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plaguedocboi · 11 months ago

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Bottomless Pits

We post holes here, sir.

Sinkholes, pit caves, wells and cenotes all have one thing in common; sometimes they’re bottomless. Not truly “bottomless”, of course, but in appearance, reputation, or of incredible depth. We’ve seen a few of these “bottomless pits” in prior lists such as the Lost Sea in Tennessee or the Devil’s Hole in Nevada, but today we will focus on those strange places in the earth that seem to be endless.

1. Laguna Kaan Luum, Mexico

This one threw me for a loop because I was originally only seeing pictures like the one above, so I was like ‘oh, that’s cool, so it’s kinda like Dean’s Blue Hole, where it’s an ocean sinkhole right off the shore…’

No. It’s not that. Let’s zoom out a bit.

Yeah. This is a lake with one giant sinkhole in the middle! It’s about 2,000 feet across and reaches depths of 278 feet, with the surrounding shallows a very pleasant 4 feet deep! I’m mostly including it on the list because the full image hit me like a bus.

2. Sima Humboldt, Venezuela

Tepuis are large plateau mountains found across Venezuela, often with sheer sides and inaccessible tops that inspired explorers to imagine dinosaurs still surviving on these isolated mesas. Even on their own, tepuis are incredible, beautiful and mysterious. Add a sinkhole with an even more isolated forest at the bottom, and you have all the ingredients for some crazy shit to happen. Sima Humboldt and Sima Martel are two enormous sinkholes at the top of Cerro Sarisariñama. Humboldt is the largest at over a thousand feet across and nearly the same in depth, with a jungle flourishing at the bottom. The sinkhole forests are home to many endemic species of both plant and animals, but so far, no prehistoric monsters have been found in any of them.

3. Well of Barhout, Yemen

The “well of hell” is a massive sinkhole in the desert, measuring about 100 feet in diameter and plunging down over 300 feet. Understandably, there are many myths and legends about this place, including a story about an evil djinn which lives at the bottom and takes the head of anyone foolish enough to climb in. In fact, so pervasive are these legends that the sinkhole was only formally explored in 2021! Luckily they did not find any evil spirits, but they did find stalagmites which reached 30 feet tall, cave pearls, and waterfalls which provided refuge for frogs and snakes.

4. Myakka sinkhole, Florida

This murky abyss is filled with more than just water, it is also home to over a hundred alligators. Due to the poor visibility and very high concentration of large carnivores, it is very difficult to study this pit. Only a few people have ever glimpsed the bottom of this 134-foot deep sinkhole, but apparently we aren’t missing much because the water down there is stagnant and inhospitable to most life. Exactly why this area is so popular among alligators is still unknown, but it’s likely due to a combination of food availability and ideal temperatures.

5. The Pit cenote, Mexico

Like Cenote Angelita, The Pit is a layered cenote. The first 88 feet is freshwater, then there is a “fog” of hydrogen sulfide, below which lies over 300 feet of brackish water. The Pit is a spectacular-looking cenote, with an almost otherworldly quality, which makes it very popular among divers. So far, this pit has been explored to a depth of 390 feet, but unexplored passages extend further.

6. Thor’s well, Oregon

Like a drainpipe continuously swallowing an unbroken stream of ocean water, Thor’s well is often likened to a bottomless pit. However, it is actually only about 20 feet deep, and the drain effect is due to the fact that it connects back to the ocean, not swallowing the water but simply rerouting it. This does not mean that there is no danger, though. The rocks are slippery and sharp, and this area sees a higher than average number of ‘sneaker waves’; waves that look normal as they roll in but are actually much larger than they appear, potentially sweeping people out to sea as they retreat. The true danger here is the ocean, not the well.

7. Vouliagmeni Lake, Greece

This incredibly beautiful saltwater lake has been rumored to have healing properties for thousands of years, and today continues to draw in visitors for its medicinal minerals and “doctor fish”. But this famous lake hides a secret; a labyrinth of caves whose depths have never been fully explored, and whose connection to the ocean remains undiscovered. Passages stretch over a mile into the mountains, with an average depth of 260 feet. The largest of these caverns is nearly 500 feet wide and full of warm sea water. Although a spectacular diving spot, these unknown caverns are best not underestimated.

8. Santa Rosa blue hole, New Mexico

A gorgeous natural swimming hole, this cenote is roughly 80 feet wide and 80 feet deep (in most places) and is a popular destination for tourists. It was also used for diving certification tests, until an incident in 1976. There is one spot in this picturesque cenote that goes down much further than 80 feet; the entrance to a cave. In the dark, twisting passages, two young divers got lost and died, and the cave was later sealed with a metal grate to prevent other divers from attempting to enter. The cave was mostly forgotten about until 2013, when cave divers were given permission to attempt to map the area. The blue hole is at least 200 feet deep, but the bottom of the cave still has not been found.

9. Roaring River Spring, Missouri

This turquoise river bubbles up from a ten-foot wide pool of deep water hidden within a sheer-sided canyon. But despite its peaceful appearance, this spring discharges 20 million gallons of water a day, and the exact source is still unknown. In 1979, divers attempted to map the cave, but reached a point 225 feet down where the passage constricted and had a water flow like “the force of an open fire hydrant”, preventing them from going any further. In 2020, divers waited until the water flow was lowest in the summer and descended to a depth of 472 feet with no bottom in sight, making this the deepest spring in the US!

10. Your Mom.

I jest, of course. Here’s the real one:

Hranice Abyss, Czech Republic

A tiny greenish lake in the forest is the opening to the deepest freshwater cave in the world, deeper than the Empire State Building is high and still seemingly bottomless. It is so deep that scientists think it may have been formed by a totally different process than most freshwater caves; instead of water eroding away the ground from above, it may have been created by acidic groundwater coming up from below. And this water is extremely acidic, able to burn a diver’s skin if not covered properly. This, combined with fallen trees and other debris, poor visibility, and the sheer vertical drop of the cave, creates incredibly dangerous conditions for diving. Because of this, no diver or ROV has reached the bottom yet. But with a recent study using seismic sensors, scientists have estimated that the abyss may be over a kilometer deep, twice what was previously thought.

#long post #water rating #bathophobia

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kanerallels · 1 year ago

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Listen guys. I tried my best to read the book that actually won on that poll-- it wasn't available. So I put it on hold and while I wait, I'm reading The Fog Diver!! Live blog to follow

#reading and liveblogging with hazel #the fog diver #i kid you not neither small spaces nor the blackthorn key were available #i'm putting them both on hold though!

