#and there is an encyclopedia of those fish

[an-adhd-infested-nerd]

Me when a game lets you explore the ocean, find fish, help people and there are also horrors.

[television-overload]

Whenever I randomly remember things from my earliest childhood memories, things that don't exist anymore really like the DVD rental place at my old grocery store and grocery stores that had tables and chairs inside to eat at, I think of that "Sure, Grandma, let's get you to bed" meme

[aroacehanzawa]

ishmael is SO FUNNY he's like here's a quote from a scientist describing why whales are mammals instead of fish. well i don't believe him. now that we have established the fact that whales are indeed fish, let me explain how whales differ from other fish. they are fish with lungs and warm blood, whereas literally every other fish are lungless and have cold blood. they're just built different

[a-book-of-creatures]

I think I stumbled upon some kind of ichthyological forbidden knowledge. Opened up a book of names that were never meant to be read.

You've probably heard of "can-opener smoothdream", right? It's practically a meme by now.

But the thing is, it's a deep-sea fish. And deep-sea fish have historically not had English names because nobody drops them into the conversation over a hot cuppa. Sure, there's generic stuff like hatchetfish and barreleye, but when you want to refer to the actual fish you're probably saying such euphonious phrases as Diretmus argenteus, Sternoptyx diaphana, or maybe even Opisthoproctus soleatus.

So whence "can-opener smoothdream"? Certainly no non-ichthyologist has ever used that name. It's not even a direct translation of the scientific name Chaenophryne longiceps - that would be "long-headed gape-toad". Which to me is even cooler than "can-opener smoothdream".

But I digress. The "dream" bit comes from the anglerfish family Oneirodidae, from oneiros, "dream", because those marvelous fishes look like they came out of a dream (Pietsch, 2009).

Note that Pietsch (2009), more or less the anglerfish bible, uses English names at the genus level only. So Chaenophryne is the smoothhead dreamers genus but no mention is made of "can-opener smoothdreams". So no luck there.

Wikipedia, root cause of a lot of misinformation, has this to say.

"Longhead dreamer" is a far more accurate name. And in fact, despite Wikipedia prioritizing "can-opener smoothdream" (because it's funny?), the links listed use "longhead dreamer" and "smoothhead dreamer" as the name and "can-opener smoothdream" as an alternative.

So. Again. Where did "can-opener smoothdream" come from?

The answer, as it turns out, lies with McAllister (1990).

In the book A List of the Fishes of Canada, ichthyologist D. E. McAllister sought out to list every single fish known to Canadian waters, providing both an English and a French name.

And when there wasn't an English name, like for most deep-sea fishes, he arbitrarily gave them a name. And his names "differ in many instances from the widely accepted names" (Holm, 1998)

This had varying results. This is his name for one of the netdevil anglerfishes.

The humpback anglerfish or blackdevil anglerfish becomes a werewolf (????).

This one is just confusing.

The white-spotted lanternfish or Rafinesque's lanternfish instead becomes...

And most embarrassingly, the Mediterranean spiderfish gets saddled with something that "violates the tenet of good taste" (Holm, 1998).

This then is the original source of "can-opener smoothdream". It was invented by an ichthyologist in 1990, and has seen little to no use outside of how bizarre the name is.

Maybe McAllister's goofier names will catch on. Who knows? They certainly aren't very popular in the scientific community though.

References

Holm, E. (1998) Encyclopedia of Canadian Fishes (review). The Canadian Field-Naturalist, 112, p. 174-175.

McAllister, D. E. (1990) A List of the Fishes of Canada. National Museum of Natural Sciences, Ottawa.

Pietsch, T. W. (2009) Oceanic Anglerfishes: Extraordinary Diversity in the Deep Sea. University of California Press, Berkeley.

[studioghibelli]

the old man and the sea- a joel miller x reader fic

summary: grief is a sacred thing, a nasty thing, a sensual thing. it grips you from the inside until there's nothing left but a void of darkness- a void that can never be filled. joel miller knows this fact very well, and all he wants to do is save you.

warnings: girthed up age gap (college age!reader x 50’s age joel), i’m exploring a new type of writing ok let me COOK!!!! idk i am delusional, reader has hair that at least reaches her neck, cigarette use, this whole thing is basically an allegory for grief and growing but there also a lot of sexy smut soooo yeah. (mentions of death and two brief mentions of suicide, but nothing too detailed.) that being said, smut (f receiving oral sex, soft kissy missionary sex, unprotected piv sex, some 'dirty' talk, etc.)

note: this has NOT been proofread or edited. any mistakes are mine. i just hate going back and editing lmao. enjoy! xx

In the august days of your youth, when the rocky line of the coast line glimmered beneath the flame of the sun, when the foamy waves would pool by your sandy feet, you could remember the towering lighthouse just south of the beach, the way it stood tall and proud, like the statues of Roman soldiers you knew from your school encyclopedias. It was vibrant and alive, no more dead than the clams bubbling beneath the surface of the ocean, no more dead than the bellowing of the whales far off the shore.

You remember how it would speak to you, late at night when you would walk alone, hoping to catch the light reflecting off the tail of a pretty mermaid, hoping that the local legends of talking fish would come poke their heads above the water, speaking to you in riddles from days gone by.

You remember the words of the light which shone strong from above, circling above your head , like the passing lights of a traveling carnival, your eyes caught like a moth roaming towards the flames, lost in the eternal beauty of its golden light.

Come to me, child. Let the lighthouse unburden your pain.

But back then, when you were quick to scare despite your steadfast stubbornness, you never garnered enough courage to explore behind its walls.

Now college had passed, and you moved back home to your parent's rickety beach house, alone behind her comforting wooden exterior. This home. This home that was once so full of life. This home that held warm laughter and late night board games. This home that housed your closest friends and their secrets of crushes and undeciphered dreams. This home where you grew into a young woman full of life and beauty, clever and brilliant.

This home that was now empty.

You had got the call the week after finals.

We're so sorry, they went out fishing and a storm came. We never found them.

Oh, yes.

Adventure pumped through your veins, the taste for freedom like salty water on your tongue. You knew where you got it from, you always had. Your sweet family, your loving parents. Full of life like that lighthouse, full of of love like the sun.

Now they were nothing, and this house was nothing. Those years of laughter and secrets and adventure were nothing.

Nothing.

Your favorite word these days.

Going through belongings and shuffling through old books had taken almost a weeks worth of tears. Hot, tepid, angry tears.

How dare they leave you alone? How dare they forsake you like this?

The thought of crashing water and striking lightning was almost too much to bare.

When the storm had rolled in that morning, you had been tucked away in the alcove of your kitchen, nursing a steaming mug that was more cream than coffee. You watched the droplets of rain paint pictures on the window, you watched nature wring her tears across the fluttering branches of trees, cracking soft splashes across the pavement with each gust of air. Your chest felt heavy with thoughts of them.

Mom and dad.

Mamma and papa.

Perhaps it was in hopes you would feel some comfort, perhaps it was in hopes you would feel whole. If you could just stare out at the ocean that took them, maybe they would speak to you. Maybe those fairytale fish would poke their heads up from the water and exclaim to you how happy your parents were, how they were fitting right in, how they had invited Mrs. Dolphin over for tea last Saturday, and how they were finally warming up to the funny shark that always lurked in the seaweed.

You stood barefoot on the cragged rock, staring out at the roaring waves, with nothing but the lull of distant seagulls and the song of incoming thunder.

No fish. No parents. No Mrs. Dolphin. Just another season of storms and a crater in your heart.

Your throat was raw from all the screaming. You danced to your fight song as you let the rain take you, your clothes felt like skin from how soaked through they were. Heavy drapes of fabric that cemented you in place on that cragged rock. That cragged rock that dripped with the blood of your raw heels, your toes scraped and ruined from the sandy surface.

It was dark by the time the storm rolled out, dark by the time your back found the safety of the sand, dark by the time your hair clung to your neck and became tangled up with the seashells.

There was a glowing orb of light far off in the distance that you could just make out through the hazy fog of your eyelashes, and you realized it was growing closer, the old handle of a lantern creaking through the night.

"Hello?" The voice was rough and unknown to your ears, yet held a certain warmth despite the weariness.

"Yes?" You asked softly, refusing to open your eyes. If you opened your eyes, all of this was real, all of this was raw, all of this was right there.

"Are you.... okay?"

"Yes."

The lantern creaked once more, and you heard the shuffle of fabric as the man leaned forward, pressing his knuckles to your cheek. "You're colder than a reindeer's antlers, girl." His touch was warm, his hand a welcome solace from the rain. "You live around here?"

You didn't want to go back to that house. You didn't want to smell their detergent or see their old clothes. You didn't want to waltz through that kitchen or hear the creak of those old stairs.

Perhaps it was from the way your lip quivered, from the rain or from the cold, perhaps it was from the defeat in your voice, or the weightlessness of your soul, but the man before you knew he had to do something about it. How could he not? You were laying there like a pile of unfolded laundry, and no one else was around to fold it all.

You felt an arm slip behind your back.

"C'mon, stand up with me. On three."

You groaned softly, using a thick arm as leverage as the mystery man helped you stand off the ground. When you opened your eyes, you saw a pair of umber orbs staring at you, tracing over your face, every line, scar, freckle, dent, he was soaking you in like a sponge, as though he wanted to know your face just from memory.

"I'm Joel."

Joel.

He was handsome, that was the first thing you noticed about him. You felt your stomach churn at the feeling, angry you could find him so beautiful, despite the darkness which shrouded over you. Joel was broad and rugged, no doubt rough around the edges. He was adorned with various scars and random freckles, with thick eyebrows and broad shoulders, plush lips and kind eyes- hardened by time, no doubt, but beautiful all the same.

You know you mumbled your name out somewhere along the walk, eyes cloudy with tears. It was a miracle you managed to speak anything at all.

As you neared the lighthouse, you realized just how foreboding it truly was. Its paint was cracking, yet its foundation remained firm, and it towered up into the clouds like a Medieval castle. Behind it's white structure you saw a small cabin, warm light seeping through the misty windows, painting the green grass with splatters of sunshine.

When Joel opened the door, an old dog sitting in front of the fireplace lifted his head, the soft thump of a tail beating against the wooden floors. His fur was gray and his eyes were old, his long fur a mixture of brown, black, and white patches. Like a makeshift quilt.

Quilts. Your mother used to make those.

"That's Moby." Joel explained, setting a kettle on the old gas stove. "Sit down. You're trailing blood." You felt embarrassment creep up your neck, and he must have noticed the way your eyes darted with shame. "No, no. I didn't mean it like that. Let me fix up your cuts. I-.... I wasn't trying to be a dick." He spoke like this was his first time having human interaction in a decade, and by the way he moved, you might have been right.

