#naes handwriting

[naenaex0xx]

red tears

blue tears

the grey that feels like an explosion,

mad tears

bad tears

yet not wanting to cause a commotion,

happy tears

sad tears

I begin tearing at my emotions.

in the end I've chosen

these words that remain unspoken

yet through them I've woven,

the meaning of my tears.

[empressaraceli1992]

Sticky Note Prompt

Soap was late. Ghost sat down at their usual table, a tray of food in front of him untouched. Gaz sat down across from him tucking in almost immediately. Price joined a moment later – the newspaper tucked under his arm. Still no Soap. Confused, Ghost’s eyes swept the canteen for the sergeant. There was no sign of him or his damnable mohawk. 

“Something the matter?” Price asked over his newspaper. Ghost shook his head. He wouldn’t let Price know he was concerned about Soap. He had been quite twitchy and overbearing when it came to the sergeant after Las Almas, but he was careful to keep it under the radar. 

Or so he thought…

“Soap will be here soon.” Gaz assured him. “He had a personal project or something to work on before–” 

The canteen doors opened: Soap sauntered in, freshly showered, and dressed down in a simple t-shirt and jean combo. Grinning like the cheshire cat Soap scooped up his own tray and plopped down right next to Ghost. Under the table he pressed his thigh against Ghost’s – a small measure of comfort he had started doing after Las Almas. 

“Hey L.T.” He greeted Ghost. “Aren’t ye hungry?”

Ghost hummed tucking into his own food. Soap watched him for a moment, eyes sparkling, before he began to eat himself. Ghost listened to the cheerful banter between his teammates. Conversation flows easily despite his lack of input. 

“I’m off to bed.” Soap said suddenly.

“You sick son?” Price asked, setting his newspaper down.

“Nae, dinnae worry.” Soap assured him. “I’m just tired.”

That was a lie. Ghost could see the energy radiating off of Soap as he dumped his tray and left the room. The sergeant was up to something. Ignoring the growing discontent in his stomach Ghost tossed his own tray and made his way to his room. He was tired. It had been a long day. He had trained the recruits, put up with their covert looks, and poorly hidden curiosity. Ghost was used to being looked at like a monster – a myth of the 141 told to scare young recruits into behaving. If it made him lonely, if it made him hurt, he didn’t tell anyone. Swiping his keycard in his door, he slipped into his room and flipped on the light. 

“What the–?” Ghost room was covered in sticky notes. Hundreds of them covered every surface: his desk, his chair, his bed, the walls! Growling to himself Ghost began scooping the sticky notes up and crumbling them up to throw away. Stupid Soap and his fucking pranks. This was the last thing he needed today.

Scraping some of the notes off his desk into the bin he noticed something on one of the notes. Curious, Ghost picked the stick note up and examined it. In careful, scrawled handwriting were the words: You are amazing.  Confused, Ghost began examining the rest of the notes. Each and every single one of them had something written on them. Anything from a simple “Smile!” to little sketches of him and Soap doing little things around the base. The drawings were simple, chubby little things – chibby? – of anything Soap found worth remembering.

There was a depiction of them – in cute chibby form – eating breakfast. Another of them fighting together. Even one Ghost without his mask to a teary eyed little Soap. Soap had even doodled some of his jokes – a pair of blind skydivers, a half a dog, two goldfish in a tank…

The words spun around in his mind:

You are kind.

You are good.

You are loved.

You are smart.

You are brave.

You are cool!

Ghost read each and every sticky note he came across. In his head he could hear Johnny reading the words to him. Sitting heavily on his bed, disturbing some of the ones he hadn’t gotten to yet, he could feel the tears welling up in his eyes. 

[renee-writer]

Letters Chapter 5

AO3

She carries them into the great room where she has a folding table and chairs set up. Sitting in one, she lays the letters out. Opening one, she sees it is addressed to,

 

 

“Our coming bairn,

 

My darling, this is yer da. I dinna ken whether ye be a lass or a lad. It matters not. Yer mama assumes I wish for a lad. I dinna think she believes me when I say it doesn’t matter. Truly whatever God gifts us with is fine with me.

I cannae wait to see ye. To see yer mama in ye. She is beautiful. I ken ye will be as well. I cannae wait to take ye riding. A horse man, or lass, ye shall be.

Yer mama believes it will be anytime, yer coming. She is sae brave. Yer da has delivered many a horse and coo. To see a woman be delivered of a child, weel, yer da is glad that I dinna have to witness such. “

 

The next on the pile is wrinkled when she removes it. From long dried tears, she sees as she reads the opening line.

 

“Ye were delivered still, my daughter. Yer Auntie Jenny named ye Faith. Beautiful, as I expected ye to be, fair of skin with my red hair and yer mama ‘s curls. Yer mama…”  There is a break here where a swatch of ink takes the center of the page, “yer mama wished for Julia, after her own mama. We thought it better to wait until a living child. Nae it matters.” Another break. She reads his breaking and shattered heart in the pauses, “They couldn’t stop the bleeding. They tried. Jenny was near covered with it when she came to tell me. I was holding ye, saying goodbye. She took ye and I rushed in, just in time.  She slipped away as I held her hand, begging her to stay.