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 7 months ago

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1968 [Chapter 9: Dionysus, God Of Ecstasy]

Series Summary: Aemond is embroiled in a fierce battle to secure the Democratic Party nomination and defeat his archnemesis, Richard Nixon, in the presidential election. You are his wife of two years and wholeheartedly indoctrinated into the Targaryen political dynasty. But you have an archnemesis of your own: Aemond’s chronically delinquent brother Aegon.

Series Warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, character deaths, New Jersey, age-gap relationships, drinking, smoking, drugs, pregnancy and childbirth, kids with weird Greek names, historical topics including war and discrimination, math.

Word Count: 5.9k

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged! 🥰

💜 All of my writing can be found HERE! 💜

The October surprise is a great American tradition. As the phases of the moon revolve towards Election Day, the candidates and their factions seek to ruin each other. Lies are told, truths are exposed, Tyche smiles and Achlys brews misery, poison, the fog of death that grows over men like ivy. The stars align. The wolves snap their jaws.

In 1844, an abolitionist newspaper falsely accused James K. Polk of branding his slaves like cattle. In 1880, a letter supposedly authored by James Garfield—in actuality, forged by a New York journalist—welcomed Chinese immigrants in an era when they were being lynched by xenophobic mobs in Los Angeles and San Francisco. In 1920, a rumor emerged that Warren Harding had Black ancestry, an allegation his campaign fervently denied to keep the support of the Southern states. In 1940, FDR’s press secretary assaulted a police officer outside of Madison Square Garden. In 1964, one of LBJ’s top aids was arrested for having gay sex at the Washington D.C. YMCA.

Now, in 1968, Senator Aemond Targaryen of New Jersey is realizing that he will not be the beneficiary of the October surprise he’s dreamed of: his wife’s redemptive pregnancy, a blossoming first family. There is a civil rights protest that turns into a riot in Milwaukee; this helps Nixon, the candidate of law and order. For every fire lit and window shattered, he sees a bump in the polls from businessowners and suburbanites who fear anarchy. Breaking news of the My Lai massacre—committed back in March but only now brought to light—airs on NBC, horrifying the American public and bolstering support for Aemond, the man who has vowed to begin ending the war as soon as he’s sworn into office. The two contestants are deadlocked. Election Day could be a photo finish.

Nixon is in Texas. Wallace is in Arkansas. In Florida, Aemond visits the Kennedy Space Center and pledges to fulfill JFK’s promise to put a man on the moon by 1970. He makes a speech at the Mary McLeod Bethune Home commending her work as an educator, philanthropist, and humanitarian. He greets soldiers at the Naval Air Station in Pensacola. He feeds chickens to the alligators at the Saint Augustine Alligator Farm Zoological Park.