He fumbled through drawers and cabinets, eventually finding a metal first aid kit that had begun resting at the edges years ago. Joel pulled up a dining room chair in front of you with a loud screech, peering up at you as he shuffled through the remnants of the kit.

"What were you doing out there?" He asked, gently grabbing your ankle. He guided it to his lap, inspecting the raw flesh of your soles.

"Exploring."

"Exploring what?"

"Myself."

You felt his shoulders jerk with a bit of a laugh. Normally, you would not have gone home with a stranger. Normally, you would not have let a random man place your legs on his lap or nurse you up.

But then again, nothing was normal anymore. Normal was home. Normal was family. Normal was homecooked meals and late night board games and sleepovers and secrets and.... well, none of this.

The hot stream of tears threatened the dam that rest just above your waterline. Joel noticed, but he didn't say anything.

His calloused thumb rested on the side of your foot, the sting of alcohol soaked pads causing you to wince.

"I know." He muttered through an unlit cigarette which dangled from his mouth, the lines of his forehead prominent with each movement he made. "There we go. Right one's done. Let me see the left."

You obeyed wordlessly, gently propping it up onto his thigh. He repeated his previous work until that foot was cleaned and patched.

Joel stared at you. The tea kettle behind him was whistling for attention, its top sputtering from the roaring boil of water.

"Earl gray or green?" He asked as he rummaged for two cups, blowing the dust off of one. You watched Joel stare at one of the cups for a beat too long.

"Earl gray." You croaked, blinking hard. You felt wetness by your hand. When you looked down, the black nose of a dog was pressing into your palm. Your fingers found his fur, rubbing that spot right behind his ear that made his back leg go crazy. Who couldn't smile at that?

Moby laid down, his fur a puddle at the base of your chair as he rested his snout atop your foot. You stared at him, welcoming the softness of his body against yours.

"Moby is a sweet dog. He's old. Rarely gets up from that bed." Joel explained, handing you a cup. The words World's Best Dad were fading at the sides. This cup must have been older than you.

"I like him." You let the liquid glide down your throat with each sip, savoring the warmth it provided you. At the first sign of a shiver, Joel had wrapped a blanket around your shoulders.

"Why are you being so kind to me? You don't even know me."

Joel sat back down across from you with a soft groan, the ache in his bones creaking like an old, rusting elevator shaft. "I do know you."

"Have we met before?" Your eyebrow raised with interest, and you looked at him wearily, trying to deduce what he was up to.

"No. But I know what grieving looks like." There was a long pause before Joel decided to speak again. "Were you trying to kill yourself?"

"What? No!" You guffawed, neck snapping up to shoot him a scowl. "Of course not."

"Look. If you walked up on a half dead, soaking wet person on the shore, during the aftermath of a storm, you'd be thinking the same thing." He defended himself sternly, setting his cup down.

There was a thick moment of quietness.

"Those were your parents, weren't they?" His voice was barely a whisper. It floated through the air like smoke off a candle, hitting you in the face.

"Yes."

"It was all over the news. Loads of us went out there, tried to find them."

"They're out there somewhere. Fish food." Your voice was bitter.

Joel didn't say anything. He just sat and stared. You stared back.

It became a ritual after that night. You were over there every evening, usually with a paper bag full of groceries and treats for Moby. You taught Joel how to make Paprikash and Japchae, you taught Moby how to fist bump with his nose (old dogs can learn new tricks), and you taught yourself how to laugh again.

Laughing. Such an odd thing to do in the aftermath of grief. Such a weird feeling to allow ones self to feel after weeks of chaos.

And Joel, he had his uses too.

Joel taught you how to do a fishtail braid, he taught you how to use a fly rod, and what the inside of a lighthouse looks like. Joel taught you how to smile again, he taught you what the feeling of freedom felt like once more.

Summer faded into autumn, and the orange and yellow trees began to paint the prettiest of pictures on the canvas of the coast. It held a certain nostalgia that summer had always failed to do for you, and the promise of apple cider and pumpkin scented candles floated through with every passing day.

It had taken some convincing, but Joel had swayed in to your demands, and you both sat at a tiny table in a tiny cafe, the steaming pumpkin latte swirling between his hands.

"So?"

He stared at it for a moment before meeting your gaze. "It's.... not half bad."

"Well, well, well. Looks like I was right. I knew you'd like it." You smiled through your victory, drinking your own iced coffee.

"I haven't been here in years." Joel explained, looking around at the decorations. Local art, framed photographs, and signed albums adorned the exposed brick walls, the glowing salt lamps on each table bathing the air with warm, orange light.

"You've been here before?" This coffee shop was old, you knew that much, but even when you were younger and frequented its counter with your high school friends, you can't remember ever seeing him here. And this was a small town- you knew you would have remembered his face, despite the wrinkles and grays. He still would have been Joel.

"Over two decades ago. Sarah loved this place."

"Sarah?"

His upper lip twitched at the sound of her name. Joel looked at you with heavy eyes, glossed over with the mark of grief. The kind of grief that settles in to your body as though it's its home, the kind of grief that sits beside you on the couch and never leaves. The kind of grief you were learning to grow beside.

"My daughter."

The air hung above your heads like a rainy cloud, thick and desultory. It fell across your shoulders like a fur coat, and you struggled to shake it all away.

"I didn't know that you..." Words were useless. They always were when it came to matters like this.

Joel drank his coffee in silence, tracing the ridges of the wooden table out with his eyes. "Don't like talking about her."

"We don't have to."

"Yes, we do." His voice was stern as he looked up at you, your gaze connecting. Joel's eyes were far away, searching for something in the recesses of his memory, or perhaps gaining the courage to speak to you.

"I've been alone for over twenty years." His voice was softer than you had ever remembered it being. "And then.... you were there. Just there. Laid out on the shore like a beached mermaid, shivering in the moonlight. I didn't know you... but I knew you. You were me in that moment. I had been you."

Your lips were pressed into a tight, thin line, and you watched as he spoke. There was a subtle shake to Joel's hands as he picked at his thumb nail, a tick you had picked up on the first week you had known him. The bouncing of his knee vibrated through the table.

"I know what grief is. I know the stain it leaves on someone's face. It was all over you.. just-just dripping."

You hadn't noticed the tears welling in your eyes.

Joel reached over, his palm engulfing your cold hand like a blanket, warming your skin up with his touch. He laced your fingers tight in to his own, cradling your palms close between his two hands.

"I know what all this does to a person. How it rots, how.... how it erodes. I knew I needed to help you."

"What's why you took me back to your house."

"Yes. That's why I bandaged you up, that why I made you tea, that's why I let you keep coming back. Because I wanted to help you, because I lov-"

"Are we doing okay over here?" A barista walked up with a smile, a tray in hand. "I'm just going to take these empty cups away! It's such a beautiful day outside."

You managed to shoot her a smile.

As she walked away, Joel continued staring at you, and there was a sense of something..... else in his eyes.

"Lets go back home? To- well, uh, to my home."

You nodded silently, letting go of his hands as you both walked out the door.

There was something unspoken between Joel and you, and it had settled between the two of you over the months. You knew that he knew, and Joel knew that you knew, yet it was never brought up, it was never allowed to spoken out loud. If it was spoken out loud, then it became real, and if it became real, then it would end up being a burden. Or a promise. Or a nightmare. Or a dream. Or a beautiful, welcoming, loving thing that lasted until the day you died.

How terrifying was that?

You don't know when you had started holding Joel's hand, but the walk back to the lighthouse was quiet and chilly.

Because I lo-

His words echoed through your skull with every single step you took along the cobbled path.

Lo, lo, lo, lo. Love? Loathe? Long? Look?

Your chest compressed against itself as your thoughts wandered. You must have been squeezing Joel's hand too hard, or your nails must have been digging into his skin too deeply, because he stopped and looked at you.

"Are you okay?" He asked quietly.

"I- um. Huh?"

"You're practically making me bleed with those nails of yours. Are you okay? Thinking about something?"

"Oh, I'm sorry." You muttered sheepishly, gently recoiling your hand away. Joel stopped you, placing it back in the grasp of his own. "I just... what were you going to say to me?"

"Hmm? Say to you?"

"Back at the coffee shop?"

"Oh." Joel shuffled his weight between both of his feet, his eyes shifting to meet yours. His warm, gentle, dark eyes. Those honeyed orbs of warmth that you had grown to love so deeply. Love? Oh, yes. You were certain it was love.

What part of Joel Miller didn't you love? He had rescued you from much more than that shore on that fateful night. Fate. Hell of a thing, that.

Joel squeezed his eyes shut. It was like ripping off a band-aid. When he spoke, he opened them once more, allowing his words to drip off his tongue. They were soft, gentle, they swayed through the tresses of your hair like a breeze through a field of flowers.

"I love you."

And there it was.

Time must have stopped. Your ears rang with silence, the weight of the universe funneling and funneling, closer and closer to your head until there was nothing. No noise. No air. No nothing.

Joel stared at you with a blank expression on his face, as though he couldn't believe what he had just said.

"I shouldn't have... that was- I'm sorry."

You took a step towards him, his hand was still wrapped around your own. You felt the subtle sheen of sweat on his palm, you tasted the tang of metal on your tongue from biting your cheek too hard, too deep, too long.

You knew it as sure as the sun rose in the east, you knew it with every vein in your body, with every hair on your head. You loved him, too.

Oh you did, didn't you? What a fool you were for him. If he told you to jump, you would jump. If he told you to run away with him, you would ask where. Joel Miller had bewitched you, every ounce of you, and you couldn't bare the thought of leaving him, or forgetting him, or even worse- never meeting him.

Some brave rush of courage overtook you, and before you could think you had grabbed his face in your hands and pressed your mouth into his own, nearly knocking him off his feet with the force of your movement. Joel's hands instinctively grabbed your waist, and his back found the support of a stop sign. The tips of his fingers gently dug into your waist, and he held you close and tight to his chest. You could feel the beating of his heart against his torso, pumping and pumping and pumping its vibrations into your own chest, ricocheting through your body as you tasted him on your tongue.

You pulled away only when your cheeks ached, burying your face in to his chest, allowing the smell of Joel to overcome you. He always smelled like the sea air and cotton, sweet and nostalgic against your nose.

"Lets get home." He whispered in your ear.

Home. He hadn't corrected himself. Home.

