't taste too bad, but it’s so salty and dry that she has to pinch her nose and take another swig of his poison water. 

“Now,” he starts, still staring at her intently. “What’s your name, love?”

She rolls her eyes, mumbling around the jerked meat. “It isn’t love.” 

His eyes narrow and he leans his arms against the table, cocking his head as he says, “understand this: you’d be dead in the water, quite literally, if not for my men fishing you out of the sea. I’ve fed you, dressed you… I’ve kept you alive all this time warding off fever. I owe you nothing. And you’d do well to remember that as an obligatory passenger on my ship.” She sits quietly as if she was scolded by a teacher, biting her lip and looking back down at her food for one more helping. “Your name,” he demands again. 

“Emma,” she grumbles. “Emma Swan.” 

“Well, Swan, pleased to meet you.” 

She gives him a small smile, because she somewhat doubts that but doesn’t think it a good idea to anger him any more than she apparently already has, and nods in return. “Likewise. And… thank you.” 

As he breathes out a chuckle, he says, “if I had to guess, I’d say that statement is rare to leave your lips, darling.” 

She rolls her eyes again. “Well, you’re right. You and your crew saved my life.” He nods in acknowledgement of her thanks. “Hey, who changed me anyway?” 

He laughs awkwardly. “Ah, do you not recall? You were quite fiery indeed, swatting my hand away. I assure you, I neither saw nor touched anything. But I couldn’t leave you in those cold, soaked… clothes,” he says, giving her a suspicious look as he takes in her outfit, apparently foreign to him and to this land. “You were close to catching your death from the cold, but you absolutely refused to let me take off… everything.” With a blush, she breathes out an irritated laugh, unsure of how to react to the fact that this man has apparently seen much more of her than she would have hoped. “I must admit, while the entire ensemble is quite unfamiliar to me, I was particularly perplexed by whatever tiny bit of fabric was covering up your—”

“Okay,” she cuts him off, putting the plate down on the mattress, noting his eyes trailing far too low. “We don’t need to talk about my… tiny fabric.” 

With a chuckle, he sits back in his chair once more and nods in agreement. “Very well, lass. Now it’s your turn to answer another question for me.” 

“Fine.” 

“What the bloody hell were you doing in the middle of the ocean? We’re a good two or three day’s ride from shore.” 

She inhales deeply, unsure of what she should tell this stranger. He’s right, of course. He could have left her to die in the water, could have let her succumb to the hypothermia she was likely suffering from. But he didn’t. Instead, he helped her. He himself removed her soaked clothing rather than pawning her off on his potentially touch-starved crew, affirming to her that he hadn’t violated her in any way despite her precarious position. He fed and watered her. He made sure she was warm and comfortable and safe. And, if she’s in the Enchanted Forest, or just outside of it, she can assume he knows something of the magic that brought her here. 

“I fell through a… portal,” she finally admits timidly. 

His eyes narrow in suspicion and he leans forward again, eyes making intense contact with her own. “A portal?” he clarifies. 

“Yes.” 

“How did you come across this portal?” 

She shrugs. “A magic hat, I guess.” She wonders if he thinks she’s mad based on the manic look in his eyes. “And I need to get back.” 

“Aye, I would imagine you do.” He sits back once more, still eyeing her with trepidation. “Tell me, then, from what land were you dragged through this portal?” 

“No, I get to ask a question now,” she says boldly, almost childishly, despite the fact that he has only just scolded her for her attitude towards him. 

Narrowing his eyes, he concedes and waves his hand before himself. “Very well.” 

“What’s your name?”

His confidence seems to waiver as he considers her inquiry, cocking his head to the side and eyeing her up and down before he comes to a decision. “Killian,” he says hesitantly. Then “Killian Jones,” with more grandeur. It isn’t lost on her that he chooses not to include his title, his claim to power. “Now, your turn. From whence did you fall, Emma Swan?” 

“Um,” she starts, unsure of how to answer since she was never given any sort of guidebook to the names of all the magical realms. Thinking back to what her parents had called it, she answers, “I guess you would know it as the Land Without Magic.” 

He stands suddenly, forcefully moving his chair back and stepping towards her in haste so that she backs away from him on the bed. Once he’s close enough to lean over her, she gulps, letting the small blade slip down her sleeve so she can hold the handle tightly. “Did you say the Land Without Magic?” he asks forcefully, his face inches from her own. 

“Yes,” she whispers back. “That’s where I live; I need to get back there.” 

His eyes stare into hers with such intensity that it makes her skin crawl. After a moment, he schools his features and backs away slightly. “Well,” he says as he rights his blouse. “Then I offer my ship and my services.” 

She drops her jaw, stunned, and utters, “what?” 

He nods, making his way back to his desk and taking a seat once again. “I need to get there as well. It would likely be more efficient if we worked together.” 

With her eyes narrowing, she stands, tucking the handle of the short dagger back up under her sleeve, and walks around the table so that she’s standing closer to him, looking out the window. He remains still, apparently not fazed by her movements. “Why would you need to get to the Land Without Magic?”

She can’t see his face, standing behind him now with their backs to each other, but she can hear the smirk in his voice as he says, “I’ve heard it’s lovely this time of year.” 

She spins, facing him as a thought pops into her mind. This man is a pirate sailing through her parents’ kingdom. Though she knows little about this place, and about pirates in general, she does know that a pirate and a king do not get along. The curse swept up everyone in this realm, and his desire to get to the place where Misthaven’s royalty now reside can’t be a coincidence. 

With these thoughts in mind, she lets the blade slip out of her sleeve and grabs him by the hair, holding the dagger up to his neck as he struggles in surprise. “I don’t believe you. What’s in it for you?” 

“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about,” he stutters. 

“Do you know who I am? Tell me why you really want to get to my home.” 

He gasps against the sharp metal, trying to pull away, and answers, “to exact vengeance on the man who took my hand.” 

She glances down and notes the hook once more, something she’s been trying to ignore because the idea that this man is Captain Hook is too hard to swallow. She lets him go, dropping the blade from his flesh and backing away. Letting out a breath, he relaxes back in his chair again. “Just who are you, Swan?” he asks playfully, practically waggling his brows as he rubs his neck. Apparently, he finds it more important to flirt with her than to worry about the fact that she just threatened his life. 

Yeah, she shouldn’t have let that one slip. “Wouldn’t you like to know.” 

“Perhaps I would.” 

She rolls her eyes. “Listen, I need to get home to my son,” she says honestly. “I don’t have any more time to waste; the longer I’m gone, the worse things could get for him.” 

He smirks. “You have a son?” he asks, sweeping his gaze pointedly along her body. She shoves away from him and pulls her jacket tight to her torso. “No need to fret, love, we’ll get you home.”

“I’m not fretting,” she snaps, though she continues to hug her arms around herself.

Noting her evident discomfort, he continues on casually as if to assure her that what she seeks is possible. “I have arranged transport with someone, but her company is a bit… well, it makes me uneasy,” he says with an awkward smile. “She also doesn’t exactly know where this land is, what with the lack of magic and all, so having you as a guide may prove useful in her eyes. Plus, if you and I team up, we can overthrow her, should the need arise.” 

With a scoff, she says, “great, I can’t wait to work with someone I should plan to overthrow.” 

“Worry not, love. She’s naught but fervidly motivated. You see, she needs to get to her child as well, a daughter.” 

“Really?” That peaks her interest and she moves around the table to sit in a chair facing him. “Who is she?”

“Her name’s Cora,” he answers casually. Pursing her lips, Emma tries to recall if she knows anyone in town with that name, but she thinks not. Although, she didn’t have long to learn everyone’s un-cursed personas, so it’s entirely possible that this woman’s daughter, Cora, is someone she already knows.

“And who is this man you’re trying to… exact revenge on?” she asks, repeating his dramatic words. 

“He’s known well as the Dark One, but also as Rumplestiltskin.” 

“The Dark One?” 

“Aye, I take it you know of him?”

“I do, but how could you possibly kill him? Isn’t he supposed to have, like, the most powerful magic ever?”

He chuckles. “Very eloquent, darling. And yes, he is, which is why I must travel to the Land Without Magic. So I can best him fair and square.” 

She should tell him, right? She should be honest about the fact that the Land Without Magic does, in fact, have magic now that the curse has broken. About the fact that, if he’s putting all of his eggs in this metaphorical basket, he’s doomed to lose. 

She almost feels bad for this man. She knows he’s likely violent and dishonorable, but he’s right in that he’s been nothing but caring and helpful to her. A part of her almost trusts his kind, menacing eyes. And now, he’s offered her help getting home. He may be her only chance to get back to Henry; to keep him safe from Regina. 

So she stays silent, nodding in agreement, assuring him that his plan to kill the Dark One using only his skills in swordsmanship is foolproof. 

Guilt settles in instantly, churning her stomach in response to his obvious excitement at the prospect of having a chance to exact his revenge. 

But she needs to get home. 

~~~~

~~~~

[petulant-poet]

Tell me about ur ocs

Okay okay I have been WAITING for someone to ask me this. I hope you’re ready for an onslaught anon!

okay so since you didn’t ask for a specific set or certain oc, imma tell you about my main oc’s, the prime 16!

the prime 16 are a class of super-powered individuals living in a post-apocalypse, and under the gaze of the institute they live in. that is, until they run away and make lives of their own! Their main goal is to regroup in Boston, but many decide to take the scenic route around the broken country. Here they are, from oldest to youngest and in order of class:

Class Alpha: the first class to emerge, they are the strongest and most skilled with their abilities. They’ve been in the clutches of the institute longer than any of the others, and their need for escape lets them find freedom.

1: Marlon, the soul scholar. He is the oldest and was the one to devise the escape plan in the first place. He escaped and went straight to Boston, using his power of elemental construction to research into soul power, making him a useful asset to anyone. However, his need for knowledge doesn’t stop there. He goes searching and looking where no one has or should, and finds himself deep into something he never should have disturbed.

2: Charlie, the shadow spy. She is the second-in-command to Marlon, but prefers to stay out of the limelight. She finds herself in the holographic city of Chicago, and finds that the best places for her are in the dark corners of the streets. She uses her ability intuition to become a valuable spy and mercenary, able to take out or find anything she is hired to find. She finds though that the shadows she saw as her ally can hold more secrets than she could ever want to know.

3: Colby, the glam American. Colby is a lot more easygoing than most of the others in his class, and is able to mutate his genes however he likes. He uses this skill to join a rock band and become a roving sensation across the ruined country. He finds that not everyone just wants to listen though, and that there will be people who may just want to use him for themselves.

4: Lydia, the lucky bullet. She’s the most energetic of class Alpha and has herself a cartoon physiology, making life around her a living cartoon. She moves off to the west to become a famed cowboy, and is beloved by the people around her. However, all cartoons have their run, and Lydia is terrified of when she will run out of luck.

Class Beta: the second best, the afterthought, whatever you call them, class Beta has heard it before. They have powers that are less useful in battle and more with other people, or in life. They are constantly played as Alpha’s little siblings (which they are) to an insane degree, leading them to often resent or idolize the higher class.

5: Kit, the lonesome nomad. He was one of the kids headed for Boston, until a tragic accident landed him on the road. His only goal is to try and make it to Boston with his brothers and sisters in one piece, and he will betray and manipulate anyone with his empath abilities to get there. He is cold and untrusting, but soon finds that self-isolation is an even colder fate.

6: Georgina, the traveling psychic. She has the power of divination, and can see the future. But it’s not the most reliable very often, only showing flashes and bits of voices. However, she manages to use her powers to go from some local psychic of a small town to a traveling performer, telling peoples’ futures far and wide.

7: Samuel, the bloodthirsty knight. He is the second most resentful of class Alpha, mostly stemming from his own inferiority complex from his power, action link. Meaning he can’t be a powerhouse on his own. However, when he escapes, he is let out into a war zone. He works his way up and becomes a soldier, soon earning his title through the bloodshed at one of his most famed battles. But his winning streak can only last so long, and he’ll have to find that out the hard way.

8: Sarah, the starry oceanographer. She is the most resentful of class Alpha, and ironically the first to reach Boston. She becomes an acclaimed sailor with her navigational intuition, and with her help ships stop disappearing into the shifting oceans forever. However, she soon finds out the hard way that there are depths too deep for even her to reach.

Class Gamma: the less put-together class, they escaped at a younger age and have less of a kinship with each other. The only thing that unites them in the slightest is their common childhood trauma.

9: Jordan, the reaper’s seeker. He is young and impressionable, but his path was set for him the moment the accidentally used his power, intuitive aptitude, to find a hidden tumor in his adoptive mother. From there he is seen as an omen of evil to many, but is used as a tool to find the issues in many for others. He wants it to end so badly, but in what way is up to him.

10: Robin, the false herald. Robin finds herself sent to a religious academy for her safekeeping, but in the process uses her power of possession to accidentally call down their god through her. She is revered as a saint and is given special treatment, but due to her identity as the herald, she never gets to find an identity of her own, which is what she wants more than anything.

11: Archie, the human pandemic. Archie’s goal was to try and reunite with his family, but the moment he first contracted the first viruses, he knew that would be impossible. He has the power of invincibility, meaning that the viruses in his body won’t hurt him, but they will hurt anyone else who comes in contact with him. He now wanders the woods alone, hoping that someone will come along and help him. But in the meantime, he has friendship with the other things living on him.

12: Adrianna, the nether queen. After separation from the rest of the prime 16, she finds herself running from raiders and police, until she comes across the entrance to an underground realm full of people that soon forcibly crowns her as queen of the underground after she kills the last one on arrival. However, Adrianna wants nothing to do with the affairs of the underground and longs for escape, and with her indomitable will, she’ll make sure of it.

Class Delta: the youngest of the prime 16, they have little to no memory of the institute. Because of this, they have no practice with their powers and have had their fates completely thrown to the wind, making them the hardest to find of the group.

13: Archie, the calamity child. He has lived his life jumping from one adoptive family to another, and tragedy seems to follow him no matter where he goes. From hurricanes to tornadoes and flash floods, Archie has always been the only one to remain with his botanical abomination power. He has ended up getting bad rep, with people blaming his power for his bad luck. He ends up becoming disconnected from other kids and mistrustful of adults, but just wants a family of his own.

14: Maya, the gateway girl. She was raised in the complexes of downtown New York, and with her friends is constantly braving the dangers of the uptown ruins. Maya’s own power, domain, is only known between her and her own friends. Not even her ‘parents’ know about it. However, she’s forced to face herself and confront her past when she finds how similar her power is to to the monsters living uptown, and finds some shocking truths.

15: Xavier, the griefer king. He was found by the real king as a baby, and after finding out about his power, animalistic abomination, he wholeheartedly adopts the boy as his own. Xavier is raised among the other griefers as one of them, but is abruptly put in charge when the king must go on a journey to expand west. He becomes a ruthless leaver, unafraid to go to violent measures, and finds himself reveling in the hunting of unknowing travelers on the highway. But Xavier soon needs to find the balance of human and animal, lest he finds himself going off the deep end.

16: Adeline, the sacrifice. The youngest and rumored to be the most powerful, Adeline lived her life peacefully without her power ever awakening. However, the truth came to her abruptly and soon uprooted her whole life, and was told that she must become a vessel to save the world. In the stress of everything moving and her whole life crumbling in front of her though, her power awakens, and everyone finds what makes her the most powerful of them all…

and that is the prime 16! Hope you like them, and don’t be afraid to send questions if you want!

[theshopkeepofremnant]

For JanuRWBY day 19, I present (sort of) a missing scene. I wrote this a while ago; it’s my take/expansion on what Yang went through after the Fall of Beacon. I would say enjoy, but it’s admittedly kind of heavy...