But it is not the senator the crowds cheer loudest for. It is his wife, his future first lady, here in her home state where she staunched her husband’s hemorrhaging blood and appeared before his well-wishers still marked with crimson handprints. In Tarpon Springs, she and Aemond attend mass at the Saint Nicholas Greek Orthodox Cathedral and pray at an altar made of white marble from Athens. Then they stand on the docks as flashbulbs strobe all around them, watching sponge divers reappear from the depths, breaking through the bubbling sapphire water like Heracles ascending to Mount Olympus.

~~~~~~~~~~

You kick off your high heels, tear the pins and clips out of your hair, and flop down onto the king-sized bed in your suite at the Breakers Hotel. It’s the same place Aemond was almost assassinated five months ago. He has returned in triumph, in defiance. He cannot be killed. It is God’s will.

You are alone for these precious fleeting moments. Aemond is in Otto’s suite discussing the itinerary for tomorrow: confirmations, cancellations, reshufflings. You pick up the pink phone from the nightstand on Aemond’s side of the bed and dial the number for the main house at Asteria. It’s 9 p.m. here as well as there. Through the window you can see inky darkness and the kaleidoscopic glow of the lights of Palm Beach. The Zenith radio out in the kitchenette is playing Satisfaction by the Rolling Stones. No intercession from Eudoxia is necessary this time; Aegon answers on the second ring.

“Yeah?” he says, slow and lazy like he’s been smoking something other than Lucky Strikes.

“Hey.” And then after a pause, twirling the phone cord around your fingers as you stare up at the ceiling: “It’s me.”

“Oh, I know. Should I take off my pants, or…?” He’s only half-joking.

You smile. “That was stupid. Someone could have bugged the phone.”

“You think Nixon’s guys are wiretapping us? Give me a break. They’re goddamn buffoons. They’re too busy telling cops to beat hippies to death.” You hear him taking a drag off his joint, envision him sprawled across his futon and enshrouded in smoke. “Everything okay down there in the swamp?”

You shrug, even though Aegon can’t see you. “It’s fine.”

“Just fine?”

“My parents were there when we stopped in Tarpon Springs. They kept telling everyone how proud they are of me, and I just felt so…dishonest.”

“Of course they’re proud. If Aemond wins, the war ends and more civil rights bills get passed and this hell we’ve all been living in since 1963 goes away.”

“I miss you,” you confess.

“You’ll be back soon to enjoy me in all my professional loser glory.” He’s right: Aemond’s entourage will spend Halloween at Asteria. You’ll take the children trick-or-treating around Long Beach Island—with journalists in tow, of course—and then host a party with plentiful champagne and Greek hors d’oeuvres, one last reprieve before the momentous slog towards Election Day on November 5th, a reward for the campaign staffers and reporters who have served Aemond so well. “What are you going to dress up as?”

“Someone happy,” you say, and Aegon chuckles, low and sardonic. “Actually, nothing. Aemond and Otto have decided that it would be undignified for the future president and first lady to be photographed in costumes, so I will be wearing something festive yet not at all fun.”

“Aemond has always been somewhat confused by the concept of fun.”

“What are you going to be for Halloween?”

You can hear the grin in his voice as he exhales smoke. “A cowboy.”

“A cowboy,” you repeat, giggling. “You aren’t serious.”

“Extremely serious. I protect the cows, I comfort the cows, I breed the cows…”

“You are mentally ill. You belong in an asylum.”

“I ride the cows…”

“Cowboys do not ride cows.”

“Maybe this one does.”

“I thought you liked being ridden.”

Aegon groans with what sounds like genuine discomfort. “Don’t tease me. You know I’m celibate at the moment.”

“Miraculous. Astonishing. The Greek Orthodox Church should canonize you. What have you been doing with all of your newfound free time?”

“Taking the kids out sailing, hiding from Doxie, trying not to step on the Alopekis…and playing Battleship with Cosmo. He has a very loose understanding of the rules.”

“He does. I remember.”

“He keeps asking when you’ll be back.”

“Really?” you ask hopefully.

“Yeah, it’s cute. And he calls you Io because he heard me do it.”

“Not an appropriate myth for children, I think.”

“Cosmo’s what, seven years old?”

“Five.”

“Close enough. I think I knew about death and torment and Zeus being a slut by then.”

“And you have no resulting defects whatsoever.” You roll over onto your belly and slide open the drawer of the nightstand. Instead of the card Aegon gave you at Mount Sinai—you’ve forgotten that you’re on Aemond’s side of the bed—you find something bizarre, unexpected, just barely able to fit. “Oh my God, there’s a…there’s a Ouija board in the nightstand!”

Aegon laughs incredulously. “There’s a what?!”

“A Ouija board!” You sit upright and shimmy it out, holding the phone to your ear with one shoulder. The small wooden planchette slides off the board and clatters against the bottom of the drawer. “Why the hell would Aemond have this…?”

“He’s trying to summon the ghost of JFK to stab Nixon.”

“Oh wow, it’s heavy.” You skim your fingertips over the black numbers and letters etched into the wooden board. There’s something ominous about the Good Bye written across the bottom. You can’t beckon the dead into the land of the living without reminding them that they aren’t welcome to stay.

“Aemond is such a freak. Is it a Parker Brothers one, like for kids…?”

“No, I think it’s custom made. It feels substantial, expensive. Hold on, there’s something engraved on the back.” You flip over the Ouija board so you can see what your hands have already felt. The inscription reads in onyx cursive letters: No ghosts can harm you. The stars were never better than the day you were born. With love through all the ages, Alys.

“What’s it say?” Aegon asks from his basement at Asteria.

You’re staring down at the Ouija board, mystified. “Who’s Alys?”

Instead of an answer, Aegon gives you a deep sigh. “Oh. Yeah, she would give him something like that. Fucking creepy witch bullshit.”

“Aegon, who’s Alys?” She’s his mistress. She has to be. It fills your skull like flashbulbs, like lightning: Aemond climbing on top of another woman, conquering her, owning her, binding her up in his mythology like a spider building a web. And what you feel when the shock begins to dissolve isn’t envy or pain or betrayal but—strangely, paradoxically—hope. “She’s his girl, right?”

“Please don’t be mad at me for not telling you,” Aegon says. “There wasn’t a good time. When I hated you I didn’t care if he was fucking around, and then after what happened in New York I didn’t want to hurt you, I didn’t know how you’d take it. It’s not your fault, there’s nothing wrong with you. She was here first. He’d have kept Alys around if he married Aphrodite herself.”

“I’m not mad.” You’re distracted, that’s what you are; you’re plotting. “Where is she?”

“She lives in Washington state. I’m not sure exactly where, I think Aemond moves her a lot. He doesn’t want anyone to see him around and start noticing a pattern. Neighbors, shopkeepers, cops, whoever.”

“Washington.” Just like when Ari died. Just like when Aemond didn’t come back. “Who knows about her?”

“Just the family. Fosco and Mimi found out because when they married in, the fights were still happening. Otto and Viserys demanding he give Alys up, Aemond refusing. It’s the only thing he ever did wrong, the only line he drew. He said he needed her. She could never be his first lady, but she could be something else.”

“His mistress.”

“Yeah,” Aegon says reluctantly. “Are you…are you okay?”

“I’m okay. What’s wrong with Alys?”

“What?”

“Why couldn’t Aemond marry her?”

“I mean, she’s the type of psycho who gives people Ouija boards, first of all,” Aegon says. “And she’s…she’s not educated. Her family’s trash. She’s older than Aemond. Hell, she’s older than me. She would be an unmitigated disaster on the campaign trail. She unnerves people. But Aemond, he…”

“He loves her,” you whisper, reading the engraving on the back of the board again. “And she loves him.”

“I guess. Whatever love means to them.”

A thought occurs to you, the first one to bring you pain like a needle piercing flesh. “Does she have children?”

Again, Aegon sounds reticent to disclose this. “A boy. Aemond’s the father.”

“How old?”

“I don’t know, I think he’s around ten now.”

And that’s Aemond’s true heir. Not Ari, not any others he would have with me. That place in his heart is taken. He couldn’t mourn the loss of our son because he already has one with the woman he loves.

Out in the living room of the suite, you hear the front door open. There are footsteps, Aemond’s polished black leather shoes.

Aegon is asking: “Are you sure you’re okay? Hello? Babe? Hello? Are you still there?”

“I’m fine. I gotta go.”

“Wait, no, not yet—!”

“Bye.” You hang up the phone and wait for Aemond to discover you. You’re still clutching the Ouija board. You’re perched on the edge of the bed like something ready to pounce, to kill.

Aemond opens the bedroom door, navy blue suit, blonde hair short and slicked back, his eyepatch covering his empty left socket. He’s begun wearing his eyepatch in public more often—not for every appearance, but for some of them—and whoever finally convinced him to concede this battle wasn’t you. His right eye goes to you and then to the Ouija board in your hands. He doesn’t speak or move to take the board, only studies you warily.

“I know about her,” you tell him.

Still, Aemond says nothing.

“Alys,” you press. “She’s your mistress. You’re in love with her.”

“I did not intend to hurt you.” His words are flat, steely.

“I’m not hurt, Aemond.”

“You shouldn’t have ever known about this. I apologize for not being more discrete. It was a lapse in judgment.” But what he regrets most, you think, is that his secret is less contained, more imperiled.

“What we have is a political arrangement,” you say. The desperation quivers in your voice. “You don’t love me, you never have, and now we can be open about it. You need me to win the White House, but that’s all. Your true companion is elsewhere. I want the same thing.”

He steps closer, eye narrowing, iris glinting coldly, puzzled like he couldn’t have understood you correctly. “What?”

“I want to be permitted to have my own happiness outside of this imitation of a marriage.”

“No,” Aemond says instantly.

Your stomach sinks, dark iron disappointment. “But…but…why?”

“Because I don’t trust you to not get caught. Because I need to be sure that I am the father of the children you’ll give birth to. And because as my wife you are mine, and mine alone.”

Tears brim in your eyes; embers burn in your throat. “You’re asking for my life. My whole life, all of it, everything I’ll ever experience, everything I’ll ever feel. I get one chance on this planet and you’re stealing it away from me.”

“Yes,” Aemond agrees simply.

“So where’s my consolation?” you demand. “You get Alys, so where’s mine?”

“What do you want?”

You don’t reply, but you glare at your husband with eternal rage like Hera’s, with fatal vitriol like Medusa’s.

“You think I don’t know about that little card you keep in your nightstand?” Aemond is furious, betrayed. “You used to hate him.”

“I was wrong.”

“Because he was at Mount Sinai and I wasn’t? Three days undid everything we’ve ever been to each other? Our oaths, our ambitions?!”

“No,” you say, tears slipping down the contours of your cheeks. “Because he’s real. He doesn’t try to manipulate people into loving him, he doesn’t pretend to be someone he’s not, when he’s cruel it’s because he means it and when he’s kind that’s genuine too. And he wants to know me, who I really am. Not the woman I have to act like to get you elected. Not who you’re trying to turn me into—”

Aemond has crossed the room, grabbed the front of your teal Chanel dress, and yanked you to your feet. The Ouija board jolts out of your hands and lands on the carpet unharmed. Your long hair is in disarray, your eyes wide and fearful. You try to push Aemond away, but he ignores you. You can’t sway him. You’ve never been able to. “Aegon has nothing to his name except what this family gives him,” Aemond snarls, hushed, hateful. His venom is not for his brother but for you. You have upended the natural order of things. You have dared to deny Zeus what he has been divinely granted dominion over. “You would jeopardize his wellbeing, his access to his children? You would ruin yourself? You would doom this nation? If you cost me the election, every drop of blood spilled is on your hands, every body bag flown home from Vietnam, every martyr killed by injustice here. What you ask for is worse than being a traitor and a whore. It is sacrilege.”

“Let go of me—”

“And there’s one more thing.” Aemond pulls you closer so he knows you’re paying attention. You’re sobbing now, trembling, choking on his cologne, shrinking away from his furnace-heat wrath. “Aegon isn’t capable of love. Not the kind you’re imagining. He gets infatuated, and he uses people, and then he moves on. You think he never charmed Mimi, never made her feel cherished by him? And look how she ended up. I’m trying to carve your name into legend beside mine. Aegon will take you to your grave.”

Your husband shoves you away, storms out of the bedroom, slams the door so hard the walls quake.

