#And it's Set with the Steel Oar!

[withclawandvine]

yes, there are more than enough barbarian!bakugou drabbles on this website. no, i do not care !! have another!!!

your father already has his heir and a spare, and therefore, has no real use for you. at least, until an advisor reminded him of the mournful tunes the bards have been singing since you came of age — a tragic face, they claimed. men have waged wars for less sweet a temptation.

soon after the announcement of your eligibility is made, the dining hall bloats with suitors and their emissaries, boasting and bargaining over their chances with wine-sour breath night after night, waiting for your father to make his decision. 

behind closed doors, members of his cabinet pitch the merits of this prince or that noble scion. there is talk of naval dominance and deep treasuries. but from where you listen — with your ear pressed to the door of a forgotten servant’s corridor at the back of the council chamber — nobody mentions that one of them is old enough to be your grandfather, or that one young king has already been widowed twice, under suspicious circumstances.

the contest was your idea, presented during a quiet meal with your father, in such a manner that made him believe it was his plan all along. of course these men should prove themselves. how else can he know which kingdom reared the strongest warrior? which ally would prove the wisest or most cunning? 

as your father expected, there are many challengers. and as time goes on, it becomes less about the honor of your hand than the glory of victory. consequently, the tasks become more and more improbable: piercing steel armor with delicate arrows made of blown glass, navigating rapids with neither sails nor oars, hunting down the fabled great horned beast of the northern mountains. 

as you hoped, months pass without a champion.

but the men chasing honor and acclaim bring riches and secrets, feeding your father’s treasury and arming his spies. you can almost taste the freedom of again being unuseful to him, sweet as the honeyed pear speared on your fork.

the fork falls from your hand when the massive doors to the great hall swing open and an imposing shadow comes into view. backlit by the setting sun, it is impossible to discern its features — beyond its size and the massive horns, curved and sharp as twin sickles. 

the stranger’s approach is slow and measured, and as he gets closer, the shadow becomes more corporeal. turns into a man. although, the ochre glow behind him makes him appear almost as a god. nobody in the hall dares to breathe.

only when he stops at the dias can you make out garnet eyes of a barbarian, peering at you through holes gouged in the pelt cloaking his entire form. he’s wearing the face of a beast you had never truly believed existed like a hood.

wordlessly, he closes a fist around the skin draped over his shoulder, whisking it off and tossing it unceremoniously at your feet. the horns hitting the stone floors crack like thunder, echoing off the cavernous ceiling.

he wears necklaces strung with teeth, but no armor. his bare chest should make him seem vulnerable. instead, it puts every scar and whirl of ink denoting his battlefield victories and royal blood on display.

you have no idea how word of the contests made it all the way into the formidable northern mountains, or why it would entice a chieftain’s son to try at winning your hand.

all you know is that he just did.

[biggerbetterbat]

THE SECOND SON | one.

Ubbe Ragnarsson x oc!Valdis

Summary: Valdis travels to Kattegat to finally meet her husband. During the journey she reflects on the past and struggles with doubts. Ubbe struggles with his own worries.

Words: 5,916

A/N: Hello :) I came back with the very first chapter and I have everything figured out. I changed the oc name as there is another Astrid in the show…Anyway, I hope you enjoy!

The memory was all she had. She was clenching it in her hands as if her life depended on it. Every day she was trying to recall the tone of his voice, the intensity of his stare, and the melody of his laugh. Her biggest fear was forgetting it, forgetting him.

Valdis stood on the deck of the longship, her gaze fixed on the horizon as the salty breeze tousled her hair. In her heart, a mixture of anticipation and uncertainty churned like the restless sea beneath her. As the rhythmic sound of oars slicing through the water echoed around her, Valdis's thoughts drifted to the life that awaited her in Kattegat. Leaving behind her homeland, she embarked on a journey, where her fate awaited her in the form of an arranged marriage to Ubbe, son of Ragnar Lothbrok.

She recalled the relief she had felt when news of Ragnar's disappearance had reached her ears, a flicker of hope igniting within her that perhaps her arranged marriage would be called off. She couldn't deny the sense of liberation that had washed over her when he vanished without a trace. In the absence of Ragnar's influence, Valdis dared to dream of a different future, one where she was free to carve out her own path, unbound by the constraints of duty and obligation. Despite the hope for freedom that Ragnar's disappearance had kindled within her, she couldn't shake the profound sorrow that washed over her at the thought that she would never see him again.

However, he came back.

One of their sailors brought the news, and before she could fully process the implications of Ragnar's return, her brother had made a swift and decisive decision – they would set sail for Kattegat without delay, ensuring that Valdis fulfilled her obligations to her betrothed. She couldn't shake the feeling that she was leaving behind more than just her homeland – it was as if a part of her soul was being torn away with each passing wave. For a moment, she allowed herself to entertain the notion that this voyage was not merely a transition, but the closing of a chapter in her life, or maybe even the end of her life.

With a heavy heart, Valdis turned her gaze once more to the horizon, steeling herself for the inevitable confrontation that awaited her in Kattegat.

"Forgive my intrusion, my lady," she murmured softly, her voice a gentle caress against the backdrop of Valdis's melancholy. "But I could not bear to see you suffer in silence."

Vadis's gaze lifted, meeting her servant's with a mixture of surprise and gratitude. "You need not concern yourself with my troubles," she replied, her voice tinged with resignation. "They are burdens I must bear alone."

The servant's voice rang with conviction, each word infused with the unwavering loyalty that bound her to Valdis's side. "You would never be alone, my lady," she declared, her tone resolute as she met the young woman's gaze with determination. "For as long as I draw breath, I shall stand by your side, a steadfast companion through every trial and tribulation."

Valdis's heart swelled with gratitude at her servant's unwavering pledge, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. But she just placed her gentle hand on the servant's arm. "Thank you."

Sensing the heaviness in the air, the servant sought to shift the focus of their conversation, offering a glimmer of levity amidst the weight of her Lady's  burdens. With a gentle smile, she ventured forth, "My lady, forgive my curiosity, but I cannot help but wonder...what do you imagine Ubbe to be like? What image fills your mind when you think of him?"

As Valdis's gaze drifted once more toward the endless expanse of the ocean, her voice carried a hint of melancholy, mingling with the distant cries of seabirds and the gentle lapping of waves against the shore. "I stopped imagining him long ago," she confessed softly, her words a whisper carried away by the breeze.

"In my mind's eye, Ubbe is a man of striking stature," she began, her words painting a vivid portrait of the man they both longed to know. "His eyes are like the sea on a stormy day, yet filled with softness. And his voice... it carries the weight of authority, yet holds a warmth that draws others to him like moths to a flame."

Valdis listened with rapt attention, her imagination ignited by the servant's vivid descriptions. "And his presence?" she pressed, eager to delve deeper into the realm of possibility.

The servant's smile widened as she continued, her words infused with a sense of wonder and awe. "His presence is like that of a warrior king, commanding respect without the need for words," she replied, her voice tinged with admiration.

"Hmm."

"Who knows what wonders fate may yet unfold? Perhaps in Ubbe, you will find not just duty, but unexpected blessings beyond imagining, my lady."

"What is the meaning of this? Have you no respect for the gravity of our situation?" said low and dangerous voice. The man's tone tinged with anger. The servant's heart quickened with fear, her earlier resolve crumbling beneath the weight of his wrath. She cast a fleeting glance at Valdis, her eyes pleading for understanding before retreating with haste, her steps echoing softly against the floorboards as she made her exit."This is not a matter of personal desires or preferences. It's a deal, a pact forged for the betterment of our family and our people."

"I know what my responsibilities are," she answered.

"Do you?" he demanded, his voice laced with accusation. "Or have you blinded yourself to the truth, consumed by the illusion of duty?"

Valdis met his gaze with a mixture of defiance and sorrow, her eyes betraying the inner turmoil she sought to conceal. "I am not blind, Olaf," she retorted, her words tinged with a hint of defiance. "But sometimes duty demands sacrifices that weigh heavy on the soul."

"I don't think you fully grasp the gravity of the situation, sister," he retorted sharply, his tone tinged with frustration. "This is not just about your responsibilities; it's about our family's reputation, our standing in the community. Your actions have consequences that extend far beyond your own desires."

As Valdis found herself alone once more, the echoes of her brother's words lingering in the air like a haunting melody, she turned her attention to the scene unfolding in front of her. With each passing moment, the distant figures aboard the vessels grew clearer, their silhouettes etched against the backdrop of the horizon like darkened specters emerging from the mists of time.

As the boat was slowly approaching Kattegat, Ubbe and Hvitserk stood on the shore, watching the it with a mixture of anticipation and apprehension, Ubbe couldn't shake the feeling of resentment that simmered beneath the surface of his thoughts.

"This unknown bride and forced marriage," Ubbe muttered bitterly, his gaze fixed on the horizon. "It's all Ragnar's doing. Chaos."

Hvitserk's voice cut through the air, his tone laced with skepticism as he addressed his brother. "Is it really that bad, Ubbe?" he queried, his brow furrowing with uncertainty. "Mother will be happy that her oldest son will finally have a wife and children. Plus the bride... maybe she's not that bad."

Ubbe paused, considering his brother's words carefully before responding. "Perhaps," he conceded, his thoughts still swirling with doubts and uncertainties. "He had no right to choose my future for me."

"He needed an army."

"He always needed something," Ubbe clenched his teeth. "Tell her my greetings," he instructed, his voice tinged with resignation.

Hvitserk watched his brother's retreating figure with concern, his brow furrowed in confusion. "Where are you going?" he called out, his voice echoing against the shore.

Ubbe paused for a moment, his gaze fixed on the distant horizon. "To be alone for the last time," he replied quietly, his words heavy with the weight of impending change.

Hvitserk's eyes widened in realization, a pang of sadness gripping his heart at the thought of his brother facing his fate alone. "And what am I supposed to tell them?!" he demanded, his voice tinged with frustration.

Ubbe shrugged, a sense of resignation settling over him. With a final nod to his brother, he turned and walked away, disappearing into the shadows of the forest with purposeful strides.

As the boat docked, Valdis stepped onto the wooden planks, her hands trembling with nerves. She straightened her shoulders, steeling herself for the encounter that awaited her—a meeting with the Queen of Kattegat and her sons. At the far end of wooden planks, stood the Queen of Kattegat, a regal figure dressed in richly embroidered robes. Beside her stood her sons—Hvitserk, Sigurd, and Ivar.

"Welcome to Kattegat," the Queen said, her voice firm but welcoming. "I am Aslaug, Queen of the North."

Valdis bowed her head respectfully.

As she looked up, she found herself meeting the eyes of Ivar the Boneless. There was something about him—something that sent a shiver down her spine. But beneath the intensity of his gaze, she saw something else—a glimmer of curiosity, perhaps, or even a hint of admiration.

Olaf, Valdis's brother, stood beside her, his expression a mixture of pride and protectiveness. As the Queen of Kattegat greeted them, his gaze narrowed slightly, assessing their hosts with a keen eye.

"We are honored to be welcomed into your kingdom," Olaf replied, his voice strong and unwavering. "I can't see your husband, or Ubbe. Are they coming? Or perhaps Bjorn?" he inquired, his tone tinged with curiosity.

Aslaug's expression softened slightly, a shadow passing over her features as she considered her reply. "Bjorn will come in a moment," she assured him, her voice carrying a note of certainty. "As for my husband, I cannot say. And as for Ubbe..."

Before she could finish her sentence, Hvitserk interjected with a wry smile. "Ubbe is haunting," he remarked cryptically, his eyes dancing with mischief.

Olaf's confusion deepened at the enigmatic statement, his brow furrowing in bewilderment. "Haunting?" he echoed, his voice tinged with skepticism.

Valdis couldn't help but feel a pang of disappointment that Ubbe hadn't even wanted to see her upon her arrival. After all, they were to be married, and she had expected at least a greeting from her future husband.

As her gaze met Hvitserk's, she couldn't help but notice the warmth that radiated from his smile. It was a silent reassurance that she was not alone in this unfamiliar place. His smile was a beacon of light in the midst of uncertainty, a reminder that she had allies in this new and unfamiliar land. Valdis returned the smile. "Maybe...for the time being, I can show you around?"

"Thank you," she replied, her voice soft with appreciation. "But I would like to rest after the journey. Perhaps another time."

Hvitserk nodded understandingly, a warm smile gracing his features. "Of course," he said. "You'll have plenty of time to explore Kattegat."

"I believe, my sister's husband should take care of her," Olaf interrupted.

"Oh, he will," Aslaug answered with a tone, matching the man's tone.

Valdis's room was modest yet comfortable. A simple wooden bed stood against another wall, draped with furs and blankets to ward off the chill of the night air. Beside it, a small bedside table held a flickering oil lamp, casting a warm, golden glow that illuminated the room with a sense of coziness. Opposite the bed, a stone fireplace crackled merrily, its dancing flames casting shadows across the room.

As Valdis settled into her new accommodations, her servant, a kind woman named Astrid, helped her unpack and get settled. "Have you seen Ubbe yet?" Ingrid asked, her tone gentle with concern.

Valdis shook her head, a hint of disappointment in her voice. "No, not yet. But Hvitserk has been very kind to me," she replied, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

"Hvitserk seems to have taken quite a liking to you," Ingrid teased, a playful twinkle in her eye.

Valdis felt a blush creep into her cheeks at the remark. "Oh, stop it," she replied, her voice tinged with embarrassment.

But Ingrid merely chuckled, unfazed by Valdis's protests. "I'm just saying," she continued with a mischievous grin. Ingrid's teasing took on a more speculative tone as she continued, "A shame he's the younger brother, I suppose?"

Valdis shrugged, her expression thoughtful. "How would I know?" she replied with a hint of uncertainty. "I haven't met Ubbe. I still know nothing about him."

The mention of Ubbe brought a twinge of curiosity. Despite being betrothed to him, Valdis hadn't yet had the chance to form an opinion about her future husband. The uncertainty of their arranged marriage lingered in the back of her mind, overshadowed by the unexpected kindness she had received from Hvitserk. Ingrid nodded understandingly, sensing Valdis's hesitation. "Well, perhaps you'll meet him soon enough," she remarked optimistically. "And until then, you have Hvitserk to keep you company."

Valdis gave her a smile.

"Rest my lady," Ingrid bid her farewell and left the room, Valdis felt a sense of restlessness stir within her. Despite her weariness from the journey, her mind buzzed with thoughts of the mysterious "haunting" and Ubbe's absence. Unable to shake the feeling of unease, she knew she couldn't simply rest.