Joel's fingers refused to leave yours, locked tight as you made it to his house. Moby greeted you with a kiss to the knee, waddling back to his bed with a heavy huff of air. You gave him the bone you always picked up for him on the way there, before turning around to see Joel in the kitchen, a cigarette in his mouth.

"Want one?" He asked as he brought the lighter to his mouth. You walked towards him, nodding. He took the item out of his mouth, before placing it between your own two lips.

Joel watched the way you took the cigarette, the way your glossy lips looked against the white sheen of paper.

"You're so damn beautiful. God, I just..." Joel shook his head as he kept his thoughts to himself, lighting another smoke before tossing the half empty pack on to the table.

"You just what?" Your voice echoed through the bellow of smoke, and you leaned against the counter, challenging him with your words.

"I just... got so many things I want to do to you."

You smiled, alluring eyes beaming up at him as you puffed and exhaled, slowly putting out the embers on the clay ashtray you had bought him months ago. "Like what?" Your words were teasing.

Joel watched you step towards him, and his chest rose and fell underneath the unlit kitchen light. He took in a deep breath of tobacco before flicking it in to the metal sink.

He'd deal with that later.

"How 'bout I just show you, baby?"

Your lip caught between your teeth as you nodded.

Joel had never moved so fast in his life, whisking you off to his room with a loud bang of his door. He had you nearly naked and on his bed in record time, his knee resting between your legs as he kissed you, the hair of his moustache tickling your nose.

He allowed you to grind yourself down on his leg, soft moans flooding in to his mouth as his tongue explored your own, tangling and dancing with one another as his fingers worked the back of your bra. Joel threw the material across the room, your breasts pressing in to his chest, nipples hard and tantalizing.

That was the first time Joel had pulled away. He left a trail of wet kisses down to your nipples, his lips wrapping around the stiff bud. You watched him suckle at your flesh, shivers causing the hair on your arms to stand up. His curls became tangled with your fingers, a leg resting on his shoulder as he adjusted himself, sucking and licking at your tits as though he were starved.

Your sweet melody of arousal was like music to Joel, who finally gathered the strength to pull away from your chest and move down between your legs, his mouth planting a flurry of pecks to your stomach. He hooked your panties in his fingers and tugged them off, large hands resting on your thigh as he spread them.

Joel stared at your pussy, now open and bare for his eyes. It glistened with arousal, the soft pink of your flesh causing his mouth to water.

"Jesus." He breathed out slowly, eyes darting up to your gaze. "You were made just for me, weren't you?"

You felt your cheeks heat up. You were. Oh, God, you were!

His free hand snaked up to yours, and you held it tightly, nervously. His hand was your anchor, tethering you to the ocean floor of his bedroom.

Joel leaned forward, his tongue pressing flat against your clit. You whimpered out once. He sucked it in between his lips. You whimpered out twice. He worked your aching bud until you were singing a song composed just for him, pants of hot, heavy air swirling through the four walls of his room.

He was devouring you. You were his Eucharist and your pussy was his prayer. Joel worked you in ways you had never been worked before, licking and sucking your pussy with the fervor that could only ever be found in a religion. You were his religion. His idol. His worship. His solace.

Oh, solace. What a sweet, sweet thing when it was found in you.

Joel's chin was quickly soaked in your sweet wetness. He would have drowned in you if you had let him.

His tongue pushed deep in to your folds, exploring your most precious pf places, tasting every inch of you like a starved man, like a frenzied man, like a mad man.

You were his. He was yours.

Your hips were bucking, your body like a wild animal caught in a trap. Except you weren't in a trap. You were in his arms. His strong, thick, heavy arms, and ecstasy was overtaking you. His tongue was coaxing you towards an explosive orgasm, the likes of which had never been known to you. Not one so intense. Not one at the hands of a man who loved you.

Joel's grip tightened around your own, his lips sucking at your clit, tongue tapping and swirling, licking and lapping.

You could barely get any warning out before your orgasm rushed through you, thighs shaking with earthquakes of pleasure. Your fingers tugged at his hair, holding his head tight in place. Joel licked you through the height of your euphoria, sucking softly at your bud before you could barely take it anymore, before you had to gently push his head away.

"Joel." You whispered, staring at the ceiling as the white hot heat of your climax rushed over you. "Joel." You spoke it like a mantra. His name was a promise to you.

"Baby?" He climbed over you, weight supported by his elbows, and allowed the tip of his nose to gently brush over yours.

"Take me." You whispered, the palms of your hand moving to his cheeks. They were warm, and you could smell your pussy on his facial hair. You leaned forwards, kissing him, tasting your cum and his spit. A moan tumbled out of your mouth, straight through your teeth.

"Make me yours. Fuck me." You begged, although Joel didn't need any begging.

"Anything for you."

His boxers were off in the blink of an eye, and you glanced down at his cock. Tanned, slightly curved, hanging low and heavy, the mushroom tip gleaming with pre-cum. Your mouth was watering at the site, but his grasp on your chin moved your line of sight to his face.

Your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, and a soft gasp escaped you at the feeling of the tip of his cock pressing against your folds. He grinded against you, his shaft rubbing up and down the folds of your pussy, jolts of electricity causing you to shiver each time he brushed your clit.

Joel was teasing you. He was making you in to a mess. A mess all for him.

His eyes never left yours. Joel watched you lovingly, noses pressed tight, lips brushing past the others. You were as close as two people could possibly be, and you were unsure where his skin ended and yours began. Stray curls of his hair tickled your forehead, and your chests rose and fell in unison.

"I love you." His breath was hot against your face.

"I love you too-" He pushed his length in as you spoke, stretching out the lips of your pussy, hitting deeper than anything had before. You moaned out a wanton noise you had never heard before, nails gently digging in to his shoulders.

Joel sat there for a moment, heavy eyelids half closed. He was soaking you in, literally, allowing himself to relish in the feeling of being inside of you. Of being one with you.

He had not afforded himself many of life's pleasures. Not after Sarah had died. Not after he had let himself go. He had paced the same shore as you many moons ago, gun in hand, trying to urge himself to just put the barrel in his mouth and pull the trigger. It sounded so easy.

But something had stopped him. Something hadn't let him.

He had wondered, many years after that, why he hadn't done it. He had wondered what could possibly be worth living.

And then he saw you.

In that very same spot, rotting beneath the silver light of the moon.

It was you. Everything had been for you, hadn't it?

And now there you were, beneath him, as pretty as a picture, the embodiment of everything he had ever yearned for, everything he had ever dreamed for. You were everything to Joel, and he was everything to you.

And now there he was, deep inside of you. You were all he could feel, all he could smell, all he could see. You, you, you. The most beautiful thing he had ever saw, the most wonderful thing he could have ever waited for.

The shiver of your body brought him back down to reality. He kissed you deeply, and all you could do was smile against his mouth.

Lucky. That is what you were. That is what you both were.

"You feel so good." You whispered softly, hands gently running down the back of his head, finding a resting spot on the broad stretch of his freckled back.

Joel rubbed his cheek against yours, slowly moving his hips, grinding down against you, eliciting a sweet moan out of you. "Yeah?"

You both giggled in unison, and he watched your eyes shut as he began to pump deep inside of you. The feeling of your nails pinched at his skin.

Joel glanced down, watching his cock disappear into the depths of your cunt, sloppy noises of your arousal filling the air. Your pussy lips looked so pretty wrapped around his length, your wetness looked so pretty glistening off his cock.

You were made for him, and he for you.

"Take me, Joel." You begged, and his movement increased, growing slightly rougher as his forehead met yours, lips pressing together once more.

"God, you're so beautiful. So fucking beautiful. So fucking pretty. You feel so fucking good. This pussy.... fuck. Fuck, I never want to leave it." He was rambling through his thrusts, hand reaching down to rub at your swelling clit.

"Fuck me, Joel. Fuck me." You whined out, bucking up against the touch of his fingers as he fucked you harder in to the mattress.

"You're my girl. You're my beautiful fucking girl. God, you're everything to me. You're my world." His breath was hot against your face as he kissed you, coaxing you towards another orgasm with each rub of his middle finger across your clit.

"That's a good girl. I can feel you getting closer. I can feel that pussy tightening against me."

Your back arched off the mattress as you cried out his name, moaning as his praises filled your ears. Joel rested his face in the crook of your neck, hips slapping in to your thighs as he filled you up with every inch of his length.

"That's my girl, that's it, baby. Cum for me."

You did as he said. There was no use in holding back. As your orgasm rushed through, his own was approaching. Your name tumbled off his lips, the only word he could remember, as he came deep inside your walls. His hot cum filled you to the brim with a warmth you had never experienced, and Joel kept slowly pumping as his high rushed off, as his orgasm died down.

You shivered beneath him, another kiss being planted on your mouth. Then you cheeks. Then your nose. Then anywhere else Joel could get to.

A moan tumbled off Joel's tongue as he slowly slipped out of you, falling beside you before grabbing you and pressing you in to his chest.

"Stay with me."

"I always do." You whispered in to his chest.

"No, stay with me. Permanently. This can be our home."

"Our home." You whispered quietly, nuzzling closer into his body.

"Our home." He established firmly, resting his palm on the crown of your head.

The world would always spin, and sorrow would always lurk. That was how the world worked. That was the way of the universe. When you both awoke in the morning, the pain of yesteryears would still be there. The horrible, nasty tug of old memories and distant lives would always be somewhere deep within you.

The cosmos, however, were full of possibilities. You could have stayed in your parents home and succumb to a darkness greater than yourself. Joel could have drank himself to death or tasted the metal of a bullet. Those waves could have taken you, and he could have never decided to take a walk down to that beach.

There were many what if's.

But right now you were alive with passion, eyes wide and awake with a newfound love. The bitterness had gone, and something much brighter and better was waiting for you in the future.

Beside you, Joel Miller sat puffing on a cigarette, smiling at you through dreamy eyes. The sheen of sweat was still glistening across his chest, and the gentle smirk on his lips reflected the tales of a lovesick fool.

"Ready to go again?" He asked cheekily, handing you the smoke.

You took it with a smile.

For now, grief would have to wait.

[mariasont]

Our Minds Entwined------------------------

ch 1, ch 2, ch 3, ch 4, ch 5, ch 6

Aaron Hotchner x Original Character x Spencer Reid

in which jason gideon's daughter joins the fbi as the newest youngest member

Chapter Five:

Evelyn and Genevieve stepped into the haven of nostalgia for them. The walls, adorned with vintage photographs and local memorabilia, were faded brick and wood. Laughter bubbled up from tables around them, mingling with the soft strum of a guitar somewhere in the background. The air was rich with the scent of garlic and oregano, and the warm glow of string lights above cast a soft inviting glow overhead as she slipped into the warmth of the dimly lit corner booth.