~~~~~~~~~~

Parading down streets like the victors of a fallen city, jack-o-lanterns keeping watch with their laceration grins of firelight. Hecate is the goddess of witchcraft, Hades rules the Underworld, Selene is the half-moon peeking through clouds in an overcast sky. The stars elude you.

The children—ghosts, pirates, princesses, witches—dash from doorstep to doorstep like soldiers in Vietnam search tunnels. They smile and pose in their outfits when the journalists prompt them, beaming and waving, showing off their Dots, Tootsie Pops, Sugar Daddies, Smarties, Razzles, and candy cigarettes before depositing them in the plastic orange pumpkins that swing from their wrists. Only Cosmo, dressed as Teddy Roosevelt with lensless glasses and a stuffed lion thrown over one shoulder, stays with the adults. He is the last one to each house, approaching the doorway reticently like it might swallow him up, inspiring fond chuckles and encouragement from the reporters. He clutches your hand and hides behind you when towering monsters lumber by: King Kong, Frankenstein, vampires with fake blood spilling from their mouths.

Aemond wears a black suit with orange accents: tie, pocket square, socks. You glimmer in a black dress dotted with white stars, clicking down the sidewalk in boots that run to your knees, silver eyeshadow, heavy liner. You almost look your own age. There are large star-shaped barrettes in your pinned-up hair, bent glinting metal. As the reporters snap photos of you and Cosmo walking together, they shout: “You’ll be such a great mother one day, Mrs. Targaryen!”

Fosco is Ettore Boiardi—better known as Chef Boyardee—an Italian immigrant who came through Ellis Island in 1914 with a dream of opening a spaghetti business. Helaena, Alicent, and Ludwika are, respectively, Alice, Wendy, and Cinderella; Ludwika clops along resentfully in her puffy sleeves and too-small clear stilettos. Criston is Peter Pan. Aegon wears a white button-up shirt, cow print vest, ripped jeans, brown leather boots, a cowboy hat that’s too big for him, and a green bandana knotted around his throat. He stays close to you and Cosmo because he can, here where the journalists expect to see him being a devoted father and active participant in the family business of mending a tattered America. Teenagers are fleeing their families to join hippie communes and draftees in Vietnam are getting their limbs blown off and junkies are shooting up on the streets of New York and Chicago and Los Angeles, but here we see a happy family, a perfect family, a holy trinity that thanks the devotees who offer them tribute. Otto, who neglected to don a disguise, glares at you murderously. You have failed to give Aemond a living child. You have dared to want things for yourself.

Back at Asteria in the main house, the children empty their plastic pumpkins on the living room floor and sort through their saccharine treasures, making trades and bargains: “I’ll do your math homework if you give me those Swedish Fish,” “I’ll let you ride my bike for a week if I can have your Mallo Cup.” While the other adults ply themselves with champagne and chain smoke away the stress of the campaign trail, Aegon gets his Caribbean blue Gibson guitar and sits on the couch playing I’m A Believer by The Monkees. The kids clap and sing along between intense confectionary negotiations. Cosmo wants to share his candy cigarettes with you; you pretend to smoke together as sugar melts on your tongue.

Now the children have been sent to bed—mollified with the promise of homemade apple pies tomorrow, another occasion to be documented by swarms of clamoring journalists—and the house becomes a haze of smoke and indistinct conversation and music from the record player. Platters of appetizers have appeared on the dining room table: pita, tzatziki, hummus, melitzanosalata, olives, horiatiki, mini spanakopitas, baklava. Women are chattering about the painstaking labor they put into costumes and men are scheming to deliver death blows to Nixon, setbacks in Vietnam, Klan meetings in Mississippi. Aemond is knocking back Old Fashioneds with Otto and Sargent Shriver. Fosco is dancing in the living room with drunk journalists. Eudoxia is muttering in Greek as she aggressively paws crumbs off of couches and tabletops. Thick red candles flicker until wax melts into a pool of blood at the base.

Through the veil of cigarette smoke and the rumbling bass of Season Of The Witch, Aegon finds you when no one is looking, and you know it’s him without having to turn around. His hand is the only one that doesn’t feel heavy when it skims around your waist. He whispers, soft grinning lips to your ear, rum and dire temptation like Orpheus looking back at Eurydice: “Let’s do some witchcraft.”

You know where Aemond keeps the Ouija board. You take it out of the top drawer of his nightstand in your bedroom with blue walls and portraits of myths in captive frames. Then you descend with Aegon into the basement, down like Persephone when summer ends, down like women crumbling under Zeus’s weight. You remember to lock the door behind you. You’re not high—you can’t smoke grass in a house full of guests who could smell it and take it upon themselves to investigate—but you feel like you are, that lightness that makes everything more bearable, the surreal tilt to the universe, awake but dreaming, truth cloaked in mirages.

Aegon has stolen three red candles from upstairs. He hands one to you, keeps a second for himself, and places the third on his end table beside a myriad of dirty cups. You glimpse at his ashtray and a folded corner of the receipt that’s still tucked beneath it, and you think: I have my card, Aegon has his receipt, Aemond has his Ouija board. I wonder what Alys likes to keep close when she sleeps. Then Aegon clicks off the lamp so the only light is from the flickering candles.