She undressed from her dress and put on the one that belonged to Ingrid. Her servants didn't know that she stole it from her to regularly sneak out of her room. When she was once again dressed, she draped a cape on her shoulders and with determination, Valdis rose from her bed, careful not to make a sound that would alert anyone to her departure. She moved swiftly and silently, slipping out of the room like a shadow.

As Ubbe strode through the dense woods, his footsteps echoing amidst the towering trees, he found solace in the quiet solitude of the forest. Though he had long accepted the inevitability of his arranged marriage, the reality of the situation weighed heavily upon him, casting a shadow of discontent over his thoughts. His future wife was here...somewhere, but here. She wasn't just a story or a thought. The woman was here and his marriage was getting real. With each step, Ubbe's frustration grew, his brow furrowed in consternation as he grappled with the uncertainty of his arranged marriage.

As he was walking deep in his thoughts, he didn't notice a person materializing in front of him. The sudden appearance of the unknown woman sent a jolt of adrenaline coursing through his veins, his senses sharpening with the primal instinct of survival. With a swift motion, he raised his hands in a gesture of surrender, his gaze fixed upon the gleaming blade pointed in his direction.

"Stop!" called a woman.

As Ubbe observed the mysterious woman before him, his eyes were drawn to the gentle rise and fall of her chest, her breaths coming in soft, rhythmic waves. Her white hair cascaded in loose waves around her shoulders, catching the dappled sunlight, framing her delicate features like a halo of golden light. Her features were finely sculpted, her skin kissed by the sun and the wind, imbued with a natural glow that spoke of a life. He felt a sense of awe wash over him, a reverence for the woman who stood before him.

As Valdis stood before the stranger in the woods, her hand trembling slightly as she pointed her blade at him, she couldn't shake the feeling of uncertainty that gnawed at her insides. Despite her initial alarm, Valdis found herself captivated by the sight of the man who stood before her.

"I mean you no harm," he assured her, his words carrying the weight of honesty and respect. "I understand your caution, but know that I am not your enemy."

Valdis's shoulders relaxed slightly at Ubbe's reassurance, a flicker of relief dancing in her emerald-green eyes. "What are you doing here?" she repeated, her voice firm yet tinged with uncertainty. "The whole city is greeting newcomers...soon to be wife of Prince Ubbe."

Ubbe met Valdis's gaze with unwavering resolve, his expression earnest as he sought to ease her apprehension. "I needed some time alone," he explained, his tone gentle yet firm. "The prospect of my future weighs heavily upon me, and I sought solace amidst the quiet of the forest."

Under his calm voice, the tension started to drain from her muscles as she released the blade to the forest floor with a soft thud. With a weary sigh, she sank down. "Tell me about it," she mumbled under her nose.

Ubbe watched in silence as the woman settled onto the ground, her posture one of weariness and vulnerability. With a gentle expression, he joined her, lowering himself to the grass beside her - but in a safe distance, with his hands still up. He observed her eyes change from determined to filled with sadness. He eased himself down onto the grass beside her, his movements fluid and unhurried. Valdis mirrored his movements, easing herself down beside him until they lay side by side, their bodies parallel in the embrace of the forest floor.

Valdis closed her eyes, allowing the warmth of the sun to wash over her, she felt a sense of calm settle over her being. With each breath, she felt herself sinking deeper into a state of relaxation, the tension melting away from her muscles.

Beside her, Ubbe's gaze lingered on stranger's profile, his eyes tracing the delicate curve of her jawline and the graceful arc of her neck. In the dappled light of the forest, she appeared ethereal. As he watched her, Ubbe felt a stirring within his heart—a sense of wonder and admiration for the woman who lay beside him. With each passing moment, Ubbe found himself drawn further into Valdis's orbit, captivated by the quiet grace and inner strength that radiated from her like a beacon in the night.

"Are you a slave?"

"Aren't we all slaves of something?"

Ubbe felt a corner of his lips going up.

"Are you from around here?" he asked. "I have never seen you before."

"No," she answered. "I came here because I heard about Ragnar Lothbroke's come back."

Ubbe grimaced. "And why would you want to see him?"

"He's a legend."

"He's nothing," Ubbe scoffed. "The sooner you'll understand it the better for you."

"Why?"

"His actions brought pain and suffering to those closest to him, tearing apart his family with each selfish decision he made."

"He may have made mistakes, but his travels opened our eyes to worlds beyond our own, expanding our understanding of the world and its people."

"Have you ever dreamed of traveling to distant lands, beyond the horizon?" he asked suddenly.

"I desire this more than anything," she said. "There's a whole world out there waiting to be discovered, and I long to explore every corner of it."

Ubbe smiled, captivated by her fervor. "What draws you to it?"

Valdis's eyes danced with enthusiasm as she spoke. "It's all of those things," she answered. "I want to see whatever lays beyond the horizon. Every night I dream of setting sail on a longship, feeling the wind in my hair and the salty spray on my face. I yearn to explore the unknown."

"What's stopping you?"

"Responsibilities to my family."

"I understand more than you may realize."

"Is that so?" she asked, not looking at him. "Who are you then?"

"My name is Ubbe."

For a fleeting moment, time seemed to stand still, the world around her fading into a blur as the weight of those words settled upon her like a heavy cloak. In the hushed stillness of the forest, Valdis's mind raced, her thoughts a whirlwind of emotions. As her heart raced with the realization of who lay beside her.

With a hesitant movement, she turned her head slightly, her eyes searching his features in the soft light of the forest. Finding that his eyes were already on her. As Valdis's gaze lingered on Ubbe's face, a sense of familiarity washed over her. Ubbe bore a striking resemblance to his father, Ragnar Lothbrok, the legendary Viking warrior she had met so many years ago. The same piercing gaze, the same rugged features, the same air of quiet strength that had captivated her from the moment they had first crossed paths.

"The Prince?" she asked before she bit her tongue.

"Have you seen my future wife?" he asked, keeping his eyes on the sky.

Valdis, her heart heavy with the weight of hidden truths, met his gaze with a mixture of sadness and resolve. "Yes, I have," she replied softly, her words laden with meaning that remained veiled to Ubbe's perception.

His brow furrowed in confusion, Ubbe pressed on, oblivious to the revelation that lay just beyond his grasp. "And?"

"And?" she met his eyes.

Curiosity burning within him, Ubbe turned back to Valdis, his eyes alight with inquiry. "Is my future wife... pretty?" he ventured, his voice hesitant yet tinged with a hint of anticipation.

Valdis, her gaze steady and her heart heavy with the weight of unspoken truths, met his question with a measured silence, her mind racing with the words left unspoken. "Beauty is in the eye of the beholder," she finally replied, her words carefully chosen to obscure the truth that lay just beyond his grasp.

Undeterred, Ubbe pressed on, his curiosity unyielding. "Can you describe her to me? What does she look like?" he asked, his voice tinged with a mixture of apprehension and intrigue.

Valdis hesitated, her thoughts swirling like leaves caught in a gust of wind. "She... possesses a certain grace," she offered cryptically, her words veiling the truth that hovered just beneath the surface.

Ubbe couldn't help but snort at Valdis's cryptic description. "Grace?" he repeated incredulously, his skepticism evident in his tone. "What does that even mean?"

Valdis, caught off guard by his reaction, struggled to maintain her composure, her mind racing for a suitable response. "It means... she carries herself with elegance," she replied hesitantly, her words chosen carefully to mask the truth lurking beneath the surface.

"Why would that information even be important?" he queried, his voice tinged with a hint of frustration.

Her heart racing with the weight of hidden truths, struggled to find the right words to appease his curiosity without revealing her true identity. "It's... important to know what to expect," she replied evasively, her words carefully chosen to obscure the truth that lay just beyond his grasp.

Unsatisfied with her response, Ubbe pressed on, his desire for clarity outweighing any sense of decorum. "But what does it matter how she looks or carries herself?" he persisted, his skepticism unyielding.

"It matters because... appearances can be deceiving," she offered cryptically.

"Tell me more." As Ubbe's persistence grew, he turned back to Valdis, his gaze intense with curiosity. "Tell me more. What have you seen?" he pressed, his voice firm and unwavering.

"This is all I saw," she replied softly, her words a careful blend of truth and evasion.

Unsatisfied with her response, Ubbe's determination only intensified. "Tell me," he insisted, his tone imploring.

"Why haven't you welcomed her? You would know," Valdis countered, her voice tinged with a hint of desperation as she sought to deflect his inquiries.

Ubbe's brow furrowed in confusion, his mind grappling with the implications of her words. "Welcome her?" he repeated, his voice tinged with uncertainty.

But before he could press further, Valdis, sensing the precariousness of their situation, chose her next words with care. She shook her head and turned her head away. I must go now," she murmured softly.

As Valdis prepared to leave, Ubbe, unaware of her identity as his future wife, couldn't help but feel a pang of reluctance at the thought of their impending parting. With a sense of longing in his heart, he turned to her, his gaze searching hers for reassurance.

"Will I see you again?" he asked, his voice tinged with a hint of uncertainty.

Valdis paused, her heart skipping a beat at the earnestness in his question. Stopping a wistful smile, she turned to face him one last time. "Sooner than you may think."

As night descended like a heavy cloak upon Kattegat, casting shadows that danced ominously in the flickering torchlight, the great hall buzzed with the murmurs of its inhabitants. The air was thick with the scent of mead, laughter echoing off the wooden rafters as the sound of music and dancing filled the air. The hall pulsed with life, each heartbeat of the drum resonating deep within the hearts of those gathered.

Ubbe made his entrance into the bustling hall, his eyes adjusting to the flickering torchlight, he was met by the familiar figure of Hvitserk weaving his way through the crowd. With a grin, Hvitserk approached, though there was a hint of something else in his expression—jealousy.

"Ubbe," Hvitserk greeted, clapping him on the shoulder. "I must admit, I'm feeling jealousy knowing you'll soon be wed to this woman."

Ubbe, taken aback by his brother's candid admission, arched an eyebrow in surprise. "Jealous, Hvitserk?" he questioned, a mixture of amusement and confusion coloring his tone.

Hvitserk chuckled, though there was a touch of bitterness in his laughter. "Aye, jealous indeed," he confessed. Hvitserk's words hung heavy in the air, his tone filled with disbelief and a hint of resignation. "She's nothing like we supposed to. I expected some fat and horrible woman," he confessed, his voice tinged with a mixture of surprise and disappointment. "I must admit, I'm feeling a pang of jealousy knowing you'll soon be wed to a woman like her."

Ubbe's curiosity piqued by Hvitserk's unexpected admission, he furrowed his brow inquisitively. "Why would my future wife make you jealous?" he queried, his tone laced with genuine curiosity.

Hvitserk's response came with a mixture of admiration and envy. "She's so pretty, Ubbe," he confessed, his words tinged with longing. "And her body... it's like something out of a skald's tale."

Ubbe, caught off guard by his brother's candid admission, felt a surge of curiosity course through him. "And yet, she's so amazing?" he questioned, his voice filled with incredulity.

Hvitserk nodded emphatically, his eyes alight with a newfound sense of wonder. "Go and see for yourself!" he urged, a hint of excitement creeping into his voice. "She's with Mother."

With a sense of anticipation building within him, Ubbe wasted no time in making his way through the bustling hall, his heart racing with the prospect of finally meeting the woman who would shape his destiny.

As Valdis found herself seated near Aslaug, she couldn't shake the feeling of unease that settled like a heavy cloak upon her shoulders. The atmosphere around them crackled with tension, and despite her best efforts to remain composed, she could feel Aslaug's hostile gaze lingering upon her like a shadow. For a fleeting moment, Valdis dared to steal a glance in his direction, her heart quickening at the sight of him. But as their eyes met, she found herself caught in the intensity of his gaze, a silent understanding passing between them amidst the chaos of the crowded hall.

Ubbe's brow furrowed in confusion as he caught sight of Valdis seated beside his mother, clad in an elegant dress that seemed out of place amidst the rustic surroundings of the great hall. The contrast between her current attire and the simple garb she had worn in the forest only added to his bewilderment, stirring a sense of curiosity within him.

"Why are you here? And why are you dressed like this?" he queried, his tone tinged with a mixture of surprise and uncertainty.

"You already know each other?" Aslaug slurred.

"What do you mean?"

"Ubbe, I..." she began, her voice trailing off as she searched for the right words to explain.

But before she could speak further, Ivar, ever perceptive despite the revelry around them, interjected with a smirk playing on his lips. "It's your future wife, brother!" he declared, his words cutting through the haze of confusion that clouded Ubbe's mind.

The realization struck Ubbe like a bolt of lightning. Valdis, the woman he had encountered in the forest, was to be his bride by the will of their clans.

Anger surged through him like wildfire. He felt like a fool, letting some woman play with him. How could he have been so blind, so naive, to have shared secrets with a stranger. But amidst the storm of anger and confusion, there was a flicker of something else, something unexpected yet undeniable. Back in the woods and now in the Great Hall, Ubbe found himself drawn to Valdis in a way he had never anticipated. He was inexplicably drawn to her, his heart torn between conflicting loyalties and desires.

Ubbe felt too much at once, he needed a distraction. His eyes met Margarethe's.

As Valdis walked away from the bustling hall, her footsteps echoing softly against the damp earth. The moon cast its shimmering light upon the surface, lending an ethereal quality to the scene before her. As she neared the shoreline, her gaze fell upon a solitary figure seated upon a massive rock. A sense of curiosity stirred within her, compelling her to draw closer, her footsteps cautious against the uneven terrain. As she approached, the figure turned towards her.

Her heart skipped a beat, her breath catching in her throat as recognition dawned upon her. It was him, the man who had occupied her thoughts since their first fateful meeting—the legendary Ragnar Lothbrok.

Her prayers were being heard.

With a mixture of awe and reverence, Valdis climbed onto the smooth surface of the rock, her heart pounding in her chest with the intensity of her emotions. As Ragnar glanced over at Valdis, he noticed her, but said nothing to welcome her. Or maybe he didn't recognize her. He said nothing, choosing instead to turn his attention back to the vast expanse of the sea before them.

Feeling the chill of the night air seep into her bones, Valdis instinctively wrapped her arms around herself, seeking warmth in the absence of the fading sunlight. Sensing her discomfort, Ragnar's gaze softened, and with a scoff, he reached for the heavy cloak draped across his shoulders. Without a word, he gently draped the cloak around Valdis's shoulders, the fabric enveloping her in a cocoon of warmth and comfort. "Not enjoying my wife's company?"