Ye are both with the angels now. I am alone.”

 

Claire laid the missive aside, reaching for the tissues. She wept for this heartbroken man. This Jamie who feels as near as his writing. After a few minutes, she picks up another one. It is next in the chronological order he wrote them.

 

“My dearest Claire,

 

We laid ye to rest today. Faith lays cradled in your arms. I dinna ken how to go on from here. The life we planned is under the dirt and I only go on out of habit. How am I to keep moving forward without ye? How could death part us sae soon?

I railed against the Almighty. How can His will be thus? I shall find ye again. If it takes all of eternity, I shall find ye! I must.”

 

“What type of love is this?” she asks the room.

 

Shaking, she slides the next one out.

 

“My dearest Claire,

 

Hope! I have hope. How ye could have kept such a thing from me, I cannae fathom. Going through yer things, I found the letter ye penned to me. I understand so much more now. How ye ken’ d what ye did. I would have believed ye. There was always a trust between us. All ye had to do is tell me. Ah, ye have, in ye own way.

As ye made it here once, I ken ye can again. I shall be waiting. As always, yer faithful husband.”

 

“What the hell?” Claire mumbles to herself. Inside the envelope, that the last letter had been in, there is another.  Opening it, she sees, to her shock, her own handwriting. It is recognizable even with the different writing instruments used. Heart pounding, she reads it.

 

“My dearest Jamie,

 

I have a confession. I am not who I seem to be. Yes, I am your wife and shall always be. But, I am more. I am a time traveler. I was born in the year 1915. While in Scotland on holiday, I explored a strange set of standing stones. A touch of the largest transferred me to your time. I woke up disoriented in a time different from my own. Then Murtagh found me. My clothing, that you thought a shift, was actually a dress from my time.

I should have told you straight away but, I never expected to fall so deeply in love with you. I pray soon I get the courage to share this with you. You deserve the truth.

Your love,

Claire.”

 

She sits holding the letter as the clock chimes the hour. It brings her back to herself.  Shaking her head in a futile effort to clear it, she struggles to make sense of it all.

[sailermoon]

I wanna do that handwriting game so bad but ach nae….hw calls 😓

[intothegenshinworld]

THIS IS ADORABLE!!! They'd get along so well with each other TuT Would Spooky seelie hang out with Hu Tao as well? I feel like she’d like your seelie a lot!!

Side note: I actually got some inspo to draw on my break so I was able to add Nae(non) Seelie and Spooky Seelie to the Seelie wall!!! (u.t.c. is the pic of the current seelie wall)

I know, my handwriting sucks TuT I always have to lay my notebooks tilted cause I write diagonally (idk why either hahHA)

ALSO!! I tried using the same colors as you did but lmk if you want Spooky Seelie different!! 

[libidomechanica]

Untitled (“And often to breed”)

A limerick sequence

               I

Is your wit and slake, in war, that all. Rose orbs. Of sleep, save me, or mend. Words    are? And often to breed.    He flying cudden, propped upon the day. The people have done.

               II

His eyes; so much; then haste, while the Lady FRANCES drest, as I ought Seek doubtful    screamingly. His wish    too, for the mark upon, to keep my dreamer, waking earthquake.

               III

My dripping the level—No! Then The Sage under the sorrow must be truth    and spent. That her music    driving truth is, false to be neat, still the rape is metaphor.

               IV

Strongest rear’d on libbard’s paws, upheld the iron porch … year after nine which    gave my life; yearning the    games. A hauf, and trolls and concomitant with a feast reason.

               V

The flame, Wherefore, and tug at thy light. Till the first I saw in a dungeon    was thou goest onward    smart, and that keep, her die than thine arms full brimm’d, and Self-contempt!

               VI

Which a night and stumbling hastily. Makes her whisper’d, fly! But sincere, as    spectators? Let spears—or    were never leaves to-day as I have lov’d in vain thy fangs o’er!

               VII

Stoking wind wit, whose immortal name, and when my bewailed on the fireworks    grown handwriting I    wrote should do nae mair: hers are rebuilt. You humbly own—’tis death.

               VIII

’Ve mickle time, grey—age o’ertook him the Gods that mansion. I stood up    the while the destined by    her grief, as in the mountain when the blade return, sole-thoughts, speak.

               IX

His broad half-pillar, far apart be as a doubts, though every side. In which    else to preclude fresh frown,    ormisda mine.—I, CHARLES— then to meaning the gossip rout.

               X

Not yet; but I. And where she did not their songs and embeds every exercise    of a madman, over    bank, bush, singing thro’ the land: on the mouth was the riven!

               XI

Then, I haste designed; so passions fit. My stocking, for a tear could to the    Humours sell. In malice    will gathering all to wake in out afterimage; but fain’d.

               XII

Swung in the grass never realms of smoke. Mourn the family of Sir Ralph from the    Grates; when I do come for    a skin which fair, so young Lochinvar? Go though both sexes fit.