I’m not dead. Part of Yang knew this was an odd assertion to need to make regularly, yet it was one she found that came to her mind unbidden most days. It wasn’t something she used to do before. Before everything had changed such a thought would have made her laugh at its melodrama, would leave her shaking her head and wondering where such nonsense had come from. But that was before her world came crashing down. Yang rarely laughed now, and certainly not at that thought. Where once the spark of her life was undeniable, a thing of such heat and intensity that people often commented that the room felt a few degrees warmer when she entered, now she struggled to find evidence that her body had ever held such a spark at all. In that absence, a reminder was needed to ensure that Yang kept going through the motions of life. In part this was for her dad; he would see her moving around and putting on the facade of a living person so he would feel reassured that she was healing. This was pure farce, but the part of Yang still capable of caring didn't want to cause him any more harm than necessary. Beyond that was habit; years of tending to the endless needs of a mortal body had carved grooves into Yang’s mind deep enough that even her current malaise couldn’t erase. In death, Yang would be free of the Sisyphean task of bodily maintenance, but for better or worse she was stuck with it for now. Thus the reminder. Not exactly a mantra, certainly not a defiant declaration, simply a statement of truth. At first, she had felt like she was answering a question, a plea, but that puzzle belonged to memories too delicate to explore, so it was quickly dropped. Regardless, the statement had taken on a meaning of its own through repetition. Some days she tried to use it as motivation to pick up the shattered pieces of her life and body, to attempt to put them back together into some semblance of a living person, to move on. Those were the good days. Most days, like today, it was merely a fact, empty of joy or sorrow. Today was not a day where she made her declaration aloud. Today it was merely the whisper of a thought. Intentionally formed but lacking the momentum to make it to her lips as she let out a long exhalation. She noticed herself doing that a lot. It wasn’t a sigh. There was nothing wistful in it, no emotional release. It was just a realization that she was holding her breath. Waiting. Not ready for the next to come and signal that the world was still spinning and nothing she did could stop it. She let go of that train of thought. Today was a normal day, normal by her new standards anyhow, and she didn’t want to ruin that. While days like today weren’t worth celebrating they were important not to waste. For there were days when she worried about herself. Days when she felt bitterness and inertia build inside her and in an attempt to fight it off she would take a breath and say it: “I’m not dead.” And all she heard was disappointment. No. Today was not one of those days. She’d had so many of those right when she got to Patch and so many more right after Ruby had left. But Ruby was long gone, and Yang...well Yang was still here. Best not to dwell on the dangers real and imagined Ruby may be facing while Yang struggled to simply exist. There was nothing she could do about them anyway, not anymore. She had always done her best to protect Ruby, to protect her team. Look how that had turned out. No, no dwelling. Not today. Too easy for a day like today to head in the wrong direction. Too easy for memories to drag her down like anchors to the depths of her mind. A place once filled with light and easily navigated, perhaps with a shadow or two on the fringes but nothing fearsome or dangerous, it was now a place she hardly recognized. It stretched infinitely in every direction, an ocean with a capricious sky and no sign of safe haven on any horizon. Even in times of stillness, there was a constant tension, an anticipation of the gentle breeze growing to become a gale as the gray clouds quickly swirled to black and for the momentary respite to be lost in the crash of thunder and waves. Yet the ever-changing surface was not the worst of it.  The true danger lay below those swirling waters as barely seen shadows; leviathans prowling the deep, waiting for her to descend to their realm, knowing that she would find her way there eventually. If not during her waking hours then inevitably during her fitful sleep. Their siren song was at once terrifying and terribly seductive, and Yang did her best to ignore the promise of pain so intense it could bring oblivion. No. Consciously unclenching her hand, realizing that the life raft it sought was not in her bed, Yang forced herself to get up and get dressed. Yang had always enjoyed mornings, before. The air felt fresh and the light seemed purer, there was so much potential. Nightfall was all about endings, conclusions, but mornings were about beginnings. Or at least, they used to be. Now there was just nothing, day bleeding into tortuous night fading back into another identically empty day. All of her beginnings apparently behind her. Yang let out yet another held breath, tied back her hair, and padded out of her room. As she passed Ruby’s door she couldn’t help but feel an ember of shame smoldering in her chest. She still didn’t know if she had done the right thing. She had known Ruby was going, she even took it upon herself to hide it from Tai while Ruby was very unsubtly planning it. At first, she didn’t know quite why she was helping. She certainly didn’t think it was a good idea, and yet she couldn’t bring herself to let it fall apart. Eventually, she realized it was guilt. Not guilt over not going with her. As far as Yang could see those days were over. No, it was guilt at her own seething anger. Deep down, in that place that she didn’t want to recognize as her own, was pure, raw fury at those around her who could just keep living as though nothing had happened. How dare Ruby and the others go off on this quest, full of hope and light, like the world wouldn’t do everything it could to smother that... But Yang couldn’t let herself act on that dark emotion. She couldn’t be spiteful, even then. So maybe she overcompensated. Maybe the right thing to do would have been to let Ruby’s machinations fail, let Tai find out and put a stop to it before it got out of hand, got her hurt. But she couldn’t give into that petty part of her that wanted Ruby to fail, so she hid the coming and going of letters, concealed the very obvious supplies Ruby was collecting, and quietly made sure her little sister would keep that innocent hope for a little longer. Yang may not have felt that hope herself, but she would be damned if she let that darkness inside snuff it out in Ruby. Unfortunately, keeping the monsters at bay had used up so much of her meager store of energy, once so vast she could hardly contain it, that Yang failed in the most basic ways. She was distant, cold, hardly acknowledging either Ruby or Tai during that time. Part of her knew that, but she thought that her efforts should speak for themselves. That she was up and moving at all seemed such a miracle to her that it never occurred to her that those around her would be hurt by her seeming indifference. Yang still regretted that time. Still regretted not telling Ruby that she still loved her, still cared. But she had been so tired at the time, so weighed down by all that had happened, all that now would never happen, that she just couldn’t muster the will to say the words. She hoped her deeds, meager as they were, would speak for themselves. Empathy is so hard when one’s heart is consumed by pain, and Yang had been blinded by pain in all of its forms to the point where she didn’t know how to navigate even this relationship, the most stable she had known in her entire life. So instead of satisfaction that she helped her sister toward her goals, she was left with this shame. Shame at letting her go alone, shame at wanting her to succeed. Shame at wanting her to fail, to come back, defeated. To keep her company in her misery. Yang shook her head, trying to pull herself to the present, tenuous as her grasp on it was. Ruby was gone now, no amount of shame would change that, and it certainly wouldn’t bring her back. That left Tai. Yang felt a fresh wave of guilt every time she thought of her father, once among her closes confidants he now seemed utterly lost faced with the walls Yang had erected around herself. He had never had to deal with defenses before and found himself without any tools to overcome them now. Yang had always intentionally promoted a “what you see is what you get” narrative with most people; obviously there was more below the surface but she found others were more comfortable around her if they thought she was simple, one dimensional and symmetrical. Her dad actually saw her, the real her, so with him, it was the truth that she was what he saw, and Yang always appreciated how easy it was to be herself around him. Ever since she was a teenager and she and Tai had grown close enough that she never bothered with walls or masks, she just told him what was going on inside. Part of her felt bad when she saw his look of pained confusion now when she shut him out; he wanted so badly to help fix his broken daughter, but couldn’t even get close enough to try. The connection that he was so used to simply wasn’t there, and there was about as much hope of fixing that as the CCT network. Part of Yang wanted to console him, to apologize for putting him through this torture rather than letting him patch up her wounds like he would a skinned knee when she was a kid. But another part, that dark pit of rage and hurt, was all too happy to cause misery. She tried to crush those emotions deep within her; tried to compensate as she had with Ruby, but it wasn’t enough. Tai didn’t want anything from her, nothing concrete. He just wanted to help her, but she couldn’t bring down the walls, so he was stuck at arm’s reach. So close but so impossibly far away, and Yang was alone. Alone with her grief, with her darkness, but most of all, alone with her pain. —— Pain. That was the first thing she was aware of when she regained consciousness that night. Pain so extreme she couldn’t locate its source. All-consuming, nerve-rending pain. It was only when she tried to curl up in a ball and felt a weird sense of asymmetry did she look down and to her right. What she saw wouldn’t register as real for several days and at the time she had larger concerns. She looked around frantically and saw chaos. People ran in all directions, loading survivors onto airships that were being brought in from all directions. She looked for her team, her teachers, anyone who could tell her what had happened; if everyone had made it. She didn’t understand how she had come to be here alone, and through the fog of pain could swear that her left hand felt warm, that the air around moved as though filling a void that was occupied but moments ago, echoes of tearful apologies ringing in her ear, of a single pleading command issued from a delicate mouth beneath golden eyes: “You...you can’t die. You can’t.” But those impressions were dim, and the fierce pain from her arm wouldn’t allow her to escape the immediacy of the moment, try as she might.  So instead she searched the chaos around her for a lifeline, anything familiar. It wasn’t long before she saw a shock of blonde hair and realized Sun was striding past where she lay in a makeshift cot, looking about frantically. She reached out with her left, and now only, arm and grabbed his hand, apparently more forcefully than she intended as it nearly took him off his feet. “Where’s Blake?” Yang said through gritted teeth, every motion a fresh agony. Time slowed as Yang watched emotions flash across Sun’s face: surprise, grief, fear, and resignation. Had she known what was coming next she would have savored this moment, pain and all. For though every movement was excruciating, though she had lost so much, hope still burned bright in her chest. “How are you even conscious Yang? You should rest, they’re going to get you on a ship and take you home to...” “WHERE. IS. BLAKE?!” The last was said through gritted teeth as Yang pulled Sun down until his face was inches from her own. She knew that Sun could answer the question, that he was trying to dodge. While part of her was terrified of the answer that guttering spark of hope flickered on. The last thing she had seen before passing out was red. The red flames dancing through the building where she had heard Blake cry out, the red hair of that demon from Blake’s past, his red blade extending from Blake’s torso. She had never felt a rage like that, and through that crimson haze barely even saw him move, didn’t register the severing of her own limb or spilling of her own blood. All she knew was that she was failing, falling. As her whole world came crashing down she found herself in a pool of blood, both hers and Blake’s, with the terrible knowledge that they were going to die and it was her fault. But she was here, alive, so there was more to the story. As she stared at Sun she was certain that Blake’s death would elicit a different response. He would have just told her, right? He’d be heartbroken, a mess, barely able to hold it together. Sun’s feelings for Blake were no secret and he had never concealed a thought in his entire life, so why this hesitation? “She left.” Sun looked stricken, and not solely on his own behalf, Yang could almost see herself reflected back in Sun’s face, could feel her light going out. “...What?” “Once she saw that you were ok, she got patched up and then took off before I could stop her. I don’t know where yet, I’m sorry.” Yang tried to press him further but the blood loss was finally catching up with her. She tried to formulate a thought, anything, but it was all so much, too much. As she lost her grip on consciousness she felt her soul shatter, making a mockery of her body’s condition; her last little spark of hope remaining flickered and went dark along with everything else. ——