"She's rather..." Valdis answered, but tried to find a word that wouldn't insult the Queen, or Ragnar. "Aloof?" she finally replied, choosing her words carefully to convey her meaning without outright insult.

Ragnar chuckled softly, a wry smile playing at the corners of his lips. "Aloof, you say?" he echoed, his tone tinged with amusement. "That's one way to put it."

As Valdis looked at Ragnar, a sense of amazement and affection washed over her, mirroring the awe and admiration she had felt as a child of seven summers, captivated by the larger-than-life figure before her. There was something about the way he carried himself, a quiet strength tempered by a gentle kindness, that drew her to him.

"You were but a child when I last saw you, and now... you've become a woman."

"You recognize me?" she asked, her voice barely more than a whisper.

Ragnar met her gaze with a knowing smile, his eyes twinkling with a warmth that seemed to pierce through the darkness of the night. "Of course," he replied, his voice a soft murmur that carried on the breeze. "I've been thinking about you, little one."

Silence fell between them for a moment.

"You can finally marry my son, is he handsome enough? Like me?" he quipped, his tone laced with a hint of mischief.

Valdis couldn't help but smile at the jest, a warm glow spreading through her chest as she remembered the innocent words she had spoken to Ragnar so many years ago. "Handsome enough, I suppose," she replied playfully, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "But not like you."

"If I were younger, I would marry you instead," he quipped, his tone filled with mock regret.

Valdis laughed softly, her amusement mirrored in the warmth of her gaze. "Not that your age could stop you," she retorted, her voice tinged with playful defiance. "Queen Aslaug is the real reason."

Ragnar's laughter mingled with hers, the sound carrying on the night breeze like the echo of distant thunder. "She would end us," he agreed, his tone light despite the underlying truth of his words. "Best not to risk it."

And so, they shared in the playful banter, their laughter mingling with the gentle rhythm of the waves as they sat together beneath the starlit sky.

"Where is your father?" Ragnar asked, and watched as the smile disappeared from her pretty face. "How did he died?"

"He was ill," she answered. "At the end...He wasn't himself anymore."

"Was it a quick death?"

"I suppose," Valdis nodded. "He died in the sea he loved so much."

Ragnar felt a pang of sorrow grip his heart, a deep ache that seemed to echo in the depths of his soul. Her words brought back memories of his own dear friend, a comrade-in-arms whose presence he had sorely missed since his passing. A solemn silence fell between them as Ragnar absorbed the weight of her grief, his thoughts turning inward to the memories of battles fought and victories won alongside his fallen friend. "Seems like I missed a lot."

"Things change."she replied softly, her words carrying the weight of unspoken truths.

In that moment, Ragnar realized that Valdis was no longer the wide-eyed girl he had once known, filled with dreams of marrying a prince and living happily ever after. She had grown, matured, and faced hardships that had shaped her into the woman she had become.

"You don't want to be here."

"So do you."

Ragnar couldn't help but chuckle at Valdis's sudden and witty retort, a glimmer of amusement dancing in his eyes as he regarded her with a newfound sense of admiration. In that moment, he saw glimpses of the spirited young girl he had first met years before—a girl filled with fire and determination, unafraid to speak her mind even in the face of uncertainty. Ragnar felt a surge of affection for her, a fondness born from the memories they had shared and the bond that had formed between them over the years.

With a playful smile, Ragnar reached out to ruffle Valdis's hair, a gesture of affection that spoke volumes more than words ever could. "Some things never change," he remarked, his voice filled with warmth and fondness. As Ragnar rose from the rock, a sense of purpose guiding his movements, he began to walk away, his steps steady and sure. But as he reached the edge of the shore, he paused, turning back to look at Valdis with a meaningful gaze.

"Come," he called out to her, his voice carrying on the wind. "There is much we have yet to see."

As Valdis rushed towards Ragnar without hesitation, her determination evident in every step, Ragnar couldn't help but laugh, the sound echoing through the night like the call of a wild animal. Her eagerness was infectious, and he found himself caught up in the moment.

[damnhamsam]

The Flammifer of Westernesse (lightbearer of the western lands) (evening star) (lucifer) (venus)

Eärendil was a mariner

that tarried in Arvernien;

he built a boat of timber felled

in Nimbrethil to journey in;

her sails he wove of silver fair,

of silver were her lanterns made,

her prow was fashioned like a swan,

and light upon her banners laid.

In panoply of ancient kings,

in chained rings he armoured him;

his shining shield was scored with runes

to ward all wounds and harm from him;

his bow was made of dragon-horn,

his arrows shorn of ebony,

of silver was his habergeon,

his scabbard of chalcedony;

his sword of steel was valiant,

of adamant his helmet tall,

an eagle-plume upon his crest,

upon his breast an emerald.

Beneath the Moon and under star

he wandered far from northern strands,

bewildered on enchanted ways

beyond the days of mortal lands.

From gnashing of the Narrow Ice

where shadow lies on frozen hills,

from nether heats and burning waste

he turned in haste, and roving still

on starless waters far astray

at last he came to Night of Naught,

and passed, and never sight he saw

of shining shore nor light he sought.

The winds of wrath came driving him,

and blindly in the foam he fled

from west to east and errandless,

unheralded he homeward sped.

There flying Elwing came to him,

and flame was in the darkness lit;

more bright than light of diamond

the fire upon her carcanet.

The Silmaril she bound on him

and crowned him with the living light

and dauntless then with burning brow

he turned his prow; and in the night

from Otherworld beyond the Sea

there strong and free a storm arose,

a wind of power in Tarmenel;

by paths that seldom mortal goes

his boat it bore with biting breath

as might of death across the grey

and long-forsaken seas distressed:

from east to west he passed away.

Through Evernight he back was borne

on black and roaring waves that ran

o'er leagues unlit and foundered shores

that drowned before the Days began,

until he heard on strands of pearl

where ends the world the music long,

where ever-foaming billows roll

the yellow gold and jewels wan.

He saw the Mountain silent rise

where twilight lies upon the knees

of Valinor, and Eldamar

beheld afar beyond the seas.

A wanderer escaped from night

to haven white he came at last,

to Elvenhome the green and fair

where keen the air, where pale as glass

beneath the Hill of Ilmarin

a-glimmer in valley sheer

the lamplit towers of Tirion

are mirrored on the Shadowmere.

He tarried there from errantry,

and melodies they taught to him,

and sages old him marvels told,

and harps of gold they brought to him.

They clothed him then in elven-white,

and seven lights before him sent,

as through the Calacirian

to hidden land forlorn he went.

He came unto the timeless halls

where shining fall the countless years,

and endless reigns the Elder King

in Ilmarin on Mountain sheer;

and words unheard were spoken then

of folk of Men and Elven-kin.

Beyond the world were visions showed

forbid to those that dwell therein.

A ship then new they built for him

of mithril and of elven-glass

with shining prow; no shaven oar

nor sail she bore on silver mast:

the Silmaril as lantern light

and banner bright with living flame

to gleam thereon by Elbereth

herself was set, who thither came

and wings immortal made for him,

and laid on him undying doom,

to sail the shoreless skies and come

behind the Sun and light of Moon.

From Evereven's lofty hills

where softly silver fountains fall

his wings him bore, a wandering light,

beyond the mighty Mountain Wall.

From World's End then he turned away,

and yearned again to find afar

his home through shadows journeying,

and burning as an island star

on high above the mists he came,

a distant flame before the Sun,

a wonder ere the waking dawn

where grey the Norland waters run.

And over Middle-earth he passed

and heard at last the weeping sore

of women and of elven-maids

in Elder Days, in years of yore.

But on him mighty doom was laid,

till Moon should fade, an orbéd star

to pass, and tarry never more

on Hither Shores where mortals are;

for ever still a herald on

an errand that should never rest

to bear his shining lamp afar,

the Flammifer of Westernesse.

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

Roëd Fetla

Pairing: Matthias Helvar/Fem. Reader (Second Person POV/Worker at the Red Lily—Pleasure House on the West Stave)

Themes: Mild Smut

Warnings: Imprisonment | Sex work | Kissing | Oral sex (receiving) | PIV sex

Wordcount: 3.8K words

Summary: A visit to Hellgate ensues after Matthias Helvar, its current renowned Hellshow fighter, distinguishes himself once again and his favourite companion is brought to the island as part of his reward.

Minors DNI | 18+

A/n: Matthias has been aged up to over 18+ for this story.

Gerrit, the guard seated in front of you, sang a bawdy drinking song merrily to himself as he rowed, his oars making soft splashes every time they cut through the icy water. All around the boat, the fog lay thick, milky, and slow-moving. It almost blotted out the light from the buoys that were always kept lit at night. It also carried within it the scents of tar and oil and steel from the shipyards of Imperjum, and worse still, the odors drifting from the Reaper’s Barge. The sweet, indelible stench was stronger tonight. The bodymen were clearly occupied disposing of all the corpses given over to them for burning. They had to be given those who had perished with haste, and without ceremony or rituals. No one wanted disease spreading in the air or befouling the water. Ketterdam learned its lesson after the Queen’s Lady Plague.

You held a bundled-up square of red silk to your nose and breathed deeply. It had been sprayed liberally with orange blossom perfume, but it provided little escape from the smells. Suddenly, a gust of wind blew in from the other direction, lashing your hood and cape with salt spray, and taking the stink away with it. It may have provided only temporary relief, but it was a relief all the same.

“What did he kill this month, Martijn?” You asked, breaking the near silence that had followed you all since departure. Not a word was uttered when you met the boat at Fourth Harbor. It had been close to nine bells at night, and the guards did not want to waste time talking before they put oars to water. Your hours for a night outside the pleasure house you served were few, and each one of them always cost a client dearly. 

“A lynx, a pair of hyenas, and the biggest wild boar I’ve ever seen, Miss,” Martijn, the guard behind you, said in his grizzled voice. He carried his prison-issue revolver in his hands. It was loaded and ready, and the one who held it kept his gaze fixed intently on you. It was a precaution, and an understandable one at that. The guards took no chances with the visitors they brought to Hellgate. “He was lucky with the boar. That thing was softened up good and proper by the prisoner before him.”

“Softened the poor fool before him good and proper, you mean,” Gerrit said. He flashed a wide grin. Light from a nearby buoy revealed a missing front tooth. He had been struck hard during a fight with a prisoner, he once said. Martijn had then quietly said he actually lost it after getting beaten up by a floor boss in a gambling parlor. “But I still won a fat purse,” he cackled gleefully. “One hundred Kruge, Miss. All for me to spend however I like.” 

“Waste it away on cards and drink, more like,” Martijn grumbled. Gerrit’s smile vanished in an instant. He glanced over your shoulder and made a face at his fellow guard.

“Peace, you two,” you said, raising your hands and chuckling. Martijn and Gerrit loved to bicker with each other. Once they began, it was nearly impossible to stop them. “The warden won��t take kindly to the news of two of his men arguing while escorting one of Tante Lieke��s girls.” You paused for a moment. The sound of waves breaking on the shore had reached your ears. “And we’re near Hellgate, so your quarrel will have to be set aside for another day.”

Martijn muttered something incoherent, and Gerrit swiftly returned to his singing. Soon, a pier came into view, an old but well-kept thing that lay low on the water. It would have been missed in the fog had it not been for the lights on the water and lanterns affixed to poles driven into wood. Two guards on duty, one short and one tall, came closer to the edge, their forms hidden beneath thick grey-blue coats and caps lined with fur to ward off the cold. They trained their rifles on the boat as it drew near.

“Who approaches?” The tall one challenged loudly.

“New block Smeijers and Schoman!” Martijn returned without hesitation. You understood what it meant, having come to Hellgate at the end of every month for almost a year now. Martijn and Gerrit served in the new tower, where prisoners charged with everything other than murder and worse were held. “We have a red lily!”

The guards lowered their rifles and slung them across their shoulders. The tall one extended his hands when the boat came level to the side, and Gerrit pulled the oars out of the water.

“What’s the mood, Jan?” Martijn inquired, rising. He took hold of a heavy length of rope and threw it for Jan to catch.

“All calm for now,” Jan returned, having caught the rope with a huff. He stooped to tie it around a mooring while Martijn fastened the other end to fittings on the port side. The boat was now secure. “The Fjerdan is waiting for this one,” he added, straightening himself and gesturing at you. “Better get her inside.”

Gerrit heaved himself up first. He dusted himself off and held out a hand. “You heard him, Miss,” he said, grasping your outstretched arm firmly and lifting you onto more solid ground. Martijn would remain on the pier until the time came for the changing of the guard. “Come along.”

It felt good to be away from the constant bobbing of the boat. Gerrit led you onto a narrow, gravel pathway lined with sharp, menacing-looking rocks on either side. More lanterns swung in the wind as they clung to hooks driven into the rocks’ faces. Their light spilled out onto stone and soil, and showed the way ahead. Gerrit kept up a lively chatter, but that did little to drive away the air of despair and gloom that always pervaded Hellgate. You looked up as light flowed out from guard towers circling the outer yard, illuminating in full the three towers that loomed ahead. The tower to your left was old. Its once smooth black stone was now pockmarked with holes, and its roof had fallen in one night many years ago during the fiercest storm to ever batter Ketterdam’s outer islands. The upper cells were emptied thereafter, and their halls and walkways had been gutted and rebuilt into something wholly new—the arena for the Hellshow, the twisted idea Pekka Rollins successfully sold to the Merchant Council. Only the old kitchen and the basement cells remained in use. Who they held, you did not want to know.

You turned your attention to the new tower and the small one adjoining it, where your work for the night, and the man who awaited your company, lay. Another challenge was called out from the gatehouse, and this time, it was Gerrit who answered. The high, wide door was raised by a series of clanking chains and winches, revealing a grim, dimly lit chamber within. Gerrit ushered you in.

“This way, Miss,” he said, guiding you down a long, winding passageway craftily built alongside the thick wall by the entryway. Only from a certain angle could its opening be seen. It ended in another passageway and an oak door at the far end. “Helvar’s been brought to the Warden’s Tower.”

“Matthias told me he enjoyed that,” you murmured. “Being in some comfort for a little while.”

“He is our best fighter right now, Miss,” Gerrit allowed. He opened the door and waited until you walked into a little receiving room on the other side. “Keeping him happy means more coin for us in the fights.”

“Of course.”

The warden was waiting for you in the very room you set foot into, seated in a comfortable chair beside the hearth and nursing a glass of fine whiskey. His two hounds, large, wiry-haired beasts bred in Ravka to chiefly take down the Drüskelle wolves, slumbered peacefully by his side. Seeing him like this, all dressed up in a well-tailored black vest and frock coat and utterly at ease within his domain, made it hard to believe he oversaw the imprisonment of some of the most dangerous men to be found in Kerch.

