#Shell Transport & Trading

[alwaysoutofpaper]

the livestock of haek (top) and haen'oi (bottom), found in and around the landmass/island of Tunib'sau

wanted to draw up some creatures because I haven't created much hae planet fauna. ramblings below the cut, but it's a lot. all you really need to know is all of these animals can be eaten :)

uli'ni are highly social, omnivorous pack hunters (or ambush predators in small numbers), used for pest control by haek. a village can have a near 1:3 ratio of uli'ni to haek, with the pack usually belonging to a single family, or being cared for communally in some cases. bright, soft coats are sought after by haek wanting a pet. there has been a trend of uli'ni being imported into the city as an exotic pet - mainland uli'ni are a lot nastier.

tade are like truffle pigs. they can sniff out root plants from under dirt and snow, so they are critical for farmers when poor weather conditions would normally make harvests miserable. they are usually eaten along with the plants they help harvest. their "wool" is used for bed, bedding, clothes, and other textile things that are otherwise difficult to create with limited fibers. most shed their coats seasonally, but a mainland variety is bred to grow them continuously like sheep.

rudon are the fastest growing, hardest to handle source of protein a haek could ask for. they burrow under the snow, and further into the ground when it isn't covered. raising them is more difficult than hunting them in the wild, but some haek still try, creating stone-lined pits they will fill with dirt to keep rudon contained. they can wreak havoc on any plantlife if left unchecked, so they are rarely raised in the same village as a root plant farm. their fatty tails are used for tallow, which can be sold at high prices or traded for goods if transportation is possible and a surplus is available.

ta'fer is essentially a much meaner lobster. they can pinch, bite, and smack someone around with their tail. they are aggressive to anything that isn't a ta'fer, and evasive when they feel threatened, which makes them difficult to handle without immense caution. the meat is worth it to most haen'oi, though, and just the act of raising them garners a whole lot of respect.

bibbits are some of the most abundant fish (calling them that cus they look like that) in the oceans, found all over the world with different variations. the bibbits found around Tunib'sau are very boney, but those bones are soft and thin, not removed unless necessary (like for baby haek, it could be a choking hazard - baby haen-oi don't have this problem). bibbits are usually smoked and eaten whole for haek, or eaten raw in the water by haen-oi. they are very flavorful, but don't keep well.

le'bul, or the "walking jewel", is a six-limbed nautilus-like critter. they have tentacle-lined arms like octopus, but lack the chromatophores of the same species. they instead rely on their shells for defense and camouflage, evolved to mimic different types of coral, depending on the region they're in. the le'bul shown above grows a shell resembling coral found almost exclusively in underwater caves. tracking them down is a difficult task, but they can be lured out with bibbits, so actually catching them is pretty simple. their shells are often used as decoration or storage depending mostly on the condition of it after the rest of the body is removed.

lastly, corin is basically just a really big tilapia. high in protein, low in fat. their meat is white and not the most flavorful, but it keeps well and their bones are good for making broth. there are much better, tastier fish out there, but these are the easiest for haen'oi to herd, hunt and trade, so it is the most popular option. they're the closest thing to a domestic fish you can get in those waters. some even let you pet them :)

[blueiscoool]

900 Artifacts From Ming Dynasty Shipwrecks Found in South China Sea

The trove of objects—including pottery, porcelain, shells and coins—was found roughly a mile below the surface.

Underwater archaeologists in China have recovered more than 900 artifacts from two merchant vessels that sank to the bottom of the South China Sea during the Ming dynasty.

The ships are located roughly a mile below the surface some 93 miles southeast of the island of Hainan, reports the South China Morning Post’s Kamun Lai. They are situated about 14 miles apart from one another.

During three phases over the past year, researchers hauled up 890 objects from the first vessel, including copper coins, pottery and porcelain, according to a statement from China’s National Cultural Heritage Administration (NCHA). That’s just a small fraction of the more than 10,000 items found at the site. Archaeologists suspect the vessel was transporting porcelain from Jingdezhen, China, when it sank.

The team recovered 38 items from the second ship, including shells, deer antlers, porcelain, pottery and ebony logs that likely originated from somewhere in the Indian Ocean.

Archaeologists think the ships operated during different parts of the Ming dynasty, which lasted from 1368 to 1644.

Many of the artifacts came from the Zhengde period of the Ming dynasty, which spanned 1505 to 1521. But others may be older, dating back to the time of Emperor Hongzhi, who reigned from 1487 to 1505, as Chris Oberholtz reported last year.

Archaeologists used manned and unmanned submersibles to collect the artifacts and gather sediment samples from the sea floor. They also documented the wreck sites with high-definition underwater cameras and a 3D laser scanner.

The project was a collaboration between the National Center for Archaeology, the Chinese Academy of Science and a museum in Hainan.

“The discovery provides evidence that Chinese ancestors developed, utilized and traveled to and from the South China Sea, with the two shipwrecks serving as important witnesses to trade and cultural exchanges along the ancient Maritime Silk Road,” says Guan Qiang, deputy head of the NCHA, in the agency’s statement.

During the Ming dynasty, China’s population doubled, and the country formed vital cultural ties with the West. Ming porcelain, with its classic blue and white color scheme, became an especially popular export. China also exported silk and imported new foods, including peanuts and sweet potatoes.

The period had its own distinctive artistic aesthetic. As the Smithsonian’s National Museum of Asian Art writes, “Palace painters excelled in religious themes, moralizing narrative subjects, auspicious bird-and-flower motifs and large-scale landscape compositions.”

The shipwreck treasures aren’t the only recent discoveries in the South China Sea, according to CBS News’ Stephen Smith. Just last month, officials announced the discovery of a World War II-era American Navy submarine off the Philippine island of Luzon.

By Sarah Kuta.

[niqhtlord01]

Humans are weird: The one who returns

(A continuation of: Humans are weird: They sing going to war)

Though my comrades laughed I continued the human tradition, and to my relief I was rewarded by what gods of theirs were listening.

On my first drop after I started to sing an anti-air shell punctured straight through my dropship. It tore a hole the size of my torso through the hull, reducing the squad mate who had been sitting their laughing at me into a red mist, and then out through the other side before detonating. The craft rocked and lurched but it held together long enough for us to reach the surface.

In my first battle I was pinned down in the ruins of a structure trading fire with a squad of enemy soldiers on the opposite street. We’d been stuck in that firefight for almost an hour trading fire; neither side daring to race across the dead land between us. I had just ducked back to slap in a fresh clip when a shredder grenade was flung through the window and landed at my feet. I had seen what they could due and knew my time had come as there was no chance for me to escape the room before it detonated. Yet as I kept my voice strong in song a stray blaster bolt struck the ceiling above me loosening a chunk of masonry. The piece came loose and fell directly on to the grenade causing the ground beneath it to crumble and continue falling into the floor below before it detonated leaving me unharmed.

What truly astounded me though is when my squad was assigned to capture a metal recycling facility on the outskirts of the city. Reports had identified the complex as a rallying point for scattered enemy squads looking to regroup so we were sent in to neutralize the threat. We arrived in good order and began investigating the factory when the machinery suddenly came to life. A metallic sheering blade the size of my body swung at me from the gloom and would have nearly chopped my head off had I not noticed the red glow it began to emit as it powered up. My comrades were not as lucky and three of them were cleaved like bloody paper. From above I saw the operator of the machinery at what had once been a foreman control post and let loose a barrage of blaster fire. He fell quickly enough and in the confusion of battle between the enemy forces now flooding onto the facility floor I made my way up to the control post. It took a minute to unravel the nature of the controls but in short order I had redirected our would-be machine adversaries to turn on their former compatriots. The facility was ours within the hour with myself once more remaining the only one untouched from harm.

As my squad began shuffling off to wait for a medvac I found myself drawn to the machinery. The giant blades now stood silent and powered down and I ran a hand against them. Even powered off they were sharper than anything I had ever come across and when on had so easily cut through armor meant to deflect raw energy discharges. I’m not sure if it was from the shellshock of battle or from my recent time spent with the human warriors, but I felt something calling to me from the blade. It took some time to dismantle but by the time the medvac transport arrived I had freed it from its housing and dragged in onboard. If my squad had anything to say about it those that could still speak kept their own council.

Back in orbit I dragged the metallic blade to the human’s section of the ship. I had found myself in their company more and more when time permitted between deployments. Their talk of ancient gods and wards of protection were what interested me at first, but they were but the first steps into the depth of my fascination of their culture. I showed them the giant blade and told them of how it had slain my comrades. Some of them spoke how it reminded them of the blade of Surtr which heralded Ragnarök, while others insisted that it was more akin Skofnung, a king’s blade imbued with the spirts of his most loyal warriors.

The debate went on from friendly disagreements into an open brawl between the opposing factions, but their engineers remained focused on the material itself and asked what I wished to do with it. I had heard many of the legends of the humans by now and knew many of them carried great weapons, so I wished them to fashion me one from this blade as well. They were hesitant at first as the work alone would be immense and they had other duties to attend to, so I offered them whatever material of the giant blade would be theirs to do with as they pleased. With such an offer made their eyes went wide and they barely had time to agree to the terms as they snatched the giant factory tool and carried it off between the still brawling throngs.

Three days passed and I heard nothing from them. My next deployment was on the fourth and just before I was to embark on the transport the engineers came before me. With great glee they presented me with my new weapon.

Now a fraction of its former size, the blade could easily be wielded with one of my hands. I took several swings of it and I could feel the very air itself around it buzzing as it sliced through it. To add to the moment the human engineers directed my attention to a bright red button on the hilt of the weapon. No sooner had I pressed it did the blade coursing with power. A soft orange glow began to emit from the blade as it once more became as powerful as the first time I saw it in the facility. As if to emphasize its keenness they had me hold the blade up then swung one of their own rifles at it like a club. The blade sliced through the body of the rifle and it fell to the floor with a loud clutter.

Impressed by their work I nodded my thanks and joined my comrades on the dropship. It would be the last time anyone on the ship would call me by my name. When I returned I would be known by other names but the one that most stuck was Ne’ya Ruel, which in my people’s tongue translated to “The one who Returns”  

[whencyclopedia]

The Invention of the First Coinage in Ancient Lydia

Money may take many forms, from the digital code of cryptocurrency to the woodpecker scalps favoured in early California. People have also used cattle, cacao beans, cowrie shells, chewing gum, grain, and giant stones as money. Early cultures became especially fond of metals, particularly silver, gold, and electrum (an alloy of the other two). These held their value (unlike a dead cow), were easy to transport (unlike a giant stone), and they could be measured out in exact amounts and fractions (unlike a woodpecker scalp). The only problem with metals is all the weighing. This adds time to every transaction, increasing the inconvenience and costs of doing business with bullion. There had to be a better way – and the ancient Lydians invented it.

Lydians Invent Coinage

In approximately 630 BCE, someone in the Anatolian kingdom of Lydia stamped a piece of precious metal with something akin to a signet ring. One outcome of this simple act was that it increased confidence in the lump’s weight and purity when later used in the marketplace. This procedure did nothing to modify the intrinsic value of the commodity, but it simplified the exchange of bullion for anyone willing to accept the stamp’s guarantee prima facie rather than reweighing and retesting the lump every time it was traded. Merchants could set aside their cumbersome scales, weights, and touchstones to accelerate their transactions by counting out, not weighing out, this new form of currency. The Greeks, who quickly adopted this Lydian technology, named the coins nomismata because they functioned as money by accepted convention (nomos).

That acceptance probably grew by degrees. The first time a fellow showed up in a Lydian marketplace with some stamped chunks of electrum, most of his neighbors may not have noticed or cared. The metal went into the balance pan with other bullion to pay a debt or purchase a lamb. Nothing differentiated the stamped and unstamped pieces until people could agree, by custom (nomos), that the message punched into the metal had special meaning. At that point, the object obtained the three essential elements of a coin as later stipulated by Isidore of Seville in the seventh century CE: acceptable metal, weight, and design. The stamps were rudimentary affairs at first, bearing messages in Greek or Lydian stating, "I am the signet of Phanes" or "I am of Kukas."