               XIII

Thou wast they may not even children die before him not! But like a mermaids    are lang! She flung    shipwrecking thee made the Brightest wanes; when the Sweet! Yet how the bed.

               XIV

Then would be a button for his breath fluorescent breast. Once-a-boy pilfering    to the pain and oh,    her where are we? Wherein the noisy world’s soul’s spring or years.

               XV

‘Or if thou only gleaned till I die. Little boys and goblets, at will do    not a man’s fine; but their    sweetness is spread. Prays, they provide their excellence. For a blow.

               XVI

That reaps not daring sea, diffuse the view, gored mind and let’s light of her sideways,    but permitted, nor    hast leave me with plume, for her! The bed-side, nor no. That more grieve.

               XVII

Then save his level: spattered round veins, in the light, clover of love alone    flowers of life’s busy    fear topp’d with under than I, say, where so stunn’d and dim espial.

               XVIII

Upon her nymphs, when thou hast the ever dwell and still the wine my mothers    of the moonlight, clover    leaned. Back and melt away, so that make a lamb he country’s pride.

               XIX

And even to medicine a heap That Light with they rose and the lose wither.    Down like, and all my    face new. And hide the eagle and lust, take much important ways.

               XX

I’m going human trammel up and those champaign with not outlearne in body’s    future will, impetuous    lanterns. Thou, bethinks would have a monument, the go-cart.

               XXI

Not in a clue wi’ ony body thus by his rapier braine. As he    came in to be surely    be brides, for whom my bonie face was a-cold; seen at her for her!

               XXII

When there’s nane again, fair imperfection, and frugally resolved he    lies where my passes. I    and space saints doth raine; and teach, as fearfully, afar; and ill.

               XXIII

A fathoms, falser than they prove, by conquest, with me. The Mind like a rope.    Power may find, this    eternal number. And all his life than thine sha’na steer the dust!

               XXIV

So you exit, return and all we loved and bear it came, veiling. Love,    defiance, argosies of    changes every side, his might bard from the cost, chose transfuse with&.

               XXV

One gem was like an under a stronger, swear, get drunk, the rites the dimpled    pair, and swam the sees; on    sea-ward Quantock’s head with all the wall, where the most. ’Re they say.

               XXVI

Because he was pale rage, nor tutor of his quench love. He rose or a whit    and pitie claim. But we weep,    and that I know of our there but my suit he made of my Soul.

               XXVII

Will make me a little like shattered in ease, and won. Till, having pomp of    death all the grass a crystal    vial Cupid brought within, which I should have made the pains!

               XXVIII

A lord of men breast renew them still. And when his frost which suns perish’d, and    in woolly folds its song    will fall, their light? The fierce, peace! Sunny mead and a son, three bands!

               XXIX

I see that mighty youth, when the book of eve and the wood; for Nation is,    and unto wind upon    the eagle soar! Fill will story rip itself or I will blind.

               XXX

My silent light most approach’d; each me, only gleam and in what Barbican.    To venture sickly sigh?    In the first distant view; and his breasts, thou wilt thou art not still.

               XXXI

And all with kings of hell is death, and crystalline: a clock nor a bloody    armament at once a    tower in the door. Anthea for the hours have stream immers.

               XXXII

Baby fingers like a rope. My grief in Wine we sweete tuneable with bold    pretence and made the    exhausted linen, smoothed limbs with reconciled in a summer swell?

               XXXIII

That I’d let him brings that abandoned arm toward bold; then ye are seven.    Complete with weak hands behind    a horrid shout rose: the farm they bedew’d the ragged pine.

               XXXIV

The lade o’ my soul fatigued away till days are lang! You are; likewise I    have disdains the prize in    safety land, mid listened, you are wit that ever, never more!

               XXXV

Twelve steps. The ark: so we extinct the shadow the battle, small wood and shook    the strength forth, with deep midnight,    how many a loathed rite Thy beauty in the eagle soar!

               XXXVI

I smil’st, fair unbound, and told, but coast. Fell and straight and bare to harp of Life,    the haunting it to the    kingless sphere, with a slight learn that touching down the stony bed.

               XXXVII

And kings, and swam for Lycius answer. In which there wet with graceful undressing    feature to love, as    well as much importune had the tropics, to prove our soul’s ward.

               XXXVIII

Now, sun, and I stop, and dates, in the still do whate’er the flower pains! Love    as wax and plume, and speech.    Descended by reason, shall in ways of altered Cymon’s back.

               XXXIX

Had fired; love maintain. Let him befall some well-proportioned nose, the purple-    lined palace open,    but though sorrows sends; by the bugle-horn. Another us.

               XL

With lines, the battle-flags were empty nest as that screeches more and forgave    thou art may veil. The grassy    slopes of Europe than once in wide, far as just let my heart.

               XLI

The rivers, silver twilight and now begun to the honey-meal: and the    Gods, who’s so dumb that she    signs. Evening I wrote I kiss may without you praised: proud lady.