“Y/n,” the warden said, standing up to greet you. “I trust your journey was an uneventful one?”

“It was,” you said. “Gerrit and Martijn took good care of me.”

The warden nodded. He gave his glass to Gerrit to take. “Then shall I take you up?”

“Please,” you said. 

The warden led you up a flight of stairs leading to the first floor. There was a private office for the warden’s use, and a guest bedroom for the chief judge who visited the warden whenever he wished to discuss matters concerning the prison. It was this room you were given during your visits, but no one thought it wise to tell the chief judge that. They merely changed the bedding instead.

“Helvar is in here,” the warden said. He slid his hand inside his coat and brought out a set of keys. “He is shackled to the bed, but I trust I do not have to repeat the risks you willingly take by agreeing to these visits?”

“I have been visiting Matthias for ten months now,” you said, and smiled to reassure him. “I know the risks all too well. But I trust Matthias. I know he won’t hurt me.”

The warden remained grave. “I should hope so.” He opened the door and showed you into an airy and well-appointed bedroom. Matthias was seated on the edge of an inviting bed, his head bowed, his left ankle bound to the base of the frame with a length of iron chain. A simple pair of linen trousers made for sleeping was all he had been dressed in. “I have not yet lost a person who was not a prisoner confined to this island,” he remarked. “I do not intend for that to change this night."

“All will be well, sir,” you said, looking about the familiar room. There was no fire in the fireplace. And there would not be, not while a prisoner remained within it. All that was there for any light or warmth were the two lamps on the wall furthest away from Matthias. Even if he walked the full length of his chain, they would still be beyond his reach. “I’ll call for you once we are finished.”

“Of course,” the warden answered. His lips curved into a knowing grin. “May the both of you have a pleasurable night, Y/n.”

“Thank you,” you said, your mind at peace. The warden shut the door, but you knew he would not go too far. He would make use of one of the chairs on the landing, in case you called out for help and needed to be rescued. And he would not come alone. Gerrit would join him, as would other guards.

It would not be necessary, you told yourself. Matthias had been nothing but gentle from the first visit. He had given you no cause to fear him. You turned to face him.

“Matthias,” you said quietly. You made no effort to remove your heavy woolen cape or the silken wisps that lay beneath it. Matthias always preferred to undress you himself. “Are you well?”

“I’m well,” Matthias said, tilting his chin up to look at you. A flicker of life bloomed in his blue eyes. “I’m glad they sent you, Roëd Fetla. I have missed you so much.”

You relished the shiver that followed. Roëd Fetla was Fjerdan for “Little Red Bird.” Matthias called you that because it was the color of the pleasure house you served, and because it reminded him of you whenever he saw it. He got to his feet and waited for you to come to him.

“I have missed you also,” you said. It was not a lie. Matthias’s company had slowly grown into a welcome one, and the absence of it made you feel strangely bereft during the days you were away from him. “And I see you’ve been given a bath.”

Matthias had been scrubbed clean, and his scarred body smelled faintly of lemon-scented soap. Even his golden hair had been washed and shaved—the prison barber’s work, no doubt. It was not a surprise to see such a change. Tante Lieke not only demanded the best from her girls, she saw to it that they received the best in return also. It was one of the many reasons why the Red Lily was one of the most expensive and exclusive pleasure houses in all of Kerch. 

“The warden insisted,” Matthias said. He managed a weak smile. “I won’t lie when I say that it’s a relief to be freed from the filth I’m made to wallow in every day.” He set himself the task of untying your cape. His fingers brushed against your bare arms when it fell to the ground without a sound. “I will also not lie when I say that I look forward to what happens next. You have now made me crave things I didn’t even want to think about before I was put in here.”

It was true. Matthias had protested a great deal that first night, saying rewards need not include pleasures of the flesh. But the warden had insisted that he be rewarded according to the rules of the Hellshow. And Matthias finally yielded, though he had been very reluctant. During the act, he had been hesitant and ashamed. In Fjerda, men and women saved themselves until they were bound in matrimony, though some saw no harm in a tumble between the sheets by two people who had pledged themselves to each other. For the Drüskelle, though, it was expected of them to remain chaste until they were wed. Matthias expected to remain much the same. That was until he befriended a certain Grisha, and she betrayed him to Kerch sailors by claiming he was a slaver.

Oh, he still thought he could remain untouched by a woman even while he languished in a dank and overcrowded cell. That certainty lasted only until he won his first Hellshow, and you were brought to him three nights after that. Matthias had been disgusted with himself and the weakness of his body. He apologized repeatedly as well, believing that he had gone too far and hurt you. Then the months passed. His shame slowly turned to a growing interest, his disgust with himself slowly ebbed away, and he was no longer hesitant or clumsy in bed. Your cries of pleasure were proof enough of this. They were no longer feigned like they were the first few months.

“Oh?” You asked, shivering again when he dipped his head and pressed a kiss on the crook of your neck. His lips were chapped and dry despite his bath. It was part of the price that had to be paid when locked away in Hellgate, but they did not fail to arouse you all the same. “What do you crave, Matthias?”

Matthias flushed. “Many things,” he said, his cheeks a pale shade of pink. “I crave many things.” He tugged your shift down your arms. It too slid to the ground and pooled around your feet, leaving you exposed save for the sturdy but pretty slippers you wore. “Some of them still shame me,” he confessed, getting down to his haunches. His eyes never left yours. “Others excite me.” He took your foot in hand and removed your slipper. The other slipper followed the way of the first not long after. “I find myself wanting to please you with my tongue. I find myself wanting you to please me with yours. I want to mark you with my hands and my teeth, and have you mark me with yours. You have made me like this, Roëd Fetla. Utterly wanton and free. Does such a revelation please you?”

“It does, Matthias,” you husked. Then you gasped. Matthias ran the flat of his tongue up your thigh, then nipped gently. His hands were rough and callused, but they were tender as they glided up your limbs when he rose. “Perhaps we could try the things you wish to do tonight?”

“Perhaps,” Matthias said. “Some of them, at least.”

He bade you to sit where he did on the bed. When you did so, he parted your legs and got down to his knees. Then he closed his eyes and kissed his way along the insides of your thighs, as if he wanted to savor the subtle flavors clinging to your skin. When he reached the apex between them, he plunged his tongue into you eagerly, and without warning.

The jolt and the fiery sensations that followed startled you. “Oh, Matthias,” you cried, overwhelmed. Matthias circled his arms around your legs and held onto them while he flicked his tongue over and over again over your folds. He let out a faint whimper, as if he was thoroughly enjoying what he was doing.

It was such a drastic transformation from the red-faced and bashful man you met the first time. Back then, he balked at the notion of even kissing you. You were not his intended, he said, and while he would keep his counsel on how you earned a living, he would not take well to you touching him in any way. Then he changed. They all did. That was another part of the price that must be paid when locked away in Hellgate. It changed the men dwelling within, and sometimes, that change was not for the better.

But not Matthias, you told yourself. His change you were not troubled with. In fact, his change made your meetings with him even more gratifying.

“Is this how you wanted to please me?” You cooed, arching your back. Your fingers dug into the mattress from the intensity of the feelings surging through you. If Matthias continued, he would have you finishing before long.

“Yes,” Matthias said after he stopped and pulled away to speak. His mouth and chin glistened in the pale golden light. His eyes now burned like blue flame. “That was how I wanted to please you. Now… would you mind getting onto your back?”

You made haste to move further up the bed. Matthias picked himself up and untied the drawstring along his waist. He lowered his trousers just enough to free his erection, for he could go no further and undress himself completely despite wanting to do so. The shackle around his ankle prevented him from doing it. And the sight of it angered him, for it reminded him where he was, and why he was there in the first instance. Still, he dampened that anger as best he could. You were not Nina. It was not your lies that put him in prison.

“The others ask about you,” he revealed. “They ask what I do to you, and what you do to me.”

“I suppose you tell them nothing?”

“I tell them nothing. What takes place between you and me is no business of theirs.”

“I don’t mind if you talk, Matthias. I know what I do for a living. There’s no point in hiding from it.”

“There may be no point, but it’s still none of their business,” Matthias growled. He moved over to you and braced his hands by your shoulders. His body was like a wave of heat that covered yours. You welcomed it much like you welcomed the weight that slowly bore down on you. “What takes place between you and me is for you and me alone.��

He bent down and captured your lips with his. His kiss was hungry and more than a little desperate. It tasted of you as well. Nevertheless, you sighed softly and moved your arms around his waist, delighting in what you found pressing against your hip. You wanted to make the most of tonight. You would not see Matthias until another month has passed.

It was even better than the last time. Matthias was confident of what he was doing. He propped himself on his elbow and streaked his free hand over your cheek, your throat, and down your side, and then brought his hand back up again. He repeated the stroke again and again, until you spread your legs, inviting him to do more than just touch and kiss. Matthias accepted the invitation without hesitating. He slipped his hand under your back, raised it, positioned himself, and then pushed his length in a single thrust. 

The chain binding him to the bed clinked against the wooden frame every time he pulled back his hips and pushed back in a steady rhythm. His breath was hot and ragged against your cheek as he buried his face in your hair. It felt good. Everything about him felt good. It made you wonder what he would have felt like away from Hellgate, with his eyes catching bright sunlight as it poured through an open window and his burnished gold hair falling down his broad shoulders. The thought disappeared as quickly as it came; something far more powerful drove it away. It grew stronger and stronger until it became a tightening that settled deep within your lower belly.

“Yes, Matthias,” you begged. “There, Matthias. Right there. Harder. Oh—”

Matthias drove into you relentlessly even when you cried out and your nails raked down his back. He wanted to do more, so much more, but he knew there was no more time for that. He plunged a little faster, a little deeper, until his vision blurred and his orgasm overcame him. His entire body shook when he emptied himself of his spend, but still, he did not stop. He thrust until he softened, and only then did he go still.

A heady silence followed. It was silence of the sweetest kind, the kind that came over two people who, not too long ago, lost themselves to each other. Matthias was the first to stir. He rolled off you and settled on a pillow, his chest still heaving from exertion.

“How many hours did Tante Lieke agree to?” He inquired, breaking the stillness that came over you both.

“Until midnight,” you said sadly. “The warden agreed to pay for me only until then. I must be ready to leave with the guards once the bells strike the hour.”

“The warden is reluctant to pay for more hours,” Matthias lamented. The prison coffers were overflowing because of the Hellshow, but the warden was a prudent man. He was not one to spend more than what he deemed was necessary. “I understand.”

“This could be motivation for you to do well next month also,” you said. “Then I’ll be sent for as your reward, and we can do some of the other things you spoke of before.”

Matthias looked at you. His lips curled up at the corners. “Yes,” he agreed, beaming. “Now come closer, Roëd Fetla. Let me hold you until it’s time for you to leave.”  

[ozbian]

Skaldova episode 1

skallll-DOOOO-VAAAA

Jake's going with DM

Murphy teasing an extra deep and gravelly voice

Emily being mysterious, voice is slightly sing-song

Caldwell going loud and jovial with like a showman's accent

Scheduling change! 2 weeks of campaign and one week of bonus content (good idea to give a little cushion what with the new baby and the new baby)

skal-DOo-VA

Jake intro, post apocalypse, low magic, rich v poor, fuck the nobles across the bay, Mud Town on Steel Bay

'Leviathan Inn' I like it, dingy, giant fish jaw, 4 choices of drink - light, dark,smoky,sweet

Rorick Farflung the innkeeper, I do love how Jake does surnames

Fuck I love a shore town

Boggy Roger - Caldwell, talkative, lumbering mossy mound, from mosslands, piercing blue eyes and a beard under a hat

Boggy's Buds were a capering outlaw band that threw parties and brewed peat spirits, some fish lord killed them all, vengeance pact, looking for more Buds.

Zudrick of the Murder - rusty dark souls knight gone mad, anime sword, bag of something bloody for dinner, accompanied by crows (the Murder I suppose - sick) Must be Vigilant in the Night.

Keeps coming to the inn and ordering water only

Welly Hamden - Emily outside trying to pitch a tent amidst the crows, disgraced knight Order of the Oaken Oar, cherubic face, crown braid, barnacle plate, green tabard with river pebbles, heron feather behind her ear, bark bound folio

Edgar Tabitha Salem Sabrina - The Murder

Ooh PvP threatened very quickly lol, don't touch the Birbs

Zudrick and Welly bond over the teetotalling

Welly says Chastity and purity are two of her five knightly virtues - five seems like so many. She is in sharp contrast to this world

Mystery bloody sack is a deer! Zudrick didn't think this hunting thing through

Welly was brought up in a court and thinks dressing a deer means to clothe it ... Oh she's fresh out of court isn't she, of course she is she was setting up a tent next to an inn

Welly: Oh! Guts!

Boggy comes in to save the day with the deer

Jake politely indicating that this behavour is unacceptable by having bystanders run away

God Drop! "as sure as The Ender comes for us all"

Welly latching onto the Buds and not taking Zudrick's hints to drop it

Bud Names! - Longest Tom, Sister Bix, Dandy O'Candles, Flute Boy, Crunchems, William Shits, Lady Linnebeth (love how it reads like some of the Council of Elders)

All slain or taken while Boggy was chasing a haunted deer

Aww they all want people

Zudrick is a delight

Zudrick: you can pay for drinks with sonnets here.

ngl I like the job jar

two more gods dropped - Welly is pledged to the Lodestar and the Ender and the Hilt

Zudrick trying to take care of Welly and keep her out of trouble, this is cute

"Hilt's Balls" we have a swear!

Black Lace elixir made by hermits, the Scared Ones, getting it from somewhere else, there was an expedition to find the source but they haven't come back, mission to find the expedition and extra for the source

Age of Stories

Gods War 200 yrs ago

Castle that no one leaves alive

Oh hell yes I love a singing Caldwell character

The gods are gone and Welly believe they're coming back if people keep their souls pure

(Oh was Welly's fall due to a 'dirty sonnet' I wonder, maybe some sordid stories written of the royalty, in some unfamiliar romantic constellation?)