It must be remembered, however, that ancient peoples treated a seal more formally than we do a signature; the seal embodied the full power and prestige of the person associated with it. We might compare this to a document that has been notarized and not merely signed. These legends accompanied diverse images ranging from a lion to a stag, all hammered into the metal by a hardened die. Persons such as Phanes and Kukas (perhaps one a military commander and the other a king) stood surety for their stamped bullion in terms of its quality and quantity. Their prior involvement with the metal made it easier to transact business using it. To make this innovation even more convenient, coins were struck in seven denominations going down to a minute fraction (1/192) of a stater weighing less than a tenth of a gram (0.004 oz). This fact suggests a high degree of coin-based monetization, accommodating payments large and small across the Lydian economy.

Book Excerpt

Continue reading...

[fatehbaz]

What it meant to "do geology" in Hutton's time was to apply lessons of textual hermeneutics usually reserved for scripture [...] to the landscape. Geology was itself textual. Rocks were marks made by invisible processes that could be deciphered. Doing geology was a kind of reading, then, which existed in a dialectical relationship with writing. In The Theory of the Earth from 1788, Hutton wrote a new history of the earth as a [...] system [...]. Only a few kilometers away from Hutton’s unconformity [the geological site at Isle of Arran in Scotland that inspired his writing], [...] stands the remains of the Shell bitumen refinery [closed since 1986] as it sinks into the Atlantic Ocean. [...] As Hutton thought, being in a place is a hermeneutic practice. [...] [T]he Shell refinery at Ardrossan is a ruin of that machine, one whose great material derangements have defined the world since Hutton. [...]

The Shell Transport and Trading Company [now the well-known global oil company] was created in the Netherlands East Indies in 1897. The company’s first oil wells and refineries were in east Borneo [...]. The oil was taken by puncturing wells into subterranean deposits of a Bornean or Sumatran landscape, and then transported into an ever-expanding global network of oil depots at ports [...] at Singapore, then Chennai, and through the Suez Canal and into the Mediterranean. [...] The oil in these networks were Bornean and Sumatran landscapes on the move. Combustion engines burnt those landscapes. Machinery was lubricated by them. They illuminated the night as candlelight. [...] The Dutch East Indies was the new land of untapped promise in that multi-polar world of capitalist competition. British and Dutch colonial prospectors scoured the forests, rivers, and coasts of Borneo [...]. Marcus Samuel, the British founder of the Shell Transport and Trading Company, as his biographer [...] put it, was “mesmerized by oil, and by the vision of commanding oil all along the line from production to distribution, from the bowels of the earth to the laps of the Orient.” [...]

---

Shell emerged from a Victorian era fascination with shells.

In the 1830s, Marcus Samuel Sr. created a seashell import business in Houndsditch, London. The shells were used for decorating the covers of curio boxes. Sometimes, the boxes also contained miniature sculptures, also made from shells, of food and foliage, hybridizing oceanic and terrestrial life forms. Wealthy shell enthusiasts would sometimes apply shells to grottos attached to their houses. As British merchant vessels expanded into east Asia after the dissolution of the East India Company’s monopoly on trade in 1833, and the establishment of ports at Singapore and Hong Kong in 1824 and 1842, the import of exotic shells expanded.

Seashells from east Asia represented the oceanic expanse of British imperialism and a way to bring distant places near, not only the horizontal networks of the empire but also its oceanic depths.

---

The fashion for shells was also about telling new histories. The presence of shells, the pecten, or scallop, was a familiar bivalve icon in cultures on the northern edge of the Mediterranean. Aphrodite, for example, was said to have emerged from a scallop shell. Minerva was associated with scallops. Niches in public buildings and fountains in the Roman empire often contained scallop motifs. St. James, the patron saint of Spain, was represented by a scallop shell [...]. The pecten motif circulated throughout medieval European coats of arms, even in Britain. In 1898, when the Gallery of Palaeontology, Comparative Anatomy, and Anthropology was opened in Paris’s Museum of Natural History - only two years after the first test well was drilled in Borneo at the Black Spot - the building’s architect, Ferdinand Dutert, ornamented the entrance with pecten shell reliefs. In effect, Dutert designed the building so that one entered through scallop shells and into the galleries where George Cuvier’s vision of the evolution of life forms was displayed [...]. But it was also a symbol for the transition between an aquatic form of life and terrestrial animals. Perhaps it is apposite that the scallop is structured by a hinge which allows its two valves to rotate. [...] Pectens also thrive in the between space of shallow coastal waters that connects land with the depths of the ocean. [...] They flourish in architectural imagery, in the mind, and as the logo of one of the largest ever fossil fuel companies. [...]

---

In the 1890s, Marcus Samuel Jr. transitioned from his father’s business selling imported seashells to petroleum.

When he adopted the name Shell Transport and Trading Company in 1897, Samuel would likely have known that the natural history of bivalves was entwined with the natural history of fossil fuels. Bivalves underwent an impressive period of diversification in the Carboniferous period, a period that was first named by William Conybeare and William Phillips in 1822 to identify coal bearing strata. In other words, the same period in earth’s history that produced the Black Spot that Samuel’s engineers were seeking to extract from Dayak land was also the period that produced the pecten shells that he named his company after. Even the black fossilized leaves that miners regularly encountered in coal seams sometimes contained fossilized bivalve shells.

The Shell logo was a materialized cosmology, or [...] a cosmogram.

Cosmograms are objects that attempt to represent the order of the cosmos; they are snapshots of what is. The pecten’s effectiveness as a cosmogram was its pivot, to hinge, between spaces and times: it brought the deep history of the earth into the present; the Black Spot with Mediterranean imaginaries of the bivalve; the subterranean space of liquid oil with the surface. The history of the earth was made legible as an energetic, even a pyrotechnical force. The pecten represented fire, illumination, and certainly, power. [...] If coal required tunnelling, smashing, and breaking the ground, petroleum was piped liquid that streamed through a drilled hole. [...] In 1899, Samuel presented a paper to the Society of Arts in which he outlined his vision of “liquid fuel.” [...] Ardrossan is a ruin of that fantasy of a free flowing fossil fuel world. [...] At Ardrossan, that liquid cosmology is disintegrating.

---

All text above by: Adam Bobbette. "Shells and Shell". e-flux Architecture (Accumulation series). November 2023. At: e-flux dot com slash architecture/accumulation/553455/shells-and-shell/ [Bold emphasis and some paragraph breaks/contractions added by me. Presented here for commentary, teaching, criticisms purposes.]

[carl-tabora]

Baby's first Marine

(I forgot to post this part on tumblr and posting it now for a future compilation)

An-nakhrimun awkwardly holds the tiny human in her arms, huddling behind the table, terrified and panicking. The human cries, tears streaming down her face while screaming for her parents, yet the destruction outside drowned out her cry. The husband’s hand turned white gripping the revolver, shielding his wife while trying to stay quiet as the hulking armoured brute loomed outside their ruined home. 

Why is this happening? Where did it go wrong?

It was but a quiet and simple day interacting with humans in their city, playing with their offspring, walking the street with her mother, and using her skills to help around, all the while being treated like a local celebrity. And less than a hundred cycles ago celebrated the tiny human’s first birthday.

She found herself enjoying such a time far more than dealing with the arrogant nobles as a lowborn Cryptek back in the Infinite Empire.

But such a quiet and nice time has been shattered by dozens of human spaceships arriving on orbit, and the primitive, armoured brutes that dropped down from orbit in their transports. Their technologies, even primitive, still far outmatched this planet, which only recently reinvented aircraft.

There were no warnings aside from the paper media reporting the local leader’s being receptive to communications and trades while concerns over sovereignty. None thought more of it until the genetically enhanced brutes rain from the sky, slaughtering anyone that resists while bombarding the planet.

The local soldiers huddle around the Canoptek Constructs she lent out as construction and industrial help. Under her panicked command, the invaders found themselves crashed into a wall of necrodermis in this city, their bolter damages swiftly repaired by scarabs, and their power armours brittle as jelly against the superior Necrontyr weaponry.

But the Canopteks could not hold out for long, as more invaders arrived along with heavy weaponry, the constructs were rapidly getting whittled down protecting the humans.

She does not know what compelled her as she rushes to the couple’s home while directing the remaining constructs to guide the local humans to her buried ship in the park, intending to take them and escape the planet. She could have just escaped herself phasing away into the ship, instead, she found herself trying to console the family and taking them along to escape, greatly risking her mother and her own safety.

And now, she found herself cornered inside their home, silently comforting the tiny human, forced to hide her large body behind furniture too small for her, while the genetically enhanced brute scanned the surrounding area for more enemies to slaughter.

She wishes this was just a bad dream and she would wake up any moment now, but her lifeless necrodermis body cruelly reminds her of their kind’s inability to dream.

------

Crushing the crawling Xenos machine under his ceramite boot, Sergeant Garviel Loken looked up to a rain of drop pods entering the atmosphere, and a triumphant pride crept up to him.

The 63rd Expeditionary Fleet has graciously tried to offer peaceful compliance to this lost human world, yet the corrupt and greedy planetary leaders’ refusal has forced their hand. By Primarch Horus’ order, the 16th Legion descended upon this world, intending to correct their foolishness and save the suffering masses into the glorious Imperium.

Initial assault has been swift, the primitive weapons of the locals could barely make a scratch on the power armours, and their rudimentary armoured vehicles are but thin sitting targets that can be disabled with a few bolter shells. Within hours most of the planetary resistance had fallen, and leaders of those backward, fragmented states were dragged out of their offices and executed.

The Imperial Army and Iterators were already boarding the landing crafts, readying for cleanup, before reports of unexpectedly severe resistance came from one of the states’ capital. Three companies worth of legionaries were almost wiped out by the sudden appearance of Xenos machines resembling abominable intelligences, with Astartes' power armour barely a hindrance to their disintegrating weapons.

Loken, part of the initial assault forces in the neighbouring city, arrived first to aid his brothers. Shortly after, fifteen companies worth of second-wave reinforcements will be arriving from orbit. He is appalled and disgusted by what he has witnessed.

These poor people, long suffered under the Xenos machines’ oppression, and their broken perception compelled them to huddle and fight alongside them against their Imperial saviours as if the Xenos machines were somehow benevolent. Even when Loken prioritized the destruction of Xenos machines, the humans still attempted to attack him, forcing him to put them out of their misery.

The Xenos machines are low in number, slowly but surely they are being destroyed, along with the local resistance. 

Iterator Sindermann will have a field day here, Loken mused. The locals need to be educated about the righteous hate of their Xenos oppressors and their technologies, the correctness of Imperial Truth, and the benevolence of the Imperium and The Emperor.

The cry of a child in a nearby ruined building seeped into his ears, no doubt disturbed by the rampaging Xenos machines and the collateral damage that followed. Letting out a quiet sigh, Loken shook his head.

Such is the temporary ache of human supremacy. It could have been avoided if the locals did not make them do this, by rising against their Xenos oppressors and greeting their saviours with open arms. Now, many need to be executed, and those too far gone in the Xenos brainwashing would have to be servitorized as a mercy.

A prosperous recruiting world will be set up here, to provide the Imperium soldiers in their quest to galactic xenocide and the ascendance of humanity.

As The Emperor of Mankind, beloved by all, has visioned.

Reddit Source

[tehrevving]

The Vincent Gets to be Temporarily Happy Nibelheim AU

A random AU thing I came up with where canon still happens but Vincent gets to be happy and sexually satisfied temporarily lmao. 

Will I ever write this? Nope, but I still think it's a good idea that I wanna share lol

Everyone is sent to Nibelheim Manor as usual. The community of the town is extremely small and so while everyone is eager for the money that Shinra is bringing in, they’re all extremely apprehensive about the actual work that’s being done. The scientists are treated cordially, but not necessarily well. 

Vincent is out in the town running errands one day soon after arriving when a wild beast rushes through the gates and starts causing havoc. He chases after it, finding it in the centre of town. He sees you squaring up to it, protecting a group of children huddling behind you. Vincent kills the beast and of course, you’re forever grateful. 

I want Reader here to be like a librarian or teacher or something, someone calm and intelligent that’s important to the community. After rescuing you, you introduce Vincent to everyone, dragging him for days and night outs at the pub, coffee shop etc. The scientists are still treated coldly, but Vincent is somewhat welcomed into the community. 

Vincent is awkward and doesn’t know how to actually ask you out, even though you’re already basically dating. You have to nudge him, giving him hints and then eventually giving up and ending one of your dates with a kiss on his cheek to show your interest. 