Genevieve's eyes, sharp and observant, had the kind of clarity that came from her experience on the force, yet they sparkled with the same intensity that had driven her to become a cop in the first place. Her skin had a sun-kissed glow, a testament to countless hours under the Californian sun, but it was offset by a certain weariness that spoke of sleepless nights and too much coffee.

"So, tell me everything, Evie," she coaxed, leaning in. "How's life treating you at the BAU?"

Evelyn's smile was a burst of sunshine, lighting up her features with an infectious joy. She fiddled absentmindedly with her spoon. "It's been intense, but amazing," she replied. "Though, I must admit, it's refreshing not to be around people who can deduce your life story based on your coffee order, let alone how you're feeling before you've even fully woken up."

Genevieve laughed, her eyebrow arching in playful accusation. "Tell me about it, you've been doing it to me since we were twelve," she said, her eyes narrowing with mock severity. "But anyway, tell me about these infamous coworkers. Anyone... interesting?"

Evelyn's enthusiasm bubbled over as she began to gush about her colleagues. "Oh, they're incredible! JJ--she's got this uncanny ability to connect with victims, and Penelope, our tech goddess, can unravel anyone's dirty secrets with a click of a button. Morgan--he's like the best protective older brother, Rossi--he's like a walking encyclopedia of criminal behavior. And Prentiss, she can read a room like no other, she's been through a lot, but it only makes her stronger."

She paused, taking a sip of her wine, her cheeks flushing slightly. "And then there's Hotch. He's our unit chief, you know? So poised, so... commanding. And Reid," she sighed dreamily, "he's just a genius. His mind works like no one else, and he's got this awkward charm that's just..."

Genevieve smirked, leaning in, accusation on her tongue. "Sounds like someone's got a bit of a crush."

Evelyn's eyes widened, and she nearly choked on her wine. "What? No, I mean--they're just my coworkers, well, and my boss."

"Uh-huh," Genvieve teased, winking. "Just coworkers. Got it."

The laughter was cut short by the shrill ring of Evelyn's phone. She fished it out of her purse, the screen flashing Hotch. Her heart skipped a beat as she answered, "Gideon here."

"Evelyn, wheels up in 20. Kidnapping case in Rapid City, South Dakota. Two children, siblings, taken from their backyard. Local PD found an abandoned car with possible evidence. I need you here, ASAP." Hotch's voice retained a steady composure, yet there was an undercurrent of urgency that subtly underscored each word, compelling immediate attention.

A shadow of disappointment passed over Evelyn's features as she offered Genvieve a wordless apology. "Understood, on my way, sir."

She stood up, throwing on her purse with practiced haste. "Sorry, Gen, duty calls. Raincheck?"

"Go. Those kids need you," Genevieve said, her tone laced with mixture of pride and concern.

With a smile that conveyed her thanks, Evelyn hastened to the exit. As she swung the door open, she couldn't resist yelling over her shoulder, "Just coworkers!"

--

Evelyn burst through the doors of the conference room. The sharp click of her heels punctuated her every step, commanding the room's attention. She glided past the long table, her dress--a cascade of midnight blue that clung to her like a second skin--captured the soft light, giving her an ethereal glow. Her hair cascaded down in a tumble of soft girls that gently brushed her shoulders, giving her an air of relaxed grace. As she moved a hint of vanilla trailed behind her, a delicate perfume that lingered in the air, turning heads as she passed.

"Hi, everyone, sorry I'm late," she chirped, her go bag landing with a decisive thud. "You would not believe the traffic, and then I--,"

"Whoa, mama, someone's bringing the heat tonight!" Garcia interrupted, her eyes twinkled with delight, a grin spreading across her face as she took in Evelyn's appearance.

Morgan's laughter was a low rumble, his posture relaxed into the chair, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. "Damn straight. What's the occasion, doll face?" he teased.

Evelyn flashed a playful grin, tossing her hair over her shoulder. "Oh, you know, just saving the world in high heels and haute couture," she joked. "But no, I was out with a friend, didn't have time to change. I'll do that on the plane."

Hotch's penetrating stare, typically reserved for dissecting the minds of unsubs, now settled on Evelyn with an unspoken intensity. His deep brown eyes, usually so adept at observation, seemed to capture every nuance--the graceful sway of her hips, the faint scent of her perfume. It was a gaze that missed no detail, yet the depth of his focus was unusual, a quiet deviation from his usual professional detachment.

Spencer, usually lost in thought, his mind a labyrinth of facts and theories. But now, his attention was undeniably on Evelyn. His eyes held an analytical sharpness to them, but this time they held a different kind of curiosity, one that lingered on the ample flesh of her chest.

Evelyn, caught in the crossfire of their stares, felt a blush ignite her freckled cheeks.

JJ's curiosity piqued, and she leaned forward, her lips curving into a sly smile. "Oh, a friend?" Her voice was light, but the twinkle in her eye suggested she was fishing for a story colorful than just a casual catch-up.

Hotch's brows lifted almost imperceptibly. For a fleeting moment, a shadow of something unfamiliar flickered across his features--a tightness around his eyes, a slight downturn of his mouth. It was a sensation he couldn't place, an odd twinge that gnawed at this composure. He quickly schooled his expression back into neutrality, but the momentary lapse did not go unnoticed.

Spencer, on the other hand, was less adept at masking his reaction. His eyes, usually so full of thought, now reflected a clear disturbance, as if the mere suggestion of Evelyn being on a date had disrupted the very logic he held dear. His gaze lingered on her just a beat too long.

Evelyn's laughter was light, a clear note that brushed away any hint of scandal. "No, an actual friend. She's in from LA," she clarified, her tone breezy and unconcerned, dispelling the playful suspicions with a wave of her hand.

The room settled back into routine as JJ's gaze landed on Hotch, who appeared adrift in thought. "Hotch?" she called out, her voice a gentle tether pulling him back to the present.

Hotch cleared his throat, a stark interruption to the silence, a clear sign he was wrenching himself from the distraction. "Sorry, right," he stammered, a falter in his usually unwavering voice. His eyes, which had been tracing the contours of Evelyn's form, snapped back to the case file with a newfound intensity. "Let's get started..."

--

Evelyn stepped out of the bathroom, hastily adjusting her blouse. In her rush, she didn't notice Spencer standing right outside the door. With a sudden thud, their bodies met in an awkward tangle. Evelyn's hands flew up in surprise, grazing Spencer's chest as she steadied herself.

"Oh! Sorry, Spence," she exclaimed with a bright smile.

Spencer, equally taken aback, managed a flustered smile. "You're fine," he assured her, his voice a notch higher than usual as he stepped into the bathroom, his gaze lingering just a moment longer on the disarray of her attire.

Evelyn, straightened up, smoothing her clothes once more before taking a deep breath and heading back to her step.

Evelyn took in the sight of her team, already gathered and poised for the briefing. With a subtle clearing of her throat, JJ commanded attention, her fingers deftly pressing the remote. A soft click echoed in the hushed room as the screen flickered to life.

"Alright, team, we have a situation in Rapid City. Two children, siblings aged 7 and 9, were taken from their backyard near Sheridan Lake Road. The unsub left a clown mask at the scene. Local PD found an abandoned car three blocks away with candy wrappers and a handwritten note saying, 'Let's play a game'. We need to establish a profile and find these kids before the unsub escalates."

Hotch's voice was firm, his orders clear as the team prepared for landing, Reid emerging from the bathroom as he spoke. "Reid, Gideon, once we're on the ground, I want you two to head to the last known location of the children. Look for anything the local PD might have missed. After that, go to the local police station and assist them with victimology."

Hotch's phone rings. He answers with a curt. "Hotchner," and listens intently. The team watches him, reading the shift in expression as he receives the update from the local PD.

He ends the call. "The local PD has a lead. A performer known for his clown acts at children's parties was just taken into custody. They found evidence linking him to the abduction site. So change of plans. Reid, Evelyn, you're with me. We're going to interrogate the suspect. The rest of you, coordinate with the local teams. We need to cover all his known locations and find those kids."

--

The BAU's SUV glides to a stop in front of a local police station, a low building that seems to buzz with the day's frenetic energy. Hotch, with his characteristic stride, escorts Evelyn and Reid through the maze of bustling officers and ringing phones to a briefing room. The room is a testament to the case at hand; walls plastered with maps, timelines, and the faces of the missing children staring back at them. Hotch distributes the case files--thick filled with witness statements and background checks.

"Here's everything we have on the suspect," Hotch begins, "Known as 'Pogo the Clown' at parties, real name Jeffery Willis. No prior record of violence, but plenty of complaints about his behavior around kids."

Evelyn flips through the pages, absorbing the details. Hotch pivots towards her, his gaze steady and assessing, "Evelyn, you're new, but you've got a fresh perspective. That's valuable. Reid will take the lead, but I want you to watch the suspect. Look for inconsistencies in his story, any sign of deception."

Reid nods, his eyes already scanning the suspect's history. "We'll start with a cognitive interview, try to unlock any repressed memories or details he's not consciously aware of. It's a technique we use to get past the lies."

Hotch explains further. "Willis, he's got an ego, sees himself as a performer, above others. He's likely to underestimate both of you."

"Reid, he'll see you as harmless, someone he can easily outmaneuver. And Evelyn, he might dismiss your authority due to his preconceptions. But he's wrong, and that gives us leverage. Use his biases against him. Make him feel superior; it'll make him talk. He'll want to boast, to prove he's the smartest in the room. That's when he'll slip up."

Reid moves with a purposeful stride, his silhouette cutting through the dimly lit corridor towards the interrogation room. The gears in his mind turn swiftly, already sifting through the myriad of psychological strategies that might give him an edge. Evelyn started to trail behind him, her footsteps a soft echo to his confident march.

Hotch emerges before her, a figure of quiet authority. He positions himself before Evelyn, an unspoken barrier, his expression etched with a gentle concern that belies his firm stance. "Evelyn," he begins, his voice a low thrum, "this isn't going to be an easy interrogation. Willis is a performer; he thrives on attention and control. I need to know you're ready for this."

"I've trained for this. I've got this, Hotch," she lifts her chin, her gaze ascending to meet his.

Hotch regards her intently, his scrutiny thorough as if he could peel back the layers of her resolve. Yet, he finds no fissure of doubt. He grants her a slow, affirming nod. "Alright," he concedes, his voice a low rumble. "Remember, he's going to try and get under your skin, to throw you off balance." His proximity is close, almost invasive, but she didn't feel that way. "Stay focused and use his arrogance to your advantage."