Boggy is a bit obsessed with peat huh

Steel Hawk Fighter Zudrick

Zudrick a soldier who walked away from war because he was tired, then went and made some crow friends

Crows and Herons as opposites

Welly kissed Guinevere's hand and had a 'carnal release' and wrote an 'indecent sonnet' and other knights found it and read it aloud to everyone including Guinevere's betrothed ... So Welly exiled herself

come-patriots oh no

I like the Salt Market

driftwood temple to who I wonder

Welly is a Rune Knight, runes are the writing of the gods

Herb's 'Erbs and Teas and Tonics oh my ... Herb went from happy burpy drunk to scared burpy drunk

Welly can do a little disguise self and is willing to be a little sneaky for the good of the mission

Boggy concerned with respecting alcohol, also interesting, uses a bow

Forge Time! Handstrong, good Jake name, and apprentice Teemo

the shopkeepers all have pretty distinct voices a+

No such thing as evil

Castle's in a Cave okay, fun dungeon

Welly and Teemo bonding is cute

Iron ring with sigils - star, T and leafless tree, for lodestar, ender and hilt

T could be a stylised crow?

Herons represent the beginning and crows represent death

PVP again, Zudrick pretending to go down lmao

New swear "Ender's Chin"

This poor teen guarding the horses

Oh I wonder if Emily has created some courtly dances based on herons

Humans get heroic inspo, so Boggy confirmed human despite the peat attachment and hidden facial features

Poor herb can't catch a break

Jake says they'll need to make deception or stealth to not be noticed...

Welly biffed it so she just runs for it and the other two follow

One of the guards voice breaks, the salt market is like a mall running on underpaid teens

Zudrick thinks about how he'd usually kill these guards and follows Welly's lead to run ... planking on the horse

Boggy moons the guards and runs as well

Welly almost takes his lead but gets shy and Boggy warns about the doffing rules lol

And they're off and away! Guards didn't stand a chance

(Jake gets to brew consequences for when they inevitably have to return for the money)

[gaymortagokat]

Pirate AU

This is gonna be a series of one shots possibly all related possibly not. Might later combine into a whole fic. Let me know what you think. This was pretty fun to write to fill in some waiting time.

Reyna's ship was the fastest in the Atlantic modified over the last four years since the Queen Anne's Revenge was stolen by Percy Jackson. Blackbeard and his crew boarded the next biggest ship, a US WW2 battleship that was supposedly lost at sea and set sail after killing many creatures and guests of the island and destroying any of the island's resources deemed unnecessary. Anyone who couldn't escape the island was, in short, conscripted to Blackbeard's crew.

Over time, the ship got worn down. Blackbeard was desperate for a sailboat. Something he knew. Something he could trust. An engineer was left stranded at sea and rescued by the crew who then put him to work repairing the ship and teaching Reyna how to repair it. As time passed, and they picked up survivors of shipwrecks and stupidity, parts of the ship were repaired. When the work was done those engineers, carpenters, and mechanics were dropped off in the Florida Keys.

Then Blackbeard found a new ship. He left the ship he had used for the last three years to his youngest crew member as he was now a commander with two ships under his control.

Reyna's ship was the fastest. Not quite as agile as some of the smaller ships and sailboats but it was capable of catching up to yachts and smaller shipping boats, blocking their path and letting Reyna's small crew board.

Mortals were easy to scare and the rich ones would offer almost anything even sometimes their own children to save themselves. Most were allowed to go about their day once their supplies were stolen. Mortal coast guard would try to follow up on the crime and could get close to the ship, but with a little manipulation of the mist, Blackbeard's ships were safe.

Reyna's ship being the fastest in the Atlantic might have been an exaggeration. Lately, it has begun to break down and become more difficult to repair even with the assistance of magic. And it certainly couldn't stand in a fight against that.

The Tremaine was nearly the same length as her ship. Circe's library taught Reyna about them. They're a Greek ship built for speed and agility with the ability to ram into other wooden ships. Oar men controlled everything with the rhythm of a drummer. It took dozens of men working together to stay on mission.

The Tremaine in front of her had to have a full crew several times more people than her own crew. The ship was new, making Reyna think it wasn't someone who survived centuries somewhere like Circe's island. And Circe didn't have a Tremaine that looked like this on the island. There was something coming off the ship too. It was like an aura of death. There were others too, but Reyna wasn't close enough to identify them. The feeling of death was strong but not overwhelming. The crew of that ship weren’t undead but at least one person on it had to be closely associated with it.

Reyna looked at the ship again. In terms of height her steel hulled giant was more imposing. If it could gain speed they could ram the ancient ship scrambling the crew. A ship of that size had to have enough supplies for the journey. The crew would have food to last months. And if the ship was undamaged enough by the end of it, Blackbeard would have a third ship in his fleet.

She headed to the phone, and called Blackbeard. She would need his permission to attack this ship. It rang until it hit voice-mail and she called again. Blackbeard was always slow when it came to modern technology. Reyna called again, and when he answered she told him everything.

The Tremaine would be Reyna's to take.

[wordtothewilds]

Book of Tower pt. 3

First

Previous TW Gore, Violence

40th of Crows, 1408

Humping back from the temple was a lot easier than getting there: for starters, we had fresh water and food to look forward to.  The arrival was a lot less pleasant. The scene when we reappeared was Silent and Cpt. River cuddled up at a table smack in the middle of town, playing cards. Came off like a tableau right out of Ordinian drama. Bishop's thick hands pulled us back before we could interrupt. Most of the units had pulled up into the hills and swamps around town; our lucky buns got planted in the homes abandoned after the last raid. We ate, we drank, but none of it fresh. Hardtack, jerky, and warm vodka. Nickle set up camouflage in the windows, made our post look overgrown. I thought it was a little silly, given the Gabbers were here just a week ago.

41st of Crows, 1408

Moonlight and freezing wind set the scene. Dust kicked up, the shoreline shifted. A couple of Omen’s ravens flew messages between the lieutenants. Scouts were sent upriver. I’ll never know their stories for certain.

Their boats came into town, each a covered teardrop built of wood and bound in steel. Their leader sprung from the rest like a new planet in the night: her robes glowed with powders, runes, and chained talismans, all latticed together to make a layered constellation. In her right hand, a mirage staff that wavered back and forth in the desert moon. In her left, a horn of painted bone. She hollered, she screamed. Her voice was a birdsong in the night. The tune was better than the lyrics, same old stuff: “Get food,” “Get silver,” and then “Bring me tongues,” and finally, “Take the children alive”. Our little nickname didn’t feel so playful anymore.

They didn’t make it two steps from the oars. Our boys had mined the easy way. The night-raiders stepped out and panicked as the pops went off: thunder without lightning. Shimmering glitter flew into the air and danced around them. Little fey ballerinas that cut them out of the night. I’ve had the same treatment. The glitter doesn’t hurt, but it isn’t just for show, either. Cpt. River does nearly nothing for theatrics.

Wood and steel fell on them in a monsoon. I didn’t know where our archers were firing from, everywhere, I guess. For us, it was seconds, but I know for them it felt like an hour in the bad weather. Then Cpt. River sent up a signal flare. Red chemical light painted the village from the river to the swamp. The signal’s been the same since the siege at Marriane: time for Sgt. Glass’s barrowmen to move in. The sand kicked up into a masking cloud as the cultists scrambled. I’m not even sure they noticed the drum beat of warhammers on shields as the armor charged.

The noise was intolerable, but no matter how iron-clad, Glass never strays from the brief. We lost Geriad, Three-Horn, Lowborn, Streamer; more fell but they were destroyed so thoroughly as to become unrecognizable. Blessed be their names, bound here in ink so that they may arrive on the shores of Lost Damascus.

The Gabbers lost their whole forward party, more than twenty reduced to wormfood. Ten that stayed in the boat were saved by the water. The whole river turned in reverse, foamed and boiled, turning the crimson pools pink in the swamp foam. When the steam settled, all that remained were the dead.  

@fffrost @timur-the-archer @pearl-grey-tea

[glennriley49]

The Dead Sea Part 3

By Glenn Riley and Lady Eckland

Part Three: Echoes in the Necropolis

The Ironclad drifted deeper into the maritime graveyard, a ghost ship navigating a sea of ghosts. The colossal silhouette that had momentarily revealed itself was once again veiled by the oppressive fog, yet its presence weighed upon them, a constant, unspoken dread that resonated in the unnatural stillness. Around them, the wrecks grew denser, a grotesque tapestry woven from the ambitions and failures of centuries.

Thorne, Abernathy, and Davies stood on the forecastle, peering into the gloom. The sheer variety was staggering, defying history as they knew it. Skeletal Viking longships, their dragon prows gnawed by time and strange growths, lay entangled with the high, broken castles of Spanish galleons. The elegant curve of a Roman trireme, its oar ports choked with pale, fleshy weeds, rested against the sturdy, barnacle-encrusted hull of what looked like a Hanseatic cog. Further off, the delicate, shattered remnants of Greek biremes mingled with the timbers of ships whose design predated any known civilization, their forms hinting at voyages undertaken when the world was young and the seas held different terrors. It was a museum of maritime nightmares, each vessel a silent testament to having breached the veil into this lost sea.

"By all the Saints," Davies breathed, his usual gruffness replaced by awe and horror. "How long has this place… been collecting ships?"

Abernathy, spyglass pressed to his eye despite the limited visibility, scanned the spectral fleet. "Centuries. Millennia, perhaps. Time… doesn't seem to flow naturally here. Look there, Captain." He pointed towards a shape looming larger than the others, distinct even in the mist. "That vessel… it’s unlike the others. And unlike anything I’ve ever conceived of."

Thorne followed his direction. Abernathy was right. This ship was vast, easily dwarfing The Ironclad, but built entirely of… metal? Not plates bolted onto wood like their own experimental hull, but seemingly solid iron or steel, its lines stark and utilitarian, lacking masts or sails, possessing instead strange, tower-like structures and massive, rusted booms. Its immense hull was streaked with weeping rust and coated in the same disturbing slime and fleshy, fungal growths seen elsewhere, yet its fundamental construction spoke of an alien technology, far removed from the age of sail.

"Iron," Thorne mused, his voice tight. "Completely iron? Or steel? And no masts… propelled by steam alone, perhaps? A design far bolder than our own." He lowered his glass. "It seems less decayed than some, though clearly derelict. An opportunity, perhaps?"

Davies looked sceptical. "An opportunity for what, Captain? To join this fleet of the damned?"

"Information, Bosun," Thorne replied, his eyes fixed on the metal behemoth. "Supplies, perhaps, though unlikely. But mainly, answers. What befell these ships? Is there a pattern? A way out? That vessel is an anomaly even within this graveyard. It warrants investigation." He swept his gaze over the terrified, exhausted faces on deck. "Remaining here passively means waiting to be picked off by the… entity below, or whatever dwells in the fog. We must seek knowledge, however perilous the path."

He made his decision. "Mr. Davies, prepare a longboat. Armed party. You will lead. Mr. Abernathy, you will accompany him – your analytical eye is needed. Riggs, Sutton – you’ve faced the darkness below, now face the unknown ahead. Take Hawkins and O'Malley too. Armed with muskets, pistols, and cutlasses. Extreme caution. Report anything, no matter how small. Your objective is reconnaissance, assess the vessel's state, search for logs or charts. Engage only if necessary."

Riggs nodded, his face grim but set. He checked the flint of his pistol, the trauma of the Bathyscope descent overshadowed by the need for action. Sutton’s eyes burned with a mixture of fear and vengeful energy. The other two sailors, Hawkins and O'Malley, looked terrified but gripped their weapons tightly.

The longboat was lowered into the still, grey water. Rowing was an eerie experience, the oars dipping silently into the thick, almost oily surface. They navigated between the ghostly wrecks, the silence amplifying the soft creaks of decaying timber, the sigh of water moving through skeletal hulls. On the deck of a nearby galleon, something white gleamed – bones, picked clean, lying amongst rotten ropes. Strange, shelf-like fungi, pulsing with faint bioluminescence, clung to the waterline of a half-submerged caravel. The air hung heavy, cold, and stagnant.

They reached the flank of the metal giant. Up close, it was even more imposing, its riveted steel plates stained dark red and black, pitted and scarred. A name was barely visible beneath layers of rust and grime near the bow: USS CYCLOPS. The letters meant nothing to the 18th-century sailors, but the sheer scale and alien construction filled them with unease. Finding a boarding point was difficult; the hull plating was sheer in most places. Eventually, Davies spotted a gash low on the waterline, possibly from grounding, where plates were buckled inwards, offering precarious handholds.

"Riggs, Sutton, give me a back," Davies ordered. With considerable effort, the powerful Bosun hauled himself up, finding purchase on the torn metal. He then helped the others scramble aboard onto what seemed to be a vast, open deck space, cluttered with enormous, rusted machinery – winches, cranes, strange covered hatches – all unfamiliar and menacing in their silence.

The deck was coated in a thick layer of rust dust mixed with the ever-present, greyish slime. The fleshy, fungal growths were even more prevalent here, clinging to every surface, some resembling deformed, bloated starfish, others like pale, veined sacs that seemed to contract slightly as they passed. The air stank of decay, metal corrosion, and something else – a faint, musky, animal scent.

"Spread out, cautious," Davies commanded, his voice low. "Abernathy, what do you make of this?"

Abernathy ran a gloved hand over a rusted bulkhead, his eyes wide with disbelief. "Steel, Captain Davies. Thick-rolled steel. The craftsmanship… it’s beyond anything I imagined possible. No forge we possess could produce such plates. And this machinery… its purpose is unclear, but the scale… This vessel wasn't built in our time. Perhaps not even in our century."

"Future ship?" Hawkins whispered, looking around nervously. "Or… something else?"

"Let's find a way below," Davies said, ignoring the speculation. "Logs, charts – that's the goal."

They located a heavy steel hatch, slightly ajar. Prying it open revealed a dark companionway ladder descending into blackness. The stench wafting up was overpowering. Davies took a lantern, checked his pistol, and led the way down, the others following closely, weapons ready.

The corridors below were nightmarish. Coated in the same pulsating fungal growths, slick with slime, they twisted at angles that felt subtly wrong. Lantern light flickered, casting deceptive shadows. Water dripped incessantly, echoing in the metallic confinement. They moved as a tight knot, muskets raised, the scrape of their boots loud in the oppressive silence. Abernathy occasionally stopped to examine the growths, muttering about cellular structure and parasitic symbiosis, but fear kept his analysis brief.

After navigating a maze of identical, decaying corridors, they found a section that seemed relatively intact. A heavy steel door, warped but still sealed, blocked their path. Working together, they managed to force it open, revealing what looked like an officer's cabin, surprisingly preserved. While rust and grime coated the metal desk and bunk, the strange fleshy growths were less rampant here. Scattered on the floor were oddments that made the sailors pause – remnants of brightly coloured synthetic fabrics, strange plastic containers, items utterly alien to their experience.