Vincent is adorable and flounders pathetically. He’s a trained assassin with a special set of skills, but he doesn’t know how to deal with even the promise of intimacy. So you start dating properly, taking it slowly and eventually inviting him back to your place. 

I decree that Vincent is a virgin in this AU, so he needs to be loved on and treated gently. You start slow, eventually introducing him to utter filthy things. That man needs to moan. 

I’m thinking scenes like:

You sit on his lap and make out for the first time and he comes in his pants.  Introduce him to giving oral and he literally never wants to stop. Sucking his soul out through his dick and then riding him until he passes out.  Peg him until he cries.  Handcuffs and other turk tools of the trade? Fuck Yeah!

Anywayyy, cause Vincent is preoccupied, canon changes slightly. Hojo has been manipulating Lu, like in canon, but because Vincent isn’t so focused on her, she takes more of it to heart. She ends up a pretty broken shell of her former self. She descends into a madness, becoming less ethical with her work. She still feels regret over everything, but it’s somewhat less apparent. 

Her pregnancy causes her to further descend into madness, more than she does in canon anyway. Vincent only realises what is happening too late. In this AU he’s more assertive, cause he’s had someone supporting him and building him up instead of breaking him down. Anyway, he confronts Hojo, but not in the depths of the manor, it’s just in the foyer or something, causes you don’t have clearance to get down to the labs lol. 

Hojo shoots him, just like in canon, but you’re there and you run to him. You cradle Vincent in your arms as he dies, trying to reassure him and make sure he can go peacefully. You stare up at Hojo and he levels the gun at you too. “Fine,” you spit. “Do it. I want to be with him.”

Hojo turns to Lucrecia, who has just appeared and is looking on in horror. Hojo offers her a choice. “If you beg, then I will spare her life.”

Lucrecia does not beg, she stands back and allows Hojo to kill you. 

You lie on the floor, bleeding out, blood mingling with Vincent’s and staining the carpet, wrapped around his body and trying to protect him even in death. 

You’re barely conscious when you feel Hojo step up to you and kick your decaying body away. “Help me transport them to the lab,” he snaps, clicking his fingers at a pregnant Lucrecia. “There is always a use for additional subjects.”

[empressgeekt]

Trolls - Accidental Crystal Knight (FoF au au)

So, I was looking over the different aus that have made an appearance on Ao3, and The Crystal Branch was one of them. So here's my attempt at combining it with the FoF au (don't worry I haven't forgotten about the end of the world au for FoF).

We start on a less then routine patrol for the Forest Guard. It's dark a storm is beginning to come in. Branch stayed out along with Tresillo, since the troop they left with were investigating giant footprints in the south part of the forest. If their dealing with Giant issues Branch wants to be on top of it, even if it's just a Bergen that wandered into their territory. Despite the brewing weather, the two are having a very casual conversation about the guard uniform, because Tresillo is on the fence of whether or not to wear the armor since most of his moves are dance based. It's when the rain starts that things go south. Branch sees the hand reaching out for Tresillo before the former bounty hunter does (Pop trolls kind of have a sixth sense for giant hands at this point, Branch especially), and throws Tresillo out of the way. The reggaeton troll falls through the Brambles of the forest's low brush, getting cut up and hitting his head, but hidden. And Branch is taken away.

Keith immediately knows something is wrong when Branch doesn't come home that night. Poppy knows it too, sure she knows that he's takes possible giant threats seriously, but he knows to get back to the bunker before really bad weather sets in. By morning, and after a meeting with the troop that left earlier, a full blown search party is deployed. They find Tresillo, knocked out but Blood clotting saved his life. Still no sign of Branch. They keep searching the forest, but after three days they get the full story from Tresillo who finally woke up. Poppy is horrified that something might have taken Branch, under her orders and the rest of the Guard's lieutenants suggestion, she beefs up security around Trollstopia and on the trading networks between the Kingdoms just in case. All while still looking for Branch.

Meanwhile, Branch was currently being transported to who knows where in the troll world's equivalent to a cat carrier, and he is not happy about it. He doesn't recognize they type of giants that caught him, but he's narrowing down their weak points. No visible joints, probably exoskeletal shells, but there eyes are large and probably sensitive, considering that their practically nocturnal. Branch does not let them think he's and easy catch, he keeps escaping the cat carrier, and attacking them. The female slams him usually to disorent him and shove him back, and try to proorly re-enforce the carrier. Seriously, He has a sword he will cut thought duck tape no matter how much you use. At some point they make it to mount Rageous, Branch tries to escape one last time there, because he hears the twins yelling at someone about how a "better cage" wasn't complete. Needless to say Branch is not sticking around for that. He's about to get into the vent when he pauses at the sight of a troll trapped in a bottle. A hand grabs him and squeezes his breath out of his lungs, next thing he knows he shoved into the bottle with the other troll.

Floyd had been trapped in the bottle for who knows how long, disassociating has become his new hobby, Crimp sneaks him food and water, and the only thing he wants to do is take a shower and sleep in a bed. He barely reacts to when the Twins come back from their little trip, he's horrified another troll was captured, but he doesn't react. He doesn't have the energy. Until the second troll was shoved into the bottle with him. At first he's startled, but he quickly turns his attention to helping the Troll catch their breath. Floyd doesn't recognize the odd armor their wearing or the weapons they had.

"You're going to be okay, just breathe. Everything's fine."

"*huffs* Fine? I've been kidnapped and carted half way across the continent! It's not fine!"

"Doesn't mean getting upset will help. Believe me pissing off Velvet makes it worse."

"Yeah I'll be the judge of that. Those noodle limb idiots aren't the first Giants I've had to fight off, next time that lit opens I'm taking out both of their eyes."

"*mildly concerned* Uhm, My name's Floyd..."

A masked face just turns to the red-headed troll and, "Fuck my life."

Branch does not want to talk with his long lost brother. Floyd was a liar who abandoned him, that's all Branch needed to know. However, Floyd is making the not talking thing very difficult. Every other word out of his elder brother's mouth is either an attempt to make up or utter words of comfort that Branch doesn't need he's a grown troll who licks his own wounds thank you very much. At one point he thinks Floyd's worse then the fucking Spritz. Honestly he's this close to punching out the smaller troll's teeth. It's when John Dory shows up that Branch thankfully gets to load off some steam.

When JD got the letter about both his baby brothers in danger, of course he set off for mount rageous. He finds them in a diamond bottle, Floyd seems happy to see him, Branch however remains on the floor of the bottle silently watching. John isn't even sure it was Branch because of the mask, but Floyd confirms it. It isn't until Floyd starts to talk about the harmony that John hears branch speak, and it wasn't like the sweet little bitty B he remembered.

B: oh for madonna's sake will you both shut up! We all know that the fucking harmony won't work.

F: Branch it will work, don't worry.

J: Yeah bitty don't worry we got this

B: *rolls eyes and stands up* First, don't call me bitty, second we couldn't even pull that myth off when we were still a family, what makes you think we can do it now?

F: Branch, we're still family, we can do it.

B: Please Floyd, we haven't talked to each other in 20 years, I know my neighbors better then you, and i live in the middle of the woods. John, You need to go north of bergentown, there you'll find Pop village, it's hidden deep in the forest but it's there. Get in contact with Queen Poppy, if you tell them I sent you they'll listen to you. She has contact with the Funk tribe they can make an alternative that can save us if they don't have one already.

J: Bits don't worry we got this!

B: John! For once in your miserable life just listen! If your so instant on the damn harmony then do it, but get in contact with Queen Poppy first! If you ever gave a single crap about me, then do this...please.

J: *taken aback and sharing a glance with an equally shocked floyd* Okay, B. I will.

Back in Pop Village, Poppy is besides herself. She had reached out to the other tribes asking if they had any kind of kidnapping (they hadn't, but their on high alert), and asked Gristle to look into forgein connections asking if any sort of giant nation is buying/selling trolls. She's keeping herself together best she can, especially since she's now Keith's primary caregiver, with Branch missing. Speaking of the trolling, things haven't been good. It's the middle of summer so the trolling was on a break from school, however instead of spending time with his friends or working on his book, Keith was spending his days searching the forest. Looking everywhere for his brother, all while wearing Branch's lest vest (he doesn't usually wear it underneath the uniform). Tresillo has been a godsend in this time. EVen if he's out of the hospital he's still not on active duty yet, so to keep busy he's been going with Keith to make sure the trolling's safe, when Poppy can't. The reggaetón troll kind of feels guilty about what happened, even if he wasn't sure what was attacking them. So he's taken to protecting what Branch cared for most, his woman and child. It's on one of these excursions when All three of them come across a Troll and his armadillo bus.

John Dory did decide to check out the forest that Branch asked him too, with how desperate his baby brother sounded how could he not. He ends up stumbling upon a small group of trolls, two adults and a child. He introduces himself, but quickly get side tracked at the sight of the Kid's vest. He knows that Vest. His dad wore that vest, and then he wore it as did everyone in his family, Floyd being the last one he remembers having it, as Branch was too small. Floyd didn't have the vest at Mount Ragous, neither did Branch. The kids eyes were blue, and so was his hair....Holy crap no wonder Branch was so insistent that John come here, he had a family. With how clingy and nervous the pink troll was with the kid no doubt who was the mom, or just Branch's partner and the kid was a case of an ace egg. Either way, bitty had a family that he was worried about. (also how old was branch we he got a kid? This little guy was at least 8 and Branch was what? late teens? early twenties?)

Poppy is a little suspicious of the John Dory at first, after all he's looking at her little Keith in an odd way, but then he mentions Branch and she's all ears. To her horror he tells her, that her Branchifer was currently being held captive. To her surprise he tells her that he's Branch's brother (and that he's brozone, she'd fangirl if she didn't have a scared trolling in her arms). Thankfully John Dory also offers her a plan to rescue Branch. She's about to say yes, when Tresillo pulls her aside and makes cautions her. Go with him is she has too, but Tresillo urges her to contact the other tribe leaders about this matter since this is technically a war crime since Branch is on the council as head of security, not to mention that with his experience in musical combat he knows that the PFH is something that's nearly impossible to pull off, it might even just be a myth so they need a back up plan. Poppy has John Dory drive them back the to the village, before heading out. She gets the other royals involved and asks for their help. Funk is already working on a way to break diamonds before the day ends and the other's (along with the Bergen kingdom) are trying to get in contact with Mount Ragous officals to get them to do something.

John Dory is not happy about waiting for Queen Poppy (His baby bro scored a queen, great job Branch! Also this adds to further theory that the kid isn't actually hers but she and Branch got together after the kid was born...and did that mean his baby brother had to deal with a pregnancy and newborn on his own?) to finish with...what ever she was doing. All he knew was that it was taking time (barely a few hours), and he needed to get this show on the road. Apparently she wanted a back up plan, and he couldn't understand why, the PFH was a perfect plan. Eventually, she's ready to go, though John is worried about the guard who insisted on accompanying her. That is until Tresillo says, "She is a queen who is going into a territory who's people have proven dangerous to trolls, You think we're going to let her go with out protection?" John relents at this, perfectly fine with a third member of this rescue team, at least until Rhonda hits bump and a tiny green trolling falls out of one of the kitchen cabinets.

Keith felt bad about sneaking on to the transport critter, when Poppy asked him to stay with her dad, but the trolling wasn't going to let them rescue Branch without him. Especially, since all of branch's bio brothers would be involved, no way was Keith going to let them hurt Branch again. Poppy can't send him back at this point, and then JOhn Dory drives them off a cliff....yeah Keith was coming along.

Meanwhile in the Diamond prison Branch was beginning to feel the effects of imprisonment. He's started having nightmares of Poppy and Keith trapped in a bottle in Velvet's clutches, and they're impossible to hide from Floyd, because even if Branch tiled the Bottle onto its side they're still practically sleeping on top of each other. Floyd keeps trying to get Branch to talk about it, but all he gives his red-headed brother was that "Just dreams about horrible things happening to people I actually care about." It isn't until a dress rehearsal that Branch finally cut's Floyd some slack. The spritz hurts but the knight manages to recover quickly. Floyd not so much. Branch isn't sure if it's due to Floyd's longer imprisonment, the fact that he's trying to push the little food and water that Crimp and Veneer are sneaking them on to Branch, or the lack of sleep. Still once he watch's Floyd's feet crystalize do major alarm bells start ringing in his head. Though, he waits until Crimp and the twins were gone until doing anything.