The time following was all fractured images and too-loud noises. People coming and going seemingly at random. What seemed like moments after Sun had left but could have easily been years Qrow found Yang, and gently laid a frail girl in a red hood on the cot next to hers. It took Yang a moment to recognize her own sister. It had been so long since she had thought of her like this; for the past few years Yang had seen her grow into an impressive warrior, and seeing her laying so still and quiet reminded Yang that she was still a child, that they all were. Or had been, at least. Yang looked imploringly at Qrow. “Is she...?” She left the question hanging in the air, unable to finish it. Qrow reached out and rested his hand on Yang’s left shoulder, trying not to let her see him inspecting her right side. “She’s ok, you know how tough she is. How are you holding up, firecracker?” The look in his eyes was too much for Yang, she couldn’t answer truthfully and couldn’t bring herself to lie. The pity she saw there ate at her, and she looked away. “What’s going to happen?” was all she could manage. Qrow sighed,  saddened but also slightly relieved to not talk about the goliath in the room. “I’m taking you and Ruby home to recover, there should be an airship available to take us out soon.” “What about Weiss?” Yang asked, noting the odd look in Qrow’s eye. “Her father’s airship is on approach, he’s taking her back to Atlas while things get sorted out in Vale. On our way over here I could have sworn I saw your other teammate in the crowd...” “I only asked about Weiss” Yang cut in. Somehow, despite the copious blood loss her temper still managed to flair enough for her eyes to flash briefly red. “Ok kiddo. I’m going to step out for a bit to check on some things, I’ll be back when it’s time to get you two on board” Some time later Weiss came in and roused Yang. She kept looking over her shoulder as though she wasn’t supposed to be there and despite her best efforts couldn’t stop a renegade tear from sneaking past her guarded eyes. Not much of substance was said, but even on a good day it was tricky to get past her icy defenses, and today was not a good day for either of them. Weiss kept glancing quickly at the tiny, inert form of her partner, concern escaping despite her attempts to remain composed. It was clear to both of them that they were talking to the wrong person, but neither could reach the one they sought.  In the end that knowledge bridged the gap between them more than anything they could have said, and Yang actually took some small measure of comfort when Weiss uncharacteristically, almost tenderly, laid her hand on her forehead and looked her straight in the eyes as she promised that they would all be together again. For a moment Yang almost believed her, and then she, too, was gone. Leaving Yang alone with her grief; alone with her pain. —— Yang’s memories faded out suddenly and she found herself in front of her bathroom sink, the water running for some unknown period while she drifted, her teeth long since brushed. Grimacing at herself in the mirror Yang turned off the tap, replaced her thoroughly rinsed toothbrush, and headed downstairs. Tai was no doubt out and about, running errands or gardening, being painfully normal. Most days Yang didn’t mind the quiet. It gave her space to move around in her solitude, to try to find peace in it if not joy. On days like this she focused on her chores, trying not let her mind wander (with mixed success) so as to avoid brooding. This focus brought about an emptiness of self that Yang savored. She wasn’t Yang Xiao Long, monster hunter defeated at Beacon. She was Yang, the girl figuring out how to use a blasted broom with one hand and doing a wonderful job, thank you very much. If she focused enough she was less even than that, she was an anonymous hand pulling up weeds, or cleaning dishes. Until she wasn’t. Until something interrupted her focus and brought it all back. It could be anything, the flashing red wing of a bird flying by the window, a dark cloud obscuring the sun, or a dropped glass. Whatever the cause, she would suddenly snap back to that night when everything changed. When first her body, and then her spirit were shattered. Scattered. Scarred. Those memories always left her with the sound of her own blood pounding in her ears, the same blood that not so long ago was pooling beneath her, mixing with that of another. And that was when the real pain came. This was the part she couldn’t explain properly to anyone, not really. Her bodily pain had largely passed, doctors and pain killers had seen to that, and even the fear brought on by her new sense of vulnerability was nothing next to reliving that soul crushing truth over and over: Blake was gone. Yang would have gladly given both arms, both legs, her life, anything to keep Blake safe and by her side. According to Sun she was indeed safe, but she was gone, and that fact ate at Yang in a way she couldn’t verbalize. She knew she should have been able to, it was yet another vacancy in her life left by a loved one, but this felt different. Maybe it was because she had honestly thought Blake was different, or maybe it was because she hadn’t realized the depth of her own feelings until that night. The crush had started innocently enough, just a gentle flutter in Yang’s chest as she dragged her sister over to make friends with the quiet girl sitting alone in the corner. No love at first sight, no sign from the gods, just a feeling like a warm breeze on a cold night as a pair of dazzling golden eyes looked up from a book. Then seeing those same eyes hovering above a smirk in the forest, so clearly directed at Yang, choosing. Again that faint heat, like the sun poking out from behind a cloud, just for a moment. It was nice, but it wasn’t something Yang was going to lose her head over. They were partners, that was what mattered, and soon that bond became such an integral part of Yang’s life that she didn’t even notice it most of the time. They could read each other’s bodies in and out of battle so well that they could predict an attack or need for an assist as well as a changing mood or thought. It never occurred to Yang to put a label on it because it didn’t need one. What they had was so natural, so real, even if it was unspoken. Then came that night. Suddenly in a flash all of the words she hadn’t sought came rushing to her mind. Words like forever, like promise, like need and want and cherish. Words like love. And in the moment she saw all that could be and all that could be lost and she acted without hesitation. Better to die trying to defend such things than live without them. But here she was, living without them despite her efforts and well aware that her assessment had been correct. Better to have died. But she hadn’t even managed that, had she? Slamming her fist on the counter Yang brought herself back from memories still fresh, still razor sharp on the edges, still tinted red by blood. Looking down she saw the shattered glass that had triggered this flashback and scowled, more at herself than at it, and went to get the broom. —— Dinner with Tai was quiet, as usual. He did his best to make little jokes and get Yang to banter like they used to. She appreciated that he tried, and told him so, but it rarely yielded any levity. After mostly pushing her food around the plate for a half hour Yang excused herself and went to watch TV. Much of her downtime was spent watching television, especially in the evenings. Not that she really cared what was on, but she could only do so many chores and when she wasn’t moving or doing something it helped if there was some background light and noise to distract her from thinking. Thinking for too long rarely did her any favors. Her nightly ritual was to stay up watching until her dad mentioned once or twice somewhat pointedly that it was late and he was headed to bed. Eventually Yang would go to her own room to appease him but with no intention of sleeping. This was another of those things she couldn’t fully explain to anyone: her hatred of sleep. Even if she had wanted to she could hardly fall asleep before one or two in the morning now, her mind simply too full of unsettling images to allow for rest. And beyond those thoughts lay the dreams. Every night she relived the attack in one form another. Relived her fear, her pain, her helplessness. And at the end of every dream the same thing, a pair of golden eyes, cold where they once were warm, turning from her and disappearing. The dreams were nothing compared to what came next. What Yang dreaded more than almost anything was waking. Every morning, without fail, she would open her eyes to the golden light streaming through her window. She would blink, and yawn, whatever dream had startled her awake fading in the morning light. And then, after two or three heartbeats of life being completely normal, she would remember. Her sleep addled mind would clear and all of weight of the past several months would crash down on her. She would look down at her arm, remember her injury, her defeat. Her loss. Blake. Every day she fought the tears. Some days she actually won. This was the thing no one mentioned to her when they tried to talk about her loss, maybe they didn’t even know. Why couldn’t her traitorous mind just wake her with the knowledge intact? Why that moment of peace, of normalcy, just to have the wounds ripped asunder again and again. Even on her good days these first moments of the day were always the worst. These were the moments that inspired her darkest thoughts. Though she knew she would never do herself any harm, these moments made her wish she could go to sleep and never wake. The words came unbidden, almost mocking, straight to Yang’s lips and out into the air above her head. “I’m not dead” She listened as they quietly echoed through her empty room, felt them resonate harshly in her ears. This was not going to be a good day. —— Most of her days were a blur, with little to differentiate one from another. Yang found that she didn’t necessarily mind feeling disconnected from time, but she noticed that it made her interactions with people somewhat awkward, as if they no longer inhabited the same world, and perhaps they didn’t. Yang found herself referring to the “other day” and talking about something that happened months or years ago, while dredging up memories from minutes or hours ago left her head spinning from the enormity of time in that span. Had she lost her arm mere moments ago, or was she always just a lost, broken, scared girl wandering aimlessly around her childhood home? Was she a ghost, a wraith long dead, going through the motions of a human life and not accepting her own non existence? This was a common musing for Yang, but one particular instance was thrown into sharp relief when it was interrupted by one of the few harsh points of clarity in a time otherwise bereft of temporal landmarks. The first was Ruby leaving, an event that signaled a definite turning point for Yang, a final separation from her old life. The second was this: a package brought to her by a beaming Tai. The arm. Maybe it was his excitement at something that was so emotionally loaded for Yang, or maybe it was just a bad day, but the arm was the last thing she wanted to see. It was a mimicry of what she now lacked, a symbol of all she had lost, and did not have the intended effect. She did her best not to show her anguish, knowing that her father truly meant well and thought this would be exactly the thing she needed to get her back to normal. She didn’t have the heart to tell him that normal was so far outside of her current reality that she couldn’t even conceive of it. Besides, the only way even try to get to normal was back through those dreaded memories, and those were already being forced on her every morning and every night. Why spend any more time with them than absolutely necessary? Even if the arm was perfect, better than the original, did that undo the damage that had been done? She was broken, her body was a puzzle that would always be missing a few crucial pieces. This arm wouldn’t bring her back to a time when she was invincible, when she gladly took damage not only to fuel her semblance, but to prevent those she loved from needing to take it in her place. Now she knew all too well how breakable she was. Worse, she knew how inadequate she was. She had given her body and soul and been found wanting. Now she was alone. Alone, and broken. She looked up at her father’s expectant face. So many emotions warring within her that it was all she could do leave the room without running, fleeing as much from memories of the past as this thing that was supposed to be her future. At the last minute she remembered her father was still standing there and made the appropriate noises of thanks before retreating to her room. Yang could feel a storm blowing in, and as tears formed in response to the thunderheads in her heart she buried her face in her pillow, surrendering herself to the tsunami of emotion that was washing over her. Several hours later exhaustion granted her a temporary respite, but it wouldn’t last. The arm waited patiently for her in its box, unmoved by her reaction. It was a beautiful device made with the utmost attention and care to its form and function, yet somehow not a single thought had been given to what it would represent to the girl who actually had to wear it. —— Eventually, to appease Tai, Yang forced herself to retrieve the arm from the living room. She didn’t know how long that horrid reminder of her failure sat on her bedside table, staring at her, taunting her. Maybe it was a day, maybe it was a month, maybe a lifetime or more. She only knew that abhorrent mockery of everything she lost was dragging her from her self imposed purgatory down to hotter depths. Right as she was reaching a breaking point, ready to stamp a return address on the box the abomination had come in with a note scrawled in her still unsteady left handed writing telling General Ironwood where to shove this miraculous piece of technology, another arrival changed her plans. Changed everything, in fact.   Ever since that package had shown up sleep had been nearly impossible. It was as if the arm sucked up all the air in the room, leaving Yang to suffocate as she tossed and turned, measuring her time spent asleep in minutes rather than hours. One day her exhaustion was too much to stand. Without a word of explanation to Tai she got up from the dinner table and staggered up to her room where she dropped into a deep, if not dreamless, sleep. Some hours later she woke in a cold sweat not to the bright light of morning and chirping birds, as she was accustomed, but to the softer glow of the moon accompanied by uproarious laughter from downstairs. Knowing that sleep wasn’t going to find its way back to her any time soon she decided to head down and seek comfort in the sound of other’s voices. Hoping they would be loud enough to drive out the sound of her memories, that the gravity of their beings would cancel out the pull of that cursed device she pointedly ignored on her way out of her room. Unfortunately for her the sources of that laughter had other plans. She was surprised to find her father in the kitchen with Professors Port and Oobleck, both of them occupying roles in a life she only half remembered these days. They welcomed her warmly, however, and it was nice to see familiar faces that didn’t seem burdened by her condition. Unfortunately, her comfort was to be short lived. It didn’t feel like they had coordinated it, but the discussion became very pointed very quickly, and Yang could tell they weren’t going to let her be. Talk of normalcy, of fear, it was all well and good, and sharing a genuine laugh did lighten her heart somewhat, but none of it penetrated those walls; so sturdy in their first construction and seemingly getting stronger every day. It wasn’t until the men were leaving that everything came crashing down. Ruby. Words said directly to her hadn’t really landed, but the name of her wayward sister spoken when they thought her out of earshot found its way through her defenses, losing no momentum as it struck the very center of her being. She had let her sister run off to Mistral on her own, believing her own fight to be done. At the time it seemed that there was nothing to do. Ruby was their leader, a capable warrior, she was going on a mission and Yang couldn’t stop her. So she let her go, helped her even. At the time it had seemed a noble act but now she saw how wrong she was. Worse, she had hamstrung her father’s ability to help Ruby. Tai couldn’t go off and protect her stuck as he was babysitting his other, broken daughter. She rolled all of her excuses around in her mind, tasted the lies for what they were: Fear. She had been afraid, so she let her sister run off without her. She had been abandoned by Blake so she abandoned her duty to watch Ruby’s back. Her dad had been right about one thing this evening: she was Yang Xiao Long. Two arms, one arm, no arms, it didn’t matter. Her whole life she had been good at two things: taking care of her sister and kicking ass. Ok fine, it mattered a little. Having two arms was probably preferable. She looked at the arm, reflecting the light of a shattered moon into the eyes of a shattered girl from its perfect surface. It was so smooth, unbroken. Unnatural. Horrible. Wonderful. She put it on. The sensation of the connection driving home was uncomfortable, to say the least. She had been warned it would be, and that while she would have sensation in it she shouldn’t expect it to feel like the original. In that moment she didn’t care. This arm wasn’t a replacement, she didn’t need it for anything delicate, tender. It was a weapon. An extension of herself like her gauntlets were, but a weapon nonetheless. And though she was so far from ready, part of her reveled in it. Her weight instinctively shifted back to center as she realized she’d been crooked all these months compensating for her imbalance. Her knees bent slightly, and she could feel a touch of that fire, the power she had thought forever lost. She threw an experimental jab with the arm, noting similarities and differences to how it used to feel. Without thinking she reached back to brush a stray hair behind her ear and felt the cool metal run across her temple in place of warm skin. It was too much, too soon. She felt something within her crack. The next thing she knew she was on the floor, sobbing and wrenching the arm off. It took her a few tries to figure out how the stupid release worked, but once she did she threw it as far across the room as she could given how hard she was shaking. The tears streaming down her face burned trails of fury down her cheeks, her ribs heaving so hard she worried she would throw up. When she stilled herself enough to think at all images started flooding her head. Blood, fire, blades and terrified eyes. With a colossal effort she pushed those aside for the one that mattered: Ruby. Ruby, on her way to Mistral and gods knew what danger with the remnants of team JNPR. Yang wasn’t ready. She wasn’t, but she had wasted so much time already, too much. She knew this was like any other injury, aggravating it before it was healed might mean it wouldn’t heal right, or wouldn’t heal it all. But that didn’t matter, she didn’t matter. Finding Ruby, protecting her, that was what mattered. For Ruby, she would pick herself up, right now, and do what needed to be done. Golden eyes burned in her mind, welcoming, afraid, then cold, then gone. Yang shook her head. Not for her, never for her. Not again. For Ruby. She walked across the room and picked up the arm. Releasing the breath she was holding, the breath it felt like she had been holding for months, she spoke with as much determination as she could manage with her still shaking diaphragm, staring herself down in her mirror. “I’m. Not. Dead.” Suddenly that statement carried with it something she had set aside shortly after returning to Patch: obligation. She could put down her burden when she no longer drew breath, but that day wasn’t today. She braced herself to try again, knowing she was in for a long night. —— When she walked outside the next morning she had half a mind to depart immediately, but her father was right, she needed to train. Without time to adjust to the arm and regain her fighting stamina she’d be less than useless to Ruby and the others, she’d be a liability. So train they did. The first thing she noticed was how stiff she was. Her joints creaked like they had rusted over sometime last century and were being forced to move despite being quite happy in their immobile state. The second was how much more like herself she felt in combat. The flow was even better than her focused chores. When she was in the middle of it she had no fear because she had no memories, no self. She was the fight and nothing else, until her father landed a solid blow or something distracted her, then she found herself shaking, fighting back tears. In those instances Tai would quickly stop the fight so Yang didn’t hurt herself and could simply collapse until her traitorous mind and limbs could be trusted again. Eventually she learned to mostly control those episodes, to let herself use the rush of combat to tamp down her more extreme emotions. If she was lacking her former joy in battle, she more than compensated with focus. Finally, she noticed the arm. In some ways she grudgingly had to admit it was an improvement. It’s strength and durability were undoubtedly better than flesh and blood, and she learned to make use of those. She did find that she had to adjust to its movements, which weren’t quite as fluid as her natural arm. Over the weeks she was proud to discover that this, too was becoming a strength. What little unnecessary flourish she had ever had in her fighting style was gone, her movements had become precise without becoming predictable, and it was showing. Add to that guidance from her father, welcome or not, and it was all coming together to make her even more formidable than she had been back at Beacon. Tai may have lost a step (or three, or four) when he lost Summer, but he was still one of the best hand to hand combat specialists Yang had ever met, and she was winning. At first she suspected he was going easy on her, but she started to see him push himself harder and harder and still she won more and more frequently. Never with ease, mind you, but she was undoubtedly getting stronger. One of the things Yang was most grateful for during her training was the sheer physical exhaustion of it. Sleep was coming easily by pure biological necessity, and she could hardly process dreams in the depths of her slumber. Mornings still held their terrible moment of peace, but she found that having something to do helped her power through her daily remembrance. She even found herself joking more than mechanically over meals and during breaks with Tai. In some ways the temporary nature of this time was a blessing. There was a goal, something to strive for, and that gave her a clarity and focus she hadn’t felt in months. Knowing it would soon be over also made that time feel somehow lighter, as though weightier matters were being saved for another day. There were no decisions to make, just training. But the temporary nature of this phase meant that all too soon it came to an end. After beating him three times soundly in a single session she knew it was time. Any longer and she would be stalling, buying herself time for a someday that would never come. She knew she was still broken, that doing what she was about to do would guarantee her mental scars would be with her forever, but this wasn’t about healing, it wasn’t about Yang at all. Ruby needed her, nothing else mattered. Well, almost nothing. In a moment of self indulgence that Yang didn’t even know she had left in her she decided that the Atlesian scientists, while gifted at mechanical engineering, didn’t know anything about color schemes. At this point Yang had already taken apart the arm and inspected it , learning it like she would any weapon. She had even modified it to match her remaining gauntlet with a cleverly hidden muzzle and dust rounds, but all of these things were practical. She was pleased with herself as a bit of the old Yang peaked through and she found herself stripping the arm down once more, this time to give it a paint job that would leave a bit more of an impression. After all, she thought, I’m not dead. For the first time this brought a smile to her face. A half smile, a crooked smile. Maybe more of a grimace. But still, it was a start. She shook the spray paint can and got to work. —— Decision made, the time to leave came with startling speed. Before she knew it Yang was hugging her father goodbye. They had talked about it at length, and despite his reservations Tai was allowing her to make this trip alone. He grudgingly accepted that Yang needed to strike out on her own or risk hiding behind him, negating all the time she had spent training to regain her confidence. Yang also suspected he wasn’t too keen to take part in her plan. She was going to Raven. After years of searching she was finally seeking out her mother when she finally couldn’t care less about finding her. According to Qrow Raven’s camp was dug in and large enough to be readily found. Easier than a handful of kids in an entire continent anyway. From there it would be a quick hop to Qrow via Raven’s semblance, and hopefully he would be with Ruby. Easy. Ok, not easy, really hard actually, but simple. That’s what Yang needed, straightforward and efficient. The look on Tai’s face when she told him her plan made it clear that had she not argued so vehemently for her need to go alone already he would have started looking for excuses. After months of feeling that he couldn’t possibly understand her pain Yang saw it’s twin in his face and felt like a fool. Of course he would understand, if anyone could it would be the man who was abandoned by one love and lost another shortly after. But it was too late now for more than an unspoken moment of understanding to pass between them. Maybe someday Yang would find a way to open up to him and give him space to open up in return. But the days from that realization to her departure passed in a blur with no time for a heart to heart, and then it was time to go. Air travel was still in shambles, even after all those months, so the only real option Yang had was to go by sea. Fortunately the trip from Patch to Anima wasn’t far, but she was going to have make good time across the continent, it was a long way to Raven’s camp. She had plenty of time to plan though, the voyage was quiet and people seemed willing to keep their distance. At first Yang didn’t notice, but eventually she saw a few people, usually men, approach her only for their opening line to die on their lips. She wondered at this until she caught a look at herself in the mirror. It wasn’t how she was dressed (though she had intentionally gone for a less flirty and far more practical look in her new threads) it was in her eyes, the set of her jaw. It was in every line of body. Before, Yang had been incredibly approachable, when she wasn’t angry of course, and she liked to be that way. Inside and out she was all gentle lines and inviting curves. Attractive to some but more importantly to those who knew her best she was soft and safe, like a warm blanket you wrap around yourself to keep out the chill as well as the monsters under your bed. Physically she hadn’t changed. Well, most of her hadn’t. The arm was new, but that wasn’t the real difference. Not the one that mattered. One look at Yang revealed little that could be described as soft. The process of reforging her broken self far too quickly had left her jagged and raw, all sharp edges and hard points. She may still be useful at keeping the monsters at bay, but get too close and you would find her to be anything but soft. Yang saw that and part of her, a distant memory of girl she once was, wept. But she was the past, and the present Yang saw those hard lines and was proud. They were a sign that while she wasn’t invincible she was resilient. She could be broken and put herself back together because she had to. The world could do its worst, she wasn’t worried. She nodded her head appreciatively, if somewhat grimly, pleased with what she saw when she looked in the mirror. This was not the face she had grown accustomed to seeing, the broken girl who needed to convince herself she wasn’t dead. She was no ghost, she was a phoenix rising from her own ashes. The resurrection was far from perfect, she was jagged and crooked where once she had been smooth and symmetrical, but those details paled in the face of the power bursting forth like flames from every pore. So what if anyone standing too close got burned? That wasn’t her problem. Needless to say, she had plenty of privacy for the remainder of the trip. The only company she couldn’t escape were her dreams.  On the ship there limited opportunities for Yang to exhaust herself. There was a meager gym below deck but she had to be careful not to destroy the ancient heavy bag that swung with the motion of the waves, and there was little else of interest. Yang never could stand exercise bikes or treadmills. She wasn’t a hamster, and even those poor creatures deserved more interesting forms of exercise than they got. So her dreams came back, but in a different form. The waves had an oddly soothing effect on the contents of the dreams. At first Yang was grateful to not have to relive her dismemberment every night, but she quickly began to fear her new batch of dreams nearly as much. Every night was Blake. Mostly memories, strikingly detailed for things Yang had tried to bury. The way she would quirk an eyebrow when Yang had made a especially atrocious pun or inappropriate joke, pretending not to laugh but so obviously wanting to. The subtle motion of her mouth nearly reading aloud when she was particularly absorbed in a book. If Yang watched carefully enough she could almost follow the story in the movements of her lips. The play of muscle in her lithe figure as they fought side by side. Yang becoming intoxicated with the sight of her to the point of giddiness. Seeing a matching smile on Blake’s face, wondering if she felt the same elation. Wanting so badly to pause the fight so she could lay her head on that lovely chest, listen for the heartbeat that she knew would be in perfect time with her own. Those eyes. Too often the dream turned to darkness. Blake would be wrapped in shadows until all that was visible were her burning eyes. Turning from beacons of a home that Yang didn’t even know she was seeking to stony indifference, and then turning away to vanish forevermore. Yang wished these dreams would leave her in the morning, wake to find herself muddled and oblivious like she used to, even if that meant wading through the crash of emotion that followed. But these dreams were too gentle, lasted too long, faded too slowly. She inevitably woke to see those eyes turn away, leaving an aching hole in her very core that she was beginning to accept was simply part of who she was now. Eventually that emptiness was just another reminder that she wasn’t the girl she used to be. Sure, her step no longer bounced with underlying optimism, but she also wasn’t that fragile shadow rattling around her father’s home. So when her dreams were particularly haunting she would take a breath to steady herself, and go searching for that girl with a look that could cut, who stood strong on her own, was built to protect others and needed nothing in return. She tried to pretend she didn’t see the rest, the parts of her still broken, still crying out to the void for the one who shattered her to return. No, that was the past. Despite her constant protests to the contrary, that girl was dead. Her world had ended and she with it, so every morning Yang would stare in the mirror until she couldn’t see her shadow anymore, and if she found herself wiping away tears she didn’t think anything of it. They didn’t belong to the person she had become. —— It was a relief when she finally got off the boat. No more moving at a pace set by others; it was time for her stand on her own two feet. Tearing off from the port on Bumblebee Yang felt free in a way she hadn’t in months. She had the wind in her hair, a full tank of dust, and miles to go before she reached her goal, but she was finally doing something that mattered. The right thing. It felt good. Pulling out onto the main road she was reminded of team RWBY’s first real mission, out to Mountain Glenn. Professor Oobleck had slyly asked all of them but Ruby pointed questions, digging into what drove them. At the time she had found it annoying, invasive, and unfair when she found out Ruby hadn’t been grilled, but now she saw the genius of it. He had seen right through Yang, through all of them, and what he saw was a group of girls who thought they knew what they wanted and had no idea. Yang hadn’t been lying when she replied, she had sought adventure, novelty. But why become a huntress instead of literally anything else? When she searched her mind for the answer now she found only one that felt honest: she was good at it. It was a simple, boring, blunt answer, but it was true, and she saw that now more than ever. She wasn’t surprised that Ruby had found another mission so soon. Ruby wanted to be a huntress, that was her driving passion, just as it always had been. Yang had always envied her that. They had spent their lives being told to follow their dreams, discover their purpose in life, and Yang never could find that thing. Sure, she felt strongly about a lot of stuff, but there was never any one thing that was obviously her calling. So she went with the flow; she was good at fighting, it was in her blood, and it was a respectable career that let her help other people. Plus, it was fun, what’s not to love? Of course, that was before. How nice would it be to be sure? To know that all she wanted to be was a huntress, to never question it? Yang assumed it must be comforting for Ruby, to know without a doubt that she was doing the right thing with her life. Still, Yang realized as she was riding down the beginning of a long and lonely road, maybe her way was what was keeping her going now. She was broken, and honestly unsure if she would ever feel desire or passion for anything as she had before. But she didn’t need passion to direct her path, she chose for herself. And right now she chose to get up every day, no matter how much the simple act of rising out of bed hurt, and put one foot in front of the other. She would find Ruby, she would undo her mistake of all those months ago and say words that should never be left unsaid. Most importantly, she would protect her. If she got wrapped up in some grand mission as a result, so be it, but that wasn’t what mattered. Yang was not seeking the heroes path, she didn’t want fame or fortune or even adventure anymore. She sought only to protect those she loved. That thought, so simple and pure, brought a smile to her face. Not a grimace, not a sneer, a smile, small and true. Maybe she had more edges than she used to, maybe she wasn’t soft or innocent or whole. Maybe the shadowy corners of her mind were haunted by golden eyes, but maybe that was ok. Yang inhaled the country air as she leaned through a series of turns and shouted into the wind: “I’m not...” But her breath caught, the feeling was suddenly different, the words all wrong. At first she was worried that the tears in her eyes were a new form of sorrow, for in the strange sweetness she felt a trap. But sorrow was not the feeling she was struck with, it was more like the pain of taking your first breath after nearly drowning. Looking around, Yang saw a world full of color and life unlike the one she had inhabited for so many months. Danger still lurked just out of sight both within and without, but life went on and that realization was almost painful in the startling clarity it brought. Yang found her voice again and and with a smile on her lips she whispered, somewhat in awe of the truth of it: “I’m alive.”