And on the desk, lying open beneath a cracked glass paperweight shaped like a dolphin, was a book. It was bound in faded blue leather, but its paper and print were clearly modern. Abernathy picked it up gingerly.

"A journal, Mr. Davies," he said, his voice hushed. "Written in English, but… the script, the phrasing… it’s recent. Very recent." He carefully turned a brittle page. "Listen to this."

He began to read, his voice echoing slightly in the dead air of the cabin.

"October 12th. Still no idea where we are. One moment, clear skies south of Bermuda, the next… this fog. Thick as soup, dead calm. Radio's silent, GPS dead. Arthur is trying to jury-rig the auxiliary generator, but the saltwater intrusion was bad. The Wanderer took a beating in that squall before the fog hit. We’re adrift."

"October 14th. Drifted into… God, I don't know what to call it. A graveyard. Ships everywhere. Old ones. Ancient. Like ghosts in the mist. Saw a Viking longship right next to a galleon. Arthur thinks we've somehow slipped through time. I just think we're lost. Found this huge metal ship, looks like a collier or something, derelict. Cyclops, the nameplate says. Seems marginally better than staying on our crippled yacht. We're going aboard."

Abernathy paused, looking grimly at the others. "This confirms the temporal displacement. This ship, the Cyclops… it vanished in the Atlantic, early 20th century, according to certain speculative Admiralty reports I once glimpsed."

"Twentieth century?" Riggs breathed. "God preserve us."

Abernathy continued reading, his voice growing more strained.

"October 17th. This ship is vast. And wrong. There’s this… growth everywhere. Fleshy, like tumours. It pulses sometimes. Arthur thinks it’s just some kind of deep-sea fungus, but it feels… watchful. We found some tinned food in a galley, surprisingly preserved. But the silence… it presses in. And the feeling of being watched never leaves."

"October 20th. Arthur went deeper into the engineering sections, looking for parts. He didn't come back when he said he would. I went looking. Found his flashlight… and blood. Heard something skittering in the darkness. Not tentacles. Something… chitinous? Fast. I ran. Sealed myself in this cabin."

*"October 21st. It found me. Got in through a ventilation duct. Small at first, like a… segmented crab made of shadow and bone. It didn't kill me. It… touched me. Punctured my skin. Injected something cold. I can feel it… inside me. Changing me. Oh God, the pain… but worse… the thoughts… not my thoughts…" *

Abernathy’s hand trembled as he read the next entry, the handwriting becoming erratic, looping, almost alien.

"October ?? Lost track of time. The change… is profound. My legs… so many legs now… move with such speed. The hunger… it overrides everything. Arthur… poor Arthur… he came back, finally found me. Didn’t recognise me at first. He screamed. He tasted… divine. The joining is almost complete. I am… We are… becoming."

The final entry was scrawled hastily, dated only hours ago, judging by the freshness of the ink.

"Fresh meat. Smelled them coming aboard. Young… strong… terrified. Such flavour. We are hungry. We are coming."

As Abernathy read the last words, a chilling screech echoed from the corridor outside the cabin door, followed by a rapid, clicking, skittering sound, impossibly fast, moving on metal.

"Barricade the door!" Davies roared, shoving the heavy desk against it. Riggs and Hawkins added their weight.

SLAM! Something heavy hit the door from the outside, the steel groaning. SCRAPE… CLICK-CLICK-CLICK…

"It's on the ceiling!" Sutton yelled, aiming his musket upwards, his face a mask of terror and fury.

Another SLAM against the door, harder this time. A thin crack appeared near the warped hinges. Through it, they could see a glimpse of movement – pale, multi-jointed limbs ending in needle-sharp points, scrabbling for purchase.

"Fire through the door!" Davies ordered. Riggs and Hawkins fired their muskets point-blank into the steel. The roar of the shots was deafening in the confined space. A high-pitched shriek answered them, followed by the sound of something heavy slumping down, then more furious scrabbling.

"It's still coming!" Abernathy shouted, drawing his own pistol.

CRUNCH! One of the chitinous legs punched clean through the weakened steel near the top of the door, flailing blindly. Sutton fired his pistol, shattering the limb in a spray of ichor that hissed where it touched the metal floor.

"Reloading!" Riggs yelled, frantically working with powder and ball.

The door buckled inwards further under a renewed assault. They could hear wet, guttural sounds now, mixed with the clicking – a voice, distorted, layered, hideously female and yet utterly alien. "Hungry… join us… become… more…"

"We can't hold here!" Davies shouted over the din. "Through the other passage! Move!"

There was another doorway at the back of the cabin, leading deeper into the ship. Davies kicked it open. "Abernathy, take the journal! Riggs, cover our retreat! Sutton, Hawkins, O'Malley, with me!"

They scrambled through the doorway just as the main cabin door burst inwards. Standing there, silhouetted against the gloom, was the horror described in the journal. Eleanor's upper torso and head were still vaguely recognizable, but grotesquely fused into a segmented, insectoid body made of glistening, pale chitin. Her arms ended in wickedly sharp claws, and she moved with terrifying speed on at least eight long, multi-jointed legs that carried her across the floor and onto the walls with equal ease. Her mouth opened in a screech, revealing rows of needle-like teeth.

Riggs fired his reloaded musket, the ball striking the creature's chest with a sickening thud. It staggered back, screeching, but didn't fall. He drew his cutlass as it surged forward again.

"Go! Now!" Riggs bellowed, engaging the creature, his blade scraping uselessly against its armoured carapace.

Davies and the others plunged into the dark corridor beyond the cabin. "Riggs! Fall back!" Davies yelled.

They heard Riggs cry out, a sharp yell of pain, followed by a wet tearing sound. There was no time to look back. They ran blindly through the twisting, fungus-coated corridors, the skittering pursuit echoing behind them, sometimes seeming impossibly close, sometimes fading as if the creature were taking shortcuts through vents or unseen passages.

Lanterns bobbed frantically, casting wild shadows. Hawkins stumbled, screaming as a sharp leg lashed out from a side passage, gashing his arm before O’Malley pulled him onwards. Abernathy clutched the journal, his face pale, gasping for breath. Sutton fired his pistol back into the darkness whenever the skittering sounded too close, the shots echoing endlessly.

They burst out of a different hatch onto the main deck, gasping in the relatively open, fog-filled air. The longboat was still where they left it, bobbing gently against the hull far below.

"Down! Quickly!" Davies urged, hustling them towards the torn section of the hull they'd used to board.

As Hawkins and O'Malley scrambled down, the creature appeared at the deck railing above them. It moved with unnatural fluidity, clinging to the vertical surface, its multiple eyes glowing faintly in the gloom, its distorted human face twisted in a rictus of hunger. It shrieked again, a sound that promised pain and assimilation.

Sutton, Abernathy, and Davies slid and scrambled down the hull plating. Sutton paused at the bottom, turned, and fired his last pistol upwards. The shot went wide, but the flash and bang seemed to make the creature hesitate for a fraction of second.

"Row!" Davies bellowed as they tumbled into the longboat, Abernathy landing heavily, clutching the journal. O'Malley and a terrified Hawkins grabbed oars, pulling frantically away from the towering metal hull.

The Eleanor-creature crawled down the side of the Cyclops with horrifying speed, reaching the water's edge just as the longboat pulled out of immediate reach. It shrieked in frustration, long claws scraping against the steel hull, leaving deep gouges. It glared after them, a promise of future torment in its glowing eyes, before retreating back into the shadows of the derelict vessel.

The row back to The Ironclad was made in terrified silence, punctuated only by Hawkins' pained groans and the frantic splash of the oars. They were hauled aboard, Davies quickly reporting the nightmare to a grim-faced Thorne.

Abernathy held up the journal. "Captain… the graveyard… it’s not just the entity in the fog we have to fear. The ships themselves… they harbour their own horrors. Things that… change people."

Thorne looked from the traumatised faces of the boarding party towards the looming shape of the Cyclops, now fading back into the fog. They had sought answers and found only deeper layers of horror. Not only were they hunted by a god-like entity from the depths, but the very resting place of its previous victims bred new abominations, parasites waiting to transform the unwary. There was no sanctuary here, not even among the dead. The Ironclad was not just adrift in a monster's lair; it was adrift in a sea of metamorphosing nightmares. The third part of their ordeal was over, leaving them facing not one, but multiple horrors, trapped between the colossal watcher in the fog and the festering evils within the graveyard itself.

[labotronicsscientific]

Pilot SIP steel fermenter

Pilot SIP steel fermenter series is a mechanically driven stirred-tank vertical fermentation units. Stainless steel tank design aids easier upscaling for industrial transfer. Height adjustable de-foaming oar ensures consistent mixing. Real-time data recording, restore and review provides a log of timed alarms and settings.

[oh-for-fic-sake-library]

The Saxon Heathen

Masterlist

Summary: jarl geralt is excitedly awaiting the return of his raiders, aboard one of the longships was his gift from the allfather. His vision was of a saxon heathen, a woman. His intended. Butlittle did he know that this woman would eagerly butt heads with him , for she belongs to no one, least of all an albeit handsome brute.

Warnings: swearing, mentions of brutality, viking AU,

A/N: so a little au jarl viking geralt and a crazy pagan saxon for you.i always wondered what a a viking would have done with a saxon heathen. Anyway i hope you enjoy my little slice of madness.

Caution not beta'd ignor the typos because i am.

Four days. For four days the jarl had been on the dock watching the horizon. Waiting for the sails of his clan to break through the thick autumnal fog, the grey that muted the blue of the open sea. He was like a statue, unmoving, patiently gazeing out in to the distance with purpose awaiting the arrival of his gift.

The jarl was not built for this longing. He conquered, argued and roared in the midst of battle. He was true to his clan, fought and bled for them, re-emerged from deaths grip countless of times. Others called him a gods champion. A chosen of odin, which spurred his own clans feirce loyalty to him. Especially when his hair had turned into the brilliant white before his ageing. His eyes had always fascinated the others in the village , the light amber akin to that of wolf. Earning him the title of White wolf. Yet now with his hair he truely looked otherwordly. Some called him asgaurdian others uttered he was and odinson. But truth be told he was unsure what caused such looks. He never questioned the gods, never asked for reasons, only ever wprshipped them.

And now his unyielding love and loyalty to them had brought forth a boon. Geralt jarl of Rivia had been granted a vision, a premonition from the very gods he adored. The seer of the clan had shared in his minds sight, it would seem the gods did not see fit to give the wolf privacy on such matters.

The vision told of an arrival, a great boon from the gods. A warrior. A woman. She will step on this shoreline with a fierce fury that only the valkyrie should know. She was a roaring fire that would know no taming, a force to be reckoned with. A strangly familiar saxon, who was not a weeping wisp of a thing. He dare say she was a a distant cousin of his own kin. For in his vision he felt a pressence similar to a sheildmaidens.

All he knew was this female entity was intended for him. She was a gift from his gods. His treasure from a distant land, she was here for him. He would captivate her and lure her to his side. Like a flame beckoning a moth he will become irresistible to her, she will come to him even at the risk of peril. And once he insnares her she will birth him his heirs, gift him his own batallion of fierce warriors to conquer new lands.

Geralt knew it was close, his warriors were returning home and would land anyday. So he sat and watched, sometimes fished to pass time, showing the younger ones how to cast a net properly to keep them from under their parents feet. But mostly he was still, gazing out into the fog that thickened each day, the autum veil signalled the return of his clansmen. He needed to remain and see this woman as she set foot on his dock.

It was the deep bellow of a horn that alerted him. He drew a deep breath, steeling himself as he heard their call. The resounding long drawn low sound of his clansmen and their yells as they took to the oars and began sailing through the small estuary towards thier home. Others came to the beach and the once quiet dock became a hub of excitement. And with swift stroke along the water the long boat peeled through the fog, the mast sliceing through the smoke like tendrils of ashen coloured sky. He grinnedmfeeling his chest tighten with an odd relieved anxiety. He couldnt wait for them to moore.

You screeched as a rage youd never felt before engulfed you like the very flames that curled around your home those weeks ago. Your battle cry drew the attention of everyone on the docks and long boat's. Saxons and norsemen. Before anyone could stop you, youd jumped the side of the boat and thundered down the dock towards the priest whod dared to comment on your mothers passing. Curseing you and her with scathing words as he exited the boat in shackles with the other Christians.

You had enough of his shit.

You tucked your head and shoulder slightly as you colided with one of the large norsemen that had tried to stop your assault. The huge male had shuffled quickly, widening his arms and bent his knees ready to capture you before you could damage any of the others. But his strength and size did not best your utter rage and you somehow managed to barrel into him sending him off balance and into the cold frigid water below.

Years of rage and hate for the male before you seemed to gift you with the power of something greater. And without a second of hesitation you ducked and body slammed the now yelling, quivering preist sending him to the ground. Your hands may still be tied but you were going to kill him. You were going to kill him!

Your scuffle drew a crowd as you began screaming at the priest who was crying out for help. But the norsemen watched in amusent as you headbutted him cracking his nose drawing a high cry from him. He fell flat on his back and you clambered over him pinning and kneeing him, stomping and kicking where you could. All the qhile screaming like a banshee at him, taunts and curses a-plenty.

The norsemen had noticed on the voyage that you were different. The other saxons spat at you naming you a heathen. A pagan. Two words they didnt fully understand but were used to describe themselves. From what theh could understand you did not worship the saxons god. And the saxons hadnt known you were in the woods, you were belived to be a myth.

Your cabin was hidden away from the settlement they had plundered, decorated in bones and feathers with oddities placed around the door. Carvings and cut stones littering your tiny homestead. You were almost like them in a way.

"Ill be sure to send you to your god! You vile fuck! She was my mother! My mother!!" You yelled tears burning your eyes as your rage flowed freely. You rolled around twisting your hips and captured the preists head between your thighs and hooked one ankle behinde the other.

The norsemen laughed clapping and whistling ,uttering praises as you coiled around your victim like a snake, and much like a snakes prey, the preist could do little more then squirm and squeak. But you paid no mind instead concentrated on popping this snivelling man head clean off his shoulders.

"How does it feel to be sent to your god from between a heathens thighs!?" You shouted hooking your ankles together and clenched your thighs tighter. He flicked his feet out in desperation but nothing would distract you from your task. Not even when the crowd parted letting a huge silver haired male step to the front and watch the show. You felt his arrival but did not pay any mind. You were too preoccupied with attempted murder.

Geralt watched with a sense of pride.his woman was spirited, wild and beautiful. Her thick mane of glossy hair whipped about her as she wrestled on the ground with the poor male. Hecouldnt help his cock twitcing at the sight. Her skirts hiked up around her knees as she captured her prey. The thick mud painting her skin as she tried to murder the man.