He tosses away his cowboy boots, hat, vest and is down on the green shag carpet with you, his hair messy, his white shirt half-unbuttoned. He’s taking sips of Captain Morgan straight from the glass bottle. He’s lighting a Lucky Strike with the wick of his candle and then giving it to you to puff on as he places the planchette on the board. “Wait, how do we start?”

You exhale smoke, setting your candle down on the carpet and then tugging off your own boots with some difficulty. “We have to say hello.”

“Okay.” Aegon places his fingertips on one side of the heart-shaped planchette and you rest yours lightly on the other. He begins doubtfully: “Hello…?”

“Is there anyone who would like to send us a message from the other side this evening?”

“You’ve done this before,” Aegon accuses.

“I have. In college.”

“With a guy?”

You chuckle, taking a drag as the cigarette smolders between your fingers. “No, with my friends. It’s not really a date activity.”

“I think it’s very romantic. Candles, darkness, danger, who’s gonna protect you when the ghosts start throwing things around…”

“You’d fight a ghost for me?”

“Depends on the ghost. FDR? You got it. I can take a guy in a wheelchair. Teddy? No ma’am. You’re on your own.”

“Which ghost should we summon?”

Aegon ponders this for a moment. “John F. Kennedy, are you in this basement with us right now?”

“That is wrong, that is so wrong.”

“Then why are you smiling?” Aegon says. “JFK, how do you feel about Johnson fucking up your legacy?”

“That is not the kind of question you’re supposed to ask. We’re not on 60 Minutes.”

“JFK, do you haunt the White House?” Aegon drags the planchette to the Yes on the board. “Oh no, I’m scared.”

“You are a cheater, this is a fraudulent Ouija board session.” You put your cigarette out in the ashtray and then take a swig from Aegon’s rum bottle. “JFK, are we gonna make it to the moon before 1970?”

Aegon pulls the planchette to the No. “Damn, Io, bad news. Guess the Russians win the Space Race and then eradicate capitalism across the globe. No more beach houses. No more Mr. Mistys.”

“Give me the planchette, you’re abusing your power.”

“No,” Aegon says, snickering as you try to wrestle it away from him. In his other hand he’s clutching his candle; scarlet beads of wax like blooddrops pepper your skin as you struggle, tiny infernos that burn exquisitely. Red like paint splatter appears on Aegon’s shirt. You grab the green bandana around his throat, but instead of holding him back you’re drawing him closer. The Ouija board and all the world’s ghosts are momentarily forgotten.

“You’re dripping wax on me—”

“Good, I want to get it all over you, then I want to peel it off and rip out your leg hair.”

You’re laughing hysterically as you pretend to try to shove him away. “I’m freshly shaved, you idiot.”

“Everywhere?” Aegon asks, intrigued.

You smirk playfully. “Almost.”

“Okay, let’s get you cleaned up.” Aegon sets his candle down on the carpet and strips away tacky dots of red wax: one from your forearm down by your wrist, another from your neck just below one of your silver hoop earrings, wax from your ankles and your calves and right above your knees. His fingertips are calloused from his guitar, from the ropes of his sailboat. They scratch roughly over you, chipping away who you’re supposed to be.

Then Aegon stops. You follow his gaze down. There is a smudge of wax on the inside of your thigh, extending beneath the hem of your dress, glittering black and white fabric that hides what is forbidden to him. Aegon’s eyes are on you, that troubled opaque blue, drunk and desperate and wild and afraid. With your fingers still hooked beneath his bandana, you say to him like a dare: “Now you’re going to stop?”

His palm skates up the smoothness of your thigh, and as he unpeels that last stain of red wax his other hand cradles your jaw and his lips touch yours, gently at first and then with the ravenousness of someone who’s been dying of thirst for centuries, starving since birth. You’re opening your legs wider for him, and his fingers do not stop at your thigh but climb higher until they are whisking your black lace panties away, exploring your folds and your wetness as his tongue darts between your lips, tasting something he’s been craving forever but only now stumbled into after four decades of darkness, trapped in you like Narcissus at his pool.

You are unknotting his green bandana and letting it fall to the shag carpet. You are unbuttoning the rest of his shirt so you can feel his chest, soft and warm and yielding, safe, real. The candlelight is flickering, the thumping bass of a song you can’t decipher pulsing through the floor above. Now beneath your dress Aegon’s fingers are pressing a place that makes your breath catch in your throat, makes you dizzy with need for him. He looks at you and you nod, and he reads in your face what you wanted to say months ago in this same basement: Don’t stop. Come closer.

Aegon lifts your dress over your head, nips at your throat as he unclasps your bra, and you are suddenly aware of how the cool firelit air is touching every part of you, how you are bare for him in a way you’ve never been before. You catch Aegon’s face in your hand before he can see the scar that runs down the length of your belly and say, your voice quiet and fragile: “Don’t look at me.”

Pain flashes in his eyes, furrows across his brow. “Stop,” he murmurs, kissing your forehead as you cling to him. Then he begins moving lower and you fall back onto the carpet, no blood on Aegon’s hands this time, only your sweat and lust for him, only crystalline evidence of a betrayal you’ve long ago already committed in your mind.

You’re combing your fingers through his hair and gasping as Aegon’s lips ghost down your scar, not something ruinous or shameful but a part of you, the beginning of your story together, the origin of your mythology. Then his mouth is on you—yearning, aching wetness—and you thought you knew what this felt like but it’s more powerful now, more urgent, and Aegon is glancing up to watch your face, to study you, to change what he’s doing as he follows your clues. And then there is a pang you think is too sharp to be pleasure, too close to helplessness, something that leaves you panting and shaking.

You jolt upright. “Wait…”

Aegon props himself up on his elbows. His full lips glisten with you. “What? What’d I do wrong?”

“No, it’s not you, it’s just…it’s like…” You can’t describe it. “It’s too…um…too intense or something. It’s like I couldn’t breathe.”

Aegon stares at you, his eyebrows low. After a long pause he says: “Babe, you’ve come before, right?”

I’ve what? “Yeah, of course, obviously. I mean…I think so?”

He’s stunned. He’s in disbelief. Then a grin splits across his face. “Lie back down.”

You’re nervous, but you trust him. If this costs you your life, you’ll pay it. He pushes your thighs farther apart and his tongue stays in one spot—where you touched yourself in the bathtub in Seattle, where you wanted him when he slipped his fingers into you for the first time—and suddenly the uneasy feeling is something raging and irresistible like a riptide in the Atlantic, something better than anything you knew existed, and you keep thinking it’s happened but it hasn’t yet, as you cover your face with your hands to smother your moans, as your hips roll and Aegon’s arms curl under your thighs to keep you in place so he can make you finish. It’s a release that is otherworldly, celestial, terrifying, divine. It’s something that rips the curtain between mortals and paradise.