Evelyn's head tilts up a fraction more, her eyes never leaving his. She nods. "I will."

Hotch's approval comes not just in a nod but in the subtle relaxation of his posture, a silent concession of her capability. He steps aside. As she passes, the air seems to hum with the vanishing of his body heat.

The interrogation room is stark, illuminated only by the unforgiving glow of overhead lights that cast long, dramatic shadows across the room. Jeffrey Willis is a disconcerting figure at the metal table, his clown makeup running in haphazard streaks, giving him a grotesque appearance. His eyes dart about, betraying a nervous energy as his leg trembles rhythmically beneath the table.

Reid steps into the room with an air of composed assurance, his intellect a sharpened blade ready to dissect the situation. Evelyn follows, her silhouette rigid against the doorway, her expression meticulously neutral. They take their seats, Reid assuming the lead with a gaze that never wavers from Willis.

"Jeffery, I'm Special Agent Reid, and this is Special Agent Gideon," Reid begins, his voice steady, "We're with the FBI, the behavioral analysis unit. We're here to talk about the children."

Willis' response is a smirk, his eyes alight with a disturbing spark of amusement. "Ah, the children," he drawls, a perverse delight curling the edges of his words. "They do so enjoy their games, don't they? High stakes make it all the more thrilling." His gaze shifts to Evelyn, taunting. "Isn't that right, sweetie? Or do they not trust you to speak?"

Evelyn's silence is her armor, her stillness a counter to his provocation. Beside her, Reid's jaw sets, a subtle clench that speaks volumes of his restraint. "Let's keep the focus where it belongs, Jeffery," he directs firmly.

"You ever been to the carnival? I used to love it. The toys, the sound of the water," Willis mused, leaning back as if the metal chair could transport him.

His chuckle breaks the reverie. "My mother, she loved games too," he continues, the smirk returning as he locks eyes with Evelyn. "The best ones, until she disappeared when I was sixteen." His gaze is probing, challenging. "But you, with a face like yours, life must've been easy, huh? Everything handed to you on a silver platter."

Evelyn's reaction is subtle, a slight narrowing of the eyes that betrays a flicker of emotion. Yet, she holds her silence, allowing Reid to handle the waters of Willis' provocations.

Willis edges closer, the space between them charged with his malice. "Or perhaps," he hisses, the words laced with spite, "mommy get sick of the guys giving you more attention than her?"

It's a low blow, one that slices through the air and lands precisely where he intended. Evelyn's facade falters, a minute shift, but it's there. "My mother is irrelevant to this," she retorts, her tone sharper, icier than she means for it to be.

From his vantage point behind the one-way mirror, Hotch catches the fleeting lapse. With a swift stride, he's in the room, his presence commanding. "Agent Gideon, a word," he commands, his voice leaving now room for argument.

Evelyn rises, her gaze lingering on Willis with a silent challenge before she pivots, her heels clicking a sharp retreat. She steps out, the chill of the corridor seeping into her bones, but it's the weight of Willis's words and her own slip that sends a shiver down her spine.

"Hotch, I--" she starts, her voice barely above a whisper, but Hotch is already there, his presence a wall of contained frustration.

"Agent," he interjects, his tone clipped, the word a reprimand in itself. "What did I say about maintaining control?" His proximity is unsettling, the heat of his frustration palpable, yet it's the closeness that somehow steadies her, sends a shiver down her spine, causing her thighs to clench together.

"I'm aware, and I apologize. It won't happen again," Evelyn responds, her words tumbling out in haste, her apology laced with urgency as she seeks to convey the clue Willis unwittingly dropped. "But I--"

Hotch is relentless, his words slicing through her attempts. "We can't afford distractions. There are two children out there; focus is imperative--"

"But the carnival," Evelyn cut in, her voice firm despite the brief hesitation, aware she's overstepping driven by instinct. "I'm sorry, but he talked about a carnival his mother would take him to. Have there been any carnivals in town lately."

For a moment, Hotch's stern facade falters, his eyes softening, betraying a flicker of curiosity. "Check with Garcia," he concedes, his voice still firm but the edge blunted.

--

Garcia's sanctuary of screens cast a soft glow in the dim room, her fingers a blur as they dance across the keyboard. "Nothing," she breathes out, the word laced with a tinge of defeat. "No carnivals, fairs, or anything similar within a 50-mile radius."

Reid's voice filters through the phone, tinged with concern as he leans in close over Evelyn's shoulder, almost whispering. "Did he grow up here? Maybe there's a connection to his past."

A pause, then Garcia's voice, distant yet clear. "No, grew up in a small town in Ohio--Millersport, near Buckeye Lake."

Reid's mind races. "Carnivals? Anything of the sort there?" he presses, hopeful.

The clacking of keys halts, a momentary silence before Garcia's voice returns, tinged with resignation. "It's a dead end. No recent events, nothing."

Evelyn chimes in. "He mentioned the sound of water, didn't he? It was deliberate, specific. Maybe it's less about an actual carnival and more about a place that felt like one to him."

A collective pause blankets the team. Garcia resumed her search. "Got something," she announces, a triumphant lilt to her voice. "An old cotton mill, nestled rise beside--get this--a carnival supply shop. It's about ten minutes from you guys."

"And here's the icing on the cake," Garcia continues, "his mother, Reyna Willis, was employed there. I'm sending you guys the address now."

--

The BAU team arrives at the desolate cotton mill, its dilapidated structure casting an ominous shadow in the fading light. Evelyn's heart pounds against her ribs, fear etched on her face. They move cautiously, guns drawn, the silence punctuated only by the soft crunch.

"Stay sharp." Hotch's command is a low murmur.

Evelyn nods at Hotch's words, paired with Morgan, as they make their way through the creaking corridors. The air is thick with dust. Room by room, they clear the mill, the tension mounting with each passing second.

Then, a soft whimper breaks the silence. Evelyn's head snaps towards the sound, her training taking over. She signals Morgan and approaches the door. With a gentle push, it swings open, revealing a small, frightened girl, nestled in the shadows.

Evelyn holsters her weapon, her stance softening as she kneels to the child's level. "Hey, it's okay, you're safe now," she whispers, her voice a soothing balm as the child curls into her side, her sobs muffled against Evelyn's shoulder, "you've been so brave."

"In here!" Morgan's call, firm and clear, cuts through the hush.

Hotch and Reid rush in, relief flooding their faces as they take in the scene. Meanwhile the sound of a relieved shout echoes through the mill. "We've got him! The boy's here!" Prentiss calls out from another room.

--

As the team wraps up the case, Hotch finds himself inadvertently watching Evelyn. She's a picture of compassion, the child in her arms so natural. There's something about this scene that stirs a warmth within him, an unfamiliar flutter that he can't quite place but pushes to the back of his mind.

He's always known she'd be good at this job, but this is different. It's hard to teach that. The way her eyes soften, the gentle tilt of her head as she whispers reassurances. It's a side of her he hasn't seen yet, one that didn't fit into the neat compartments of his professional demeanor.

Hotch feels a pull, an inexplicable draw to the tenderness she exudes. It's disconcerting, this reaction--like a chord struck deep within him. He watches her, the soft glow of the setting sun casting a halo around her silhouette.

He clears his throat, stepping closer, the gravel beneath his feet a subtle announcement of his approach. "We're about to head out," he says, his voice steady and low, not wanting to disturb the girl, her eyes fluttering in sleep.

Evelyn looks up, her eyes reflecting the last rays of the day. "I'll stay with until her parents arrive, if that's okay," she responds, her voice a low whisper. "She just fell asleep; I don't want to wake her."

Hotch nods, understanding her decision without a word. "We'll see you back at the jet, then," he says.

Evelyn smiles. "I'll be there," she assures him, her gaze lingering on him for a moment longer than necessary before returning to the child in her arms.

--

The cabin lights flicker, a soft glow against the encroaching darkness outside. Evelyn rises from her seat, navigating the narrow aisle with a practiced ease. Evelyn is suddenly caught off guard by an unexpected jolt of turbulence. She lurches forward, her balance betraying her, and without warning she finds herself tumbling into Reid's lap. Her ass landed on his crotch as her lips fell open in surprise. He let out a soft groan, his hands instinctively reaching out to stabilize her. The rest of the team, deep in slumber, remained oblivious to the sudden closeness between the two.

"Whoa, are you okay?" Reid asked, his voice rising in pitch as his fingers dug into her hips.

Evelyn's breath hitches, her heart racing from the fall, the warmth of his hands, and the feeling of his crotch pressed firmly against her backside. She let out a giggle in an attempt to shake the feeling. "Gosh, sorry, Reid," she stammered, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

For a moment, they are both still, the silence enveloping them, their eyes locked in a gaze that speaks volumes more than the words could. Then, as quickly as the moment came, it passed. Evelyn carefully extricates herself from his lap, her movements hurried, eager to put some distance between them.

next

taglist: @nonamevenus @aceofspades190

[ms-scarletwings]

Aberrant Fish

The first hint many an angler will get of the dark, insidious secrets these waters hold,

and yet, they are the first thing to be accepted as only another flavor of mundane.

The game text calls them grotesque. The fishmonger calls them corrupted. You get to call them a bonus. Rather than fear and revile them, tradesmen will pay a shiny extra penny to add them into their stock. They are gestured to and spoken of, but never truly elaborated on by the townsfolk. They have probably been here long before most of them, and so will be here long after they are gone. They were certainly here before you. Maybe you don’t need their answers, and yet if you are like me, you still witlessly question and keep dredging for more.

Like many things pulled from those cursed depths, they whisper flecks of madness from an impossible voice. What messages do they carry, and what forces do they play vessel to? Are they the lingering embers from a long-extinguished calamity, or are they harbingers of the next one to come?

I believe we have already seen signs of fire with our own eyes- impossible, great beasts that prowl the four (now five) coasts, the dying cult, gibbering fog…. That damned book. These tortured creatures are but another form of the same smoke.

To the question of where they came from, if your fisherman pokes around enough and braves the darkness, he may have already found a response in one of the many obelisks scattered around the map. Specifically, I refer to this.

This would suggest the aberrants themselves are what leaked in through the cracks that the largest of all monsters wants to rend apart? Not entirely, but in part. For the researcher at the Stellar Basin came to her own conclusion I want to factor in.

Her words give credence to the possibility that it is actually those greater beasts themselves at the heart of the corruption. I think she was half onto something, because what if these twisted forms, both large and small, were blooms along the same set of festering roots?