B: Sit down.

F: What?

B: Sit down I'm checking you out.

F: Branch don't worry I'm fine.

B: Don't give me that crap. You and I both know you're feet turning into rocks is not normal. Sit down I'm checking you out.

F: *sigh* fine

B: Do they hurt?

F: no, they just feel cold.

B: *mumbling* could be messing with blood circulation...

F: Did you become a doctor?

B: What?

F: did you become a doctor? You seem to know what your doing.

B: No, just field medicine, first aid that kind of thing.

F: so first responder?

B: No.

F: then why....

B: *rolling his eyes* if you must know it's an occupational requirement. And no I'm not telling you why for what my job is. Can you feel this?

F: Feel what?

B: I'm pressing the sharp end of my gauntlet tip into the ball of your foot. You can't feel it?

F: N-no...what does that mean?

B: Well either, you're foot is dying or what ever this is is damaging you're nerves.

Back with the rescue Squad, John Dory's post card is not well received, but Tresillo actually recognized the island so they're not shooting completely blind. Still that didn't mean he agreed with getting them nearly drowned. Though, he and Keith do like John's machette. Keith asks if Tresillo had ever been to the island, nad sadly the reggaeton troll hasn't, his squad's hunts mostly stuck inland.

Bruce is surprised to see John Dory, but it happy to see his brother, even if they parted on bad terms. He also recognizes the vest, and takes notice of Keith's hair color, drawing the same false conclusion. When Poppy introduces her self as Branch's Girlfriend, all he wants to do is congratulate his baby brother on such a beautiful family. All he feels is horror when he learns about Branch and Floyd being kidnapped. Once given the okay from Brandy, they leave to look for Clay.

Finding the middle brother is harder then they thought, it's a good hour or two, of Keith making a clue board, calling Tresillo's old informants, Bruce driving since he doesn't know the first thing about tracking, until Keith remembers how wolves track and finds the funderdrawers. Yeah everyone is grateful to john for keeping them, but are incredibly grossed out. The only shared thought between the whole group when they enter the golf course is "Someone was murdered here"

Meeting Viva and Clay is a little different in canon. Poppy is already stressed out by her boyfriend being in danger, so she doesn't react all that well when viva is revealed to be her sister, and kind of has a little break down with Keith in her arms. This leads to Bruce and John explaining the situation to Clay and viva, still under the impression that Keith is Branch's kid and Poppy is practically the kids mom, and how the two youngest are in danger. Tresillo isn't apart of this convo to correct them, becasue the putt putts are giving him bad vibes and he's not going to slack on his protection detail here. Viva wants to convince Poppy and Keith to stay in the golf course, safe, and spends the next hour trying to convince her to stay. After all, while she feels bad for Branch, Giants got him, in viva's mind he's as good as dead. Clay starts working on their escape, planning on using Poppy and keith as a distraction while they run out to get Branch and Floyd. Tresillo objects to this, after all did they even think that Poppy and Keith would be okay with such a plan. Clay asks why would that matter they would all be coming back here. This sparks a conversation about how Poppy, Keith, Tresillo and Branch had lives outside of the golf course and they couldn't stay. Bruce has to agree with the reggaton troll much to Clay's disappointment. Viva tries to tap them, but this only makes Poppy more upset, Keith unlocks the gate and they get out of there. Poppy's hurt that she and viva didn't get along, but she has to think about more then just herself, she has to worry about Keith, her kingdom and of course Branch. She can't loose her Branchifer.

Back in the bottle, Branch is getting more desperate. Whatever those shoulder pads did was 10x worse then the bottle, and while Branch hasn't had anymore symptoms other then exhaustion and some bruising from the rough handling, the same couldn't be said for Floyd. The crystalization had spread to his hands, legs and even hair. The elder brother is half asleep most of the time and constantly freezing. The shivering gets to the point where Branch feels bad enough to take off his armor, shirt helmet and gloves to try and keep Floyd warm by giving it to him, also to protect Floyd from hurting himself since he can't feel much of his body anymore. This reveals the scar the chef gave him and Floyd is horrified Branch still refuses to tell him what happened but that is enough to know it's bad. They try to escape with Floyd playing dead and Branch calling out for help. The moment the bottle opens Branch jumps out and attacks Velvet with his sword, cutting up her face and using his hair to choke her while telling Floyd to run for it. Floyd doesn't get far, as he turns back just in time to see Velvet Rip Branch off her and throw him to the floor before kicking him into the wall. In the end the attempt fails, and without his armor to protect him Branch suffers severe injuries.

Inside of Rhonda practice is happening (Tresillo's driving since he doesn't want to be involved). From the start it's a disaster. Poppy is pulled in as a practice substitute for Floyd and John tries to get Keith to play Branch's role, but Keith doesn't like to sing. Poppy steps in and tells John to back off when he pushes. Very quickly everyone looses track of why they're doing this by picking at each other's old wounds. The rising tension and shouting, finally pushes Keith over the edge. The trolling starts sobbing about how Branch is going to die and none of them care. Poppy rips off the puffy vest and runs to the trolling's comfort. They all make half hearted apologies but then "Mission the mission, after this we go our seperate ways". Poppy has some chose words for them.

Poppy: I don't know what happened back then. But what happened after? You're all at fault. I used to think could caring Branch was towards everyone, wanting everyone safe, was just him having a good heart. But no, its because no one did that for him, and the one person that did...may Madonna bless your Grandmother soul because she must be turning in her grave if she knows what's happening right now. No wonder Branch never told anyone about you.

Tresillo pulls over and they (Poppy, tresillo and Keith) leave. they meet up with Marimba and Tambora with the plan to get Branch and floyd out of there, before bringing them to the Funk trolls to get them free. Infiltration is easy for three former bounty hunters and Poppy and Keith are fast learners. they find Branch and Floyd easy enough. Poppy and Branch reunite with hapy tears and Keith and Branch hug through the bottle, while the reggaton trolls try to find a weak spot in the bottle. They don't find one and their too small to get the lid off. they have to retreat back into the vents, just as the twins come back.

The car chase is utter hell for Branch. He's fairly certain he has several broken ribs and a concussion, every jump and jostle is a whirlwind of Pain. Even worse Floyd is barely conscious at this point, and to keep him aware Branch is answering any mumbled question his elder brother asks. Mostly Floyd wants to know who the Pink troll and green trolling were. Branch answers but still keeps certain things private, it's only when Floyd starts talking like he's on his death bed does Branch get really concerned. He might not be on best of terms with Floyd but he doesn't want him to die.

It isn't the harmony that frees them, instead it's the proper authorities stopping the boat and arresting the twins at the end of the ride. Poppy Breathes a sigh of relief knowing that Essence and Quincy were successful in getting the mount rageous leaders to help and make a device that could undo the lids of the bottles. Cooper arrives in a smaller shuttle to take them to the hospital in Vibe city, and with Floyd still half out of it with crystalized limbs and Branch developing a collapsed lung, they don't object. (they take Rhonda with them in a separate shuttle).

Branch is taken to get scanned and eventually the surgery table to fix internal bleeding, but over all his prognosis is good. Poppy and Keith wait at his bedside almost never leaving. Tresillo pop in and out, but he's there when Branch wakes up. "You came for me?" "C'mon hermano, I couldn't let you hold saving my life over me for too long."

It's Floyd everyone is worried about. During the transit he lost consciousness and eventually slipped into a comatose state. the doctor's set his fractures and put him on supportive measures, a feeding tube, IV, and breathing tube, but there's little they can do for the crystallization at the moment. He spends three days in the ICU before the doctor's notice a small improvement with the crystal creeping back.

With Floyd not being allow visitors until he's more stable, three panicking older brothers turn their mother-hening towards Branch. The Knight is not happy about it. Poppy was sadly pulled away since she needed to help with all the legal matters of the scandal, being Pop queen it was her tribe was directly threatened and she needs to be present in the meetings with the Mount Rageous leaders. Branch also makes Keith go hang out with cooper for a few hours a day so the kid isn't just sitting in a hospital room. He can't really move due to the chest tube, but he is very tempted to leap out of bed and smack his bio-family up the head, when they act like they know what's best for him. Needless to say they are force to air the dirty laundry and Branch lets them have it. The brothers know they have a lot to make up for and they are willing to make it work. Branch with some prodding from Keith allows them a chance, but he calls the shots. He also sets them straight regarding his relationship with Keith (they are all a little embarrassed by that misunderstanding). Eventually Branch is let off th chest tube and allowed to go home with strict orders to rest and go to a hospital the moment anything felt off.

Life goes on another two months, Bruce left and came back, Clay helped convince some of the putt putts to move to Pop village, Poppy and Viva reconcile, the twins are given a life sentence and use of trolls for talent enhancement is outlawed, John Dory sticks around the village to make sure his brothers are safe, Keith is getting used to have more then one Brother. Eveything seems to be getting better...except for Floyd.

Three months pass, Floyd still hasn't woken up. The crystal is gone, but his limbs remain thin and pale, and the roots of his hair remain stark white. He was moved to the hospital in Trollstopia for long term care. The doctor's aren't hopeful. One day Branch is visiting, his brother's hand cold in his, "If you don't wake up, and make all our hard work to save you worth nothing, then I'll never forgive you."

Floyd's hazy eyes open...

----

Well here's this idea. I think this was a great idea to celebrate the end of the summer semester. Once more ask all the questions you want. I really need to go to bed.

[s-sh-ne]

there are worse games to play [1] - bucky barnes x f!reader (hunger games au)

Bucky didn’t expect this. Not the house. Not the woman who had a gun raised to his head one second and was inviting him to dinner the other. Certainly not the smell of homemade stew wafting from her opened windows.

warnings: cozy dystopia, implied hunger games violence, angst, very hurt/comfort, allusions to suicide, implied past deaths, trauma, bucky barnes needs several hugs in every universe, kinda MCU x Hunger Games crossover but I try to really just keep it subtle as I don't like massive crossovers (mentions of Katniss & the gang, but mainly background stuff)

w/c: 4.1k

a/n: this came to me after reading so so so many bucky fics (without even being a marvel girl its insane!) I'm a hunger games super fan and i absolutely adore bucky so when I pictured traumatized!victor! bucky i just had to pump out an entire fic! this is still a wip since it was supposed to be a one shot n then i hit the 10k word mark not even halfway through so i was like this is now a mini series lol enjoy <3333

-> big kudos to so so many bucky fic writers for getting me into this lovely lovely man (including but not limited to @artficlly @fckmebarnes & @marvelstoriesepic <3333 i love your work so much, inspired me to start writing for this man)

-> main masterlist -> tawgtp masterlist

there are worse games to play, james newton howard

The train that once ran from the Capitol to District Twelve had long since been put out of commission, stopping in the bleak station of Six. This district was still bustling with activity but transportation to Twelve was impossible, or so the locals kept repeating. The proof was there, long abandoned freight cars on their side discarded at the station.

“Twelve’s long gone,” They’d said, nodding their head towards the east. Destroyed by the Capitol over four years ago, when everything happened. If people were still there, they lived off their own resources, with no link to any other district. The more Bucky Barnes asked around, the more he realized he’d have to find another way to his destination. He prayed he wouldn’t have to go on foot, hell, he’d beg on his knees not to – not in this heat. Though he’d take the boiling weather over freezing temperatures anytime. 

The air was sweltering, the peak of the summer bearing down on his already sweaty back. Why he’d decided to move across the continent in the middle of the hottest season in Panem, he couldn’t find an answer. Maybe it was because the Capitol was emptier than ever, or maybe because he realized nothing was left back for him in Seven. No matter the reason, he was now dragging his exhausted body across Six’s district center looking for even the smallest mode of transportation he could use. He had money, a lot of it, but it was most likely worthless here. Only a few places accepted dollars after everything. Most of the districts traded, and Bucky had some trinkets leftover from his days in the Capitol, though he supposed the locals could melt the coins down. 