It’s always like this for men? That’s what Aemond has been getting from me, that’s what I’ve been denied?

As you lie gasping on the carpet Aegon returns, smiling, kissing you, running his fingers through locks of hair that have escaped from your pins. “Not bad, right little Io?” he purrs, smelling like rum and minerals, earth and poison. Now he’s taking off his jeans, but before he can position himself between your legs you have pushed him onto his back and straddled him, pinning his wrists to the floor, watching the amazement ripple across his flushed face, the desire, the need. You tease Aegon, leaning in to nibble at his ear and bite gingerly at his throat, never harming him, never claiming him, grinding your hips against his and listening as his breathing turns quick and rough. Then you slip him inside you, this man you once hated, this man who was a stranger and then a curse and now a spell.

Aegon wants to be closer to you. He sits up as you ride him, hands on your face, in your hair, kissing you, inhaling you, shuddering, trying not to cry out as footsteps and laughter and thunderous basslines bleed through the ceiling. You know he’s been high on so many things—things that corrupt, things that kill—and you hope you can compare, this brief clean magic.

He can’t last; he finishes with a moan like he’s in agony, and as the motion of your hips slows, you take his jaw in your grasp and gaze down at him. “Good boy,” you say with a grin. Aegon laughs, exhausted, drenched in sweat, his hair sticking to his forehead. He embraces you so tightly you can feel the pounding of his heart, racing muscle beneath bones and skin.

He’s murmuring through your disheveled hair: “I gotta see you again, when can I see you again?”

You don’t know what to say. You don’t have an answer. You unravel yourself from Aegon and dress yourself in the red candlelight: panties, bra, dress, boots, all things that Aemond chose for you, all things he bought with his family’s money, all things he owns. Aegon has nothing to his name and neither do you. You are—like Fosco once said—pieces of the same machine.

“Where are you going?” Aegon asks, like he’s afraid of the answer.

“I have to go back upstairs to the party before someone realizes I’m missing.”

“Are you serious?”

“I am.” You kneel on the carpet to kiss him one last time, your palm on his cheek, his fingers clutching at your dress as he begs you not to leave. “I have to, I have to,” you whisper, and then you do.

You grab the Ouija board and planchette off the green shag carpet, hug them to your chest, and hurry up the steps. The first floor of the Asteria house is a maze of cigarette smoke and clinking glasses, guests who are dancing and cackling and drunk. From the record player strums Johnny Cash’s Ring Of Fire. You slip unnoticed to the staircase.

In the blue-walled bedroom you share with Aemond, you carefully place the Ouija board and planchette in the top drawer of his nightstand exactly as you found them. Then you go to your vanity to try to fix your hair. As you’re rearranging clips and pinning loose strands back into place, the door opens. Aemond is there, feeling beloved and invincible, looking for you. He crosses the room and closes his long fingers around your wrist. He wants you: under him, making children for him, possessed by him.

“Come to bed,” Aemond says.

“Not right now. I’m busy.”

“You aren’t busy anymore.”

“I told you no.”

He wrenches you from your chair. Instead of surrendering, you strike out, hitting him in the chest. You don’t harm him, you’re not strong enough, but genuine shock leaps into his scarred face.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” you hiss. You can’t let Aemond undress you; he will find the evidence of your treason, he will see it, feel it, taste it. But that’s not the only reason you stop him. “Every goddamn night I give you what you want, and exactly how you want it. Tonight I’m saying no. You want to take me? You’ll have to do it properly. I’m not going to give you the illusion of consent. You remember what Zeus did to all those women, right? Go ahead. Act like the god you think you are. But I’m going to fight you. And if those people downstairs hear me screaming, you can explain to them why.”

Aemond stares at you in the silvery light of the half-moon. You glare boldly back. At last he leaves and descends the staircase into an underworld of churning smoke, returning to the party to sip his Old Fashioneds and decide what to do with you.

#aegon ii targaryen #aegon targaryen #aegon targaryen ii #aegon ii #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon x reader #aegon ii x you #aegon ii fanfic #aegon ii x reader #aegon targaryen x you #aegon ii x y/n

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frutigeraerosims · 7 months ago

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"A tropical ocean paradise loved by divers for its colorful coral and fish and more recently by scientists for its unique marine life. With plenty of large and small fish, this is an ideal diving location."

Hi, I’m Catherine and this is my first Sims 3 world! My intention was to create a smaller world that can be used to play the Island Paradise expansion pack in a more compact way. (It’s technically medium-sized, but a lot of that is water.) I based this world on the area of the same name in the game Endless Ocean: Blue World, granted with quite a lot of creative liberties taken. Gatama Atoll is situated in the fictional country of the Pelago Commonwealth, which is in Micronesia.

Isla Paradiso is stunning and there are great fixes out there, but I still prefer to play smaller worlds for the sake of performance and convenience. So here’s a small world meant for boats, houseboats, resorts, lifeguards, merfolk and of course diving!

While Gatama Atoll now features a town, the original area is still for diving, with 5 dive lots based on some of the areas in the game. On the islands surrounding the dive lots are small nature areas similar to those found in the original Gatama Atoll — you can find animals here.

Nearby is Nineball Island, a relaxing and homey place, ready for divers to move in and make it their hub of operations. This is also an area from Endless Ocean: Blue World.

The town features all the base game rabbit holes as well as a few community lots and the Festival Grounds, and empty lots for expansion. Additionally, there are houses situated right near the water, and ports for houseboats. The empty 64x64 lot is intended for you to build your own resort (or place one you downloaded), though of course you can place your resort elsewhere if you wish.

Like Isla Paradiso, Gatama Atoll has mysterious islands surrounded by fog, waiting for discovery. Only a few, though; one unlocked through diving, one through resorts, and one through lifeguarding (exact way to get each island will be included below).

Gatama Atoll requires Island Paradise, Seasons, Pets, and Sunlit Tides. I specifically made this world with blam’s ea store files, as my decrapped sims3packs did not work in CAW. Therefore, I believe this means you also need the Sunlit Tides store files to be non-decrapped in order to play this world. My recommendation is to just pick them up from blam.

This world definitely isn’t perfect, considering it was made by a complete novice. Here are some disclaimers:

The landscaping is relatively simple, both because of performance concerns and because I lack skill in this area.

The only lot I made is Nineball Island + I edited the houseboat. The other lots are all from Sunlit Tides or Isla Paradiso.

The world is also definitely on the smaller side and doesn’t have room for a lot of extra lots.

Also, you need to be farther out in the ocean to snorkel, you can’t be close to the beach.