Fuck. his eyes locked on the supple yet strong thighs clamped around the males neck. He was almost jealous of her victim, he wanted to feel the sliken skin of her inner thigh caressing his own face. Though when it was his turn to test the strenght of her leg it would be for an entirely different reason. She would tense them around him in ecstasy, not anger.

"Gods above, they did not lie." The seer hummed almost as entranceed by the seen as his jarl was. He didnt bpdare look away from the valkyrie before him, instead only speaking when he felt his jarl stand beside him.

"Indeed she is truly magnificent, to grow with such ferocity in a land full of cowards and piss ants" geralt replied a grin crossing his face as his female began taunting the godly man. She was ost definitely a heathen.

"Huh? Oh what your speechless?! Nothing to preach whilst being strangled by skirts!?"your qords drew laughterfrom all of the northmen some even calling out silver coins betting on how long the preist would survive such an assault.

"She has a wit about her as well as fire. You are truly blessed" the seer chuckled along with the others. He knew she was ging to fit right in. And possibly give their jarl a challenge, the next few ,onths were going to be amusing. Though the allfather granted geralt this delightful boon, the jarl was still going to have to work for it. Afterall the gods need to create their own entertainment occasionally. And this was certainly entertaining.

"Jarl- should we intervene?" One of the men asked growing weary of the priest now beginning to change colour. A deep red fading to purple.

"No, for now let her have her fun." Geralt uttered still enjoying the sight of his half bare queen rolling around in the mud attempting murder.

"She will kill the slave, you know this" the seer utters knowingly. There was a slight displeasure. Geralt had swore the next priest caught would be gifted to him. The seer wanted to toy with one of the saxons. To try and break them ad convert them to their own gods.

"It would be a good death, to die between such supple thighs" another clansmen spo,e up with a deep laughothers joined his laughter agreeing with him. Gerlat stiffened and shuffled on his feet. He did not like that one bit.

"I doubt the preist feels the same."

"It is not death i shall obtain between them, but perhaps a taste of valhalla-" the first man began but didnt get to finish his statement as geralt snarled feeling a wave of possessive jealousy risewithin. He turned on the man so swiflty the later almost staggered back defensively.

"She is not to be touched. Any who try will loose more then their hands" geralt sneered at the crowd of men thatwere clearly planning on trying to have his woman for themselves, perhaps all at once.

Gerlat panted in rage, eyes darkening a growl boiling in his chest frightening those around him. It was rare to see the jarl so enraged outside of the battlefield. They all looked away averting their eyes from their jarl and the woman on the ground. None wanted to cross him, or risk his anger by eyeng the beauty.

It was when geralt was sure he made his point that he looked away from the men. His amber eyes found his woman oonce kore. He grunted, as much as he enjoyed the veiw of her bare legs he did not li,e that the others could also appreciate the sight her supple skin. Her body was for his eyes. Not theirs.

"Jarl? You are considering a slave? You never; its unlike you to take intrest in the saxons past their gold" one male dared speak up when he noticed his jarls attention was back on the woman.

"Slave? No. She is much more then a mere saxon slave. She is a gift All father sent me visions. A ferocious saxon beauty would arrive. My own woman to tame, and when i do the clan will prosper. We will all enjoy the favour of the gods!" He declared, trying to ignore the tense few moments he'd had with his own clansmen.

The crowd cheered as the jarl promised the blessing of the gods. He smiled, but his eyes peered at the two warriors who had tried to taint his new found bride with there mocking words. They each shrunk under the predatory gaze thwt earned him his name. And then nodded back off letting theier jarl know they would not interfere with the gods plans.

Geralt smiled befor stalking up to the woman and blue priest. He chuckled it was both arousing and adorable the way she trapt him so thoroughly. He couldnt wait to get her wrapped around him. Though he may hav to wait some time before letting her mount his own shoulders, she had a good grip and even he may have some trouble pulling her off if she decided to suffocate him with her thighs.

You ignored the way everyone around you seemed to quiet down, or the footsteps that halted beside you. Two muddy leather boots stopped by your head, your eyes flicked up the pength of male and found a truley magnificent man. The odd silver hair and amber eyes addedto the godly ethereal look. Not that he was slight in any way. Taller then all saxons youd seen, and wider too. Not that he was fat, no his size wasnt a result of greed and there was no typical beer belly. He was solid, strong as an ox.

"Release him woman" he grunted down at you tapping you with the toe of his boot lightly whilst crossjngnhis arms and smirking down at you amused. You snarled at him wordlessly before drawing a muffled yelp from your victim tensing your legs once more.

"I said release him" the man repeated his voice stern and deep, full of warning. You shuddered unable to stop the strange wave of heat washing over you. You thighs stiffened pai fully, trying to clench from his growled words. You frowned you didnt li,e thatat all. No man had ever effected you in such a way. It only fueled your rage.

"Not untill hes dead! He thanked his god for my mothers painful death! Celebrated her burning alive! Cursed her soul! Tried to condemn her to an eternal suffering!" You yelled up at the tall pompus ass. You were trying to be angry at him, but something was stopping you. Attraction maybe? No. Somthing else, something deeper. Your soul recognised him, seeing him was like kin who had been astranged finally reuniting. His mere presence felt like thick blankets on a cold day, safe and warm.

"He is a valuable slave and will serve us well in the coming winter. Now release your thighs lest i pry them open myself woman" You faltered for a moment, you tummy tightening.our pussy fluttered at the insinuation. Your eyes flicked to his large hands. God's yes. You wouldnt mind being handled by him, thats for sure. You shook your head ridding yourself of the momentary weakness and bared your teeth at him.

"Try it old man and youll be next!" No geralt was definitely not letting you enjoy his mouth for some time. A punishment youd not know he'd given you untill you had given in to him. Though if he had done his job right by that point youd rather ride his cock each night.

"I warned you woman" he shrugged before ducking down, bending over you scalding you with his hands as they descended on your bare legs. You yelped out loud and cursed him as he slotted a palm between your tights, the other hand encircled one ankle. And with a sharp shucking motion as if flicking out a damp towel the preist was free.

"Agh? Hey wait no! Let me go: get off im almost finished!" You screamed wriggling, kicking as the huge man held you up by your thigh and ankle. He laughed at your curses and vengeful cries. As you saw the deathly blue priest scrabble away from your reach gasping for air.

You squeaked as the amber eyed asshat swooped you upright, throwing you around like you were a tiny weightless child. And without any care to you or the onlookers you were pressed against his crotch tightly. Legs instinctively locking around his waist, and arching towards him afraid of falling back. He hummed and held you, supporting your entire weight with one hand under your bottom. You shuddered as the other still held your ankle behind him. The hot palm slowly rubbing across your leg in teasing feather light caresses.

"There now. Doesn't this feel much better?" He boasted, teasing you by arching his hips into yours lettig you feel his manhoods delight at havingmyour heat smothering him. Your face flamed as the others around you laughed at their jarls supposed victory. You werent having that.

"Id rather have my thighs wrapped around the preist if im honest" you sneered at him drawing even louder laughs from the crowd. You grinned as he frowned quickly, a wave of embarrassment rushing over him,he was unprepared for that.

"We'll see about that when you are astride me." He replied, archign up into your heat once more only thing time he made a show of rubbing you against him, grinding you over his bulge with the hand on your rump.

"Doubtfull" you stuttered trying to keep the pleasure from your voice as your body ignited in a blaze of wanton need. Your warmth clenching tightly urging you to wlecome this barbarian into your hidden depths and discover true rapture.

"Shall we put it to the test?" He tried again to subdue you in a battle of wills. But you were determined to be more then a sodden hole for these savages! Youll be a force to be reckoned with!

"Oh so not even you know the outcome of me atop of you? Not a promising start" you countered, your stubborn pride far to precious to forgo for a decent fuck.

"As good a start as you trying to murder a preist in the dirt with your thighs seconds of entering my village"

"Atleast mine was effective"he scoffed at you before capturing your neck firmly. Tucking his hand tightly below your jaw making you whine and melt against him. He smirked inching his face closer to yours slowly, seductively. Tilting your face up to his and brushed noses wih you as if you were intimate lovers.

"Not that effective. Afterall you didnt finish. But i assure you once your seated on me you will most definitely finish" his tease took a turn, making you flush brightly and gape at him. It wasnt his words that affected you, but the intensity. The way he held you so firmly, held your gaze with his own half lidded hungry eyes. And the way his cock throbbed against you, teasing you with sharp pulsing tremors that made your own needy center weep. You squirmed trying to dislodge his thick member that had crept between your parted legs. His own breeches were the only thing that seperated his need from your own quivering sex. You swallowed dryly trying to think of anything other then the strong male's club poised at your womanly seam, or the way you dampened his breeches with your deceptive arousal.

"I appear to have subdued you quickly enough with little more then words and collar. Do not look so vexed, it is a good thing to know when you are outmatched bu your betters; FUCK!" His victorious words were cut off with a pained yelp as you did the only thingmyou could to shut him up. Used your head. Litterally.

"Im sorry did the big bad barbarian, who clearly outmatches me not see that headbutt coming?" You teased ignoring the pain blossoming in your fore head after hittingnhim so hard with it. You smiled at the sight of blood pooling behind his now fattened lip. If you go down you'll go down swinging.

"I dont see how you didnt see it? I am six inches from your face;HMMFFT!?" Gerlat lunged forward with a growl pressing his lips against yours before sucking your bottom lip into his mouth. For a moment you lost yourself, closing your eyes and relaxing as the taste of honeyed mead met your tongue. You lapped at him in a iitten lick seeking more only to pull back yelping as his teeth locked onto your lip and he bit down. Hard.

"YOU FUCKING BIT ME!?" He smiled at you hungry licking his lip, drawjng the bead of red from it. Tasting you with a pleased growl. You could only stare at the erotic sight.

"Blood for blood woman. And now ours is mingled. We are bound by it." His words made you weak. You werent sure why, or what he meant exactly. But you were not something to be taken claimed and owned.

"Bound by blood? Are you fucking crazy?! You drew blood!" Your anger boiled in your bones as you began to understand he thought he had just earned himself a prize. Instead of denying you claims he grinned showing off red glazed teeth.

"I did, id not let a woman so Fiesty escape me, your fire will bode well for our sons" he preened, flaunting his new claim proudly. He couldnt care less if you disagreed. And oath in blood was unbreakable. And it had been you to initiate it,He had simply retunred inkind seali g the deal. He had won.

"Sons? Hell no! Put me down-unbind me! Now you fucking savage!!" Your aggravation ignited once more into a loud display of rage. You swore at him , squirming and lunging at him, yet did not bite in fear of binding yourself to him a second time in some odd barbaric custom!

"I will unbind you once yoou when you yeild to our bond and not a second before" he anounced casually

"Then i will die in these shackles!" You declared with a snarl.

"I very much doubt that. But fear not drakeling. I shall tend to your every need in your bound state. You will succumb the gods have foretold your submission" he promised both soothing and baiting you. He enhjoyed your rage, especially the way you squirmed in the throes of anger, rubbing and grinding across his fornt unintentionally milking his cock in his own clothes. All the while his teaseing had achived his desired effect he found himself granting you the title of a dragons young. Drakeling was fitting, small and mighty. Something that will grow into a powerful, fearsome beast, but for now was a mere sliver of its own greatness.

"Absolutly not! Put me down you asshole! UNBIND ME NOW!" his reply was a swift open palm to your backside, loud and booming making you rise and squeak as your ass burned.

"My my such a demanding thing you are~ so aggressive. Perhaps you need feeding? Tell me drakeling, should i see to your cold empty tummy? Would you like me to fill it for you?" He teased turnng towards the long house paying no mind to the way you yelled and kicked at him. He laughed and held you tighter. Deciding in that moment he really would keep you bound. Youd be fed by his hand alone, he wouuld tend to you, wash and dress you, cater to your every desire until, you bend to his will and sought him out for your own pleasure and comfort.

Thats not to say he wouldn't pleasure you in the mean time, he would. His nights would be spent worshipping your body, toying with you for hours on end untill you are a quivering woman panting in a puddle of your own makeing, though youd never finish, or have the honour of warming his cock. No, he would withold that final pleasure untill you were his mind body and soul. And he couldnt wait.

"Come let us feast!" He called out to his clan. The crowd cheered excitedly. The night would be one they would all remember. Even if it was just because of the blood bound saxon heathen putting on a show for all to see, their jarl was certainly in for a long courtship.

[yyh4ever]

Yu Yu Hakusho Marukuji 2022

Here we go, another Yu Yu Hakusho lottery (kuji) is on its way, this time by Marukuji. The new illustrations are inspired by the anime. This art style is really cool and the prizes are cute! 🥰

Sales start from 18:00 on August 26th, 2022 (Friday), when more details will be unveiled.

Price: 770 yen per piece (tax included)

Sales period: August 26th to October 4th, 2022

Shipping fee: 550 yen nationwide (tax included) per purchase

Estimated shipping: about 2.5 months after the end of the sales period

Official Site: Marukuji

Product Lineup:

Puu Plush Backpack

This plush backpack is modeled after Yusuke's alter ego, the spirit beast Puu.

☆ Daikichi (super good luck): winning rate of 3%

☆ Body size: H400mm x W270mm

☆ Material: Polyester, nylon

A3 Fabric Poster

☆ Daikichi (good luck): winning rate of 5%

☆ 4 types: Yusuke, Kuwabara, Kurama and Hiei

☆ Size: H420mm x W297mm

☆ Material: Rare suede

*The probability of winning the prize is 1/4 (25%).

3D Acrylic Stand

An acrylic stand with a large size and effect parts that make it looks pretty!

☆ Kichi (luck): winning rate of 10%

☆ 4 types: Yusuke, Kuwabara, Kurama and Hiei

☆ Size: within H130mm x W120mm

☆ Material: Acrylic

*The probability of winning the prize is 1/4 (25%).

Clear File + Illustration Card

A set of a clear file and an illustration card.

☆ Chuu-kichi (moderately good luck): winning rate of 24%

☆ 4 types: Yusuke, Kuwabara, Kurama and Hiei

☆ Size: Clear fife: A4 size / Illustration card: H148mm x W100mm

☆ Material: PP, paper

*The probability of winning the prize is 1/4.

Motif Acrylic Charm

These motif charms are designed with the "image" of each character.