Bucky eventually found an old man willing to trade his old motorbike for a few dollars and silverware. The thing was rusted, old, but would do for the couple days separating him from Twelve. Might be nice to feel the wind against his skin. Might even give him a second to think about what he was gonna do once there. Because yeah, he might’ve planned to leave the Capitol, take little to nothing with him, and travel his way across the country, but he sure as hell hadn’t planned what he was going to do there. 

Maybe the wind would whisper the answers on the road, or maybe he wouldn’t even find them in Twelve. It was a grim thought, but it was the only thing he had going for him, other than returning to the shell of his old life. And returning to that? That was something Bucky Barnes would never, ever, do. 

-

Scorching mornings always made you want to stay in bed, in the soft linens Natasha had just cleaned for you a day prior. The heatwave was brutal this year, so many of your flowers wilted under the unrelenting rays of the sun. Yet, it wasn’t anything you couldn’t survive; your home always got like this during the summer, ever since you were a child. 

You pushed your sheets out of the way, peeking out your small window. The same view you’d seen your entire life greeted you, the overgrown garden your mother had planted decades ago, the tall trees offering the flowers some respite from the sun. The house next door, a small dilapidated thing with daffodil yellow curtains, still stood there, though abandoned for a few years now. Your blue curtains still rustled in the soft summer breeze, wafting in the scent you could only describe as purely District Twelve. 

Iron, flowers, and coal, all mixed together into a perfume you wish you could bottle and cherish for eternity. Because with every passing day since Twelve was destroyed, you could smell the iron and coal slowly leaving the mix, and though the scent of only flowers was lovely, it wasn't home. That prickling, nose-wrinkling smell of coal was home, sticking to everything, to your father’s coat when he came home, to the tools that stuck by the hearth, to even your mother and brother. 

You guessed that was the future now, after everything. 

With one last wistful look outside, you rubbed the sleep out of your eyes. You had a long day ahead of you. You had to make soap for all the inhabitants of your community (all eight of you), stop by Victor’s Village for bread, and tend to your garden before the heat killed it. With a deep breath, you made quick work of braiding your hair and threw on a simple dress, before tying an apron around yourself. Soap-making may be therapeutic to you but you had no intention of getting oil all over your dress. It was hard enough to clean out regular grime with no running water, and the last time you had sheepishly handed your oil-stained clothes to Natasha, she had almost popped a vein in her forehead. 

The warm rays felt like honey on your arms as you opened all the windows in your small kitchen/workspace, letting the fresh breeze in. You gathered your ingredients – the lard Sam had dropped off last week, the lye, the massive jar of dried petals – and got to work. It wasn’t terrible hard work but you still had to heat the fat with the lye for hours before even thinking of the final result.

Your morning was spent wiping sweat from your brow and stirring every so often. The chirping of the birds accompanied your work, the only sound in your small home, the crackling of the fire and your humming. Stray wisps of your hair were stuck to your forehead as you wiped the counters clean, the sun now high in the sky. The soap still had to boil for the better part of the next two days so you made sure your house wasn’t in any risk of catching fire during your absence and covered your large pot. 

You pinned your messy braids atop your head before shrugging off your apron. With a satisfied sigh, you locked your door and set out for the afternoon, the smell of freshly baked bread wafting from down the dirt path and the sun beating down on your head. 

-

Bucky’d been riding for the last two days, stopping once to rest against the rusted bike as the moon started to rise. He didn’t get much sleep. The heat was just as unbearable during the night and the dirt wasn’t the most comfortable place he’d slept, but there was a sort of freedom to it. No cage disguised as a gilded penthouse in the Capitol, no relic of a president breathing down his neck. Just him, the hunk of junk he was leaning against, and the stars. When the sun rose, he was already on the bike, kicking up dust as he rode. He passed by the old border compound, separating Six from Twelve, his eyes fixed on the road as dilapidated buildings raced by. 

The roads had deteriorated since the last time he’d been to Twelve, over fifteen years ago now.  There was no sign of through traffic, just cracked concrete with small flowers poking through. He’d planned on stopping in the old District center, if it was still standing. For all he knew no one was there anymore, just a pile of rocks and bones. He still wasn’t sure just what he was doing here, but he was determined to find something. There was nothing left for him in Seven, even less in the Capitol. Hell, he’d ride up to Thirteen if it meant getting the furthest away. 

He drove on for another few hours before the center came into view. It was a grim sight, the image of destroyed buildings and rubble growing as he sped closer. His breath caught as he stopped his bike, looking out at the remains. There was nothing left of the main town square, nothing of the stage he’d once stood on, rattling on about dead tributes. 

Twelve was already a bleak district, but this was beyond dismal. Bucky could see bones sticking out from piles of destroyed concrete, even animals chewing on long decayed bodies. 

“Fuck,” he breathed out, his eyes scanning the carnage for something, anything that might make this pointless trek of his mean something. He’d heard rumors of people settling back here but there was so much gone that he wasn’t sure he believed them now. He turned his eyes away, his heart in his throat. He’d seen death, he’d lived it even, but this was where he was supposed to find life. To find whoever he was outside of the Capitol’s influence. Outside of the damn grip Snow had on him for years. 

His metal hand gripped the handlebars tightly, running his other hand through his hair. He could go back, live the rest of his life in Seven, with people who didn’t even recognize him anymore. Or he could go back to the Capitol. Alone in his penthouse, mostly destroyed from the rebel attacks, until he couldn’t stand it anymore and ended it. That was how most of his life plans looked like anyways, ever since those damn Games. 

Bucky’s thoughts flickered back to seventeen years ago, standing on that podium. He was just a goddamn kid. He remembered vividly looking at the other tributes, with no clue that they’d all die and he’d live to remember their faces. At that moment, he envied them. He envied them for dying, because he wished he was in their place. Dead before he could experience what the Capitol did, or before everything came crashing down and he was left with nothing. Before he drove all the way across the country to find more fucking death. 

Come on Barnes, snap out of it. You haven’t even seen the rest. Someone’s probably out there somewhere. 

He took a deep breath, lifting his head again to scan the debris. That’s when he spotted a small dirt path leading down a small hill. Better than nothing. He kicked up dust as the engine started and he sped to the road. His heart leaped in his chest at the sight of tire tracks deeply imprinted in the dust, like the road had been used recently. He rode for another minute before two houses came into view. They were small, nothing fancy, just colorful curtains hanging from each window. He turned off his engine, scanning further down the road. There wasn’t anything in his immediate view, but the tire tracks kept going. Maybe if he went further, he’d find something. 

Lost in his thoughts, he didn’t hear her approach. Just heard the sound of a rifle cocking behind him. 

“You got about ten seconds to tell me what the hell you’re doin’ here before I shoot.”

-

You heard the incessant rumble of the engine before you saw it. You’d recently come home from picking up the bread from Peeta and a drink at Sarah’s place, checking on the soap to see how far along it was. The late afternoon was quiet, just the buzz of insects outside your window and the distant call of an elk somewhere deep in the forest. You were washing potatoes for supper, enjoying the cool afternoon breeze when it happened. 

It was low at first but grew louder as you looked out of your window. This wasn’t a normal occurrence, especially not coming from the city center. The only person who had a vehicle in your small community was Steve and it sure as hell didn’t sound like whatever you were hearing. Your mind raced. It could be the settlement out west but when did they ever come from the city center? Nobody came from there anymore. You were the only ones this close to it, and the last person to arrive was Steve three years ago. 

Your hands trembled as you reached for your father’s rifle leaned against the wall next to you. The roar grew louder and the source came into view, finally. You quickly shut the curtains, leaving just a sliver of light for you to peek out. The sound sputtered to a stop as the person parked in front of the neighbouring house, the one with the yellow curtains. Your eyes caught the silhouette of a broad man atop a motorbike, his eyes scanning his surroundings. You couldn’t see much of him, but caught a glint of silver as he stretched out his arms. A fucking metal arm? Oh wonderful. 

Your fingers tightened on your gun, quietly moving to the door, nudging it open with your foot. He was looking down the road leading to Victor’s Village, his eyes fixed away from you, and you took the opportunity to approach him quietly. You cringed slightly as your door squeaked to a close behind you but he didn’t budge. You were able to get right behind him, your eyes scanning the strong planes of his back under his shirt, the metal of his arm shining in the sun. You held your breath, cocked the rifle. Aimed straight at his head.

“You got about ten seconds to tell me what the hell you’re doin’ here before I shoot,” you threatened, and prayed he couldn’t hear the tremble in your voice. His back straightened, his broad shoulders tensing. He slowly raised his arms, still facing away from you. You scanned his back for any weapons, noticing the way his brown hair curled at the base of his nape. He had a single knife strapped to his leg, so you tightened your grip on the gun, your knuckles white. 

“Just passing through,” the man replied carefully. “Didn’t think anyone was left here.” His voice was rough, like it hadn’t been used in days. You stayed silent for a beat longer, fingers twitching against the trigger. 

“Well, there is.” You didn’t say more, just kept the gun aimed at him. His arms still raised, he twisted on the bike to face you. You were met with the bluest eyes you’d ever seen, steadily looking you over. He had heavy dark circles underneath his eyes, betraying exhaustion, and he squinted as he faced the sun. 

“Didn’t mean to cause trouble.” You shakily lowered the gun, but kept your finger on the trigger. Just in case. He looked like he could easily bring you to the ground with a sweep of his legs. 

“Who’re you?” You asked, jerking your chin towards him. He lowered his arms, slowly swinging a leg over the bike to get off. His movements were slow and calculated as if you were a wild animal. 

“Name’s Bucky, ‘m just looking for a place to crash.” ‘Bucky’ said, and your eyes narrowed with familiarity. You couldn’t place it but you were sure you’d seen his face before. Maybe a Peacekeeper? One of the rebels Katniss had fought with? 

“Where’re you from?” You pushed further, still skeptical. His metal arm flexed lightly in the sun and he averted his eyes. 

“Seven” 

“Why'd you come here then?”

“Isn't anything left for me there, “ he shrugged. 

You took a few more seconds to assess him. He could’ve hurt you already if he really wanted to. Bucky answered your questions, didn’t budge unless you’d made the first move, didn’t seem aggressive. Aside from that silver arm. With a sigh, you fully aimed the gun at the ground. You nodded your head towards the house next to yours. 

“That one’s been empty, you can stay there for as long as you need,” you offered. 

He seemed surprised at your switch in attitudes and looked over at the yellow curtains, before shifting his eyes back to yours. 

“It’s fully furnished,” you added. “Last folks didn’ take much when they left.” He gave you a strange look, like he didn’t trust the offer. “Seriously, it’s fine. Ain’t the first newcomer we’ve had.” 

“Alright,” Bucky rested the bike against the rickety fence between the two houses and swung a small pack over his shoulder.

“Travelled all the way from Seven with only that thing?” You asked, raising an eyebrow. Seven was the furthest district from yours, on the west coast of the country. You walked down your own pathway, through the wildflowers, still looking at him over the fence. 

“Long story,” He said simply, striding towards the door. You’d reached your door as well, twisting the knob. 

“Tell me about it over dinner.” When he froze at the door and frowned at you, you laughed quietly. “If there’s food in there, it’s cans of beans from twenty years ago. I’m makin’ potato stew, jus’ come over in an hour.” 

Bucky held your stare for a second longer, an unreadable look in his eyes. Then he grunted, nodded, and pushed the door open. Before he stepped through though, he looked back at you.

“Thanks. By the way. Didn't think I’d be sleeping in an actual bed tonight.”

You just smiled at him and closed the door behind you. 

-

Bucky didn’t expect this. Not the house. Not the woman who had a gun raised to his head one second and was inviting him to dinner the other. Certainly not the smell of homemade stew wafting from her opened windows. He was standing outside her door, the sun low in the sky, his metal fingers flexing against his leg. He wasn’t sure if he should knock, call out (he hadn’t even caught her name) or just walk in. That last one seemed like a quick way of getting a bullet in his groin though.

He settled for a knock. Just a soft rap of his knuckles against the worn wood. 

“Just come in! S’open!” her voice called from inside, so casually. Like he wasn’t a total stranger. 

He pushed open the door, walking into the small space. He’d thrown on one of his black shirts, still clinging with sweat and dust, but it was the nicer one of the bunch. He hadn’t expected this level of hospitality, especially not in a spot so desolate as this. 