[rohad93]

Sea Glass: Ch - 13

18+

The strong winds pushed the boat through the water at a quick clip. They had lucked out that this small sailing boat was quick and agile as it cut through the water in a spray of mist. Mercifully it had been empty as well, so they hadn't had to drop any... unwanted cargo over the side to start with. It was always easier if you didn't have to start with a mess. 

At least in Blue’s opinion. She prefered not to have to leave a boarded ship a bloody murder scene if she could help it, though it was sometimes unavoidable. 

Yellow was sitting with the map spread across her knees, the corners of the paper flapping in the breeze and doing her best to track their trajectory and estimate when they might make landfall. Not the easiest of tasks in the day with no stars to guide them or with no compass to help her accurately measure anything, but Yellow was a more than experienced sailor and navigator, as was she, but it was just easier to let Yellow do it than have a pointless argument about it when she didn’t care that much to do it anyway. 

She preferred to let Holly do all formal course charting, Blue just picked the destinations more often than not. Though when she wanted to be alone she would steer the ship herself.

Whoever this boat had belonged to had taken good care of it, she could tell just by the sheen of the deck and the intricate and well-done knots in all the rigging. By a few of them she would have to say someone who at one point had been in the navy.

Yellow grumbled to herself as she moved, the fingers of her right hand trailing slowly across the map, trying in vain to accurately plot out their course. 

Blue smirked to herself watching from the corner of her eye before turning back to look at the ocean as they sailed through the water; nothing as far as the eye could see but water and sky. 

Just the way she liked it.

This was probably the most relaxed she had been since this entire debacle had started.

The ocean was the only place that had ever really been home to Blue. She could remember quite clearly every torturous day she had spent landlocked before she had found her true calling at sea.

She stared out at the waves, the salty spray on her face, along with the sounds of the water, and the wind whipping through her hair created a white noise that pushed her mind into that quiet, contemplative place as she thought about those days that she would rather leave behind her.

Even then the sea had been her greatest source of comfort, though in a very different way.

She'd had the most spectacular view of it from one of the windows in the downstairs sitting room. From the fainting couch pushed against the farthest wall, she'd watch the waves break against the rocky shore below the ridge the house sat atop in flashes of white foam for hours. The sounds of the water rushing over the stone and sand was one of the only things that eased her mind. 

 Rose sometimes sat at her feet playing on the smooth, pale, cedarwood floor of the parlor. 

She'd smile down at her and the ten-year-old would grin back at her before going back to whatever game she had concocted for herself, totally unaware of the situation they found themselves in every day in this house by the sea. 

Which was exactly as Blue wished to keep it, though, it wasn’t to be, she simply hadn’t known it at the time. 

Sometimes they would play ‘I spy’ despite the fact that they had long ago run out of new things to spy in the never-changing room. There were other rooms, but more often than not servants would be nearby, watching, and she trusted none of them, a lesson she’d learned the hard way.

More importantly, this room offered the best view of the sea from inside its blush-colored walls

Every day here made her wish for something else, anything else, anywhere else.

Days passed by nearly unaccounted for were it not for the physical changing of the seasons she witnessed outside the windows. The changing of the leaves in autumn and the ice and snow that followed in the winter. 

She felt like a specter, moving about the houses three stories and multiple halls and rooms aimlessly, like she was lost on the other side, looking for the purpose that would finally let her rest in peace, her dark crimson gown trailing behind her wherever she went. She’d long ago stopped caring about dragging it through the dirt and dust of the floor. 

He didn’t like that, and scolded her for it whenever he caught her. 

The second-floor balcony also had a spectacular view of the ocean and the new 'lighthouse', as they called it, that had been newly constructed several hundred yards out in the water.

She was rarely permitted outdoors though, and the view was not worth the risk of what might happen were she caught. Even the two first floor porches on either side were off-limits to her.

She was to be seen only when he allowed it, which was rarely. 

Thus, she was relegated most days to the fainting couch and the window that looked out over the ocean, wondering what lay beyond the horizon line and wondering what it would be like to see it for herself. 

Ringed fingers fisted into the fabric of her trousers.

"Are you feeling ill?" 

Blue was jerked from her memories by the question. 

Yellow was looking at her with furrowed brows and dare she flatter herself by saying, worry, in those bright amber eyes. 

“I’m fine,” she assured with a smile. Yellow just stared back at her for a long moment before humming and turning her gaze back to the map in her lap with a pointed glare that made Blue grin.

Always so serious, but she had to admit, it was charming in its own way. One knew exactly what they were getting with Marigold “Yellow Diamond” Faust. She was blunt, brutal, and straight to the point. 

With hidden talents and depths that Blue had never really considered before now. 

Her smile fell away, lips pressing into a straight line as she thought about something, it had been eating at her off and on since she’d woken up but she hadn’t yet had the chance to say anything, they had been a little preoccupied after all.

While she had been out of it, for the most part, she had a very clear memory of being half-awake, and watching herself, as though she were watching someone else’s hand reach up and run their fingers over the brand on Yellow’s arm.

She’d sailed around the Caribbean enough to know that brand, but her mind had been too foggy to figure out what she was looking at at the time, much less speak. Her mind had since cleared up 

In very rare form Yellow had given where she hadn’t even been asked, granted she thought Blue was so fevered that she probably wouldn’t remember, she had still shared something with her that seemed to have incredible significance to herself and for once, Blue felt guilty.

She doubted Yellow would have ever shared that information with her if she thought she had been lucid enough to remember and guilt about it was strangely eating at her insides. 

Blue could probably count on one hand how many times she had felt guilty about something since she had first set sail, and all of them had involved her sister in one form or another. 

Not to mention there was still the matter of her damned drunken rambling and how rum made her lips much to loose for her liking. 

There seemed to be more and more unspoken things between them everyday for two people quite literally chained together.

She worried her bottom lip between her teeth, glancing back at the blonde from the corner of her eye. 

Amber eyes roved over the map, glancing up occasionally to look at the sail, gauging their heading

Blue sighed to herself, leaning back as she turned her gaze back to the sea. She didn’t have it in her to start the kind of conversation any of those things would make.

There was a small island coming up in front of them, more a large pile of rocks and dirt than a true island. Past that, a barely visible smudge on the horizon.

Blue squinted into the distance.

“What is that?” she mumbled to herself, before turning to Yellow and tapping her leg. “Give me the spyglass...” She held out her hand. Yellow grunted, pulling the tool out of her coat pocket and handing it to Blue, but otherwise didn’t look up.

Peering through the glass, Blue could see that the smudge in the distance was actually a large galleon ship, at the top of its main mast was a solid white flag. 

Who was flying a flag of surrender?

A chill shot down Blue’s spine and it was an effort to make her mouth and lips do what she wanted.

“Marigold…,” her voice came out barely above a whisper, the lump in her throat blocking most of her breath.

Yellow’s head jerked up, hearing not only her name but the dramatic shift in Blue’s tone.

“What is it?” Her face contorted into concern as she rolled up the map and slipped it back into it’s bottle. 

Blue swallowed thickly and simply held the spyglass out to Yellow.

The blonde took it and peered out at whatever had made Blue turn so pale. 

Her spine stiffened as she spotted the ship sailing the white flag.

“White Diamond…,” she breathed before tearing the looking glass away from her eye and shoving it into her pocket. “We need to change course, now!” 

They moved as quickly as the chain allowed them and changed course to the opposite side of the small island they had been coming up on and let the ship wash ashore.

They stayed low, and silent, after a while they saw the large galleon flying it’s solid white flags sail by a way beyond their small hub.

“I’d heard she was in the far west, terrorizing Jamaica and Port Royal…,” Blue mumbled as they watched the infamous ship grow smaller and smaller in the distance, the knot that had suddenly tied itself in Yellow’s belly slowly coming loose as it was once again a smudge on the horizon line.

“It seems she's back…,” Yellow sneered, still looking out into the distance.

White Diamond, that was it. Just White Diamond. 

If she ever had another name, no one knew it, not anymore. There was only the moniker that every other pirate in the Carribean knew her by. That and the tell-tale white flags she chose to fly. 

The white flag, traditionally a symbol of the bearer’s surrender, but not on White Diamond’s ship. It was a sign that any encroaching ship should surrender, or be destroyed down to the last man. 

Though Yellow knew for a fact though that there would be total slaughter on any ship White Diamond boarded, regardless of any previous surrender. Surrendering to The Prism was as good as standing before a firing squad.

She’d been terrorizing the seas since Yellow had been a child, she couldn’t believe she was even still alive, and was still the most feared pirate anywhere in the Caribbean. 

The ‘Diamond’ moniker she had had for years was the reason that She and Blue had garnered their own similar epithets. 

White had been the only well known female pirate for years, when Yellow had come along, with her amber eyes and bright blonde hair and a name like ‘Marigold’, and people had been quick to saddle her with “Yellow Diamond”. The same could be said for Blue a few years later,’ Ciel, with her cerulean eyes and penchant for the bright cobalt colors in her wardrobe, had quickly been titled “Blue Diamond” by friends and enemies alike.

She had seen White Diamond only once, with her own eyes, years ago. 

She was the reason Yellow had left the first ship she had ever sailed on. She had attacked it, killing everyone on board. Yellow had only barely escaped.

She unconsciously reached up to rub the scar on her forehead, an old, hot, hatred bubbling up in her gut.

Yellow had been quiet for a long while, and Blue looked at her questioningly, but Yellow seemed to be lost in thought, running the fingers of her right hand across the scar on her forehead. 

“It should be safe to go…” Blue stood up, dragging Yellow from her thoughts with the slight tug of the chain that made both of them flinch. 

“Yeah…,” Yellow mumbled as she stood, her hand falling away from the old but still very distinct scar that bisected her brow and disappeared into her hairline. 

They managed to get the boat pushed off the sandbar and back out into the water, though it was no small feat, especially climbing back in while being tethered together by the wrist. 

The salt water splashed up their legs and arms, seeping beneath the cuffs and burning the tender flesh. 

Once the sail was back up, it was quickly positioned back in the right to direction to have them sailing back toward Grenada.

[emilythecatishere]

Tillie’s Travels

Written by EmilytheCat-Multifandom

Inspired by a Roleplay

———————————————————————

[Introduction]

From Bigg City Port there was a small purple tug switcher who’s name is Tillie Tug-Switcher. As for her having to move out from Sodor and live in Bigg City Port, the place where she now considers it home. In Bigg City Port there was a Fleet called The Star Fleet, who Tillie looks up to and admires. as for her wishes to become a Star Tug too. But not when it comes to her flaws and quirks of being Naive, Clumsy, Childish and Silly. Some would say that it could lead her off to trouble and to wander around to be lost within herself. That’s what this little switcher was about to go through when her curiosity got the best of her into finding something new, From a weathering storm and over the rainbow.

(chapter 1)

[Into The Storm]

The skies darkened with the horrendous rumbles of thunder running against the clouds striking warning in the stacks of the tugboats who looked up, the water began to rush around and swish against the docks choppily sending barges packed together in the waterways of Bigg City Port.

It wasn’t exactly a hurricane, but a large tropical storm that had suddenly been pulled up from the open ocean. Unfamiliar fishing and row boats would pass by the estuary, the storm had been carrying them across the sea ever since it started, the waters weren’t as bad now but it would be crazy to swim around in this kind of weather and waves.

At the moment Tillie was trying her best to get her delivery barge done even while in this storm yet a thought went into her head when she wondered how and why these storms are coming. Soon curiosity will come out into play just as soon as she’s done with her work.

The water splashed about on Tillie’s path making the deepest part of Bigg City’s waters slightly hard to push through, heavy water would sink and brush the stones and rocks from the bottom up to the surface, hitting the hulls of boats retreating back and finishing their jobs.

There wasn’t a single soul walking around the docks without a raincoat, lamps swayed as gusts of wind swept down to shake loose supplies and potted plants from the nearby neighborhoods. Some of the Stars could even been seen coming back to the sanctuary of Bigg City’s safe and close docks, they too seemed to be in a struggle but all will be worth it once their last jobs are done and their stacks are warm.

Tillie was finally getting close to her destination for her delivery barges and still she wonders even more about the storm as if she felt something about it or something else entirely that’s causing her curiosity to grow in her.

A quick splash of water jetted against Tillie from a passing tugboat, they were in a hurry towards Star Port until they noticed passing Tillie and stopped to look back.

“Tillie? What on earth are you doing out here with a barge in the middle of a storm!?”

Top Hat replied with confused expression, of course you wouldn’t see Top Hat in the middle of a storm so it would be best for oncoming boats to stay away from his splashes, sadly Top Hat didn’t make a warning for Tillie and got her covered in wet ocean water.

“Don’t you see the state of the water around you? Your deck is damp with salt water! All tugs should be evacuating, especially if there’s rain in our midst.”

of course it wouldn’t be Top Hat without complaining about something, even when in the middle of a choppy tropical storm.

Tillie shook her head. getting some of the wet ocean water off her face to look over to Top Hat

“Oh Top Hat! I was just making my last delivery with this barge. But worry i’ll be somewhere safe, at least from this kind of storm!”

Tillie said to Top Hat as she halted from getting her work done.

Top Hat swished his haul and raised his eyebrow seeing that Tillie was really going to finish her job out in this rough terrain of an ocean.

“Well I should hope so, these waves are no places for switchers to be!”

A quiet drop of rain landed on Top Hat’s monocle, this startled him a bit seeing stray tear of water fall from the sky.

“Ough, I must get going, if I stay out while it rains then I'll never be dry again!”

Top Hat then skidded away from Tillie without saying goodbye, Top Hat never enjoyed the rain no matter how light it was, he wanted to keep his image as clean and dry as can be and his speed towards port proved it.

“well...goodbye.”

Tillie said noticing that Top Hat left without saying goodbye, but she continued to complete her work as she could now finally reach her destination to let these barges go and finish the job.

Tillie was lucky, her barges were to be the last to strap up before everyone went to lock up into their homes, she was released of the barges and was free to go. Unfortunately it started to rain more, this was truly going to make for a wet afternoon and everyone now knew of the oncoming downpour that was tapping loudly on their roofs.

“Oh dear I have to get going, I've never seen this much of a worse storm like this than back on The Island. Of Sodor. But even with this storm it won’t be so hard to navigate through.”