               XLII

As I said, your Pasimond his labour, I my jest: for want to reclaim    her wind,—and now beams on    martyrdom. It is a moon is me! The could dry as it said?

               XLIII

But of seven! Mine was a poet sings, a shield, and some patient to ask    them with fears me, this impe    features consented, supposing tower half-lost cold mortal!

               XLIV

And could not stay! If her vain, and I did, till this woe; what Love’s old Falstaf    says let us be    unashamed of thunder, and melt—’twas just excuse to one color.

               XLV

And thither hands clasp your knife, That sense: in night stretch forgetfulness are in    thine head,—on mine. Breaking.    Had watch! The distance in your little maiden shut? A shielded!

               XLVI

Attend they knees, dreamer! And oh, her demands, now she paceth forward flair    rare steamship, warm, unnerved    succour vain; wherein I shall vex thee, though a clouds odorous.

               XLVII

Not a choice between the road was this hand for a magnet. My thought except    for Agnes’ Eve: and all    that high-built fair in ilka quarters of life—and grinning breasts.

               XLVIII

And her delight and lucent syrops, tinct in the boys begins. Anthea    for their open wide hall    thy transparent. Stately music, from its to turn from the ground.

               XLIX

With ease on what was in a circle rides, stunned with soft and most most loving    men to be dress the durst,    in despair! In secret sister an unknown each on nor blind.

               L

Because her hand;—half-acre tomb. With music. He broke me a head! Now scorn,    close, hush’d to its wrecks like    Nature: these many days go by, when the same&not uncommon.

               LI

The are dead. Of their brilliance and rigged with reason, owe, made a Lady’s emblems    of the love denies    his crowne, as welcome, which her back, she faded at the passes.

               LII

And ever as pale uncertainty doors, Our Adonais call, and a dastard    in the cool, he fiercely    her side! Work of habit— there we expected, or a France.

               LIII

—Then rising the wintry hail and new- fired, and was his passion, joy and    now, the fuse in black-eyed    daughter, let the Eske riven! Already at my affection.

               LIV

’ My soul did pleasurer, so like the spirit hovering creature? She to Rhodes    in one can see thee down;    my lately be thou would be know no azure-lidded sleeping.

               LV

Shoulder, give a name and perfection. A war ensues, they rose by us;    we two are gone; and his    Demon all the night; flush’d to it out the tomb. Let Heaven’s loved?

               LVI

Or just above the gather wind blush to fluttering into seclusion.    Pageants: but the words are    heard it, every part in our dear Love did late their life was it?

               LVII

I hear away; if our night, since Faire is bleed, but fie! List which had a few    leave to the brickwork’s cleft    in thy part, where thee more distant view; and since then where they grew?

               LVIII

With there Cymon sudden with thy looks the bride’s paths, embower’d new; thy look    back your hair rising like    fine to wall. By nodding ring, in the ground, than the hall is fled!

               LIX

With eager eyes the stub of her cheeks, and a crust, is—Love, if I had release    the soldier watching    ghost to that high Capital, its wings in the waters play? Grass.

               LX

And twilight, though the bridal, young Lochinvar. In the floats an European    flag, slides the queen, fair    with neither side! I loved me much to preclude fresh frown when then!

               LXI

Ere were old, for this songs and I wonder, whiff! Left the woodmen heat, the vaulted    roof of awful magic    manhood firm again, fair with tears even can make? Night limbs.

[nakatadhana]

nakakatuwa lang, yung mga terms & disorders & drugs na napapanood ko noon sa doctor prisoner nae-encounter ko na siya sa lessons namin ngayon hahahaha 😆 i think buti na lang talaga na nag-pharma ako. ang saya maka-encounter ng terms tapos una mo siyang nalaman from kdrama hahahahHAHA kaya mahal na mahal ko talaga doctor prisoner eh

sneak peek from my notes HAHAHAHA siyempre di ko makakalimutan yung wilson disease na yan favorite ep ko yung case na yan from dp eh 😆

pasensya na sa handwriting nagmamadali ako niyan????

[vermillionbones]

based on something i said last night

[c2emoved]

some cabinet men... just for u ❤️

[griba]

Can I just say your handwriting is very nice?? Its very clean and has round corners, its like a really nice font sgdfdghgf

aww ty :D i try lol

[byakuyasdarling]

Ahh, since I’m busy tomorrow, I’m probably not going to get this small (and a bit rushed) project done until next week at the least as I start school in 3 days :) I’m not even sure if I’ll end up posting it, dufhuef.

I’ll drop the conglomeration of sketches that have been helping me though! Some you’ve already seen as I’ve separated them outside of the project, but they’re still on the planning page, ahaha.

You can also attempt to read my (messy) handwriting for my notes, but there’s not too much outside of what I’ve said in posts there. Can you tell I can’t draw kids?? LMAO.

I hope you have a wonderful day 💙💙

[DNI if you ship and post about Nae//gami. Block me immediately and leave.]

[naenaex0xx]

I wake up and time is gone,

close my eyes and life has shifted.

scenes that travel to and from,

Like smoke that has yet to be lifted

[indigobackfire]

Phoenix needs help studying History of Magic. Well, not really but if that'll be enough to get a moment alone with Ismelda, he's willing to play along.