She was facing away from him, humming a tune he couldn’t place. There was a large pot next to the smaller one she was stirring. The air smelled like flowers, and he quickly located the source of it. Dozens of bouquets were hung upside down in a shadowed corner of the small room, dried and preserved. She turned back to smile at him, as if welcoming a friend. 

“Sit wherever you like, I’ll be with you in a tick.” 

Bucky sat down on a small rickety stool at her table. More flowers spread out on the surface. It was so small in here he felt like he was towering over the whole place, but it was comfortable. Lived in. It had a soul, unlike most places he’d seen and lived in. They sat in silence for a few minutes longer before he cleared his throat and asked for her name. She laughed and answered him, still stirring the stew. The comfortable quiet settled over them once more. He could hear the evening birds chirping, the wind rustling the trees outside. 

“You’re kind.” He stated, breaking the silence once more when she turned to set the pot of stew on the table. She stilled for a second, looking over at him, her lips quirked.

“Well, ain’t much to gain by being rude. My ma taught me that.” 

A bowl of food was pushed towards him, a fresh loaf of bread next to it.

“I guess not,” He waited for her to sit and take the first bite before he grabbed his spoon. He watched her swallow cautiously, old instincts still around to haunt him.  . 

“It’s not poisoned, Bucky,” she teased, her eyes glinting with amusement. His name left her lips for the first time and he felt his lips stretch into a small smile – his first one in weeks. He finally took a bite. It wasn’t very flavorful, but damn, it was the best thing he’d tasted in months. He let out a quiet groan and took another bite. Another chuckle escaped her and she pushed the loaf towards him. 

“Have some, it’s fresh from today.” 

He obliged, tearing himself a piece. They ate in silence, like they weren’t complete strangers. She was still humming, smelling the bread every time she took a bite. The setting sun’s rays were golden, casting a warm glow over the small kitchen. When they both finished, the woman took both their bowls, putting them in the large copper sink under the window. 

“Let me help,” He stood quickly, knocking the stool over. He muttered an apology and she laughed. God, she always laughed. It was a soft sound, quiet but still melodious. 

“I wish you could, but ain’t no runnin’ water in these parts anymore. I’ll go down to the river tomorrow.”

He sat back down, lifting the stool, as she took a seat across from him again. 

“So, Bucky. What’s your story?” She rested her head on her palm, looking over at him expectantly. 

“Not much to say. I came from the Capitol after everything went to shit.”

“Thought you said you were from Seven?”

“Originally.”

Her mouth opened in a small ‘ah’ and urged him to go on. He pretended not to notice her eyes flicking down to his left arm curiously. 

“There’s seriously not much else. I left ‘cause there was nothing back there for me.” As kind as she was, he wasn’t gonna go and tell his entire life story to this woman he’d just met. Her eyes narrowed slightly but she let him off easy. 

“A’right.” 

“There more of you?” He asked after a beat. The grin that had slipped away from her took back its place. 

“Yeah, seven more,” she started, waving vaguely towards the east. “There’s more little settlements all over Twelve but ours is the closest to the District center. Whatever’s left of it, I suppose.”

“Saw it on the way in. I really thought I wasn’t gonna find anyone out here.” 

She sighed, a hand running through her hair. 

“Most of us this close grew up ‘round here. This,” she gestured at the space around them “is where I grew up. Down the road, Sam and Sarah live in their grandparents’ house. Even further down, in Victor’s Village, Peeta, Katniss and Haymitch kinda just live together.”

He knit his eyebrows together at the mention of the last three. Victors, like him. Rebels, unlike him. They’d actually done something against the Capitol’s treatment, while he sat and took it all. 

“What about the other two?” He asked, his voice tight. 

“Natasha and Steve aren’t from Twelve. Tash came down from Thirteen, and Steve’s from Two. Won the 64th Hunger Games.” 

His throat clenched. Another Victor, just a year after his own games. He’d heard in passing Steve Rogers’ victory, but he’d been so deep in his own trauma that he didn’t even acknowledge it. 

“We all live on by relyin’ on each other.” she kept going, not noticing or merely not pressing his discomfort. “Katniss, Tash, and Steve hunt; Sam cures the meat and gives me lard for my soap; I make said soap and some ointments; Peeta bakes;” She pointed at the half-eaten loaf. “Sara and Katniss skin and tan the fur. Then Haymitch stops by for a crude comment or two, and moonshine. Doen’t drink it though, he swore that off years ago, jus’ makes it now.” And with a small smirk, “Finally, we got Red, Sam and Sara’s goat. Got a real attitude that one.”

“You make soap?” Bucky’s eyes darted to the massive pot still heating behind her. 

“Mhm, ever since I was a girl. My daddy was a coal miner, so my ma made soap for him all the time. So she could see his handsome face, she’d say.” 

A rough laugh escaped him. For a woman he’d just met mere hours ago, she was so kind to him. He’d known acknowledgement, camaraderie even on his way over, but this was genuine warmth. Homeliness. Something he hadn’t had in decades. 

“You should go down to Tash’s place tomorrow. She takes care of our cleaning, believe it or not, swears the forest’s water’s cleaner than the creek behind our houses.” 

“You sayin’ I stink?” She snickered again, rolling her eyes. 

“I’m sayin’, your shirt’s dustier than my shed, I think you could use some clean clothes.”

The rest of the evening was filled with quiet laughter, fresh bread, and even fruit from her garden, before Bucky left her home with the second half of the bread. As he walked the short path to his doorstep, he looked up at the stars that kept him company during his lonely travels, and smiled to himself. An entire community, built on respect and sharing. Maybe he’d find something here. Something worth sticking around for. 

-

deep in the meadow, under the willow

[southeastasianists]

Nearly seven years after the Myanmar military killed thousands of Muslim Rohingyas, in what the UN called "textbook ethnic cleansing", it wants their help.

From interviews with Rohingyas living in Rakhine State the BBC has learned of at least 100 of them being conscripted in recent weeks to fight for the embattled junta. All their names have been changed to protect them.

"I was frightened, but I had to go," says Mohammed, a 31-year-old Rohingya man with three young children. He lives near the capital of Rakhine, Sittwe, in the Baw Du Pha camp. At least 150,000 internally displaced Rohingyas have been forced to live in IDP camps for the past decade.

In the middle of February the camp leader came to him late at night, Mohammed said, and told him he would have to do military training. "These are army orders," he remembers him saying. "If you refuse they have threatened to harm your family."

The BBC has spoken to several Rohingyas who have confirmed that army officers have been going around the camps and ordering the younger men to report for military training.

The terrible irony for men like Mohammed is that Rohingyas in Myanmar are still denied citizenship, and subjected to a range of discriminatory restrictions - like a ban on travel outside their communities.

In 2012 tens of thousands of Rohingyas were driven out of mixed communities in Rakhine State, and forced to live in squalid camps. Five years later, in August 2017, 700,000 fled to neighbouring Bangladesh, after the army launched a brutal clearance operation against them, killing and raping thousands and burning their villages. Some 600,000 of them still remain there.

Myanmar is now facing a genocide trial at the International Court of Justice in the Hague over its treatment of the Rohingyas.

That the same army is now forcibly recruiting them is a telling sign of its desperation, after losing huge swathes of territory in Rakhine recently to an ethnic insurgent group called the Arakan Army. Dozens of Rohingyas in Rakhine have been killed by military artillery and aerial bombardments.

The military has also suffered significant losses to opposition forces in other parts of the country - on Saturday it lost control of Myawaddy, a town on the eastern border with Thailand. Most of the country's overland trade passes through this vital route.

The junta has lost large numbers of soldiers as well. They have been killed, wounded, surrendered or defected to the opposition, and finding replacements is difficult. Few want to risk their lives propping up an unpopular regime.

And the Rohingyas fear that is the reason they are being targeted again - to be cannon fodder in a war the junta seems to be losing.

Mohammed said he was driven to the base of the 270th Light Infantry Battalion in Sittwe. Rohingyas have been prohibited from living in the town since they were driven out during the 2012 communal violence.

"We were taught how to load bullets and shoot," he said. "They also showed us how to disassemble and reassemble a gun."

In a video seen by the BBC another group of Rohingya conscripts can be seen being taught how to use BA 63 rifles, an older standard weapon used by the Myanmar armed forces.

Mohammed was trained for two weeks, then sent home. But after just two days he was called back, and put on a boat with 250 other soldiers and transported five hours up-river to Rathedaung, where a fierce battle with the Arakan Army was under way for control of three hilltop military bases.

"I had no idea why I was fighting. When they told me to shoot at a Rakhine village, I would shoot."

He fought there for 11 days. They were desperately short of food, after a shell fell on their supply hut. He saw several Rohingya conscripts killed by artillery and he was injured by shrapnel in both legs, and taken back to Sittwe for treatment.

On 20 March the Arakan Army released photos from the battle, after it had taken control of the three bases, showing several corpses, at least three of them identified as Rohingyas.

"While I was in the middle of the battle I was terrified the whole time. I kept thinking about my family," Mohammed said. "I never thought I would have to go to war like that. I just wanted to go home. When I got home from the hospital I hugged my mother and cried. It felt like being born again from my mother's womb."

Another conscript was Hussain, from Ohn Taw Gyi camp, which is also near Sittwe. His brother Mahmoud says he was taken away in February and completed his military training, but he went into hiding before they could send him to the front line.

The military denies using Rohingyas to fight its battles with the Arakan Army. General Zaw Min Tun, the junta spokesman, told the BBC that there was no plan to send them to the front line. "We want to ensure their safety, so we have asked them to help with their own defence," he said.

But in interviews with the BBC, seven Rohingyas in five different IDP camps near Sittwe all said the same thing: that they know of at least 100 Rohingyas who have been recruited this year and sent off to fight.

They said teams of soldiers and local government officials came to the camps in February to announce that the younger men would be conscripted, at first telling people they would get food, wages and citizenship if they joined up. These were powerful lures.

Food in the IDP camps has become scarce and expensive as the escalating conflict with the Arakan Army has cut off the international aid supplies. And the denial of citizenship is at the heart of the Rohingyas' long struggle for acceptance in Myanmar, and one reason they suffer systematic discrimination, described by human rights groups as similar to apartheid.

However, when the soldiers returned to take the conscripted men away, they retracted the offer of citizenship. When asked by the camp residents why they, as non-citizens, should be subjected to conscription, they were told that they had a duty to defend the place where they lived. They would be militiamen, not soldiers, they were told. When they asked about the offer of citizenship, the answer was "you misunderstood".

Now, according to one camp committee member, the army is demanding new lists of potential recruits. After seeing and hearing from the first group to come back from the front line, he said, no-one else was willing to risk being conscripted.

So the camp leaders are now trying to persuade the poorest men, and those with no jobs, to go, by offering to support their families while they are away, with donations raised from other camp residents.

"This conscription campaign is unlawful and more akin to forced labour," said Matthew Smith, from the human rights group Fortify Rights.

"There's a brutal and perverse utility to what's happening. The military is conscripting the victims of the Rohingya genocide in an attempt to fend off a nationwide democratic revolution. This regime has no regard for human life. It's now layering these abuses on top of its long history of atrocities and impunity."

By using Rohingyas in its battles against the advancing Arakan Army, the Myanmar military threatens to reignite communal conflict with the ethnic Rakhine Buddhist population, much of which supports the insurgents.

It was friction between the two communities which in 2012 caused the expulsion of tens of thousands of Rohingyas from towns like Sittwe. In 2017, ethnic Rakhine men joined in the army's attacks on the Rohingyas.

Tension between the two communities has eased since then.

The Arakan Army is fighting for an autonomous state, part of a wider campaign with other ethnic armies and opposition groups to overthrow the military junta and create a new, federal system in Myanmar.

Now on the brink of victory in Rakhine State, the Arakan Army has talked about giving citizenship to all who have lived there recently, implying that it might accept the return of the Rohingya population from Bangladesh.

The mood has now changed. A spokesman for the Arakan Army, Khaing Thukha, told the BBC that they viewed Rohingyas being conscripted to fight for the junta as "the worst betrayal of those who had recently been victims of genocide, and of those fighting for liberation from dictatorship".

Pro-military media have also been giving publicity to what appear to have been Rohingya protests in Buthidaung against the Arakan Army, although local people told the BBC they suspected these were organised by the army in an attempt to divide the two groups.