The notifications when your sim levels up their diving skill are gonna say the Isla Paradiso diving spot names (e.g "Rocky Reef"), not the Gatama Atoll diving spot names. Please refer below for a proper guide on when you can access each diving spot.

This world was made in version 1.67 (Steam)

Required mods

NRaas register - with this mod, ban horses, unicorns, paparazzi and deer for a smoother experience. You don't want that stuff in this world.

Dive cave reset fix - I used one and only one dive cave in this world. With this mod, you need to reset that dive cave when you see it, just once. Please do not forget to reset the cave so that your sim doesn't get reset when trying to enter.

Interact on sloped terrain - The world is kinda curvy so I think having this is a good idea.

Recommended additions

Surf’s Up Sun and Fun Collection - so your sim can surf, and also have some cute CAS stuff.

Sun, Surf and Sand - cute beachy buildbuy stuff.

Island Villa - ditto^

Tiki dining room - tiki buildbuy stuff

Tiki living room - ditto^

Tiki outdoor living - ditto^

Yoga mod by twinsimming - for the tropical paradise zen.

Mermaid Power mod by xantak22 - improves mermaid gameplay.

4t3 Island Living conversions - look around for some if you need more buildbuy or clothes.

Feel free to do whatever you want with this world! I have no conditions. You’re welcome to tag me so I can see, too :)

Download 🐠

Notes

Here is when each dive spot is unlocked:

Atoll Gate: available at level 2 of the diving skill

Spring Garden: available at level 4 of the diving skill

Doughnut Reef: Available at level 6 of the diving skill

Blue Cliff: Available at level 8 of the diving skill

Cabbage Patch: Available at level 10 of the diving skill

Here is how to get each hidden island:

Diving island: At level 10 of the diving skill, explore the cave in Cabbage Patch. Reset the cave before going in.

Lifeguard island: Rescue 35 sims as a lifeguard.

Resort island: Have a 5-star resort.

#the sims #s3cc #sims 3 world #sims 3 caw #endless ocean #endless ocean blue world #sims 3 cc #sims 3 download #sims 3 #sims

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thesleepyfable · 4 months ago

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~ SWTD: Still Here AU Part 6 ~

Rennick's Comeuppance:

And here we are. The last chapter to wrap up this 'Lifting the Fog' Arc. Yes, I'll keep writing more in the future but I have art to post and I want to focus on my own writing. Thank you to everyone who's continued to read these chapters, and I hope you enjoy!

TW: Blood.

Part 7:

'Oi, McLeary!' Muir called. 'Give Rennick a good kick up the arse.'

Caz wasn't going to give Rennick a good kick up the arse.

Along with Brodie, he hid behind a filing cabinet and waited for Rennick to pass. When they arrived into Administration, Caz could feel something. It didn't cause a splitting headache or his vision to blur, but he assumed it to be The Shape trying its best to tempt him. Neither saw Rennick turn. As far as they were concerned, the old fud was happily tucked away in his office before trying to get to the helipad. That must have been his point of infection. They had noticed The Shape reaching over the handrail, but not much. Rennick must have touched it by accident then fell when the rig began to shake. In a twisted way, turning saved his life, and that wasn't in Caz and Brodie's plan.

They just wanted to find Rennick, drag him to Accommodation and get a verbal beat down by everyone there. Gregor was gone, Davros was missing and even if they didn't like Rennick, they had to try. Caz had brought Trots back from the brink. Douglas found Gibbo and Innes with Muir. Unknown to them, O'Connor had a role to play with Addair. Now, it was Rennick's turn. There was just one problem. No one knew anything about him, nor did anyone like him. Could the reflection trick be enough? Apparently not, because they either heard a mirror or a glass door shatter and Rennick scream in frustration which bled into disgust. He gagged and began to hyperventilate. The pair almost felt bad for him, until he turned back to blind rage and broke into the wall.

They left their hiding spots, awkwardly clambered over the collapsed door that kept them safe and followed the destruction Rennick left in his wake. The further apart they were, the less Caz could sense him.

'The state of this place...'

The men's eyes constantly moved in all directions. Caz looked over his shoulders at the slightest noise. Brodie stared at the floor for any glass they could avoid. Both awkwardly shuffled pass a piece of the discoloured Shape in single-file. It was eerily quiet. Had Rennick gone into the under rig? Or was he lying in wait?

Caz turned his head. He could sense Rennick to the left. Looking through a giant hole in the wall revealed the site manager, standing in a crumbling office, where its outerwall had been bulldozed, allowing the cold yet crisp air in. He grabbed Brodie's shoulder and nodded in the direction. A shiver ran up their spines. They watched Rennick stare out to the sea with a distant look in his eyes. Seemed he's tired himself out.

'Stay here.' It was no secret that Brodie was someone Rennick respected to some degree. He never had been called to the office in the six years he's been stationed at The Beria for the insults. The only time he has was to introduce Raffs and make sure he signed the correct paperwork. If anyone had a chance to talk to him how Douglas did for Gibbo, it was Brodie. Or Finlay, but she wasn't here.

'Rennick?' The older man instantly turned and stared at the diver who held his hands up to show he wasn't going to hurt him. Not like he could. 'It's okay. But, can you move away from the edge? This place is falling apart.' Right on cue, a piece of the ceiling landed between them. Rennick stared. 'It's me. It's Brodie.'

'Yes, I know it's you, you pillock. Stop talking me to like I'm some fuckin' wild animal!'

Well, that was unexpected. The fog had already been lifted from Rennick. His voice hadn't been tainted by The Shape trying to copy him. He showed chronic pain, but all of the infected did during and after being brought back from the brink. Brodie began to relax, or as best as he could when your boss could literally eat you alive.

'Okay, that's good. Look, everyone's meeting up in Accommodation. Archie and Roper are taking care of the rescue.'

'As they fucking well should.' He huffed and noticed Caz poking his head around the corner. Anger quickly boiled to the surface as Rennick pushed pass Brodie in the most gentle way he could. 'You have some fuckin' nerve still being here, McLeary.'

'Well, I wasn't gonna swim back to Scotland now, was I?'

Brodie game him a look. It basically said 'Please shut up and let me handle this,' but Caz didn't notice.

'I still expect you to fuck off when we get back to shore. Do you underst-'

'What the fuck is your problem?!' And there goes any little progress Brodie made. 'We practically keep this rig afloat day and night, whilst you stay nice and cosy in your little cabin. The only time you see us is to give us lip. And look us now. Even after we hit whatever the fuck that is out there, you're still hiding away whilst we do all the work. You told me you had more hairs on your fat crack that can bring more positive contributions, so fuckin' prove it!'

Silence.

All the colour in Brodie's face vanished. Rennick glared. Caz glared back. Even the sea fell quiet.