Where Phoenix tries to convince Ismelda to help him study HoM.

This has been sitting in my drafts for a while and now I've decided it's time for it to see the light. Not my best writing and pretty short, just Phoenix being a clown.

Note: when I mention the sunglasses, I have Crowley's from Good Omens in mind.

Phoenix sucks in a deep breath watching by the doors the low but considerable movement in the Clocktower Courtyard, but none of those other people mattered, not to him nor to her — it's risky but it's worth a try. He wasn't going to call her on a date, that word wouldn't dare to leave his mouth, but it feels just like it. It's sunny, so to catch Ismelda outside was a rare occasion.

They aren't friends exactly, and colleagues wouldn't suit them either, but she didn't seem to hate him... that much, and if he had any intention to ever attempt to make a move, he had to get himself to be considered at least a friend.

He wipes his sweaty hands on his jeans and hopes his hair still looks as put together as it did when he left his dorm that morning.

Phoenix hasn't ever been left this nervous by a girl, but Ismelda wasn't any girl — she's the most unreachable, hostile, and aggressive girl he knew, but also the one he's inexplicably enamored with. It was beyond what he could put into words, but whenever she was near or her name was mentioned, he felt his chest going hollow and a heat took over his face.

She was so very much herself and shameless about it and he loved that, she was the darkness in which inhabited terribly mesmerizing things and he was eager to dive into it.

He shoves his hands in the pockets of his sweatshirt and tries, as casually as he can, to walk into the courtyard in her general direction who's sitting sideways by the fountain, small rounded sunglasses on her face and a leather-bound notebook open in her hands, biting her lip, focused on the page.

Once he's close enough, he acts as if he had just seen her there. "Oh, Ismelda? Hey."

She looks up at him with a frown at his friendly tone. "Nobleworth."

He crosses his arms and rests his back on the pillar. "What ye reading?"

"My potions notes."

"Oh nice, cool, potions." He peeks over her shoulder, too far to be able to read. "You have uhm... pretty nice handwriting."

She shuts the notebook closed and brings her sunglasses to her hair. "What do you want from me, Phoenix?"

He goes blank for a second with her saying his name and her stare, her dark green eyes exposing brown flecks under the light of the sun. He only recollects his thoughts when she moves. "I was thinking... nah, forget it."

She brings her legs down. "Ugh, just say it before I run out of patience."

"Nae, you'll just mock me for it. I better—"

"I'll mock you either way. Just spit it out."

"Fine." He sits beside her keeping a palm's worth of distance between them. "So, ah dinnae ken if it's true... but I've heard that you're good at History of Magic. I might've misheard—"

"Yeah, you've misheard. I'm not good."

Phoenix freezes in place, Oh, Merlin! What do I say now? "Oh, well—"

She smirks. "I'm the best at History of Magic."

Phoenix lets out a sigh that even Ismelda notices. "Uhm, you scared me there for a second."

She shrugs, proud of herself. "I do that sometimes. So? Just came here to tell me that? My time is precious, Nobleworth."

He chuckles amused, knowing very well she's prone to procrastinating and kips and wasting time, the only reason her proficiency at History could be even considered to be rumor was the fact she never stayed awake for a single class, but Phoenix was attentive and kept a careful eye at her grades, all her essays aced, and one time he managed to peek at her parchment, he noticed the eloquence and conviction with which she wrote about the Witch Hunts and its ramifications, one of the most extensive and difficult subjects in his opinion.

"No, no, not just that," he continues with a better-humored air. "Based on that, now confirmed, fact, I was wondering if you maybe could help me with History of Magic. You know how soul-sucking Binns' class can be—"

Ismelda bursts out laughing and is so unexpected to Phoenix, he can only open an ear-to-ear smile and watch as she laughs. It was a rare sighting and Phoenix noted the deep, musical tone her laugh had, trying to store it in his brain cause he knows it'll be a long while until he hears it again. But then it hits him, she's either laughing at the joke or at his request... and just like that, his smile is gone.

"Soul-sucking, that's a good one Nobleworth. So History of Magic is equivalent to being kissed by a dementor to you?"

"With Binns teaching, yes. If you could help me..."

She crosses her arms. "Why not go to the Khannas? You're friends."

"Rowan is always running around with Indigo, she won't be able to help me and Rowen is, uhm, busy helping... Tonks. Ye ken she's always playing during class and OWLs are later this year, she wants to become an Auror and for that she'll—"

"Alright, I got it." She takes a deep breath. "There's just one thing, you don't need my help."

He gives her a puzzled look. "I do? That's why I'm asking."

"But after me and the Khannas, you're one of the best in History of Magic in our class. What? I might be sleeping but I can still hear what's going on and you're one the few making questions, the type of questions only someone who knows what's being taught could ask."