The Rohingyas are now forced to fight for an army that does not recognise their right to live in Myanmar, thereby alienating the ethnic insurgents who may soon control most of Rakhine. Once targeted by both, they are now caught between the two sides.

Mohammed has been given a certificate by the army, stating that he has fought in battle on their side. He has no idea what value it has, nor whether it exempts him from further military service. It could well get him into trouble with the Arakan Army if it continues its advance towards Sittwe and his camp.

He is still recovering from his injuries, and says he is unable to sleep at night after his experience.

"I'm afraid they will call me again. This time I came back because I was lucky, but next time I am not sure what will happen."

[shinysparklesapphires]

@xen-blank @viilpstick

Celestial Challah Cookie (she/her) and Sacred Alcohol Cookie! (She/he)

Celestial Challah holds the light of kindness and is the high preistess of the Celestial Challah kingdom (a kingdom in the sky that’s literally an island IN THE SKY so they were unaffected by the dark flour war, but then many of thier trade partners had been eradicated but Celestial Challah’s kindness for helping out the starving people earned her her soul jam and title and she used that to help create better modes of transport for new trading partners down the line) and her best friend is Babka Cookie (they/them) who is basically a walking statue

Sacred Alcohol used to hold the light of love, but after watching time and time again how the pure love she showed her citizens caused them to be tempted by the love of others, and realized that desire and temptation were the highest form of love and then used his influence to create liquor that would rid all of his subjects of thier self control and give themselves up to temptation, causing thier light of love to turn to the light of temptation. Since then, her assistant Candied Syrup Cookie had served as his advisor and right hand man, along with Choco Shell Cookie, who runs a cult dedicated to worshipping Sacred Alcohol and to give up thier self control and give in to temptation.

Sacred Alcohol is also in love with Celestial Challah, even saying that he forgave her for stealing his soul jam, saying that she wanted to shower her in a love stronger than the one she showed his followers and that’s all I have so far.

[floatingmarketbangkok]

Exploring the Vibrant Floating Markets of Bangkok

Bangkok, Thailand’s bustling capital, is a city known for its rich culture, lively street life, and, most notably, its floating markets. These unique markets offer a glimpse into the traditional Thai way of life, where vendors sell their goods from boats, gliding along canals filled with fresh produce, handmade crafts, and delicious local delicacies. If you’re planning a visit to Bangkok, a trip to one of its famous floating markets is a must-do experience.

A Glimpse into the History of Floating Markets

Floating markets have been a part of Thai culture for centuries. Historically, Thailand’s waterways served as major transportation and trade routes, making boats an essential part of daily life. As cities developed, many traditional FLOATING MARKET BANGKOK disappeared, but a few remain, preserving the charm and authenticity of this age-old practice. Today, these markets attract locals and tourists seeking to explore Thailand’s traditional market culture in a unique and scenic setting.

Top Floating Markets in Bangkok

Bangkok is home to several floating markets, each offering a different experience. Here are some of the most popular ones:

1. Damnoen Saduak Floating Market

One of the most famous and tourist-friendly floating markets, Damnoen Saduak, is located about 100 kilometers southwest of Bangkok. It is known for its vibrant atmosphere, colorful boats, and a wide variety of goods. Vendors sell tropical fruits, souvenirs, and traditional Thai dishes such as boat noodles and coconut pancakes. While it is often crowded, the market offers a quintessential floating market experience with plenty of photo opportunities.

2. Amphawa Floating Market

Located about 50 kilometers from Bangkok, the Amphawa Floating Market is a favorite among locals. It is smaller and less commercialized than Damnoen Saduak but offers an authentic Thai experience. The market is famous for its grilled seafood, especially prawns and squid, cooked right on the boats. In the evening, visitors can take a boat ride along the canal to witness the mesmerizing sight of fireflies lighting up the night.

3. Taling Chan Floating Market

For those who prefer a floating market closer to Bangkok, Taling Chan is an excellent choice. Located just 12 kilometers from the city center, this market is more relaxed and less touristy. Visitors can enjoy fresh seafood, take a boat tour, and even get a traditional Thai massage by the canal. It’s a great spot to experience the charm of a floating market without traveling too far.

4. Khlong Lat Mayom Floating Market

Another fantastic option near Bangkok is Khlong Lat Mayom. Unlike the larger markets, this one maintains a more local feel. It’s known for its variety of delicious Thai street food, including grilled meats, pad Thai, and mango sticky rice. While the boat market is smaller, the surrounding market area offers an extensive selection of goods.

5. Bang Nam Phueng Floating Market

Situated in Bangkok’s “Green Lung” area, the Bang Nam Phueng Floating Market is an eco-friendly market offering organic produce, homemade snacks, and traditional Thai desserts. It is a peaceful alternative to the more crowded markets, making it an ideal spot for those looking to enjoy a relaxing day amidst nature.

What to Expect at a Floating Market

Visiting a floating market is a feast for the senses. You’ll hear the lively chatter of vendors and customers, see colorful boats brimming with goods, and smell the enticing aroma of Thai cuisine. Here’s what you can look forward to:

Local Delicacies: Try authentic Thai dishes like grilled seafood, coconut ice cream, Thai pancakes, and refreshing coconut water served straight from the shell.

Boat Rides: Many markets offer boat tours that allow visitors to explore the canals and observe the traditional riverside way of life.

Handicrafts and Souvenirs: Floating markets are excellent places to buy handmade crafts, woven bags, and locally made souvenirs.

Cultural Performances: Some markets host traditional Thai music and dance performances, enhancing the cultural experience.

Tips for Visiting a Floating Market

To make the most of your floating market adventure, keep these tips in mind:

Go early: Markets get crowded as the day progresses. Arriving early ensures a more relaxed experience and better photo opportunities.

Bring Cash: Most vendors only accept cash, so it’s best to carry small bills for easy transactions.

Wear Comfortable Clothes: Since the markets are outdoors and can be hot, light clothing and comfortable shoes are recommended.

Bargain Politely: Haggling is common, but always do so with a smile and respect for the vendors.

Be Mindful of the Environment: Avoid using plastic bags and dispose of waste properly to help preserve the natural beauty of these markets.

Conclusion

A visit to Bangkok’s floating markets is more than just a shopping trip—it’s an opportunity to immerse yourself in Thai culture, savor delicious food, and witness a way of life that has existed for generations. Whether you choose the bustling Damnoen Saduak, the charming Amphawa, or the serene Bang Nam Phueng, each market offers a unique and unforgettable experience. So, if you’re in Bangkok, don’t miss the chance to explore these vibrant markets and take home not just souvenirs but cherished memories of Thailand’s rich cultural heritage.

FAQs

Q1.Which floating market is best for tourists?

Damnoen Saduak is the most popular floating market for tourists, offering a vibrant and photogenic experience. However, if you prefer a more authentic and less crowded atmosphere, Amphawa or Taling Chan may be better options.

Q2. What is the best time to visit a floating market?

The best time to visit is early in the morning, usually between 7:00 AM and 9:00 AM. This is when the markets are most active, and you can avoid the midday heat and large crowds.

Q3. How do I get to the floating markets from Bangkok?

Many floating markets are accessible by car, taxi, or guided tour. Damnoen Saduak and Amphawa are about an hour or two from Bangkok, while Taling Chan and Khlong Lat Mayom are much closer and can be reached by taxi or public transportation.

Q4. Are floating markets expensive?

Prices vary depending on the market. Some, like Damnoen Saduak, are more tourist-oriented and may have higher prices. However, smaller markets like Khlong Lat Mayom offer more budget-friendly options for food and souvenirs.

Q5. Can I take a boat ride at the floating markets?

Yes! Most floating markets offer boat tours that let you explore the canals and nearby attractions. Prices for boat rides vary depending on the market and the length of the tour.

Visit - FLOATING MARKET BANGKOK

[empress-violetlight]

OC Overview - Yuna and Rikku: Trandoshan and Wookiee "Sisters"

Two of my OCs, who will feature later on in my Empire of the Hand AU. I'm really quite proud of these two, and I wanted to show them off early.

Art by my husband, @fasturtlemedia Love you!

Roles:  Salvager/Quartermaster and Mechanic

Species:  Trandoshan and Wookiee

Homeworld:  Glavis Ringworld

In the Core Regions of the Galaxy lies a forgotten marvel – a massive structure, ingeniously built to completely encircle a white dwarf star, the slowly cooling stellar remnant still having more than enough energy to power it for millennia.  It is a shame such a magnificent example of what the Galaxy is actually capable of – The Glavis Ringworld -- has degraded into yet another hive of scum and villainy.

Sometime during the reign of the Old Empire, an Imperial transport ship made a stop at the Ringworld, to transfer its “prisoners” to another vessel. The official story is that they were transporting alien conspirators against the New Order to well-deserved punishment.  The reality was Wookiee slaves, taken to be worked to death on one of the Emperor’s many clandestine projects, for the simple reason that they were Wookiees.  Even Wookiee cubs were not spared the cruelty.

When two Wookiee parents were given a slight opportunity, they took it to try to run.  Better that, better to be shot down by the stormtroopers, than to die as slaves.  When the blaster fire stopped, the troopers never even saw the relatively tiny ball of fur crawl out from under her mother’s slain form and dash into a nearby alley. 

Little Rikku wandered, scared and alone, in a hostile cityscape, hiding in alleys and trash containers during the “day” cycles, emerging during the artificially-constructed “night” to scavenge for food, trying to understand why her parents had risked it all for such an existence.  One night, while trying to find dinner in a dumpster, she suddenly heard a crack.  The sound got her attention – a large, ovoid object – an egg, she realised with a start – was cracking right beside her!  She watched over it for the hours it took to hatch, until a small, green, lizard-like creature finally burst from the shell.

Rikku gasped.  She recognized what had hatched, even if it was far smaller than those who had hunted down her tribe even through the jungles of Kashyyyk, who had sold her and her family to the Empire.  The Wookiees’ most hated foes for as long as Wookiees could remember – the Trandoshans.  She got up to walk away, only to hear a squeak behind her as the hatchling Trandoshan rose up on shaky but strong baby legs, toddling after her. 

This little Trandoshan was the same as her, just a lost, lonely child.  She had nobody … nobody but Rikku. 

For years, as they grew up together, the unlikely friends would rely on each other for survival.  Yuna, as the little Trandoshan was named – a runt, probably why her egg had been thrown away --  grew to have a real talent for “hunting” down any tech that could remotely be salvageable and bringing it to Rikku to fix, which two would then sell or trade.  They travelled across the bands of the Ringworld, never staying in one section of the cityscape for too long.  Despite their species’ legendary animosity, they had nobody but each other, and saw each other as sisters.  They taught each other to read through street signs and discarded flimsimags, and while never having a formal education, they were street-smart, resourceful, and ruthless when they had to be. 

They seemed to have met their match, however, when they tried a usual scam of theirs – “noticing” a mechanical flaw in a visitor to the Ringworld’s ship and offering to fix it, for a price, of course.  The “Pantoran” they tried to scam should have been an easy mark, but he and his human friend didn’t fall for it.  With the human holding a blaster to her head, Yuna offered something more tempting, information, biding time until Rikku could get there to pull off some arms, but the Pantoran called his friend down.  He then made an offer -- join him on a job, and he would take them off-station, to wherever Yuna and Rikku wanted to go.  Skeptical, but not wanting to waste the opportunity, Yuna and Rikku accepted.

Their new “Pantoran” associate proved to be nothing of the sort.  He was Chiss – a blue-skinned alien from so far out in the Galaxy the sisters had never even heard of where he was from.  He definitely seemed more trustworthy than the pirate gang he had joined for a heist to get a hold of an old Imperial cruiser – actually wanting to talk to the crew, manipulating the pirate captain to follow his ideas.  When it came down to the Chiss bounty hunter Raw’nuru or the cruel pirate captain, it wasn’t even a contest.

True to his word, Raw’nuru offered to take the sisters to wherever they wanted to go, but he also offered another option – stay with him, as permanent members of his new crew.  Although the sisters had dreamt of escaping Glavis their whole lives, Rikku especially was wary of trusting Raw’nuru, especially when it had become obvious that his claim to the pirates had been true – he was a former Imperial, part of the system that had enslaved Rikku’s people. 