☆ 10 types (they are so cute):

1.Yusuke Urameshi (motifs: Puu, spirit gun)

2. Kazuma Kuwabara (motifs: Eikichi, spirit sword, "Health First" white tokkofuku combat uniform)

3. Kurama (motifs: fox, roses, rose whip)

4. Hiei (motifs: hiruseki stone, jagan eye, black dragon)

5. Botan (motifs: oar, souls and peonies)

6. Koenma (motifs: hat with "Jr." and "King (王)" written on it, pacifier, Spirit World seal and gavel)

7. The Toguro Brothers (motifs: Younger Toguro's sunglasses and 100% of 100% full power; Elder Toguro's elongated fingers)

8. Chuu & Rinku (motifs: Rinku's cap, three stars tatoo and yo-yo; Chuu's ponytails and sake bottle)

9. Jin & Toya (motifs: Toya's ice blade and shards; Jin's horn and tornados)

10. Suzuki and Shishiwakamaru (Suzuki's mask and make up; Shishiwaka's Banshee Shriek Sword)

☆ Shou-kichi (slightly good luck): winning rate of 26%

☆ Size: within 60mm x 75mm

☆ Material: Acrylic

*The probability of winning the prize is 1/10.

Can Badge

The size is an easy-to-handle 57mm, that can be worn or used as decoration!

☆ 8 types

☆ Sue-kichi (good luck to come): winning rate of 32%

☆ Size: φ57mm

☆ Materials: Tinplate, steel, PET, paper

*The probability of winning the prize is 1/8.

[fluentisonus]

Since we've finally gotten there & it's my favorite song in the book!! This is my personal favorite version of the Song of Eärendil/Eärendil Was a Mariner

Lyrics (also in today's newsletter):

that tarried in Arvernien;

Eärendil was a mariner

he built a boat of timber felled

in Nimbrethil to journey in;

her sails he wove of silver fair,

of silver were her lanterns made,

her prow he fashioned like a swan,

and light upon her banners laid.

In panoply of ancient kings,

in chainéd rings he armoured him;

his shining shield was scored with runes

to ward all wounds and harm from him;

his bow was made of dragon-horn,

his arrows shorn of ebony,

of silver was his habergeon,

his scabbard of chalcedony;

his sword of steel was valiant,

of adamant his helmet tall,

an eagle-plume upon his crest,

upon his breast an emerald.

 

Beneath the Moon and under star

he wandered far from northern strands,

bewildered on enchanted ways

beyond the days of mortal lands.

From gnashing of the Narrow Ice

where shadow lies on frozen hills,

from nether heats and burning waste

he turned in haste, and roving still

on starless waters far astray

at last he came to Night of Naught,

and passed, and never sight he saw

of shining shore nor light he sought.

The winds of wrath came driving him,

and blindly in the foam he fled

from west to east, and errandless,

unheralded he homeward sped.

 

There flying Elwing came to him,

and flame was in the darkness lit;

more bright than light of diamond

the fire upon her carcanet.

The Silmaril she bound on him

and crowned him with the living light,

and dauntless then with burning brow

he turned his prow; and in the night

from Otherworld beyond the Sea

there strong and free a storm arose,

a wind of power in Tarmenel;

by paths that seldom mortal goes

his boat it bore with biting breath

as might of death across the grey

and long-forsaken seas distressed:

from east to west he passed away.

Through Evernight he back was borne

on black and roaring waves that ran

o'er leagues unlit and foundered shores

that drowned before the Days began,

until he heard on strands of pearl

where ends the world the music long,

where ever-foaming billows roll

the yellow gold and jewels wan.

He saw the Mountain silent rise

where twilight lies upon the knees

of Valinor, and Eldamar

beheld afar beyond the seas.

A wanderer escaped from night

to haven white he came at last,

to Elvenhome the green and fair

where keen the air, where pale as glass

beneath the Hill of Ilmarin

a-glimmer in a valley sheer

the lamplit towers of Tirion

are mirrored on the Shadowmere.

 

He tarried there from errantry,

and melodies they taught to him,

and sages old him marvels told,

and harps of gold they brought to him.

They clothed him then in elven-white,

and seven lights before him sent,

as through the Calacirian

to hidden land forlorn he went.

He came unto the timeless halls

where shining fall the countless years,

and endless reigns the Elder King

in Ilmarin on Mountain sheer;

and words unheard were spoken then

of folk of Men and Elven-kin,

beyond the world were visions showed

forbid to those that dwell therein.

 

A ship then new they built for him

of mithril and of elven-glass

with shining prow; no shaven oar

nor sail she bore on silver mast:

the Silmaril as lantern light

and banner bright with living flame

to gleam thereon by Elbereth

herself was set, who thither came

and wings immortal made for him,

and laid on him undying doom,

to sail the shoreless skies and come

behind the Sun and light of Moon.

 

From Evereven's lofty hills

where softly silver fountains fall

his wings him bore, a wandering light,

beyond the mighty Mountain Wall.

From World's End then he turned away,

and yearned again to find afar

his home through shadows journeying,

and burning as an island star

on high above the mists he came,

a distant flame before the Sun,

a wonder ere the waking dawn

where grey the Norland waters run.

 

And over Middle-earth he passed

and heard at last the weeping sore

of women and of elven-maids

in Elder Days, in years of yore.

But on him mighty doom was laid,

till Moon should fade, an orbéd star

to pass, and tarry never more

on Hither Shores where mortals are;

for ever still a herald on

an errand that should never rest

to bear his shining lamp afar,

the Flammifer of Westernesse.

[that-dinopunk-guy]

More new shit!

Fireworks. So far we've got red and blue, but if they're anything like the colored lanterns Funcom will probably add more colors in the future.

They're pretty fun.

You can also learn how to craft your own Stygian slave wagon and steel cage, complete with opening door!

You can't knock other players unconscious though (and they would be ridiculously easy to escape by simply removing one's bracelet and dying), so I don't see these being used for PvP. They'll probably be a welcome addition on RP servers though.

You can also learn how to make a new thrall binding called Dead Woman's Tresses, which I question its accuracy considering human hair is not a resource in this game, and a new truncheon called Tiger's Truncheon. To be honest I'm a little disappointed that so much of this new stuff is slavery-themed (even the new armor is called the Khitan Slaver set), since I don't really interact with the thrall part of the game that much. Also slavery is bad.

I like the Sundered Manacles because if you combine that with the broken oar you can learn to make in Xel-Ha then you can pretend you're a new player in Age of Conan.

Also you can learn to craft a display version of one of those big bowls you turn in sorcerer skulls at, but I didn't get any screenshots of it.

So all the new Yamatai building pieces that just got added to Conan Exiles look pretty awesome.

We also got a new Khitan armor, which makes me hope Khitai will get some added building set love sometime down the line too:

[sunmoon-starfactory]

Resource Rabbit Holes - WIP - Part Two

So...I’m going to be honest, I design things for my (Frac) hood first. Typically I like to establish a style and then I agonize over decorating things. I like things that fit that style and come pre-decorated. Usually I’ll include invisible options to cover other people’s styles when I release a thing.

I’m thinking of doing a set of “basic huts” in  the resource rabbit holes, along with those super specific look of things or liek giant set pieces such as trees and mines sims can hide in for just a pretty look. You know...just a building. I’ve currently been attaching decorations to this building, and giving a little variations to tell them apart at a glance maybe, or I want the deco to serve as the “the sim is working!” reminder to the player.

For instances...that fishing hut. The boat and oars would disappear. That forestry hut, the axe would disappear. Indicating the sim has taken the boat/axe out with them. Basic structure remains the same though and allows for consistency. That being said, these are far less friendly to other players. The only aesthetic difference otherwise is the little awning to chuck some cut wood under or something.

Solution? Offer you the the SAME building, just with different functions to what they gather. Much more specific, easier to create a different vibe...this structure would support steel beams and corrugated metal just as well as it does the wood and stone for instance. But a little more boring.

Thoughts?

[wordsandrobots]

OK, I have two overall things to say about Gundam SEED: Destiny (I’ve been sick, binging this nominally staved off extreme boredom; spoilers to follow).

Number 1: Arthur Trine is doing his best, damnit, and I hope he got a cup of tea and a sit down once everything was over.

Number 2: what an incredibly frustrating show.

In many ways it is leaps and bounds ahead of its predecessor, freed from literally repeating the same set-pieces of the original Gundam to tell a story that, honestly, has something approaching a meaningful point. Chairman Durandal is a compelling antagonist and the way he and Teen!Le Cookset gradually break the series’ pseudo-protagonist to their perspective is narratively interesting. The underlying message in what he does -- about how those in power pick out enemies that will best serve their ends and present themselves as the reasonable ones -- is definitely worth exploring. And the show even manages to address the Gundam-overload issues from SEED, by more clearly delineating the point of each machine and staggering them a bit more competently.

However. It inherits the problem of its length exceeding its content, leading to more stock-footage abuse and, far less forgivably, *three* clips shows, only one of which (the last, focused on Meer) has any actual merit. It also continues SEED’s determination to screw over every single female character who isn’t Lacus. For the record, I *like* Lacus: she’s a nice execution of someone having a ‘typical’ presentation wrapped around a core of stainless steel conviction, which is something I always enjoy in fiction. However, Cagalli in particular is an utter waste of potential, not being allowed to mature, gain focus, or make a single bloody decision without Kira or Athrun’s input, to the point where it’s actively aggravating to watch.

This is where we hit the limits of the genre and demographic, of course, and once again makes me appreciate literally every female character in IBO because Gundam generally is so very *not good* at this. (Obviously G-Witch is ahead again on the score, thankfully, but IBO is probably the best-case scenario within the ‘fiction aimed at boys’ problems that plague its predecessors.)

Shinn is similarly annoying. It’s not a bad thing he’s abrasive and the endpoint was always going to be him winding up a broken, weeping wreck because he’s too stupid to recognise anything beyond his own feelings. But his trauma flashbacks hit parodic very early and he’s far too irritating to be worth sitting through his screen-time. Like Kira, only the problem is the presence of personality rather than its total fucking absence.

My biggest complaint, however, is reserved for the variety of ways SEED:Destiny buggers up its good ideas. I’d have liked it a lot more if ‘Logos’ hadn’t actually been a thing. ‘Shadowy conspiracy doing [bad thing] from the shadows in the name of profit’ is the kind of message that gets slung around a lot in real life with no justification whatsoever and it really doesn’t help counter the people who do that if you hinge your plot on ‘no the Illuminati actually do have a giant laser on the moon.’ The cleverer and more cutting twist would have been to reveal there was no actual group called Logos and while the people Durandal named might have had interests in common, he was really just lumping them together for his own convenience.

You know. As scapegoats. Like the way this goes in reality, with the matters that this show is sticking its oar in and trying to Say Something about.

But no, because once more, this is a story interested in emotional reactions and personal epiphanies over any sort of systemic question because, well . . . that’s typical, isn’t it? Frustrating but not unexpected. Eureka Seven does nearly everything SEED/SEED:Destiny attempts better and that is hardly the first case of that happening with a Gundam show. Possibly this is just galling me more than usual because there are so many [swerves around the obvious pun] traces of a more interesting story here.

Oh well. Mu steadily getting his memories back was fun and I shall be taking the final epilogue to mean he, Murrue and Andrew settled down to a life of coffee-fueled polyamory. Yzak yeeting himself on to the right side of the final battle through sheer indignation was actually kind of funny. And I will give it credit, this did feel like one of the more meaningful ‘final battles to destroy a giant super-weapon’ out of the many, many times Gundam has done that (including in SEED, for gods’ sake). If nothing else, I appreciate the chutzpah of having Durandal rock up in an off-brand Death Star, right down to a recoloured Emperor’s chair.

Whatdyouknow. I actually did have something to say about this one. I think that just leaves Victory for main series I haven’t watched (I finished G Fighter; it was joyfully ridiculous). That probably won’t be changing any time soon. Ranking wise . . . SEED:Destiny probably sits around equal with 00 for me.

[digitalsatyr23]

Find the word tag

Thanks for the tag, @space-writes! My words are fall, find, wander, and journey.

Fall

Despite the pursuing onoids’ best efforts, the three guards managed to reach the waterfall, but it was a long way down. The three skid to a halt and looked down, and in their hesitation, the onoids caught up. The second survivor dove off immediately while Simon drew his gun, firing on the onoids as quickly as he could. Seeing this, Lucia popped her arm back into place and drew her sword, stabbing into an onoid’s eye as she shouted, “Just jump! Better to die to the fall than to them!”

Find

Though it was rarely relevant to its duty, harvest demons had the uncanny ability to tap into the memories of its host bodies. When it was Degory, it knew where his family slept. As Andre, it remembered the pain and ridicule of being the village outcast, kept prisoner only until he was deemed useful. In addition to the memories of its host, the demon had its own memories. Memories of the abyss, memories of the fallen, of witches, and of their craft. In order to make use of these memories, the demon required a body that was better suited to channeling such magic, and it knew exactly where to find one.

Wander

Many years had passed since Aleisha first began her journey alongside Scheiner. Now he was an old man, and Aleisha was a middle-aged woman of fifty-three long, cold summers. Was this truly the freedom she sought, or was it just another cage with a different coat of paint? She was in too deep now. There was no turning back. With a fresh band of hunters at their side, Scheiner and Aleisha followed the trail into the war-torn land of Besalbrie, arriving just days after the war was declared over. But even as they marched their way through the unknown, there was something oddly familiar about the land. Terrible, dreadful, but familiar. For Aleisha, it was like she had wandered back into those dark woods...

Journey

As the others had, so too did Belgram suit himself in teron plate armor—sturdier than steel, yet lighter than leather. He adjusted his gauntlets, tightened his armor straps, then put on his great helm topped with a plume of fire beetle hairs, all orange and smelling of cinders. With this, Belgram and Eldessa left the burrow and climbed down Kijihn, meeting the other four at the dock next to their longship forged from fine silver (For such metal is immune to the effects of the Acid Sea). After climbing aboard, Belgram gave the order to one of the crewmen, Ysval, who lit the ceremonial rope that tied the ship to the dock, severing their ties with it (And thus their home) until such time as they would return, skull in hand.

“Raise up the sail and hold fast your oars, for a long journey awaits us! We go now in search of glory, honor, and retribution!”

“It shall be done!” shouted the other tero.

With everyone at their station, Eldessa spoke the holy words and wrapped the longship in a magical barrier to protect them from the poisonous fumes of the Acid Sea, then the six tero headhunters set out on their quest...

No pressure tagging goes to: @gummybugg, @scarlett-olivier, and @faelanvance. Your words shall be blood, heart, food, and death. And obviously if anyone else feels like doing this, feel free. :D