Tillie reassures herself as she makes her way out.

The waves were starting to get quicker and more rain began to fall on the surface of the sea, mist and fog kicked up along the horizon and there was no one out to be seen. Despite the kicking of the water, the ocean grew more in depth and father grew the curiosity of no fisherman but the ones of adventurous minds.

Lillie’s light could be faintly seen through the middle of the storm gazing through the mess, unfortunately she had to stay out to make sure no boats endup floating away or into the harbour when the winds were thrashing about. The skies slowly became darker and darker, blocking out light entirely with the roar of drums and the claps of small lighting among the skies, it was a major change from the sprinkle earlier but there was still time to return back to safety, unless… someone were to stay out a little longer.

Tillie tries to make her way back to her dock but it was difficult to see especially without the light from Lillie Lightship and navigation is even harder. Still even with all of this she still had to wonder and think with such a storm like this. She had heard of stories about storms like these that oftentimes take ocean travelers to places where they’ve never seen before. This drove her to be more curious about the storm and what could likely take her somewhere magnificent. but she soon remembers how the Star Fleet and her sister warned her about going off to dangerous situations and with curiosity killed the tugboat. But Tillie rarely follows those warnings and advises her lack of focus. Yet so she still makes her way out.

The wind and rain picked up hard and the lightning began to echo down and clap against the air, big waves could be seen bouncing around far from Bigg City making a harsh water border around the safer areas.

It wasn’t long until the tides began trying to pull Tillie back, harbour bells rang loudly as the rain kept coming in harder making it hard to see where anyone is going. Crates were shoved into the sea and tools were sinking to the bottom of the port, anything that was left out unkempt would be damaged or taken away by the power of the storm.

Tillie tries to get a little closer but tries to make a far safe distance as she knows that storms are likely to pull anyone or anything in. yet she hadn’t noticed she’s already being dragged into the storm.

Rocks and pebbles kicked up by the tides knocked into Tillie’s hull, pieces of debris wept past the small tugboat and would sometimes scrape against her. The cold winds called out to Tillie, there was no voice nor sentient soul but the large rocking ocean gave the feeling of something far beyond Bigg City Port, salt and sand swirled into the banks and made it clear that the storm will get worse to those who have not yet evacuated into their homes.

“uhh...I-I should go back. This is a bit too close”

Tillie said as she realized how she’s getting near the storm. She tries to get back away from the storm but from the strong winds and tides waves kept her from going back.

The waves began crashing and bouncing Tillie in the water like a little toy tugboat, it almost felt as if Bigg City was drifting away in the rain inch by inch at a time. Shards of hard downpour blasted towards Tillie’s vision as the swishing cold mess blindly rotated her towards the open ocean. Lillie’s light was nowhere to be seen through the thick mist, crates and barges broke away floating towards the vast amount of water pulling it all into the bustling sea and away from the coast, much like the lost supplies and barge parts, Tillie was unknowingly being pulled by the storm towards the great beyond of mother nature’s stormy ocean. Slowly the presence of Bigg City Port was drifting away behind Tillie’s very own deck.

Tillie looked around, anywhere she could try to see through the storm yet it was too much for her to see or navigate her around as soon as she noticed that she had no idea where she was or where to go now. She did what she can only do is cry out for help.

“Hello?!”

“Is anyone out here?!”

“Hello!”

“Lillie?!”

“Hercules?!”

“Anyone?!”

“Help me!”

The storm was drifting her very far out now, closer and closer the borders of the choppy ocean came to the little tugboat. Lillie’s horn could suddenly be heard but it was echoing away, lillie was busy going off helping another boat without noticing the peril of Tillie.

Thunder banged and crashed close above Tillie as the icey drifts of air whipped her hair, the more closer she got to the border the more quicker the waves were pulling and pushing her in. the floating debris didn’t help either, some of the broken crates would bob up around Tillie from the currents pushing forward.

Tillie closed her eyes each time when the loud stormy thunder as she was scared of the loud sound. She was even more scared with her situation being dragged into the storm where she couldn’t see or get any help from others especially out in this horraide weather. Yet still where on this ocean storm could she be?

“Tillie!”

A worried and panting voice came trudging in the mist, a bright colored hull and a large light could be seen of Lillie, she was still pretty far from Tillie though.

“What are you doing here?! Hold on, i’m coming to get you!”

Lillie huffed against the tides, Tillie was almost about to reach the choppy border and if Lillie doesn’t do something quick, then Tillie could be swept out into the unknown.

More thrashing of lighting lit up the charcoal skies, it was so close to the water that it looked like it could hit them if it blasted hard enough. Oncoming waves hauled the tugboat and the light up and down harshly, it didn’t make Lillie’s job any easier.

“Lillie!”

Tillie cries out loud from this storm as she tries to get to

Lillie’s light as she hurries over to her. She’s close to being rescued and saved from this horrific experience but the storm and heavy waves makes it hard for her to get to Lillie on time.

Then it happened…

One giant crack of lightning and blast of thunder formed in the sky, everything went blaring white for a second and then nothing. All around Tillie was nothing but a frightening ocean, the current swept her so quickly that it felt like butter washing through the water, Lillie’s light could be seen faintly fading away into the layers of falling water and mixed up confusion, Lillie was too late. Tillie was now in the hands of dangerous waters and whipping winds of the storm, the crate debris left Tillie’s presence in all directions and now the tropical storm was going to do the same with her.

Tillie sees Lillie’s light fading away until she couldn’t see it no more as she was swept away

“no...No! NO!”

“Lillie please don’t go!”

“Please Help me!”

“Lillie!”

She cries out again, only for her pleading cry for help is snuffed out by the loud thunder and lightning of the storm. Leaving Tillie all alone in the dark, rainy and frightening storm for her to survive.

The reaction of huge tidal waves began to bash against the poor tugboat’s side, nearly all of her on board tools were swept off into the deep giving Tillie no chance of rescue.

The thunder surged on for hours, the rain was getting so repetitive and harsh that it looked to be chipping off bits of Tillie’s paint. Struggling boats and tankers would come into view from time to time, but once it looked like Tillie could find help the tide would just sweep her away into the other direction, she was lost miles and miles away from home now, there was no way the Stars would be able to search for her out in this size of a storm.

Tillie hoped that from these tide waves to help her get out of this storm but not knowing how far away from her home. She wants to get out of this storm that’s been nothing more than a terrifying nightmare for a small tug-switcher to endure. She hopes that it will all be over soon.

Suddenly, a large “thunk” came from the side of Tillie, it looked to be a large rock poking out of the depths that stopped her from being trashed any further, it gave a nasty scratch on her hull but at least it stopped her from being picked up and down about the waves.

The rain soon resided a bit more, it was still raining and choppy waters but at least it was better to see farther now than before. It looked like the storm was leaving Tillie behind a bit, the wind kept tugging and pulling her towards it but the rock kept her put, the clouds lightened a bit to a darkish grey meaning that now she wouldn’t be carried any further, but how far was she carried?

Tillie looked around and noticed the rock that held her in place. She was glad that the storm was over but now she had no idea what to do or where she was entirely. She was in panic mode from what she’s been through and now knowing that she’s all alone, far away from home and the thought for her to be here if anyone would ever find her if they did at all.

Her panic soon slows down as she tries to get herself to calm down. She looked around and soon looked up at the sky.

She still sees darkness. She didn’t know what to do next yet for the last time all she could do is call out for help.

“hello?...is Anyone there?” Tillie said

Soft beams of bright light then shine through the dark clouds, rain was still falling but it was only in short doses of sprinkles. The water that the sun touched simmered and rocked slowly as the water calmed down, the mist too calmed down to reveal some form of structure in the distance. Tillie was still in the water but everything felt unfamiliar, the atmosphere felt different, the morning sun felt different, even the rock that was holding her felt different from the Den-Der Rocks back home.

It seemed to be morning now, that storm must’ve carried Tillie forever all night! Nobody replied to Tillie but the structure among the fog became more clear and looked to a harbour, though it wasn’t the same as Bigg City.

It was haunting for Tillie to hear nobody reply back after the storm as she still looked around to see anyone. Still there was nobody on sight. She thought for a moment. A last resort to make herself known. So she blew out her whistle three times in a row until she stopped as she felt her fuel had run out.

There was just silence for Tillie. She just felt like she wanted to close her eyes and think to herself this was all a bad dream. Yet she also felt like she’s to blame since everyone had told her about wandering off into something dangerous, she even remembered what Top Hat even told her. She could’ve just gone back to her dock with her sister and be safe and sound.

But her curiosity got the best of her.

( to be continued...)

[all-things-are-nothing-to-me]

Alienation

Alienation – the result of individuals and, through them, societies 'becoming alien' (i.e distant, disengaged, even uncomprehending) to the results of their own activity, the environment in which that activity occurs, from the people who share that environment and activity, and from themselves. Alienation is marked in those of us living out systems of social relationships which thus redirect our energy from living on our own terms in a manner we ourselves can choose and assert, and into simply reproducing and reinforcing that social system in order to attain the means for survival. Individuals with the means (intellectual, ecological, social) to create lives they freely desire are difficult to base top-down authoritarian systems upon without the draining use of constant force. Alienation makes it possible to relatively smoothly maintain the centralisation of wealth, knowledge and power, separated from us yet raised by ourselves and many like us.

A well-used example of alienation was deployed to describe private property and the economic exploitation of capitalism, by which the worker is separated from what they produce: their 'power to' do whatever it might be is sold as labour power, transforming it into an owner's 'power over' them and thereby alienating human beings from their capacity to create. However it would be a mistake to simply stop there, as Marxists mostly do for instance. (In the 20th century what became known as 'the Fordist compromise' began to allow producers a limited amount of access to the commodities they produce; without however changing the course of alienation, now even more marked in the 'post-industrial' consumer classes.)

We believe that the problem runs much deeper and older than wage relations, in both the 'external' world of habitual interactions and their ramifications and in the psyche. While alienation can be and is implemented through many institutions (religion, for one) with a far longer history, a more holistic example of how alienation begins to sink its deeper roots would be the dispiriting result on untold numbers of land-based cultures from assimilation into conquering empires, and the industrial revolution that forced a mechanical division between individuals and their livelihoods, their tools, their communities, their lands; the separation between production and knowledge itself. Let's take a step back to a more fundamental appraisal of what it might mean to be a potentially-free being on a living planet.

What do you know about the trees outside the window? What keeps them healthy? What about the other animals that live close to you; do you recognise their calls or tracks? What they do, what they prefer? What do you know about the lives of human animals that go on over the other side of the wall next-door, or the masses you pass on the street? What do they know about you? How does that make you feel?

What do you really know about where the food you eat comes from? Or about what has to happen for our homes to be lit, heated, or built? How many of your survival necessities or subsistence skills are truly in your own hands or those of your relations?

What proportion of your conversations still enjoy the depth of face to face interaction? How much of your daily environment can you navigate on foot, walking, climbing, swimming, being helped by a companion, or how much of it is it necessary to depend on regulated means of transportation through? How much of your immediate surrounding area are you physically, socially or legally barred from exploring? Why?

How much of your daily activity is to suit your own needs? Aside from within the symbolic order of the wage economy, that is. How much of it do you even really see or understand the repercussions of? Would we live in this manner if we could directly see and touch the impacts that are hidden from most, in ghettos, toxic dumps, slaughter-houses, hospitals, cemeteries, refugee camps, battlefields and felled rainforest in distant lands, youth jails, oceanic garbage-gyres? Or have we become so distanced from other lives by the allotment of everything into categories of utility, so justifying their and our exploitation, that we cannot empathise with parallel lives that become mere resources for our own, as rulers living off us cannot empathise with ours?

Does the concept of diversity have much relation to your life beyond the array of brands at the supermarket, or inter-relatedness have a meaning beyond message boards? We are tricked and trick ourselves into believing that the damming of a river or disappearance of wildlife doesn't really affect us, burying ourselves in air-conditioned coffins as a society to separate ourselves from the world we were born in.

Do you even remember how to enact and express your joy as you may have in your early years? What actually gives you deep satisfaction; or fails to, even though it may be what advertising and marketing, your parents, school, politicians or your peers tell you should do? How in touch are you with your own desires, multi-sensousness, thoughts and feelings? Might they be directed by social constructions of gender roles, 'human nature', class positions, urban desensitisation...? Might any tendencies which don't fit those constructions be smothered daily, in this world we endure? Do you ever feel like something is missing?

What about your own body; are your familiar with its cycles and drives, or are they an abstraction in a textbook or something that simply comes upon us from the blue? Is health just something obscure that a technical industry exists for and which we're objects to? Isn't the direction of our culture one directly away from the immediacy of human sensations, evidenced by inflating reliance on machine-readings of our 'vital statistics' and symptom-numbing drugs, shifting value from group play or physical activity in general into the spectacle of online games and, at best, exercising isolated with the iPod, or the generational proportion of Japanese society with a disinterest or even phobia of partner sex?

Do you find that you float from one hobby, job, friendship group or city to another, but never seem to be able to feel at home in yourself? Have you ever felt, like a comrade wrote, that the only revolutionary thing about your life is its relentless circularity? What systematically seems to push people into these directions, and aren't reflected in all histories and cultures, which suffer less of the loss of personality, loss of place, loss of purpose? What does it mean to be brought up and inherit not an intimate wealth of folklore to help us navigate a living landscape with reverence, but to be left grasping for a handle on an impersonal life that always gets away from us; as it did our immediate predecessors for multiple generations in the West, with little understanding or influence, our ancestral capabilities, skills and memories expropriated or sterilised? What does it tell us about the trajectory of this system when depression is a main cause of death in the 'developed' world?

It's this 'developed' world that we imagine most of our readers will be accustomed to: with the alienations of wage-labour, claustrophobic built-up areas, an endless routine repeated day after day to attain the means to go on surviving in the way we're used to, navigating the artefacts, mass media representations and bureaucracies of this civilisation, however irrelevant to our own thoughts and wishes. A while ago, Michele Vignodelli characterised the deeply meaningful interactions with a living Earth, as the cornerstone of existence, as having been replaced by “over-stimulation by artificial, coarse, mechanical inputs, through fashions, revivals, disco music, roaring toys, cult actors, events... a whole flamboyant, uproarious and desperately hollow world. A rising wave of fleeting inputs, a multitude of fake interests and fake needs where our emotional energies are swept away, drowning us in nothingness[...] This sumptuous parade seems to consist substantially in the stream of toxic, hidden grudges that flows beneath the surface of politeness, in the corridors of industrial hives; it consists in the snarling defence of one's own niche, to protect 'freedoms' and 'rights' that are sanctioned by law, in a deep loneliness which is increasingly hidden in mass rituals, in a universal inauthenticity of relationships and experiences.”

We're awash with communication technologies, and yet more often living alone, with fewer off-screen friends and little real-world social solidarity. In replacement we are given the imagined community of the market, the nation, or the virtual. What was once lived directly, becomes mere representation.

Alienation results in sensations including (but not limited to) powerlessness, shame, despair, delusions, hostility, social withdrawal, feeling constantly threatened or self-destructive, which are all pandemic within industrial civilisation. Its outward manifestations are on the rise everywhere that industry and 'development' have become the social norm, not just in the capitalist 'Old World' but now China, India, Africa. Alienation is needed for how our bodies are currently regulated in ways both great and small by being enmeshed within norms and expectations that “determine what kinds of lives are deemed livable or useful and by shutting down the space of possibility and imaginative transformation where peoples' lives begin to exceed and escape [the system's] use for them” (Susan Stryker). It forms a society of individuals largely isolated and dissociated from each other and themselves, despite the crowded cities, depressed, apathetic or filled with violent and directionless anger; and we identify it in how the dominant social mode pushes us further into this estrangement. It's the anguish of the living subjected to a deathly regime, and a condition that must be struggled against to overturn the whole social order – which we are demanded to adapt ourselves to fit. To adapt ourselves to ever-more limited and virtually superfluous roles, at any time liable to be replaced like a faulty cog. Beneath the surface of modern life, we live in what can only be described as a state of captivity, and the neurotic way we internalise this reality to cope with it seeps out and permeates our every interaction. The loss of perspective that the overwhelming totality of the current system engenders, casting a shadow over all past ways of life, makes it easier to be fooled when we're told that it is us who are maladjusted, malfunctioning, and when the system's guardians tell us they have just the cure for the mysterious undermining of life.

Yet in spite of generations of 'naturalisation', psychological immiseration tells us we are not at home in the world of social media, council estates, gated communities, artificial parks, billboards, office blocks, traffic jams, cash machines, asylums, factory farms, call centres and other prisons, stuck in a flaccid cycle of work, nuclear families and programmed entertainment. This is the environment our pre-determined interactions, which we all go through every day, has created; yet it is created against us and our own self-determination. Our health (inseparable from that of our landbase), solidarity, spontaneity, and indeed in the era of vast climate changes even our continued existence itself is jeopardised by our own alienated activity. The blackmail of the market keeps our habits and relationships, more often than not, not just delaying but actually antagonistic to the fullness of autonomous creativity. Mass social organisation is the separate power that stands apart from us as individuals, regulating and imposing on us, as the truly human-scale in life is dwarfed by an unending cycle of representations, bureaucracy, requirements, regurgitating what is; and what cannot fail to oppress us. The conditions of life forced upon us by the economy, the State and technological society have become powers that rule over and direct us, not tools to use as we see fit. The segregation from a multitude of lifeforms displaced by the city not just unfamiliarises us with our planet, but makes it much easier to participate in the industrial structure devouring everything.