Raw’nuru replied with a story of his own people.  There was once a Chiss who walked along a beach at high tide, where hundreds of sea creatures called surfstars had washed ashore.  As he walked, he picked up the surfstars and threw them, one by one, back into the waves.  His companion asked, “why do you bother?  There are so many surfstars, you can’t possibly save them all.  What you’re doing doesn’t matter.”  To which the first Chiss replied, as he tossed another surfstars to safety “it mattered to that one.”

Finally understanding, Yuna replied she wanted to stay, and Rikku, still somewhat reluctant, agreed. 

The two soon found their niches aboard the ship.  Rikku put her mechanical talent to use – there was always something that needed fixing aboard the Interdictor.  Yuna’s talent for salvage also proved useful.  Even with the Maelstrom’s soon-acquired privateer status, and the guarantee of work from the Empire of the Hand, they were still technically an “independent contractor” were not as well equipped as a Navy ship.  Luckily, Yuna had quite the eye for useful salvage and supplies from the Maelstrom’s many missions.

Personality-wise, Rikku tends to be quiet and thoughtful for the most part, taking out any frustrations with “percussive maintenance” on the systems she manages, and learning more and more about what goes into engineering on an Interdictor cruiser. Annoyed when people mistake her for a male Wookiee, Rikku has taken to wearing a delicate pink ribbon tied in a bow in the fur on top of her head. The Empire of the Hand's dedication to equality and the anti-slavery missions the Maelstrom often takes on for them has done a lot to soften her views of this particular Empire.

Yuna is the more outgoing of the pair, a chatterbox compared to her quiet sister, with a tendency to babble when she's nervous or excited. She takes her role as salvage expert and ship’s quartermaster seriously, ruling over her cargo bay with a durasteel claw.  Woe to anyone who messes up her carefully inventoried supplies. While she despises other Trandoshans for how they would treat her sister, she has developed quite the attraction to the Empire of the Hand’s other reptilian races, especially the always-intriguing warriors, the Kaleesh. She sees them as what she wishes other Trandoshans were like -- truly honourable warriors and hunters, worthy of respect. Plus their bone masks are sexy.

In her shared quarters with Rikku, Yuna hung up a poster of the Hand’s ground forces leader, the Kaleesh General Sk’ar.  She has quite the “celebrity crush” on him, which Rikku always teases her about, with Yuna teasing Rikku in turn about her conspiracy theory that Captain Raw’nuru is actually the long-dead Imperial genius, Grand Admiral Thrawn.

After so many years seen as nothing more than worthless street rats, Yuna and Rikku have finally found a home on the Maelstrom -- a place where they belong. Who would have thought a chance encounter with a former Imperial would do so much to turn their lives around?

[whencyclopedia]

Paul's Journeys and the Mediterranean Trade

Mediterranean trade increased exponentially at the turn of the first millennium. During Rome's zenith, goods of all sorts began to move in all directions. As a common traveler aboard merchant ships, Paul traveled within such a milieu. Tracing the water portion of his journeys in the New Testament can shed light on general trade patterns in the Mediterranean Sea areas.

Exotic Animal Transportation, Villa del Casale

Unknown Artist (Public Domain)

Trade at the Turn of the Millennium

As the Roman Republic in the latter centuries of the last millennium BCE began to conquer the littoral nations around the Mediterranean – including Europe, Northwest Africa, and Anatolia, the Mediterranean Sea indeed became, to the Romans, Mare Nostrum, "our sea." Then, with Rome's takeover of Syria, Phoenicia, and Egypt, by the time of Paul the Apostle, Rome's encirclement of control was complete. Rome became the main market for agricultural, material, and refined goods that, as a result, moved largely from East to West. Then, as the extent of the Roman Empire grew, followed by the colonization and urbanization of its eastern provinces, the empire's eastern half began to develop a degree of commercial autonomy that created an interactive network of activity.

Around 200 BCE, goods from the East moved through Mesopotamia to the Levant and Anatolia by overland routes from India and by water up the Persian Gulf, which was then taken by camel to Seleucia, near modern-day Bagdad. Another route in the Eastern trade network of ancient Rome was goods sailing from the northwestern ports of India to Alexandria via the Red Sea. However, by the early Augustan period, with Rome's eventual control of Arabia and the Red Sea, there began a dramatic increase in Eastern items moving west to Rome, including silks, decorated cotton, shells, tortoiseshell, coral, ivory, nard, aloe, frankincense, myrrh, and spices like pepper, cinnamon and cassia.

Adding to Rome's consumption, with 300,000 veterans of the Roman army to find land for, Augustus (r. 27 BCE to 14 CE) established 75 colonies throughout the empire. According to Nigel Rodgers, "All these generally small settlements – usually a couple of thousand veterans, growing perhaps into a city of 10-15,000 – helped the urbanization and Romanization of the empire" (87). Additionally, as the eastern Roman provinces began to mirror Rome in structure and taste, demand for the same goods increased. Those goods would, therefore, begin to travel not just west to Rome but were manufactured and traded in all directions. It was this commercial environment in which the journeys of Paul the Apostle took place.

Continue reading...

[gold-for-xp]

Defined Space Shells: The Singular Church

The Singular Church is, at first glance, the faction with the least amount of military presence in the Ammonite Line. Their missionaries do not come to prospective converts with guns and bombs but with food and medicine. The militant faithful only come later, to protect their new siblings in the Singular faith. Even then, Singularist Shells are more likely to be utilized as construction equipment or delivery vehicles than as weapons. Yet, those Shells are armed and armored all the same, and if the would-be converts instead choose to call in a ALE resource defense team or Damascene patrol squadron, the arriving soldiers will find that the plowshares the Singularists brought with them were always really swords.

 The Shells that the Singularists brought with them from beyond Defined Space are unique in their composition, being formed with alloys unfamiliar to the rest of post-exodus humanity.  Additionally, they employ a degree of modularity far beyond anything the other factions on the Ammonite Line are capable of, with a small handful of basic frames that various different armor plates and hardpoints can be applied to. This leads to Shells that are less distinctive unit models and more general types defined by their primary uses and configurations. All types are named after outdated or archaic measurements of weight.

The known types so far are the mid-size bipedal workhorse Obol; the four-armed, simian-like Scruple; the centaur-like Tare, which is often used as a rapid response vehicle or the personal transport of a missionary; and the Arroba, an armless, two-legged configuration which often acts as a hauler or troop transport. 

Singularist shells are extremely polygonal compared to other shells. The armor plating applied to the frames consists of a variety of sleeves and sockets that leave very little of the frame exposed. Thin edges and flat surfaces dominate the chassis, with lines almost always converging in as few points as possible. This leads to designs that are narrow and sleek with a slight curve to them, a combination of triangular and circular shapes. The limbs will often be swapped to meet the needs of the situation, with, say, an Obol type trading a two-pronged grasping claw for a large blade. The heads are usually triangular, forming one of the points that the lines of the design converge on. Diamond or star shapes are also common, with more points an individual units seemingly indicating the rank of the pilot. The frame of these Shells is usually a simple white, black, or gray, while the armor plating is given a pearlescent or opalescent paintjob. Teals, greens, and purples dominate the Singular Shell color palette, though some models have been seen with sapphire blue, ruby red, or obsidian black color schemes.

[bones-and-whatnot]

It’s time for Smash Bros. worldbuilding!!

The Smash games take place in an alternate/in-between universe where powerful figures from around the multiverse are warped to duke it out.

Master Hand has trophies/statues of the various fighters. At any time he desires, he can swap the trophy for the real thing— that is, wherever the person is in their own universe, they suddenly begin to turn to stone. Meanwhile, in Smash-world, the trophy suddenly begins to turn into flesh (or whatever the fighter is made of) as their consciousness is transported. It is unclear if the trophy and the fighter swap places, or if the trophy is just turned into an exact copy of the fighter’s body that their soul is then put into.

Master Hand can alter or play up his fighters’ powers a bit, but he likes to stay at least SOMEWHAT consistent with what their usual deal is. He’s not gonna give Mr. Game & Watch laser eyes. (He also makes them all much more resistant to injury and pain.)

Master Hand creates the battlefields by simulating parts of the worlds his fighters come from and then sort of “copy-pasting” together different elements from them for the main battleground. That’s why so many of them float in midair (and have a different layout than the place they supposedly are).

MH has multiple trophies of each fighter. If he wants, he can bring more than one to life at once, by sort of splitting the fighters’ consciousness between them (a very unsettling experience). The duplicates can move and act of their own accord, but since they only have a sliver of the original’s soul, they don’t have personalities beyond very shallow, stereotypical imitations of their source. A Mario duplicate, for instance, is probably just gonna say stuff like “Mamma mia!” and “I’m number one!” over and over again. (The fighters also have the option to just wear different outfits if they feel like it.) This was a precursor to a more ambitious experiment of Master Hand’s: Dr. Mario.

Master Hand liked the concept of Dr. Mario, but didn’t find it aesthetically consistent enough with regular Mario for his liking. So, in a modification of the procedure used to activate the duplicates, he turned Dr. Mario into a separate character.

Dr. Mario is all of Mario’s medical knowledge put into human form (with a few tidbits of Mario’s past and general personality thrown in to supplement). Unlike the palette swap duplicates, Dr. Mario is fully sapient and can hold actual conversations, as well as have his own opinions and thoughts. This is because the process of activating a duplicate (since the goal is to make a clone) requires an attempt by Master Hand to imbue a part from every facet of Mario’s being into the clone while ALSO leaving the original Mario enough for him not to become a shell of himself (if Mario becomes just as indistinguishably generic as his clones, Master Hand won’t know which vessel to put all the soul bits back into and send home, and that would get messy).

Because of these facts (only exacerbated if trying to activate multiple Marios at once), the different aspects of Mario as a person get spread a bit thin, and the palette swaps end up with only a little bit of each— putting them in a sort of “jack of all trades, master of none” position when it comes to the various elements of “being Mario”.

Dr. Mario, however, is made up of the entirety of ONE SPECIFIC PART of Mario’s mind, so he has a full chunk of consciousness to work with, at the cost of being pretty specialized to that area of Mario’s life and skillset.

When Dr. Mario is active (which isn’t ALL the time), Mario loses all medical knowledge (even basic stuff, so he needs to be kept an eye on), but otherwise has his common sense, memory and other fields of expertise. Conversely, Dr. Mario’s a great guy, but he couldn’t tell you the first thing about plumbing, carpentry, princess-saving, kart racing or anything other than medicine. When Master Hand’s through playing, he just puts ‘em back together.

Mario and Dr. Mario get along swimmingly (to the point of sometimes finishing each other’s sentences) and are often hanging around each other. Everyone else is kinda creeped out by it.

Master Hand later duplicated the “Dr. Mario” process to separate Samus and Zero Suit Samus. However, in this case, Zero Suit Samus is actually the original and “regular” Samus (when the two are split) contains all her knowledge of how to operate her Power Suit. The two Sami also get along fine, but they’re not as exuberant about it as the Marios, so it’s less noticeable and therefore less unsettling to the rest of the lineup. The Links are NOT separations of the same fighter, they’re all grabbed from different points in the timestream.

The splitting process used to create Dr. Mario and Zero Suit Samus is similar to the process that split Crazy Hand from Master Hand. THAT separation, however, was done by their own mysterious creator, so they can’t do anything to reverse it.

If the characters do not begin to fight when the disembodied voice of Master Hand commands them to, the Smashworld will kind of “get into their heads” and make them feel amped up to fight. The world/Master Hand cannot directly FORCE them to fight, but they can sort of be “nudged”. By now, most of them have come to enjoy the tournaments as a way to let off steam where no one really gets too hurt and there’s an understanding that no hard feelings are had afterwards, so they’ll fight of their own accord.

Master (and Crazy) Hand isn’t necessarily EVIL, he just is so, so different and alien that he cannot understand our morality at all and why people might not appreciate being forced to fight, undergoing psychic suggestion to make them want to fight more and having their consciousness split into multiple pieces— which they then also have to fight. He’s very fond of the fighters, and when a serious threat shows up, he will always try to protect them (he doesn’t want them to come to any harm). They all have VERY mixed feelings about him.

Master Hand also isn’t really a “he”. That’s just kind of what everyone calls him but he can’t or doesn’t understand/care about gender enough to “correct” them. Calling it “he” is no more or less correct than using any other pronoun created by humans (including “it”).