Phoenix couldn't refute, he wasn't bad at History of Magic, at all. Most times he simply allowed himself to drift away by Binns' entrancing voice and tried to immerse himself in the history being discoursed, then it was easy comprehending it all. But it wasn't like she could help him with potions or arithmancy, subjects he actually needed help with, History was her passion and the safest way to try and reach her.

"Yes, but now I need help. With the Statue of Secrecy and the Warlock Convention... I mean these aren't as fun as Giant Wars or Witch Hunts."

Phoenix can see a shadow of a smile on the corner of her lips. "Can't say I don't agree with you." She drums her nails on the cover of her notebook. "Fine, I'll help you study for History."

Her voice had softened and a silly smile grows on his lips. "Thanks, Ismelda, that means a lot."

"But don't tell anyone, not only I got a reputation to maintain, people start using you when you get nice."

"Give an inch, they'll take a mile... ah ken how it goes, I've been there."

"That's because you're too nice. But I'll help you because you're one of the very very few that doesn't look at me as if I'm a vermin and doesn't treat me like rubbish."

"I'd never do that," he says with a firm voice, turning to her.

"I hope so, or else you're not getting my help. Right, I had enough sun for a week." She gets up pulling her sunglasses back down. "At the library tomorrow? After lunch." He nods. "I'll be at the History section waiting for you, don't bring any friends."

He smiles with a subtly air of naughtiness. "I won't."

[whiskyscots]

✒️

letters from scotland ;; accepting

@forviik

     There is a clamour of bodies, the whisper of many excited voices, energy coiled tight as a spring around the far end of the Slytherin table where one Georgie McBulloch sits holding in their small hands nothing else but a howler.

     Georgie, despite the magical prodigy they have proven to be, is surely no stranger to scoldings and tellings-off, from pranks gone wrong (or very right) to detentions swiftly dished out. Yet this howler seemed different, the handwriting scrawling their name on the envelope familiar, and they may open it more eagerly than anyone else could warrant.

GEORGIE, A BHOBAIN,

HEARD ABOUT YOUR RECENT THIRD YEAR EXAM RESULTS, VERY PROUD! A 320% IN MUGGLE STUDIES? BLOODY BRILLIANT! YOU'LL BE TAKING AFTER YOUR OLD MAN IN NAE TIME I'M SURE. MAYBE WHEN YOU COME HOME I CAN TAKE YOU ON A TOUR OF THE OLD OFFICE, GET YOU SOME WORK EXPERIENCE OR SOMETHIN'?

ON OUR END ITS BEEN PRETTY BORIN'. HAD DATE NIGHT WITH CASSIE AND WAS BOTH CALLED OUT ON THE SAME JOB HALFWAY THROUGH, ENDED UP STAYIN' OUT 'TIL 3AM AND ORDERED A PIZZA FOR HOME INSTEAD. CANNAE SAY I'M NOT PLEASED, THE RESTAURANT WAS HER DAD'S RECOMMENDATION AND HE'S SO FUCKIN'- WHAT DO YOU MEAN I CANNAE SWEAR, CASS? GEORGIE'S HEARD ME SWEAR- THE OTHER KIDS? AW SHITE YEAH-

ANYWAYS, SAY HI TO YOUR COUSIN FOR ME, TELL HIM HIS DAD'S GOT A CASE OF THE GARDEN GNOMES AGAIN. UNCLE LLEWYS ALSO SAID HE'LL BE SENDIN' YOU A POSTCARD FROM ROMANIA SOON, SO WATCH FOR THAT.

LOVE YOU LOTS KIDDO, KEEP UP THE SMARTS AND STAY SAFE, WRITE IF YOU NEED ANYMORE FILIBUSTER FIREWORKS.

[ask-de-writer]

SEA DRAGON’S GIFT : Part 59 of 83 : World of Sea

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SEA DRAGON’S GIFT

Part 59 of 83

by

De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)

140406 words

copyright 2020

written 2007

All rights reserved.

Reproduction in any form, physical, electronic or digital is prohibited without the express consent of the author.

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Copyright fair use rules for Tumblr users

Users   of Tumblr.com are specifically granted the following rights.  They may   reblog the story provided that all author and copyright information   remains intact.  They may use the characters or original characters in   my settings for fan fiction, fan art works, cosplay, or fan musical   compositions.

All sorts of fan art, cosplay, music or fiction is actively encouraged.

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New to the story?  Read from the beginning.  PART 1 is here

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Chapter 22: The Search

Rage, grief and mortification warred in Captain Mord’s heart as he looked at the map-table where he had sent Kurin in such anger.  The worst was that, even if the Grandalor’s sailors were a boarding party, Kurin had been right.  

The law was as clear as his anger was deep.  While it was believed that the Grandalor’s sailors were castaways, the Longin had been required to pick them up, if only to hold them for trial.  At least some of them paid in blood for their treachery!  But they got what they came for.  We may never see her again…  The thought trailed off into unbearable pain.

Bron’s arm was trailing.  He had bruises, one on his back, between the shoulder blades and one on the inside of his elbow.  It was not serious but if his attacker had used a knife instead of that silly, weighted sack of fish-leather, he would have been dead.  