The more dark stones you disturb in the frenzy of your own madness, the more you learn about the age before your arrival, about the islands, and especially about their current guardians. The Mindsuckers- carrion puppet masters given a home, the Basin creature- a spore that miraculously survived its dive to the abyss, and the Serpent- lifeless stone made animate and malicious, all had their creation remembered in great detail by the obelisks. Some hints point that their emergence was rather recent, relative to even more powerful beings, such as the leviathan.

Maybe there are even more unseen horrors far below, blessedly out of our reach, for now. My view is that the malformed beasts are the aimless children of that unfathomable thing which waits beyond the veil. With them came its influence, and its corruption, and from them it continues to spread to all life surrounding. The smaller rifts were always a transformative disease upon the harbor’s fish, but with the rise of the new monsters, the sickness runs farther and less avoidably than ever. Whether these aberrant spawn are a gift to the worthy, or another deceptive evil that leads to madness remains left to be seen.

I will be giving a spotlight to each of these fascinating specimens at the back of Dredge’s encyclopedia, including those found in the Pale Reach, for further comment and appreciation. Updating the list below as we go along!

[#79-84]

[#85-90]

[#91-96]

[#97-102]

[#103-108]

[#109-114]

[#115-120]

[#121-126]

[#127-132]

[#133-138]

[#139-144]

[#145-150]

[#163-168]

[#169-174]

[Bonus I. Night Angler]

[Bonus II. Serpent]

[Bonus III. Basin Creature]

[Bonus IV. Mindsuckers]

[Bonus V. Unseeing Mother]

[Bonus VI. “Narwhal”]

[theplottdump]

Sunny: So you're not a ghost- and I'm pretty sure you're not a pirate. You don't have a beard or a hook hand.

Well, what are you then?

Boy: Well it's obvious- I'm a boy!

Sunny: Hmm. Wrong. Boys are muuuuuch taller. Likeeee this tall- at least. Trust me, I would know, I live with two. Possibly two and a half if you count H.A.N.S.E.L.

Boy: What are you like the expert on everything? Sunny: Pretty much. My dads got me a whole set of encyclopedias for my last birthday. Ask me where Tomarang is! Boy: No. Sunny: It's in EP15. That's like almost 7,000 miles away from here!

Sunny: Anyways you're only like- mmmm this tall. . . .

𝙊𝙃 𝙈𝙔 𝙂𝙊𝙎𝙃 𝙔𝙊𝙐'𝙍𝙀 𝘼 𝙁𝙄𝙎𝙃!

Fish: And you're a frog. Frog: I am not a FROG! Fish: Sure you are- you got those little frog eyes on your head and everything.

Frog: These are my GOGGLES. They're for underwater EXPLORATIONS.

Sunny: And just for your informeration Fish Boy, I'm a GIRL. Not- A FROG.

Fish Boy: MMmmm nope. Girls are pretty.

Fish Boy: You look more like a frog.

Frog: I will have you know that my dads think I'm PERFECT.

Fishboy: Whatever you tell yourself to get to sleep at night- 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘨𝘧𝘢𝘤𝘦.

Frogface: 𝗨𝗚𝗛!

[lulu2992]

Uncovering the unreleased Far Cry 5 in-game Encyclopedia

Aside from the places that still exist in the game, I also found a few that don’t!

Part 5: Cut locations

In the files, each location on the map has a code. Thanks to location-specific Gun For Hire comments (found in a document that DanaDuchy shared here) and other information available in oasisstrings, I tried to find which code corresponded to which location. That took me some time because I had to take my companions to several places to see which comments would be triggered, find those comments in the files, and look at the associated location code. Sometimes, I even had to go find and hire new fighters who had the “right voice” if I knew they had something to say about a place I wanted to identify! When I was done matching all in-game locations with codes, I realized there were more.

The code looks different depending on how important the place is. For example, Fall’s End is D2_HERO_01, the Baron Lumber Mill is H5_MEGA_01, and the 8-Bit Pizza Bar is E5_POI_08 (I suppose “POI” means “Point Of Interest”). That helped me find which code was which location, but in the case of deleted content, also gives information on how big the place was supposed to be before it got cut.

Using NPC comments, as well as deleted notes and other information available in oasisstrings, here are the cut Far Cry 5 locations I could find and their description in the unreleased encyclopedia (or at least what I can hypothesize about those places).

You can read the oasisstrings file here. Pictures from this encyclopedia were also extracted and posted by @xbaebsae here.

(Below, for clarity, “RF” means “Resistance Female” and “RM” is for “Resistance Male”, which are the characters’ names in the files)

Fumaroles (F5_POI_03)

A hole in the planet's crust that belches steam and gases. According to Montana Parks and Recreation officials, fumaroles are not portals to hell.

Here, Guns For Hire would say:

RF1: "Took a field trip here once. Don't remember anything about this."

RM1: "Damn, look what they've done to this place."

Hurk: "Daddy calls this the Devil's Asshole because it smells so bad."

Old Lakeside Camp (E6_POI_05)

Probably some good memories were made here under the stars.

Pilgrimage Footbridge (E7_POI_01)

Located on high cliffs and above water, it's a part of Faith's pilgrimage. Not for the faint of heart.

Here, Guns For Hire would say:

RF2: "Wonder how many folks they've already forced to march over this bridge. Makes me sick."

RM2: "Please let's not cross that footbridge."

High Cave (F7_POI_01)

A cave that is high

Here, Guns For Hire would say:

Jess: "Check out that cave. I used to smoke tons of weed in there when I was a kid."

Western Radio Tower (code unknown)

A large aerial tower used to transmit and boost radio signals.

Abandoned Motel (D6_POI_01)

(no description found)

There was a note called “Abandoned Motel note”. Its content is unknown.

Shooting Range (F5_POI_06)

(no description found)

There was a note called “Shooting Range note” that said, “Grace Armstrong should own this.”

Here, Guns For Hire would say:

Hurk: “Whoo-ya, let's fire off some rounds!”

MX Trail Head (D4_POI_06)

(no description found)

There was a note called “MX Trail Head note”. Its content is unknown.

Boulder field (E7_POI_02)

(no description found)

There was a note called “Boulder field note”. Its content is unknown.

Bob’s Gun Shop (G5_POI_07)

This one is interesting because it looks like it wasn’t completely cut but rather turned into another location with a new code: the Can of Worms Fishing Store (G4_POI_01). Look at the picture associated with the location (see link at the beginning of the post), compared to a screenshot I took of the Can of Worms Fishing Store:

Here, Guns For Hire would say:

RF3: "Never fished outta here, myself."

(Unnamed location) (E4_HERO_01)

(no description found)

I didn’t find the name of this place, but it’s the one I’m the most curious about. The code says it’s a “HERO” type of location, which suggests it was probably important since, in this category, we also find Joseph’s Island (as a whole), Dutch’s Island (as a whole), John’s Gate, Seed Ranch, Fall’s End, the McKinley Dam, St. Francis Veteran’s Center, the Wolf’s Den, and Sacred Skies Youth Camp.

Here, Guns For Hire would say:

Nick: "I think my mic's on. ...The button's stuck... C'mon."

Sharky: "Did you know doctors used to finger blast women here when they were hysterical? I wish I was a doctor."

Grace: "I don't know much about this place. It's new to me."

Jess: "Fuckin' loonie bin. Always gave me the creeps."

Adelaide: "Can you think of anything scarier than places like this? Gives me the willies."

Hurk: "This is where I come to score chicks, man."

These comments, especially what Sharky, Jess, Adelaide, and even Hurk say, make me think it could be a psychiatric facility, possibly for women only. I really wish I knew more about this!

(Unnamed location) (J3_POI_01)

(no description found)

Here, Guns For Hire would say:

Nick: "Ugh. I hate seeing crashed planes. They look so much better in the sky."

This one could have something to do with the “Mayday” Prepper Stash, but I took Nick to that location and could never trigger his comment...

And that’s pretty much all the interesting things I found!

There were a few more “orphaned” codes that simply appeared in oasisstrings but for which I didn’t find any information. There was also this description:

The Forbeth family has loved the Father's message since day one. These people were told to prepare for the Collapse and abandoned their home.

Since the Rotten Mill (Joseph’s Island) apparently didn’t have a description yet, it could be for this place, but it could also be for another, deleted location.

Finally, it seems the Elk Jaw Lodge used to be called the “Bear Jaw Lodge”, and maybe there was a place called “Killburn Farm”, but maybe it was also one of the current in-game locations’ former name.

[autumnslance]

Do you have the werlyt screenshots? 👀

This is only because I love you, Nonny.

I also took time to transcribe these under the "Keep Reading" cut, cuz this is a lot of text and cannot always be read clearly. These images were taken with my tablet. Errors in said transcript are probably just mine. These are pages 120-121 and 169-170 of Encyclopedia Eorzea volume III. The timeline's a little weird (especially the Gaius to Valens handover), but Werlyt was an Imperial province for over 50 years.

There's also pages specifically about the Weapon project and how the Garleans tried to have a system similar to soul crystals in legatus armor, but they were behind the curve on such magic-technology and so the data's incomplete (as we saw in those fights). If there's interest, I may do a follow up with those pages, but this is long enough and I have FC things to do tonight.

Werlyt

Following in the footsteps of its neighbor across the Ghimlyt Dark, Ala Mhigo, this small nation in the far western reaches of Ilsabard recently liberated itself from the Garlean Empire.

Flag: The flag originally bore the crest of the royal family. However, as their bloodline has long since run dry, and the nation now aspires to become a republic, the interim government has organized a committee to decide on a new design.

Motto: --

Government: Werlyt is presently led by an interim government. After careful deliberation, it has decided the nation will be rebuilt as a republic.

Leader: Talbot Hunte

Ruling Body: The interim government is formed of representatives from several rebel factions that fought against the Garlean Empire.

Racial Distribution:

Ilsabardian Hyur: 80%

Near Eastern Au Ra: 15%

Other: 5%

Religion: Though religion was largely discouraged under Garlean rule, the people of Werlyt were polytheistic, believing in thirteen gods. Their religious practices are said to be largely influenced by the traditions of their western neighbors in Eorzea and its teachings of the Twelve, as well as Corvosi mythology from the east.

Industry:

Livestock: The tending of cattle is a longstanding profession of Werlyt, made possible by its lush, far-reaching pastures. A knack for livestock breeding is evidenced by the myriad varieties of both beef and dairy cattle they raise, the latter including an especially rare breed said to number only one hundred.