'...I told you to go, McLeary.' Rennick's voice twisted. He began to snarl between his words and contorted his face.

'Rennick, don't!' Brodie's words fell on deaf ears.

Caz took a quick glance in the direction of the door. If this was going to get Rennick outside, then so be it.

'I'LL MAKE YOU FUCKIN' GO!'

Caz didn't wait to hear the end of Rennick's sentence. He turned and ran. With a roar, Rennick followed. Brodie ducked and held his head as more ceiling tiles fell around him. He watched the pair leave. 'Rennick, stop. Rennick!'

You could say this was a bad idea. Why bring Caz along when Rennick was rightfully pissed he had used The Beria to hide from the police since August? Well, in all honesty, no one wanted to go. Plus, Caz had hoped whatever was happening would be enough of a distraction. What Caz didn't take into consideration was the fact he used The Beria to hide from the police since August.

Rennick followed Caz with little thought. He didn't stop to think that he was luring him outside. He crashed into walls at tight turns, smashed the interior windows and trampled chairs. A tendril set off the fire extinguisher that bounced off the walls and nearly hit Brodie, who was falling behind as he had to navigate the floors to not fall through.

The double doors were in view. Caz picked up the pace. Rennick's screams of frustration could be heard outside. Archie and his crew, Roper and the rest of Marine Control and Engineering, everyone on Deck and some in Accommodation turned in the general direction. They all knew and nearly everyone's face turned as white as a ghost. The last thing they needed was for Rennick to be infected. They screamed for Caz as he appeared, nearly falling as he made a sharp turn along the catwalk to his right. His body got low as he turned with a slide. Rennick, still with tunnel vision, smashed into the railing that caused his infection. The railing bent under his weight and he nearly fell with it, but he regained hit 'footing' and followed. Brodie still had the long corridor to get through. Every step had to be perfectly calculated.

Caz could feel Rennick practically breathing down his neck. He was too close. The old man was fast. Getting down the ladder, let alone to it impossible. In a sudden act of desperation, he grabbed the railing and jumped. He didn't think how high the fall would be, just as long as he gained some distance. A tendril from Rennick reached out to pull Caz back, but another caught him first. A tendril from Muir wrapped around Caz's waist and pulled him to safety, landing between the group. It all happened so fast, when he touched the ground, the leccy fell to his knees as he tried to catch his breath. 'Let's not do that again,' he told himself.

Innes patted his shoulder and with O'Connor, pulled the man up.

There wasn't anytime to talk. Caz didn't have time to register Addair before they all felt a bang. Rennick jumped onto the Deck and stared at Caz with a wild look in his eyes, also catching his breath. He didn't show it, but he realised how he'd been tricked to come out of hiding. He glanced at everyone he could see. A part of him was relieved he wasn't the only infected. Compared to Addair and Muir, he started to feel less disguisted with himself. At least he still had his head and his organs weren't exposed.

'Not bad, McLeary.' Brodie watched from the catwalk. 'Not bad.' He felt all eyes on him. There was no reaction. No one going to comfort him or even ask if he was alright. Just staring with empty or angry eyes. Rennick remained strong, but he could tell this was a losing battle. 'What?!' He snapped and turned to his left where O'Connor and his group stood with Roper above. He turned to the right. 'Don't you dare look at me like that. I'm not the one who got us into this shit. I'm not the one who activated the drill. If you want someone to blame, then you should all be looking at Gibbo, or Roper. They're the ones who decided to drill through this stuff.' Everyone stared. They could tell Rennick was grasping at straws. Anger bubbled. Trots and Gibbo made their way down to the Deck. 'I'm the one giving you all a roof over your heads. The one who makes sure you have money to pay your bills or send back to your families. And this is how you thank me? By turning me into this thing?! I should fire each and every one of you-'

A tendril slapped Rennick across the face, with such force his head jerked to the side, leaving a deep cut. With one of his 'arms' he touched it and noticed his blood dripping. He turned. It was Gibbo. The man had a both a hurt and angered look in his eye. He was trying to hold back his tears.

'Because of you...' He tried to be strong, but he began to cry. The chain was still wrapped around a tendril. 'My boy has to see his father look like this for the rest of his life!' Rennick gritted his teeth.

'Get to fuck, Gibson! It's your fault that oil got on y-' Another slap from Gibbo. This time, it cut above Rennick's eyebrow and this time Rennick didn't fight back. He felt everyone's eyes on him. His usual tactics of verbally abusing his crew into making themselves carry the blame wasn't working. A sense of anxiety spread across his body. It tensed and Rennick couldn't bring himself to look away from the floor. He kept one eye covered from Gibbo's cut. His lips tightened and turned in on themselves. His breath became shaky. Rennick wanted to be sick. There was no convincing. The King had lost his followers and his Empire was in ruins.

'Stop looking at me! Stop it. Don't you dare look at me like that. Go away. Go away!' The words flooded his mind. He didn't know who it was, but hearing footsteps was enough. He turned and dashed across the Deck, before climbing back to Administration, nearly hitting Brodie as he vanished over the building.

Silence.

There was no cheers. No one said anything. To answers your question, it was Roper's footstep that caused Rennick to leave. Trots placed a hand on Gibbo, who didn't feel guilty at all for slapping his boss twice. In fact, he felt relieved. It felt good. Still didn't stop his tears. Caz shared a glance up to Brodie who gave a thumbs up before climbing down the ladder. Archie and Roper exchanged a look. The pilot nodded and moved back to the helipad, ready to fly back to the mainland to enforce an emergency rescue. Finlay turned and noticed.

'Oi, you lot. Is it supposed to be doing that?'

The Shape had now gone completely grey. It's pulse stopped. Then it began to crumble. Slowly flakes chipped away, before pieces no bigger than a finger nail followed at a much faster pace. Everyone on The Beria. D Oil Rig watched The Shape disintegrate into a dust cloud. The wind carried it back to sea, leaving only the dust inside to be swept up by someone later.

A sensation came over Caz. He held his head, but passed it off as him removing his hard-hat to run a hand through his hair. Since being rescued by Brodie and Douglas, he had a splitting headache and blurred vision whenever he got close to The Shape and the infected. He could faintly hear Suze calling for him like a song, but since the rig began to shake, it all seemed to stop. All he could feel was the presence of the infected. What he just felt was The Shape finally being put to rest. He was free from its grasp.

'It's...dead.'

For a brief moment, the infected waited to be turned back into their human form, but to no avail. A crushing blow. On the bright side, seeing whatever The Shape was dissappear was a huge weight off everyone's shoulder.

'...What now?' Trots asked. Caz shrugged and put his hard-hat back on.

'Well, we do have a darts tournament to finish.'

#Still Wakes the Deep #Still Wakes the Deep: Still Here AU #My Writing

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