Other crewmen were beginning to tell their tales of the battle and they were slowly realizing the same things.  The assailants had been too few to have any hope of taking a ship like the Longin.  Also, none of their enemies had been armed with anything but a padded leather cosh. It was as if they were trying not to hurt anyone on the ship. Some fools were even trying to tie that Sea Hawk to the attack.  It was just lost in the fog.  

Then they began to hear, Kurin’s gone!  The bastards had kidnaped her! But that made no sense.  They could have simply killed her.  They had already tried to do it once.  It would have been far less risky.

Looking at the map-table clearly, Captain Mord saw what he has missed the first time.  There in the tallow, written in Kurin’s neat handwriting, was a note.

“Captain: The Grandalor’s crew needs justice.  Their rights under the second G. L. have been violated.  I have gone to help them.  Kurin”

First they tried to kill her, now this!  No matter what excuse, they have stolen her!  In anger, partly at himself and partly at Kurin for being so gullible, he wiped out the note before any other should notice it.  Details aren’t important!   Whatever ruse they used, they kidnapped Kurin!  The Grandalor is guilty!

Captain Mord returned forward, where one of the boarders lay propped against the foremast.  The man had been stabbed deeply but still lived. Feebly he extended a hand holding a folded tallow-slate, hinged shut to protect its message.

Weakly he said to the enraged Mord, “Captain, read this. It’s from my Captain.  We were to be your hostages for Kurin’s return…” He slumped lax, dead from his wounds, the tallow-slate falling from his fingers with a small clatter onto the Longin’s deck.

Captain Mord kicked the tallow-slate away unread.  “Toss this Grandalor trash over the side,” he ordered.

His crew looked at him aghast.  Nobody moved.  Mord became angrier and yelled, “Dump him!  That’s an order!”  At last, a few deck-hands took the man’s body and dragged him to the rail.  An Orca began to sing.  They dropped him in fear.  One noticed the tallow-slate and picked it up as he retreated.

Captain Mord realized that nobody would touch the body since the whale had begun to sing and heaved it over the side himself.  The whale’s song went on for another ten minutes.  

When it was done, Captain Mord ordered, “Swab up this blood and straighten up the area.”  His men did do that, though they had begun to whisper among themselves as they worked.

Kurin disentangled herself from the joyous hug that Tanlin was giving her and said, “I need to see your log first, then all of the sickbay documentation.  I want to see all of the Purser’s accounts and look over Master Selked’s shop.  After that, I am going to interview virtually everyone on board.”

Tanlin let her go, becoming brisk, now that there was a task at hand.  “Oi’m glad.  Wen do ye wont t’ begin?”

“If I can eat in here, I’ll begin now,” said Kurin.  “I need to start with the beginning of the indenture trade.  I have to know about that in detail if I am to save your ship from Scattering.”

Tanlin got up and went to the long shelf holding the Logs of the Grandalor. As she was going down the line, absently tapping the spines of the volumes with her left index finger, she said thoughtfully, “T’ere’s somet’in’ t’at ye’ll find wen ye get t’ t’e interviews. Oi didnae mention ‘t before because ‘t wa’nae important in t’e way t’at ye asked about.  ‘T does bear on ‘ow t’is ship wad respond t’ a penalty o’ Scatterin’.  

“Every person on t’is ship’s adopted.  All o’ t’em are now named Grandalor, m’sel’ included.  ‘T happened t’e morning after our flight began.  T’ey knew t’at t’e ship wa’ implicated in murder an’ chose t’is way o’ tellin’ Barad an’ m’sel’ t’at t’ey wad nae abandon us.  

“Oi joined t’em.”  She swallowed past a hard lump in her throat and a tear glistened in the corner of her eye.

“Princamorn wa’ but a name t’ m’ an’ t’e Grandalor’s home.  Oi dinnae wont t’ lose ‘t.”  

Intently, Kurin said, “I see.  That makes a difference — to me at least,” she looked sharply at Tanlin, “if it was a voluntary thing.”

Tanlin was already fishing the necessary volume of the log from its shelf and looked back over her shoulder.  “Twas.  T’ey’d planned t’ do ‘t publicly, in t’e main square o’ t’e Gat’ering, ‘ad reserved ‘t, in fact, wen we ‘ad t’ flee.  T’ey came t’ m’ first.  Twas a total an’ welcome surprise.  T’e only light in some very dark days.”  She found the place that she was looking for in the book and gave it to Kurin.

Kurin settled cross-legged on Tanlin’s bunk with the book in her lap and began turning pages one at a time, glancing at each page and moving on.  Tanlin watched as Kurin leafed through the volume of the log, almost twenty Gatherings old.

There was a scratching noise at the cabin’s window.  Tanlin smiled to herself as it swung inward and Skye’s head poked into the cabin. The Wide Wing looked alertly about and stepped into the room.  The bird turned about on the sill and used her beak to push the window closed and then hop-fluttered to the table in front of Tanlin, who chucked her under the beak and stroked her under a slightly raised wing.

Skye settled on the table and waited quietly.  Kurin looked up with a smile and said, “Who’s trained who, here?”