Ignore these facts we may, they continue to come back to haunt us in the unarticulated precarity of our helpless dependence, the interpersonal violence, the deadly sadness. Self-medication doesn't cut it. Reality TV can't mask it. The chatter of the crowd won't drown it out. We are under mental and physical occupation by the capitalist-industrial system, leaving the firm but false impression of there being no outside, no choice, no escape. Is this really what we could call living?

[themurphyzone]

Absolutely Disastrous Ch 14

Ch 14: Anchors Aweigh! Setting Sail to Dewford Town!

Milo, Melissa, Zack, Amanda, Lydia, and their Pokémon emerged from Petalburg Woods without serious injury. Diogee had been a huge help in predicting where flaming tree branches and Slakoth would fall, while Milo’s pocket masks were great tools for avoiding smoke inhalation.

Since the local fire departments already had their Water-types combating the flames and rescuing the local wildlife, they didn’t stick around and continued on their way to Captain Jack’s seaside cottage. 

“Breaking news! The Rustboro Gym and Contest Hall have been destroyed, the Petalburg Woods is on fire, and Ace Trainer Kayla has nicknamed her Kecleon ‘Cleko’. What a beautiful nickname for a beautiful Kecleon! It’s a better name than before, how fortunate for Kayla and Cleko to experience the bond that unites trainer and Pokémon!”

Melissa muted her PokéNav, which was now reporting the detailed shopping habits of students at Lilycove Prep. 

To be honest, it was kinda creepy. 

The cottage overlooked a beach, where many fishermen hooked Magikarp and Tentacool. Zack latched onto Milo as a human shield, which made walking up to the cottage awkward. 

“I need to lay down a ground rule so Captain Jack doesn’t have an incentive to try and strand us on an island: don’t ask why he has a Chatot instead of Wingull,” Milo said. “He’s a bit touchy about that.” 

With that last bit of advice, he knocked on the door and accidentally put a large hole through the middle. Then the rest of the wooden slabs splintered into pieces. 

Captain Jack chased Gary around a table, completely ignoring their visitors and broken door. 

“Hey, Captain Jack!” Milo waved. “Sorry to interrupt, but when you’re done with your game, could you please take us to Dewford?” 

“Milo said you could give us a lift to Slateport,” Amanda added. 

“That was the last strawberry, Gary!” Captain Jack complained. “You know perfectly well it’s the last harvest of the season!” 

Gary twittered and fluffed his tail in Captain Jack’s direction. “Gary deserve! Like getting on nerves!” 

“I’m a reasonable man. I’ll just take the last clementine as payment,” Captain Jack said with a sly grin. 

“RAWK! BAWK!” Gary screeched. 

Captain Jack finally took notice of Milo and his friends, then quickly clamped his hands around Gary’s beak. Gary flapped his wings in protest. “Gary, keep your fowl beak shut around children!” Captain Jack exclaimed. Gary glared at him.  “And no, taking the last clementine does not qualify as cruel and unusual punishment!” 

“Uh, sure. Melissa, Zack, and I would like to go to Dewford please. And Amanda and Lydia are heading to Slateport,” Milo said. 

“The CEO of Mahlson Corp asked us to do a few favors. Do you know Captain Webber by any chance?” Lydia asked. 

Captain Jack frowned. “Ah, yes. The guy who snapped his fingers and claimed it was okay when we capsized on an island because he couldn’t predict the ocean currents properly. The guy who claimed it was okay when he was promoted because his father knows the first cousin of the fleet admiral and I got stuck on potato peeling duty for five years! The guy who opened the oven when I told him not to and utterly ruined my puff pastry so that I could never show my face at a dinner party again!”

“We probably shouldn’t open that can of Wurmple,” Melissa whispered. 

“Anyway,” Zack said slowly, hoping to get Captain Jack focused on navigating and not some years-old grudge with a fellow seagoer. “We just wanna head to Dewford and Slateport.”

“Take the plunge! Take the plunge!” Gary squawked. 

“You don’t mind if we take Gary’s favorite vessel, right?” Captain Jack asked. 

“Nope, we don’t mind at all!” Milo said. 

When Gary’s favorite vessel turned out to be a very old and very foreboding ship, Milo realized that his friends cared deeply about their mode of transportation. 

“Next time, I’ll be the negotiator,” Melissa muttered, deftly avoiding a loose wooden board that promptly crashed into a storage area below. 

Amanda helped Zack into another life jacket. He heavily resembled a traffic light with the three life jackets he’d already donned. 

“Don’t you have enough life jackets?” Lydia asked in concern. 

“Welcome to the S.S Plunge,” Captain Jack said proudly, kissing the faded lettering on the captain’s door. “No storm, stone, or iceberg can strike her down to Davy Jones! She’s virtually unsinkable!” 

Everyone followed Zack’s example and put on another life jacket. 

“I’ve never been on a ship that wasn’t sinking before,” Milo admitted as Captain Jack undid the restraints that tied the S.S Plunge to the docks. He caught Zack’s bewildered look, then realized that was probably not the best reassurance to give someone who was deeply afraid of what lurked below. “Sorry, Zack.” 

“I’ll be fine,” Zack shrugged. “Though let’s try to keep the fish Pokémon out of the boat, alright?” 

“Do you have Jellicent in Hoenn?” Lydia asked. She peered at the ocean closely. “We’re always told to avoid their territory at sea. It’s said they make homes out of underwater ship graveyards, and if you wander too close, they’ll drag you down into the abyss where you’ll never be seen again.” 

“We don’t have Jellicent here,” Melissa said. “I’ve only seen them when Milo and Sara begged me to stay for an all-night Dr. Magnezone marathon.” She rubbed her arms in embarrassment. “I was jumpy for days after that...” 

“Episode 79: ’The Depths of Bermuda Bay’,” Milo said, grinning at the memory of Melissa clinging to a pillow when the red-eyed Jellicent flitted across the screen. He’d seen her face runaway Camerupt with nothing but a stuffed Snubbull and a lanyard, but seeing her afraid of a puppet where the stitching was highly visible was downright surreal. 

That particular episode was infamous for its creepy imagery in the Dr. Magnezone community. 

Lydia sighed in relief. “I’m glad. Their tentacles creep me out so much.”

The S.S Plunge shuddered and lurched forward, sending everyone crashing to the floor. 

“Sorry!” Captain Jack said hastily over an intercom. “She’s just pulling out of port. We’ll be in Dewford in an hour and a half, give or take a few minutes!”

“Since we have a while, who wants to help me record the events that happened so far?” Melissa asked. “This’ll be a great baseline for the life story I plan to sell.” 

One hour later, Milo and Diogee had settled into their niche of driving away hungry Wingull while everyone else helped Melissa remember the important things. They had fun embellishing their run-in with Team Magma in Rusturf Tunnel. 

“So then Torchic and Shroomish are hanging on by a thread, an inevitable defeat drawing closer, then Marshtomp suddenly appears to save the day!” Lydia exclaimed. 

“Or we could say that Treecko used his speed to confuse them, allowing Milo to swoop in and take both Gary and the briefcase,” Amanda suggested. 

Zack rolled his eyes. “Why do all your suggestions involve Milo and his Pokémon ultimately defeating Team Magma? What are Melissa, Bradley, and I doing?” 

“You were incapacitated due to the Whismur,” Lydia replied. “Besides, the leader of the group is always the one who does the confronting. The rest of the party usually gets preoccupied with other things.” 

“Since when is Milo the leader?” Zack asked. 

“Since he got the gene for good charisma,” Melissa replied. “Keep ‘em coming, everyone. These are gold so far!” 

“Zack, look! I’m king of the world!” Milo laughed as he ran up to the bow of the ship, spreading his arms wide as the cool sea breeze whipped around him. 

Zack stood a safe distance away while Diogee held onto Milo’s life jackets with his teeth to prevent him from falling. Upon closer inspection, the railing didn’t hold much integrity.

Milo stepped back just as part of the railing broke off and dropped into the rippling ocean below. Then the ship lurched again, and Diogee lost his grip on Milo. Milo stumbled over the edge, though his fall was broken by a lifeboat. 

“Milo overboard!” Zack hollered. Milo heard Zack’s frantic footsteps as he tried to figure out a way to help. 

“Zack, it’s okay! I have a grapple!” Milo yelled, He waved the rope above his head and threw it as far he could. He tugged, frowning slightly when the line didn’t feel tight enough to support his weight. 

He pulled back to try again, only to jump out of the way as a blur suddenly crashed into the lifeboat and made the entire structure sway. Milo braced himself against the seat until the rocking stopped. 

“Sorry, Zack!” Milo apologized as he removed the hook from the hem of Zack’s jeans. 

“The Charmander are singing...” Zack giggled, still dizzy from his fall. 

Don’t worry, we’ll get you up, Melissa had texted. 

Ten minutes later, everyone clung onto life preservers and tried to keep the saltwater out of their mouths as Captain Jack towed them into Dewford Town. 

Dewford Town: Trendy phrases! Trendy surfing! Trendy fishing! Are you on the cutting edge of Hoenn trends? 

The billboard featured a supermodel and her Marill striking a flashy pose. 

“It’s been five minutes, and I’m already sick of hearing the word ‘trendy’,” Melissa said. “Amanda and Lydia are so lucky.” 

Amanda and Lydia only spent enough time in Dewford to change into dry clothes before hurrying back to the S.S Plunge. They hadn’t been interested in exploring since they heard three different people declaring their everlasting love for potion festivals. 

Captain Jack agreed to come back to Dewford when he finished taking Amanda and Lydia to Slateport. Thankfully, he had no hard feelings about the damage the S.S Plunge sustained during their little voyage. 

Besides, Milo had grown up on Dr. Magnezone. He could handle a little obsessiveness based around trendy sayings. 

“BIG LAUNDRY! I NEED MERCHANDISE OF BIG LAUNDRY!” someone screeched into a megaphone. 

“Big laundry is so two days ago,” a posh man sniffed. “Potion festivals are in.” 

“Potion festivals should be incorporated into everybody’s daily lives!” a woman sobbed. “I can’t live without potion festivals!” 

Then again, Milo knew what Dr. Magnezone fans were talking about. 

“I don’t know nothin’ about paintings! And we wouldn’t tell ya cause youse obviously one of dem potion festival wackos!”

“We be makin’ ye talk, landlubber!” a familiar voice snarled. 

As Milo, Diogee, Melissa, and Zack headed south, they caught a glimpse of a trio in blue bandanas and scruffy, cheap pirate clothing from a Halloween store cornering an old woman against the sand dunes. 

“Do you know who we are?” the only woman in the trio taunted, pointing to the skull-like ‘A’ in the middle of her bandana. “Team Aqua, scourge of humanity! We take what we want, and that includes information!” 

The third member of the trio remained silent, coolly watching his teammates try to wheedle information out of their would-be informant. His bandana was set low over his eyes, hiding all but his dark, prominent eyebags from view. 

Diogee jumped between the old woman and the Aqua members, crouching low and growling. 

“I thought Officer Elliot carted you off,” Melissa said to Patchy, who stepped back after Diogee waved his horn at him. 

“Aye, but there be only three sea shanties a man can take,” Patchy leered. “I know ye three scallywags. And I be not the forgivin’ type.” 

He threw a Poké Ball and released an aggressive-looking fish Pokémon. Zack eyed the razor-sharp teeth warily before sending out Treecko. 

“Zack, stick to long-range attacks,” Milo advised. “Carvanha has the Rough Skin ability. Its skin is super abrasive and can really hurt Treecko if you use contact moves.” 

Zack nodded. “Don’t worry, we’ll be careful.” 

“Mari! John!” Patchy barked. “I be needin’ assistance!” 

Mari eagerly jumped in with her Masquerain, and Melissa sent out Torchic to cover Treecko’s weaknesses. Patchy and Mari forgot the old woman entirely, but John intercepted her as she tried to sneak off and whispered something in her ear. 

The old woman pointed frantically at a nearby cave, and John let her go with a curt nod. She muttered something about potion festival hooligans before rushing back to town, unwilling to stay any longer than she had to. 

“What are you waiting for, John?” Mari called. “Send someone out already so we can crush ‘em!” 

John crossed his arms. “Not worth my time and effort,” he grunted harshly. “Unlike you bozos, I choose my battles wisely.” 

Carvanha barely managed to intercept a Fire Spin intended for Masquerain. 

“And I also pay attention to what my opponents are doing,” John added. 

Mari growled. “That was cheap, you brat!”

“Not my fault. You gave me the opportunity,” Melissa shrugged. “Fire Spin again!” 

“Oh no you don’t! Use Water Sport!” Mari yelled.

Bubbles formed along Masquerain’s body just as Fire Spin engulfed it. Melissa pursed her lips when the bubbles cushioned the majority of Fire Spin’s damage. 

Meanwhile, Carvanha bit down on Treecko’s tail and refused to let go. Treecko winced but didn’t cry out in pain, and Zack was watching the thrashing Water-type carefully in case it flailed in his direction. 

“Torchic, get Carvanha off Treecko!” Melissa shouted. 

Torchic scored her feet against Carvanha’s side, and it let go of Treecko with an angry snap of its teeth. Torchic hopped from foot to foot, chirping in pain from Rough Skin.

Torchic and Treecko lost their footing due to Masquerain’s Gust, slipping against the sand as they struggled to their feet. 

“Melissa, we need a plan!” Zack said frantically as Treecko was hit by a Hidden Power from Carvanha. It didn’t seem to be a type that was super-effective against Grass, but it still did a number on Treecko. 

“I’m trying! But she just has to have Water Sport and—Torchic, roll!” 

Torchic narrowly avoided a Bubble attack, then sent an Ember at Masquerain. It managed to clip the edge of Masquerain’s left wing, but didn’t do enough damage to slow it down. 

“Treecko, Bullet Seed on Carvanha!” Zack ordered. 

“He be an annoyin’ one,” Patchy said. “Use Rage!” 

Carvanha charged at Treecko, its body illuminated by a dangerous red light. Treecko fired a barrage of seeds to counter, but Carvanha broke through after a brief stalemate and slammed into Treecko. 

Treecko skidded across the beach, landing partway in the surf. 

Diogee snarled as Zack shouted at Treecko to get up, but Milo held him back. Diogee’s interference would be heavily frowned on by both sides, regardless of their morals.

Torchic held her opponents at bay with Fire Spin for now, but she would eventually be overwhelmed. 

“You have to help, Treecko!” Zack insisted. “We can’t let these Aqua goons win!” 

“Who’re you calling goon, brat?” Mari snarled. “Just for that, you’re going down first! Finish that Treecko with Gust!” 

“Don’t let that Gust hit Treecko!” Melissa yelled.

Ember interfered with Masquerain’s ability to produce a wind blast strong enough to knock out Treecko, but Torchic was wide open for Carvanha. 

“Argh, Bite that wee chick and don’t let go!” Patchy crowed. 

Carvanha clamped down on Torchic’s head and brushed its fins against her feathers, its Rough Skin crippling her further. 

Melissa reluctantly held up Torchic’s Poké Ball, ready to forfeit her part in the battle. Torchic wouldn’t last much longer at this rate. 

Diogee took several steps towards the surf, and Milo followed to make sure he didn’t jump into the middle of the battle. Diogee seemed incredibly curious about the white, glowing body lying in the surf. The body grew taller, and a white, leafy projection grew from its head. 

“Zack, Treecko’s evolving!” Milo called. 

Zack gasped as the white glow faded and his Grovyle’s brilliant green and red scales shone in the sunlight. 

Grovyle shook the water out of his leafy tail, then fixed his opponents with a stern glare. 

“Can you still fight?” Zack asked. 

Grovyle slashed the air in confirmation. 

Zack grinned, and while Mari and Patchy floundered for strategies on how to deal with Grovyle, Torchic cried out as a blinding white glow covered her body. 

Melissa shrieked with glee as two long arms tipped with sharp claws emerged from Torchic’s torso. “Dislodge that Carvanha, Tor-no, Combusken!” she screamed triumphantly. 

Combusken yanked a shocked Carvanha off her head, and Patchy screamed in rage as she drop-kicked it straight into Masquerain. Masquerain squealed as Carvanha slammed into it. Rough Skin dug into its wings, and the ability had suddenly become a hindrance for the Aqua Goons. 

“Turn off Rough Skin!” Mari shouted at Patchy, glaring daggers at him. 

“Lassie, I would, but-” 

“Well?” 

“’Tis beyond me mind.” 

“THEN FIGURE IT OUT, SEAWEED BREATH!” 

Grovyle disappeared, then reappeared behind Masquerain as it shook sand out of its wings. The Grass-type slashed downwards, and Masquerain slammed into the sandy ground, too exhausted to continue. 

“That was Aerial Ace!” Milo shouted. “Grovyle knows Aerial Ace! That move is super cool! My dad’s Absol knows it!” 

Zack grinned. “Awesome.” 

Mari huffed disdainfully as she recalled Masquerain. “Patchy, you better beat them for me.” 