Dairy: In tandem with their livestock industry, the people of Werlyt excel in the production of dairy products, including butter, yogurt, and milk-based beverages. They are well known for their high-quality cheeses, which became a mainstay export to Garlemald.

Fishing: The southern edge of Werlyt touches the sea, allowing for a bustling fishing trade in coastal towns. Its many steep cliffs, however, ensure their efforts are focused on but a few major ports.

Mining: In the northern mountain range of Werlyt, one can find four mines wherein copper, zinc, tungsten, and several other rare metals are extracted. The process was refined under Garlean rule with the introduction of magitek, and while the equipment remains, the country wants for the ceruleum to operate it. To that end, Werlyt has begin negotiations with Ul'dah to barter for fuel so they may resume their mining operations.

Beliefs: While the Au Ra who migrated from the Corvos region have ostensibly been welcomed in Werlyt, there yet remains a strong sense of social incohesion in this predominantly Hyuran nation. It remains to be seen if these disparate peoples can overcome their differences to flourish in this burgeoning republic.

Diet: Werlyt is perhaps best known for its stewed dishes made using local beef, dairy, and seafood. The intermingling of native wheat-based cuisines and rice dishes brought by the Au Ra also help distinguish Werlyt cooking. Dairy enthusiasts insist that milk produced in Werlyt is indispensable to strengthening one's muscles when training the body, and it is thought to be high in protein and effective in reducing muscle inflammation.

History

A Contentious Foundation

In ages past, the western reaches of Ilsabard, known today as Werlyt, were home to myriad Hyuran tribes. There was no harmony to be found between them, however--the ceaseless cycle of war and peace was no different than the changing of the seasons. Some brave few tribes thought to flee from this war-torn land, crossing the Ghimlyt Dark to pillage and plunder on Eorzean soil. They would inevitably return home, richer for their efforts, but these ventures westward would come to a halt when the leadership of Anshelm Cotter united Gyr Abania, Ala Mhigo becoming a shield from further incursion.

With dreams of pushing farther west dashed, and the Hyuran tribes growing weary of conflict, Au Ra outlanders hailing from Corvos saw this pall of languor as an opportunity. They formed an alliance with a handful of local tribes, and together they quickly subjugated the territories that would come to be Werlyt. Despite their pivotal role in its formation, however, the Au Ra would not seek the throne of this fledgling kingdom, knowing their alchemical knowledge and mastery of the mystic arts would prove no match for the sheer numbers of their Hyuran allies. Thus did they concede kingship to the Hyuran elders. With this, some Hyurs came to see the Au Ra as powerful allies, but others would continue to cruse them as ruthless invaders.

The Garlean Occupation

Unfortunately, the newly founded nation of Werlyt would not last. The advent of magitek and transformed Garlemald into a heretofore unseen military power, allowing them to take Corvos with ease and subsequently draw Werlyt under the Garlean yoke.

The province was charged with supplying foodstuffs and mineral resources to fuel the burgeoning empire, and in some ways the dissemination of magitek would prove a boon. The mechanization of mining, for example, was momentous, but any such innovations as the Garleans would bring ever remained beyond the reach of the subjugated. For thirty years the people of Werlyt toiled thus, but they would eventually be offered a glimmer of hope. The Empire had begin the second phase of its incursion into the Far Eastern territories, a campaign requiring a considerable portion of their military force. Even the occupying force in Werlyt had been greatly diminished, affording rebel factions the leverage needed to reclaim their home.

Their dreams of freedom were fleeting, however, as a young Gaius van Baelsar led imperial forces back to assault the capital of Werlyt and restore Garlean order. As the previous viceroy had been killed by the rebels, Gaius would assume command of the newly reclaimed province.

Two Sides of Governance

Reflecting on the plight of the Werlytian peoples that drove them to rebellion, Gaius, the newly appointed viceroy, well knew that drastic measures were needed to prevent a second uprising. He began by recruiting individuals he deemed competent and capable, paying no heed to their station, race, or place of origin. Indeed, no few Werlytians were sought out for their extensive knowledge of the land, serving in various bureaucratic positions. Over the next twenty years, Gaius would also oversee a more even distribution of the province's wealth; new infrastructure in the form of roads, ports, and harbors; an a compulsory education system that would substantially increase literacy rates throughout Werlyt. But the peace and order he established there was short-lived.

The invasion of Eorzea and its consequences, naturally, left van Baelsar unable to fulfill his duties in Werlyt. The man who would take his place was Valens van Varro, an otherwise unremarkable civilian who had somehow risen through the military ranks. After losing his position amidst political turmoil in the Empire, he was given command of a newly reformed VIIth Imperial Legion. The grim shadow he cast over Werlyt would undo all the good Gaius had achieved and so much worse. Forced labor, imprisonment, and executions quickly became normalcies of day-to-day living. So much so, that it was said one could only find rest under the mortician's roof.

The Treasonous Five

Rather than subjugate the enemy, Valens was satisfied with bleeding both their resources and people dry--a tyrannical approach to governance often said to be heinous even by his fellow countrymen. It was a path that would lead to ruin for the province of Werlyt. Yet despite appearances, he was an exceedingly brilliant engineer, and there was a method to his madness.

Emperor Varis had been assassinated, and as various parties vied for the throne, Garlmald's aristocracy was in the throes of chaos. That is why Valens labored to complete his Weapons project, that he might make a triumphant return to Garlemald, wielding the ultimate tool of war. He well understood the need for urgency, and was more than willing to bring ruin upon Werlyt if it meant assuring his place as emperor.

For all his genius, however, Valens remained ignorant of his coming downfall until it was too late. The orphans he intended to use as test pilots for his project were plotting to use his Weapons against him, and the fruition of their plan would bring the VIIth Legion to its knees. One must not overlook, of course, the significance of Gaius's contributions to their efforts, as well as the rebel factions that also conspired to overthrow the Garleans. Even so, it was ultimately the bravery and sacrifice of five orphans that would spell the end of Valens, and earn Welryt her freedom.

Faces of Werlyt

GAIUS BAELSAR

"I see now that true strength is not granted by others, but resides within us. Strength of character, of spirit, of resolve."

With his defeat at the hands of the Warrior of Light in Castrum Meridianum, this former legatus of the XIVth Legion realized that he had long been a mere pawn in the Ascians' plans. He swore revenge against them for his fallen comrades, taking up the mantle of Shadowhunter, and though his quest for vengeance would claim the masks of Altima and Deudalaphon, the hunt for Ascians was quickly set aside when he learned of the Empire's plans to produce the noxious weapon Black Rose.

En route to Garlemald, Gaius crossed paths with Alphinaud, forming an alliance to halt production of the deadly gas--and this was not his only unexpected encounter with the Scions. As he infiltrated the capital, Gaius chanced to meet Estinien, and together they breached the imperial palace. There, they witnessed the assassination of Emperor Varis at the hands of Zenos. The rogue prince swiftly departed, and not moments later, imperial guards found Gaius standing over the late emperor's corpse.

His relationship with his home nation soured further when he discovered the previously abandoned Weapon project had been revived by the reformed VIIth Legion, who planned to deploy their prototypes in an assault on Eorzea. Gaius set off for Ghimlyt, hoping to warn the Eorzean Alliance before it was too late. There he found the Warrior of Light at the ready--this time, to stand with him against their common for. In a tragic twist, the orphans Gaius once fostered would also be caught up in the conflict.

Now, at the age of fifty-six and with Werlyt freed from the imperial yoke, Gaius has joined hands with its interim government in efforts to restore the region.

VALENS VAN VARRO

"As they say, 'to err is human, to forgive, divine.' And you know how forgiving I can be. When it suits me..."

Legatus of the reformed VIIth Legion, Valens joined the army following the completion of his studies at the Magitek Academy. Known for his ruthless and innovative magitek-based battle tactics, it seemed nothing could stop his ascension through the ranks. Those who served under him, however, knew well his unethical practices and penchant for sacrificing allies to serve his ambitions. Moreover, despite his achievements, he never escaped the shadow of Gaius, who was ultimately chosen to command the XIVth Legion. Believing the position stolen from him, Valens developed a deep hatred for the legatus even as he toiled to recreate Ultima Weapon under Nero's direction. This selfsame spite is what inspired him to later resume work on the Weapon project, believing that, by succeeding where Gaius had previously failed, he might at last prove himself the superior military officer.

Valens has ever been a staunch believer in Garlean supremacy. This was made all too apparent by his heinous decision to use villagers from the provinces as test subjects, believing them to be expendable. In the wake of the Emperor's death, he had hoped to take advantage of the chaos in Garlemald to assume the throne, but his dreams of grandeur would remain unfulfilled. The Weapon pilots, whom he had treated with such disdain, rebelled and eventually proved his undoing. After losing in a duel against Gaius, the fifty-six-year-old Valens met his demise at the hands of the Diamond Weapon.

SEVERA SOUTHER

"All that hatred, festering away...Nothing good could ever come of it."

Daughter to a citizen of Werlyt and a Garlean soldier, Severa joined the army in the hopes of deterring those who would cast scorn on her family. Even as she served, however, the Garleans denied Severa's mother the medicine she needed to maintain her faltering health. Though Severa deserted in the wake of the XIIth Legion's defeat in Ala Mhigo, she returned to Werlyt too late to save her mother and could do little but flee once more, eventually finding herself in the company of Gaius. Now twenty-three, she can often be found offering counsel to young Allie.

VALDEAULIN GANATHAIN

"It's taken me a long time--too long--but I've finally found a reason to live for the present. For the future."

Until Ala Mhigo fell to the Empire, Valdeaulin had made his home in the Black Shroud. As the Garleans continued their expansion, he lost not only his village, but his wife and daughter as well--his family abducted as test subjects for the fatal gas known as Black Rose. He later joined the Order of the Twin Adder, intent on exacting vengeance agains the invaders. The forty-eight-year-old Duskwight would have his chance amidst the ruin of the Praetorium, where he found a wounded Gaius on the verge of death, but ultimately chose to spare the Black Wolf and aid him in his hunt for Ascians.

ALFONSE AAN BAELSAR

"If it is the duty of the strong to lead the weak, we will become strong and protect those who cannot protect themselves."

An epidemic claimed the life of Alfonse's parents when he was still a child, leaving him and his sister Allie living on the streets of Werlyt. The two were adopted by Gaius, and Alfonse soon became an elder brother to all of the children in the Black Wolf's care. Wishing to be of greater help to their adoptive father, the Auri siblings joined the military, serving in the XIVth Legion/ During Operation Archon, they remained in Werlyt on a supply mission, but were soon transferred to the VIIth Legion, where they were coerced into becoming pilots for the Weapon project. Faced with a dire situation, they plotted to take advantage of their position and use the Weapons against the Garleans to liberate Werlyt. Although inextricably fused with the core of the Diamond Weapon, Alfonse managed to kill Valens and secure a future for his home and sister both. He was twenty-one summers old at the time of his death.