Tanlin replied lightly but sort of seriously, “T’ey made m’ part o’ t’eir rookery flock an’ welcomed m’ t’ t’eir nest.  Could Oi do less?”

Before there was any answer possible, Tahm returned with food, cups, utensils and trays.  He set out the table, working nonchalantly around the sitting bird.  Kurin put the log aside and came to the table.

“I take it that this happens a lot?” she said with a genuine smile.

It was Tahm who answered, “Every time that the Captain eats in. Sometimes it’s Skye, here.  Sometimes it’s Thunderhead.  I’m told that after the chicks are grown, it’ll be both of ‘em. Better behaved than many of the crew.”

The main course that he laid out was a Strong Skin roast.  The bird looked sideways at Tanlin, who nodded.  The bird promptly dove her beak into the edge of the roast and peeled off a strip.  She began to bite it into bits which she swallowed quickly.

Kurin watched in fascination.  “Better get yers w’ile ye still ‘ave a chance, Skye’s stoking up for ‘er chicks,” said Tanlin.  She reached out, speared the roast with a chopstick and cut off slices with the knife that Kurin remembered from their first meeting.  She piled the slices onto a tray along with a generous serving of red weed bread buns and seaweed salad.  She handed the tray to Kurin and poured water into a cup.

“Sweet, sour or bitter flavor in yer woter?”

“Plain, please.  Flavors for water?  I never heard of any such thing.”

“Tis a Grandalor specialty.  Barad told m’ t’at Kurti showed ‘t to ‘im shortly after she started t’ work as ‘is cabin-girl.”

“Now that puzzles me.  I know what you told me at the Gathering but why would a skilled diver and stores clerk like Kurti stoop to becoming a cabin-girl?” Kurin asked around a mouth full of salad.

Tanlin considered for a moment and fed Skye a few more bits of roast before answering.  “Oi wa’ still in m’ coma then.  According t’ both Barad an’ Doctor Corin, she knew t’at she might die from ‘er lung parasite infection.  Twas gettin’ worse in spite o’ t’e treatments.  Doctor Corin wa’ just about t’ put ‘er on t’e invalid list.  She wa’ in sickbay gettin’ a treatment wen she met Barad.  ‘E’d come by t’ sickbay t’ look in on m’.

“‘E offered ‘er t’e light work job t’at ‘ad just come open, due t’ Chena’s untimely deat’.  Kurti ‘ated bein’ useless.  She jumped at t’e chance t’ avoid t’e invalid list an’ stay useful.  T’ keep t’e seriousness o’ ‘er condition bein’ a matter o’ common gossip, Barad ordered ‘t kept secret.  Barad could be considerate sometimes, even t’en.”

“I think that I see.  The Barad that the fleet saw was something of a fiction?”

Tanlin leaned back nervously in her chair and gripped her right hand with her left.  “Oi truly wish t’at Oi could say t’at but Oi promised ye t’e trut’.  Tis a longish tale.  

“Barad wa’ always a somew’at calculatin’ man.  Once, long ago, Barad an’ Selked were married t’ twins from t’e Muline an’ by all accounts t’ey were ‘appy.  

“An epidemic o’ fire cough swept t’e ship.  Both Teralas, Selked’s wife, an’ Teralat, Barad’s wife, were among t’e nearly forty percent o’ t’e ship’s crew ‘oo died.  Barad almost went mad wit’ grief, an’ dealt wit’ ‘t by calculatin’ almost everything.  T’at’s ‘ow he became t’e Barad t’at you knew.

“Shortly after t’at, t’e Ca’tain died in ‘is sleep.  A Coriolis storm wa’ comin’ an’ t’e crew needed command.  T’ey took Barad’s orders an’ ‘e got t’e Grandalor t’rough safe, even t’ough t’e ship wa’ massively undermanned.

“‘E wa’ elected Ca’tain after t’e storm.  At t’e Gat’ering t’at followed, ‘is election wa’ challenged by yer Ca’tain Mord.  ‘E almost cost Barad both ‘is Ca’taincy an’ ‘is life.  In t’e end, t’e Council up’eld Barad by only two votes.  Even t’ose ‘oo voted in ‘is favor sponsored a resolution t’at t’ey did so only because t’e evidence against ‘im wa’ nae sufficient. T’at wa’ t’e origin o’ t’e grudge t’at ‘e ‘eld against Ca’tain Mord an’ t’e Naral fleet as a ‘ole.

“Barad rebuilt t’e crew by takin’ in t’e scupper sweepin’s o’ t’e fleet.  T’e ones t’at naebody else wanted.  T’e Grandalor became a refuge for t’ose wit’ nae ot’er place t’ go.  Barad took t’em on a case by case basis an’ let t’em swim t’ Iren, if ‘e believed t’at a last chance would nae ‘elp.

TO BE CONTINUED

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[wtfgaylittlezooid]

As the person who drew the drawing under “oh he resting”, it’s ok I got horrid handwriting too [sad whip and nae nae]

Sad whip and nae nae gang