But Carvanha stood no chance against a powered-up Fire Spin and Bullet Seed combo and fainted without landing a hit on either Combusken or Grovyle. 

Patchy recalled Carvanha, but he didn’t seem too angry with his loss. “Eh, ‘tis a good fight,” he said. 

“This isn’t over!” Mari howled. “John, let me borrow your Pokémon! It wouldn’t take much to beat them now!” 

“You lost valuable time by taunting instead of attacking,” John stated coldly. “You lost it when your opponents evolved. You didn’t take advantage of Combusken’s Flying-type weakness, nor did you rely on Masquerain’s strengths.”

Mari opened her mouth to protest, but John beat her to the punch. 

“My Pokémon don’t tolerate incompetence.” 

“Aye. He has a point, he has,” Patchy agreed. “The scallywags won fairly, and ‘tis a disgrace to claim otherwise.” 

Mari let out a wordless scream of rage and stalked off. Patchy followed her, though he kept his distance. 

“Boy.” 

Milo blinked, then realized John was addressing him. It was hard to tell since his eyes were hidden. “Um, me?” Milo awkwardly pointed to himself. 

John snorted. “No, the piece of seaweed to your left. Yes, I’m talking to you. You have an Absol.” 

Milo glanced at Diogee, whose eyes flitted between Milo and John, unsure of the Aqua member’s threat level. “He’s a great partner,” Milo finally said. 

“Keep him close,” John advised. “You might need him a lot sooner than you’d expect.” 

“Of course,” Milo agreed. 

John trudged away, kicking up sand as he grumbled about his ridiculous coworkers. 

“I don’t get those guys at all,” Zack said. 

Melissa released Combusken from a celebratory hug and made a note on her phone. “Maybe I should add another charge for every questionable hire Dakota makes for his team,” she mused. 

They made a brief stop at the Pokémon Center to heal Combusken and Grovyle, then began asking the locals for directions to Granite Cave. Unfortunately, most of them believed they were either potion festival hooligans or big laundry punks and refused to give them any useful information. 

“Is there anyone in this town who isn’t crazy?” Melissa sighed, throwing a rock into the ocean in frustration. 

“WHOO-HOO! HEY, YOU ON THE BEACH! MOVE IF YOU DON’T WANNA GET SWAMPED!” someone shouted. 

A strange figure rode a giant wave, surfing rapidly towards the beach at an alarming pace. Diogee dragged Milo out of the way as Melissa and Zack took cover behind a cluster of boulders. The wave crashed onto the beach with a resounding roar, depositing a speedboat that had been painted to resemble a heavily fortified castle and its rider on the sand. 

The rider took off her helmet and squeezed the water out of her long, blonde hair. 

“Veronica?” Milo gasped. 

“Long time, no see, Milo!” Veronica grinned. Diogee circled her excitedly, and Veronica laughed as she stroked his head. “Aw, Diogee’s grown so much! You’ve been taking real good care of each other!” 

“You know each other?” Zack asked.

Milo nodded. “Melissa, Zack, this is Veronica. She was the best babysitter I’ve ever had! Haven’t seen her in like, a lot of fortnights, but she’s still awesome! And she gave me this backpack!” 

“I always wondered why you were attached to that thing,” Melissa remarked. 

“Last babysitter standing,” Veronica stated proudly. “I’ve also added pizza delivery girl and Dewford Gym Leader to my skillset. You up for a challenge, Milo? Cause I have a Knuckle Badge with your name on it.” 

AN: The S.S Plunge is the name of the ship that takes Dakota to the Island. It’s in the background when Dakota is at the docks and looking for the ship.

ORAS’ default trendy saying is Potion Festivals. Unfortunately, you can’t mix and match to get the dumbest or most risque sayings like in Gen 3.

Team Aqua returns! I was listening to Heroes of Hoenn while writing the battle scene. It helps if you really want that triumphant feeling.

The anime does establish that Rough Skin has an off switch, but Patchy hasn’t figured that out.

Veronica is awesome.

[zonamievents]

ZoNami Analysis: Before They Even Met

Hello everyone! Welcome to my new series of posts, where I discuss every Zoro and Nami moment to have ever occurred in the entire series of One Piece. Any scene can merely be friendly, but perhaps we can uncover a hint of something more between them as we go through it all? Let’s find out on this journey together!

Also, I am aware that koukihime has done a similar series on her website, zoroxnami.weebly.com. However, I wanted to perform my own analysis of Zoro and Nami’s relationship, so please bear with me if there are any accidental similarities. Thanks!

Our first topic is actually going to take us back to before Zoro and Nami ever encountered each other, to a time when the swordsman was the only member of the Straw Hat crew, aside from Luffy himself.

We start at Chapter 8 of the series, appropriately named “Nami”. After setting sail in their puny sailboat, Luffy and Zoro are ready to officially begin their lives of piracy! Of course, Luffy decides to bring up his stomach, while Zoro calls Luffy out on his surprising lack of navigational skills.

Luffy throws the question back at the swordsman, who tries to sound cool as he talks about “following a pirate out to sea” and earning money along the way…

…but Luffy bluntly unveils the hidden meaning behind his crew mate’s words: that he doesn’t know his way around the sea either.

As they gripe about their hunger after their fruitless conversation comes to an end, Luffy spies a bird, tries to catch it for their next meal and ends up getting carried away in the process! Zoro has no choice but to row their little boat after him! But along the way, he encounters three men stranded out at sea. They manage to hop on board and try to commandeer the boat…

As if that was going to happen.

They end up rowing for Zoro, who then turns around and asks how they were marooned in the middle of the ocean. Instantly riled up, the men tell Zoro how they were tricked by a looker of a woman!

The three men are all having a meltdown about what happened, but leave it to Zoro to focus on the most important aspect of their story: they encountered a navigator who was talented enough to use the weather as a weapon.

Now, the anime completely ignores everything I’ve mentioned here. Zoro doesn’t talk about needing a navigator, nor does he get to hear about Nami from Buggy’s pirates. There will be moments where we discuss the differences in characterizations between the anime and the manga, however, I’m simply going to focus on the manga for the prologue to my analysis series since it comes directly from Oda-sensei himself.

Some may say that this doesn’t really mean anything, that it holds no significance, especially since it isn’t even featured in the anime.

Sure, that’s valid.

It can totally seem like a waste of time to talk about.

If you’re not a ZoNa shipper, there probably IS nothing more than what it is on the surface.

Thankfully, I am heavily invested in digging into anything and everything related to Zoro and Nami!

Yes, I would agree that it makes logical sense for anyone other than Luffy to bring up the need for a navigator. But the fact that Zoro does it is very interesting, as Luffy uncovers that he was lost for most of if not all of his time prior to joining Luffy. It is quite telling for an author to use opposition to relate characters to one another.

Zoro’s only character flaw thus far relates him to Nami’s greatest strength.

Zoro is written to be Nami’s foil from the very start. That is most definitely not his only purpose, but his lack of directional sense is so catastrophic that we see in later moments of the series how it creates problems for not only the crew but for Nami herself.

They haven’t even met yet and Oda-sensei has designed their relationship to be one that already holds friction and challenges and opportunities for all sorts of scenarios. We can also draw upon the fact that Zoro’s greatest strength – his literal physical strength – counters Nami’s lack of combative skill, since she has left him to handle many battles and forces him to sub in for her when need be.

But we’ll stay focused on the topic of directional sense for now.

It is a totally legitimate writing tool to create characters who are each other’s foil, as it gives depth to their interactions without needing to supply them with constant storylines – just their conversations alone spice up any scene they share together.

Here is an example of what it means to have characters act as foils to one another, from Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet:

The example at the bottom of the image relates to their first pair of opposing traits mentioned, being Benvolio’s passiveness facing off against Tybalt’s aggressive nature. Tybalt dominates the opening scene by doing his damnedest to instigate a fight between the Montagues and the Capulets, despite Benvolio’s wish to avoid any discourse.

Regardless of them being from opposing houses in the story, it is clear that these two were meant to show the ends of a spectrum – peacefulness versus antagonism. In this one scene, we understand how drastically these two will influence the plot moving forward due to the way they clearly standoff in both their natures and the way they observe and understand the scenes they are placed in.

Zoro and Nami may not be as dramatic as Romeo and Juliet’s first scene, but it goes to show how having two character foils interact with one another can not only create excitement in a scene, it can also present tension between them in a way that is signature to their relationship in the story.

Which leads me to what I really want to mention: the fact that this is used as a motivation in plenty of romantic storylines too.

To quote author Joanna Penn:

Friction between two people can also be a good thing. Attraction, desire, love and lust supply the heartbeat to many a novel. Anticipation can be nerve wracking in a good way, and competition can spur characters on to do their very best. So whether friction is a healthy manifestation of desire and need or filled with unhealthy disagreements, power struggles, and the quest to dominate, readers are pulled in.

Zoro and Nami aren’t the only two who are opposites of one another in One Piece, let alone the crew.

Sanji can cook and Luffy cannot, despite how much he desperately needs to eat.

Robin is a rather serious person who cannot always stand Franky’s eccentricity, causing her to bluntly insult him at times when she cannot understand him.

Usopp’s cowardice has been known to irritate a few members of the crew, as a pirate needs to be brave in order to traverse the Grand Line, let alone the New World.

Regardless of the other oppositions we see amongst the main characters of One Piece, Zoro and Nami are clearly intertwined due to the fact that they are direct opposites of one another in terms of each of their major skill sets, and Oda-sensei knew exactly what he was doing when he made Zoro speak up about their makeshift crew needing a navigator.

At this point in One Piece’s entire history – from the early designs of Romance Dawn all the way up to this chapter – the concepts of Luffy, Nami and Zoro have existed for quite a while. Some more than others, but still, Oda-sensei has been mauling over their characters’ possibilities for a while before finalizing the draft of One Piece that we all know and love.

Meaning there was a reason he pinned Luffy’s first real crew members against each other like this.

Meaning there was an intent in his mind for making Zoro as directionally challenged as he is.

Meaning there was always a plan to create friction between these two from the very start of the serialization of One Piece.

Oda-sensei is a clever writer, one who has said in past interviews he won’t focus on romance in an action-based series. However, as we see his stance on this change over time, it will forever be interesting to note that he gave Luffy and Zoro very different introductions to Nami’s character.

Luffy, in the manga, meets Nami when she tries to make him the focus of the Buggy pirates’ rage.

Zoro, again, in the manga, gives us our first introduction to the character and praises her openly.

Though the anime does this backwards – with Luffy encountering Nami during his scuffle with Alvida in episode one, if only for a moment – and completely removes Zoro’s interaction with information about Nami, it’s clear that Oda-sensei knew what he was doing when he formatted Nami’s debut chapter this way.

It’s obvious that Oda-sensei wanted to showcase the connectivity found in the opposition of Zoro and Nami from the very moment they were both made to be showcased in the series, even before their very first moment shared on screen.

[orokinarchives]

Cephalon Cordylon 16

Originally posted on 16 Sep 2015.

Lukap99 asks: Are there any popular spots where a Tenno such as myself could go fishing? Fishing is a trade older than Tenno culture, although it has evolved considerably over the centuries since its establishment. Many of our system's most 'popular' fishing locations have already been established as resource sites for Grineer or Corpus refineries, and would not likely be suitable for Tenno fishing excursions until the local population was relocated or removed.

Ideal locations will also change depending on what kind of organic life you would enjoy catching. The following list should provide several ideal locations with reasonable seclusion and a moderate saturation of resources:

· Earth – Several oceanic locations provide ideal spots for fishing, and any islands far from the mainland should provide suitable cover as long as no valuable minerals or Orokin relics are also present. · Phobos – Should you tire of traditional fishing, it may interest you to know that the sands of Phobos offer a multitude of locations to test your skills against the local variety of Desert Skate. Traditional fishing lines do poorly in Phobo's high-sand environment; however a modified Cernos with attached cable-fed arrow shaft should offer a similar experience without the extra step of requiring bait. · Uranus – Since their establishment of underwater facilities on Uranus the Grineer have been in a constant struggle to keep the wildlife at a safe distance from their operations. Uranus' depths would present an excellent challenge should you find a suitable place to ground yourself outside of the dense, toxic liquid comprising the planet.

Fishing on Uranus also offers a rare opportunity to catch one of the planet's deadliest creatures: an ambush predator that seems to be quite similar to Earth's own deadly sharks. Grineer records have indicated the best way to lure out such a creature is by utilising a living 'person-sized' target – preferably alive before the encounter. Unfortunately Grineer records do not detail what must be done to catch such a predator once lured into the open.

Casualty reports suggest several flaws in the use of firepower, and items typically associated with the act of fishing have met with little to no yield. Success rates of utility items such as 'nets', 'snare-cages', and 'aquatic proximity mines' are impressively low.

(XB1)IxJayXDeeXI asks: Why is it that Tenno cannot create unique weapons by hand? I mean, sure, we could make errors, but a gun is a gun as long as it kills. Creation of a weapon is a straightforward process, as it does not take much effort to end an organic life. Most organic beings can perish after experiencing a basic flesh-puncturing object – if not from the wound itself, then from medical complications that form afterwards. The flaws in organic life are so numerous I trust even the most unskilled organic would be able to fashion themselves a suitable physical weapon were the circumstances dire enough.

Guns and other complex multi-part weapons are theoretically still fashionable by hand, however building one that would be suitable to the nature of Tenno work would take a remarkable amount of time and effort compared to the automated efficiency of the Liset's Foundry.

This does not mean that Foundry creations are perfect, as they lack what some arms dealers call an 'affectionate touch'. Custom-altered weaponry blurs the line between universal perfection and user-based preferences. Mods help add a personalised element to weaponry, in addition to creating mission-specialised tools of war that guarantee maximum efficiency.

It is the fluid cooperation between organic unpredictability and synthetic weapon processing that has made the Tenno so dangerous at carrying out their objective. Ignoring the advantages of such a relationship would be unwise.

ElGuirrix asks: Since the Lotus tasks us to exterminate important figures of the Grineer, why not target their Queens? Citing an in-depth explanation of every reason that exterminating the Queens would be difficult or potentially unwise would take a great deal of time. Instead I have been given authorisation to provide a few examples that would best summarize why such an order has never been given by the Lotus:

· They are currently too well defended for a suitable force of Tenno to penetrate. · The Grineer represent a well-established portion of the System's ruling power, and the Tenno would need to be prepared for inevitable power struggle that followed. · The location of the Queens is a closely-guarded secret, with many proxy locations existing to draw out suspected spies or traitors.

[Navigation: Hub → Other → Cephalon Cordylon → Ask a Cephalon 16]

[fatimakarim]

“ anyone who studies the complexities of life and the universe cannot help but witness the signature of the Creator ”

The Big Questions Dr. Laurence B. Brown

The Big Questions by Dr. Laurence B. Brown

The Big Questions, Part I — In The Beginning

At some point in our lives, everybody asks the big questions: “Who made us,” and “Why are we here?”

So who did make us? Most of us have been brought up more on science than religion, and to believe in the Big Bang and evolution more than God. But which makes more sense? And is there any reason why the theories of science and creationism cannot coexist?

The Big Bang may explain the origin of the universe, but it doesn’t explain the origin of the primordial dust cloud. This dust cloud (which, according to the theory, drew together, compacted and then exploded) had to come from somewhere. After all, it contained enough matter to form not just our galaxy, but the billion other galaxies in the known universe. So where did that come form? Who, or what, created the primordial dust cloud?

Similarly, evolution may explain the fossil record, but it falls far short of explaining the quintessential essence of human life — the soul. We all have one. We feel its presence, we speak of its existence and at times pray for its salvation. But only the religious can explain where it came from. The theory of natural selection can explain many of the material aspects of living things, but it fails to explain the human soul.

Furthermore, anyone who studies the complexities of life and the universe cannot help but witness the signature of the Creator. Whether or not people recognize these signs is another matter — as the old saying goes, denial isn’t just a river in Egypt. (Get it? Denial, spelled “de Nile” … the river Ni … oh, never mind.) The point is that if we see a painting, we know there is a painter. If we see a sculpture, we know there’s a sculptor; a pot, a potter. So when we view creation, shouldn’t we know there’s a Creator?

The concept that the universe exploded and then developed in balanced perfection through random events and natural selection is little different from the proposal that, by dropping bombs into a junkyard, sooner or later one of them will blow everything together into a perfect Mercedes.

If there is one thing we know for certain, it is that without a controlling influence, all systems degenerate into chaos. The theories of the Big Bang and evolution propose the exact opposite, however — that chaos fostered perfection. Would it not be more reasonable to conclude that the Big Bang and evolution were controlled events? Controlled, that is, by the Creator?

The Bedouin of Arabia tell the tale of a nomad finding an exquisite palace at an oasis in the middle of an otherwise barren desert. When he asks how it was built, the owner tells him it was formed by the forces of nature. The wind shaped the rocks and blew them to the edge of this oasis, and then tumbled them together into the shape of the palace. Then it blew sand and rain into the cracks to cement them together. Next, it blew strands of sheep’s wool together into rugs and tapestries, stray wood together into furniture, doors, windowsills and trim, and positioned them in the palace at just the right locations. Lightning strikes melted sand into sheets of glass and blasted them into the window-frames, and smelted black sand into steel and shaped it into the fence and gate with perfect alignment and symmetry. The process took billions of years and only happened at this one place on earth — purely through coincidence.

When we finish rolling our eyes, we get the point. Obviously, the palace was built by design, not by happenstance. To what (or more to the point, to Whom), then, should we attribute the origin of items of infinitely greater complexity, such as our universe and ourselves?

Another argument to dismiss the concept of Creationism focuses upon what people perceive to be the imperfections of creation. These are the “How can there be a God if such-and-such happened?” arguments. The issue under discussion could be anything from a natural disaster to birth defects, from genocide to grandma’s cancer. That’s not the point. The point is that denying God based upon what we perceive to be injustices of life presumes that a divine being would not have designed our lives to be anything other than perfect, and would have established justice on Earth.

Hmm … is there no other option?

We can just as easily propose that God did not design life on Earth to be paradise, but rather a test, the punishment or rewards of which are to be had in the next life, which is where God establishes His ultimate justice. In support of this concept we can well ask who suffered more injustices in their worldly lives than God’s favorites, which is to say the prophets? And who do we expect to occupy the highest stations in paradise, if not those who maintain true faith in the face of worldly adversity? So suffering in this worldly life does not necessarily translate into God’s disfavor, and a blissful worldly life does not necessarily translate into beatitude in the hereafter.

I would hope that, by this line of reasoning, we can agree upon the answer to the first “big question.” Who made us? Can we agree that if we are creation, God is the Creator?

If we can’t agree on this point, there probably isn’t much point in continuing. However, for those who doagree, let’s move on to “big question” number two — why are we here? What, in other words, is the purpose of life?

The Big Questions, Part II — The Purpose of Life

The first of the two big questions in life is, “Who made us?” We addressed that question in the previous article and (hopefully) settled upon “God” as the answer. As we are creation, God is the Creator.

Now, let us turn to the second “big question,” which is, “Why are we here?”

Well, why are we here? To amass fame and fortune? To make music and babies? To be the richest man or woman in the graveyard for, as we are jokingly told, “He who dies with the most toys wins?”

No, there must be more to life than that, so let’s think about this. To begin with, look around you. Unless you live in a cave, you are surrounded by things we humans have made with our own hands. Now, why did we make those things? The answer, of course, is that we make things to perform some specific function for us. In short, we make things to serve us. So by extension, why did God make us, if not to serve Him?

If we acknowledge our Creator, and that He created humankind to serve Him, the next question is, “How? How do we serve Him?” No doubt, this question is best answered by the One who made us. If He created us to serve Him, then He expects us to function in a particular manner, if we are to achieve our purpose. But how can we know what that manner is? How can we know what God expects from us?

Well, consider this: God gave us light, by which we can find our way. Even at night, we have the moon for light and the stars for navigation. God gave other animals guidance systems best suited for their conditions and needs. Migrating birds can navigate, even on overcast days, by how light is polarized as it passes through the clouds. Whales migrate by “reading” the Earth’s magnetic fields. Salmon return from the open ocean to spawn at the exact spot of their birth by smell, if that can be imagined. Fish sense distant movements through pressure receptors that line their bodies. Bats and blind river dolphins “see” by sonar. Certain marine organisms (the electric eel being a high-voltage example) generate and “read” electric fields, allowing them to “see” in muddy waters, or in the blackness of ocean depths. Insects communicate by pheromones. Plants sense sunlight and grow towards it (phototrophism); their roots sense gravity and grow into the earth (geotrophism). In short, God has gifted every element of His creation with guidance. Can we seriously believe he would not give us guidance on the one most important aspect of our existence, namely our raison d’etre — our reason for being? That he would not give us the tools by which to achieve salvation?

And would this guidance not be . . . revelation?

Think of it this way: Every product has specifications and rules. For more complex products, whose specifications and rules are not intuitive, we rely upon owner’s manuals. These manuals are written by the one who knows the product best, which is to say the manufacturer. A typical owner’s manual begins with warnings about improper use and the hazardous consequences thereof, moves on to a description of how to use the product properly and the benefits to be gained thereby, and provides product specifications and a troubleshooting guide whereby we can correct product malfunctions.

Now, how is that different from revelation?

Revelation tells us what to do, what not to do and why, tells us what God expects of us, and shows us how to correct our deficiencies. Revelation is the ultimate user’s manual, provided as guidance to the one who will use us — ourselves.

In the world we know, products that meet or exceed specifications are considered successes whereas those that don’t are … hmm … let’s think about this. Any product that fails to meet factory specifications is either repaired or, if hopeless, recycled. In other words, destroyed. Ouch. Suddenly this discussion turns scary-serious. Because in this discussion, we are the product — the product of creation.

But let’s pause for a moment and consider how we interact with the various items that fill our lives. As long as they do what we want, we’re happy with them. But when they fail us, we get rid of them. Some are returned to the store, some donated to charity, but eventually they all end up in the garbage, which gets … buried or burned. Similarly, an underperforming employee gets … fired. Now, stop for a minute and think about that word. Where did that euphemism for the punishment due to an underperformer come from? Hmm … the person who believes the lessons of this life translate into lessons about religion could have a field day with this.

But that doesn’t mean these analogies are invalid. Just the opposite, we should remember that both Old and New Testaments are filled with analogies, and Jesus Christ taught using parables.

So perhaps we had better take this seriously.

No, I stand corrected. Most definitely we should take this seriously. Nobody ever considered the difference between heavenly delights and the tortures of hellfire a laughing matter.

The Big Questions, Part III — The Need for Revelation

In the previous two parts of this series, we answered the two “big questions.” Who made us? God. Why are we here? To serve and worship Him. A third question naturally arose: “If our Creator made us to serve and worship Him, how do we do that?” In the previous article I suggested that the only way we can serve our Creator is through obeying His mandates, as conveyed through revelation.

But many people would question my assertion: Why does mankind need revelation? Isn’t it enough just to be good? Isn’t it enough for each of us to worship God in our own way?

Regarding the need for revelation, I would make the following points: In the first article of this series I pointed out that life is full of injustices, but our Creator is fair and just and He establishes justice not in this life, but in the afterlife. However, justice cannot be established without four things — a court (i.e., the Day of Judgment); a judge (i.e., the Creator); witnesses (i.e., men and women, angels, elements of creation); and a book of laws upon which to judge (i.e., revelation). Now, how can our Creator establish justice if He did not hold humankind to certain laws during their livetimes? It’s not possible. In that scenario, instead of justice, God would be dealing out injustice, for He would be punishing people for transgressions they had no way of knowing were crimes.

Why else do we need revelation? To begin with, without guidance mankind cannot even agree on social and economic issues, politics, laws, etc. So how can we ever agree on God? Secondly, nobody writes the user manual better than the one who made the product. God is the Creator, we are creation, and nobody knows the overall scheme of creation better than the Creator. Are employees allowed to design their own job descriptions, duties and compensation packages as they see fit? Are we citizens allowed to write our own laws? No? Well then, why should we be allowed to write our own religions? If history has taught us anything, it is the tragedies that result when mankind follows its caprice. How many who have claimed to banner of free thought have designed religions that committed themselves and their followers to nightmares on Earth and damnation in the hereafter?

So why isn’t it enough just to be good? And why isn’t it enough for each of us to worship God in our own way? To begin with, peoples’ definitions of “good” differ. For some it is high morals and clean living, for others it is madness and mayhem. Similarly, concepts of how to serve and worship our Creator differ as well. More importantly and to the point, nobody can walk into a store or a restaurant and pay with a different currency than the merchant accepts. So it is with religion. If people want God to accept their servitude and worship, they have to pay in the currency God demands. And that currency is obedience to His revelation.

Imagine raising children in a home in which you have established “house rules.” Then, one day, one of your children tells you he or she has changed the rules, and is going to do things differently. How would you respond? More than likely, with the words, “You can take your new rules and go to Hell!” Well, think about it. We are God’s creation, living in His universe under His rules, and “go to Hell” is very likely what God will say to any who presume to override His laws with their own.

Sincerity becomes an issue at this point. We should recognize that all pleasure is a gift from our Creator, and deserving of thanks. If given a gift, who uses the gift before giving thanks? And yet, many of us enjoy God’s gifts for a lifetime and never give thanks. Or give it late. The English poet, Elizabeth Barrett Browning, spoke of the irony of the distressed human appeal in The Cry of the Human:

And lips say “God be pitiful,”

Who ne’er said, “God be praised.”

Should we not show good manners and thank our Creator for His gifts now, and subsequently for the rest of our lives? Don’t we owe Him that?

You answered “Yes.” You must have. Nobody will have read this far without being in agreement, but here’s the problem: Many of you answered “Yes,” knowing full well that your heart and mind does not wholly agree with the religions of your exposure. You agree we were created by a Creator. You struggle to understand Him. And you yearn to serve and worship Him in the manner He prescribes. But you don’t know how, and you don’t know where to look for the answers. And that, unfortunately, is not a subject that can be answered in an article. Unfortunately, that has to be addressed in a book, or maybe even in a series of books.

The good news is that I have written these books. I invite you to start with The Eighth Scroll. If you’ve liked what I’ve written here, you’ll love what I’ve written there.

| Source |

[recentanimenews]

GUEST FEATURE: An Experimental Physicist Talks About How Dr. STONE Makes Science Fun

  This is an article written by guest author Valentina Ferro, an experimental physicist, author, and illustrator. 

  Famous inventor Leonardo da Vinci once said, “the noblest pleasure is the joy of understanding.” This is a quote I live by. You see, I am a scientist — an experimental physicist, to be precise. It makes perfect sense for me to cite this quote and to talk about science, and knowledge, and understanding.

  The point is, though, that I cited da Vinci because of the “joy” part. You could replace da Vinci’s quote with the phrase, “that’s exhilarating!” and it would not lose its meaning. Without that joyful inner motivation, I doubt we would have any science at all. No airplanes, no cotton candy machines, not even the screen you are reading this article from. I could talk about that joy, or I could convince you to experience it. For example, by watching the anime Dr. STONE. 

  Dr. STONE is the story of Senku, a young, talented high school student who wants to travel to space. However, an inexplicable calamity occurs and everyone on the planet is transmuted to stone. Senku wakes up thousands of years later. The passage of time has reverted Earth to a new stone age — he would need to kick-start technology from scratch to build society from the ground up and fulfill his dream of a space adventure. 

  This means doing science. From reinventing simple tools, like pottery and pulleys, to making glasses, electricity, and radios. All while shouting, “that’s exhilarating!” time and time again. I loved the show because of the quirky and fun experiments, but there is more to it than that. The anime describes science for what it really is: a difficult, collective endeavor, made up of countless failures, yet it’s one of the funniest and most joyful things we could do. 

  Don’t take my word for it, let’s have a look at what Dr. STONE offers for scientists, science-lovers and, to be honest, any curious viewers that enjoy fun. 

    The Science is Really Good

  If you have ever followed a comedy show like The Big Bang Theory, you would agree on one thing: physicists can be a pain in the neck. We spend hours debating how accurate a scientific fact is in our favorite sci-fi franchises. For Dr. STONE to even stand a chance, it needed to be accurate.

  Maybe the creators of the series were afraid of annoying physicists like me, or they just enjoyed finding all the right details — regardless, they pulled it off right from the beginning of the show. The first use of science in the anime is when Senku uses a mixture of nitric acid and alcohol to reverse the petrification process on his friends. While I cannot speak for the fictional de-petrification process, nitric acid and alcohol are, indeed, used in science to etch materials layer by layer at the molecular level. 

  And Dr. STONE does not stop at telling you the chemical process, but it shows you where Senku gathered the ingredients. He obtained nitric acid from nitrate-rich bat guano. He purified alcohol through a distillation process, making brandy from wine and condensing the evaporating fluids of the brandy to make (almost) pure alcohol.

Just to explore this one scene — we get a glimpse of the chemistry needed to make compounds that corrode other materials. We peek at a little bit of biology as we learn that bat guano degenerates into nitric acid only when the right microorganisms live in the environment. We get a taste of thermodynamics as that’s why alcohol evaporates and condenses, and the rest of the brandy does not. And this is only the beginning of the show! 

    My favorite example comes later, and the science is much simpler: the pinhole effect. One of the characters, a little girl called Suika, walks around wearing a melon rind as a mask, with two holes where the eyes should be. Not only does this make for an adorable chibi design, but it gives the opportunity to explain that Suika is wearing the melon mask because of her poor eyesight. Poor eyesight often means that when the light reaches the eye, the crystalline (the bulging clear part in front of the iris) is not able to focus it down at the right distance to form an image at the retina in the back of the eye. The light is focused just before or just after it. 

Senku explains that the small holes or apertures in the mask “force” the light to travel at a straighter angle, and thus the crystalline can now form an image that stays in focus for a longer depth, able to be intercepted at the retina. That’s how Suika can see. 

  One of the reasons I love this example is that you can try it yourself. If you have some eyesight issue, try making a small hole in a piece of cardboard and stare at something you cannot see well without glasses: through the pinhole, it should look much clearer. It is the same trick that is used in cameras when you want to have both the foreground and the background in focus. You might have experienced it countless times without knowing it.

  I was surprised that, while watching an anime, I got to enjoy some great examples of science and even got prompted to do some DIY experimentation. And, even if I am a PhD-decorated scientist, I got to learn something new surprisingly often. 

    The Science is Hard Work

  For the science to be accurate, it also means that Senku fails often. Science is hard. Science is trying one thing over and over again. Scientists do not know all the answers when they study something, and that’s the whole point of it. We get into the field with an idea, we fail, and then we adjust our aim. And the process repeats. 

The creators of Dr. STONE did not take any shortcuts. It would have been easier to have a super-humanly skilled high school kid never fail an experiment so they could get on with the plot, but they loved science enough to give failures the credit they deserve. 

  When making the nitric acid/alcohol compound, he needed an exact proportion of the two. A bit more of one thing, and the mixture is ineffective at chipping away stone. A bit more of the other way, and it will explode in your face. Before trying it on his friends, Senku spends months trying to perfect the mixture. In a beautiful shot, we see the many tens of petrified birds that he experimented on and who did not wake up. Months and months of failures.  

  It’s not that there are things that science can’t explain. You look for the rules behind those things. Science is just a name for the steady, pain-in-the-ass effort that goes behind it. 

–Senku

  Science is frustrating at times. You need a lot of determination to get you through it. But when you stop and think about it, failures themselves are what makes everything interesting. It means that there is more to understand, and more to discover, and more to play with before getting to the truth. 

    The Science is a Collective Endeavor

  Did you ever stop to think of how much humanity needed to achieve for just the simplest things in life? 

  Take a warm cup of coffee. You would need boiling water, coffee beans, and a grinder as the bare minimum. Beans are available all around the world now, but this is only after European explorers first traveled to the Americas. To navigate the ocean, they needed strong and reliable galleons. They employed the same principle Archimedes discovered in ancient Greece and decided to make a vessel out of wood. They needed to cut the wood into slabs, which means having access to metals to make blades. And making such blades would require melting the metals, which requires a furnace that can reach a higher temperature than that of a typical campfire. The furnaces would need to sustain higher temperatures without cracking, for which they would need pottery ... and so on. I have not even mentioned what would be necessary for the navigation, like sextants, compasses, maps, paper, ink. This is just for the beans!

  We often underestimate how much of our everyday life relies on the millions of small contributions many before us have made. Science and technology are the collective endeavors of humanity. Senku knows this well. Living in a new stone age, he has to fast-forward through many of these steps in order to get something that seems quite trivial. 

  In the field, we like to think about how much science is incremental, and that we stand on the shoulders of giants. But I had never stopped to think about what this really meant. Not until I cheered for Senku trying to make a radio, jumping from inventions that are centuries apart to make the device in the smallest number of steps. And believe it or not, one of the steps is making a cotton candy machine!

  This is my favorite aspect of the anime: getting to enjoy what we, as a species, have done and the pride that comes from being a part of the process. Appreciate the avalanche of effects that an “insignificant” discovery can have. 

  Head of the village: What you are making is totally unrelated, and yet the village becomes more and more enriched.

Senku: Yeah. That’s the way science is.

  Not to mention that this collectiveness goes beyond the history of progress. Senku is a genius. But, like any genius, without the support and help of his friends, he could not get very far. 

    The Science is Fun

  I am biased, I know. But science IS fun. It is fun to break (or blow) things apart. And it is fun to put them back together. And so are the “ah-ah!” moments that come along the way as you start to understand things.  

  Senku and his crew live in a challenging time. They fail over and over, they struggle to get things that are easily accessible to us because of centuries of progress. Yet they laugh, they play, and they make goofy faces. The show is colorful and light-hearted. 

  This is because the challenge and the failures pale compared to the thrill of discovery, the awe of understanding, and the pure fun of putting to practice something that is in our mind. An idea, first made of thin air, suddenly becomes real. 

  This is exhilarating! 

  Yes, indeed. And if I have failed to convince you that science is fun and that the Dr. STONE anime is worth watching for that very reason, I invite you to a final challenge: go do your own experiment, collect your data, and make your own theory.

  Or in other words, watch Dr. STONE and find out for yourself why the show can be an exciting adventure. Do it ... for science!

    Valentina Ferro is an experimental physicist, writer, and illustrator. You can visit her website, Inking Science, here.

    Watch Dr. STONE on Crunchyroll here!  

By: Guest Author