ALLIE AAN BAELSAR

"The days we spent together were the happiest of my life, and no matter what happens, nothing can take that away from me."

Allie and her brother were adopted by Gaius and given the surname Baelsar. When they were reassigned to the Legion, the name caught Valens's eye, and he wasted no time in selecting them as candidates for the Weapon project.

The youngest of her foster siblings, Allie was dearly loved by them all. She wanted nothing more than to have their portrait painted together as a family, but it was not meant to be, as she alone would survive the Weapon project. Despite having experienced so much loss by the age of sixteen summers, Allie works dauntlessly at Gaius's side to realize her siblings' dream of a free and flourishing Werlyt.

REX AAN BAELSAR

"This is our way of upholding the ideals Father instilled in us. Our lives are a small price to pay for Werlyt's freedom."

Though he too was tragically orphaned, Rex's cheery disposition always brightened the spirits of his foster siblings. He cared deeply for his adoptive family, and would do anything to shield them from harm, even should it mean defying his superiors. He placed complete faith in his brother Alfonse, whom he held in particularly high regard, seeing the elder brother's dreams as his own. Tragically, the eighteen-year-old's life was cut short when he took the helm of the Emerald Weapon, his essence overwritten with combat data modeling his beloved father Gaius as he merged with the machine's core.

RICON AAN BAELSAR

"You all made me happier than I had any right to be. And now...I've finally found my purpose. I have no regrets."

Though timid by nature, Ricon would not hesitate to lay down his life to save his adopted siblings. Upon joining the XIVth Legion, his skilled hands earned him a place working under Nero to hone his skills as an engineer, and the wealth of knowledge he gained from his training was readily applied to the Weapon project once he was permitted to assist with maintenance. Although determined to help correct the mistakes of past prototypes, he well knew they lacked time to fully prepare the Sapphire Weapon. This did Ricon elect to pilot the Weapon in place of his brother Rex, and the life of another brave youth was snuffed out by the Oversoul system. He was seventeen years of age.

MILISANDIA AAN BAELSAR

"Father still needs you. Please take care of him...in our place."

One of several orphans taken in by Gaius, Milisandia had hair of crimson, though it was not always so kissed by fire. When they still lived in an orphanage, the young lady believed that Alfonse was enamored with one of the institution's matrons and, perhaps hoping to win his attention, dyed her hair the same color as the woman who captivated him. This youthful infatuation would remain unspoken unto her dying day, when she passed away aboard the Ruby Weapon at the age of only twenty summers.

AVILINA AAN HORNE

"There's a way I can make a difference. I know there is."

Ten years ago, Ternclif-born Avilina was conscripted to serve as a magitek engineer in the XIVth Legion. These she met Milisandia, and the two became close friends. After the XIVth's defeat at Castrum Meridianum, she fled back to Werlyt, but with her experience working on the Ultima Weapon, it was inevitable that she would be assigned to the Weapon project with the VIIth Legion. Though the liberation of Werlyt granted her her freedom, she still carries the guilt of having assisted with the Weapon project, knowing that it claimed the life of her one true friend.

[thebestestofbees]

TELEVISION AU: PART 8

The ride to the store was surprisingly tame. Sure you had a few questions here and there, but other than that, it was calm. Once you pulled into a parking space, you turned to all the puppets.

"Since this isn't your world, here is our alibi: You're siblings of mine and like to cosplay, got it?" You say. The puppets nodded slightly aware of where your coming from. "Alright now, come on." You say, turning off your car and getting out, the puppets following you.

You walk up to the Walmart and pull a cart from numerous ones. Once the puppets came up to you, you grabbed Wally by his armpits, making him mutter, "I'm up here now." And putting him in the shopping cart where a child is supposed to go.

Sally and Julie immediately went up to the cart and grabbed onto the railing, Julie hopping in place. "Can we get in?!" Julie asked with a bright smile looking up at you excitedly.

"Sure." The moment you say that, Julie hops in the cart, sitting down criss crossed, while Sally just raises her arms up in your direction, in a similar fashion to how a toddler would get an adult to pick them up. You raised an eyebrow at Sally.

Sally just made grabbed hands at you. "Up. Up neighbor!" She said, going on her tippy toes for a short moment. You gave a small chuckle and took Sally up by her arm pits, lifting her up with ease, and placed her next to Julie. You took the bar and strolled into the store with the rest of the puppets.

You looked at the list on your phone and moved over to the fruits section to get the first thing on your list. Fruits and vegetables. You stopped the cart and left for a moment to get Bell peppers. Poppy peered over your shoulder, tilting her head as you weighted and bagged the bell peppers.

"What are those?" Poppy asked, watching as you tied the bag closed. "I'm getting bell peppers, for cooking." You said, placing the bell peppers next to Julie, who immediately grabbed the bag and started to balance the bell peppers inside the bag. "But they don't look or sound like the bells I've seen. Why are they called that?" Wally asked, turning his head from the bag of bell peppers in Julie's hands, turning to you.

"Well I don't know." You fished out your phone. "Hey Google." Your phone lit up, and so did the puppets surrounding your cart. "why are bell peppers called bell peppers?"

"According to the Encyclopedia, Bell pepper is the common name for a Cultivar group of the species Capsicum annuum, widely cultivated for their edible, bell shaped fruits." Your device said.

You stopped speaking as you let your phone do the talking for you. "I guess that's why." You say, Wally hums and nods slowly, putting his hands on the bars of the cart. Howdy started to chuckle. "That's a neat little do-hickey you got there, what's it called again, Google?" Howdy asked, resting on of his arms on the cart.

"It's called a phone, Google is just the AI that helps answer questions and scower the internet, you know?" The puppets seemed lost at your explanation. "Right, I forgot you guys are like really old." You face palmed. "But we all have phones." Wally piped up. "Yeah, I'd though about that. A touch tone telephone right?" You asked, Wally tilted his head. "A what?"

You searched it up and showed Wally. His eyes lit up in recognition and he pointed to the pictures of a touch tone telephone. "That looks like my phone!" Wally smiled. You pulled your phone away, "yeah, that's called a touch tone telephone." You say, putting your phone and wallet next to Wally and started to move away from the spot, getting more fruits and vegetables.

After about an hour of shopping for groceries, you decided to let the puppets get one thing each, while you waited at self checkout.

Once you had said that the puppets scattered even Julie and Sally had jumped out of the cart and ran to the other isles. All the puppets except for Howdy and Wally, who was still in the cart. "So, show me this self checkout thing, I'm real interested about how it works." Howdy spoke up, you shrugged and pushed the basket full of groceries to the Self checkout.

Once you got there, you started to scan your items, to which Howdy was quite shocked over, he kept asking questions, such as how does it work, what's that number that was increasing, how is the scanner scanning the black and white lines on every product and so on.

You answered most of his questions with some patience. You bagged all your items and pulled out your wallet, taking out your card and paying for your groceries. "I'd say, what kind of business are they runnin here? Definitely not any funny business." Howdy remarked, not seeing a single joke in any of the payment process. It was a little astounding, but really what could Howdy expect from a Self Checkout?

Just then the puppets show up again all with different items from all kinds of sections. Sally had come back with a bedazzled diary looking book, complete with it's own lock, Julie had a pack of chalk with all the colors, Frank had a book on Butterflies and bugs, Eddie had a pack of stamps, Poppy had a knitting kit, and Barnaby had a bugle Bike horn.

"This really shows how all of your personalities differ." You say as you scan the items and bag them, the puppets looking at the machine it a confused fascination. You buy the extra things and finally leave the store without any more mishaps.

You load the bags into your trunk as the puppets get situated inside the car. Once your done you put the bread and eggs in Frank's lap. "It's fragile." You say as you clo see the passenger door and get into the driver's seat. "Alright, Home time." You say starting the car.

[End]

"LoOk." The author says, shakily raising the new update on a silver platter. "I dId It."

[palms-upturned]

I keep seeing people mention Jean living on Perdition and I think I know where they’re getting that from but I don’t think it’s actually true…? 🤔 Harry is the one who lives on the corner of Perdition and Main, according to a Shivers check.

SHIVERS — WHAT IS THIS PLACE TO YOU?

YOU — Looks like this is my new home -- wonder where the old one went?

SHIVERS — Westward, across the canal, towers the Whirling-in-Rags. Door #1 on the second floor is locked, behind it lies a trashed room. One floor below, behind a counter, stands an irritable man.

SHIVERS — In a small shack in the fishing village, a baroque heater hums quietly, emanating a sense of comforting warmth. A washbasin lies on the table, the water inside reflecting the sombre face of the world.

SHIVERS — Far away, on the corner of Perdition and Main, a nondescript building, obscured in a haze. It's vacant and lost, just like its tenant.

In the Lonesome Long Way Home thought, Harry also starts out walking to the building on Perdition and Main, before walking past it toward his old house on Voyager Road.

From the problem:

Walk down Main, to Perdition -- there’s a side alley there and your footprints in the mud...

And then the solution continues as if Harry were walking past his current apartment building to continue along his old commute from before he moved.

There, at the end of a street lined with pine trees: a small house, no larger than a matchbox. 11 Voyager Road. You no longer live there. Those times are gone, and so are those people. Why did you come here? Why are you still here?

I think I know where people are getting the idea of Jean living on Perdition from. I assume it’s from this exchange from the second tribunal when Harry brings up visiting Lena and Morell to tell them about the Phasmid.

JEAN VICQUEMARE — "Who is Lena?"

ENCYCLOPEDIA — She lives at 1113 Tabernacle Road, in Jamrock. Remember?

YOU — "A cryptozoologist. She lives in Jamrock, on Tabernacle road. She told me about this phasmid."

JUDIT MINOT — "Tabernacle? It's on the way over. Near where you live, on Perdition..." She looks at Vicquemare.

JEAN VICQUEMARE — "Fine. If we're gonna drop you off anyway."

They’re dropping Harry off where he lives on Perdition (the corner of Perdition and Main, more specifically), which means Lena’s place on Tabernacle is on the way there. Judit is looking at Jean to give the okay to make the stop, not because she’s talking about his place.

Not that it’s impossible for Jean to also live on Perdition, but he could also live anywhere else. 🤷 The game doesn’t really say either way as far as I know. (Honestly, from the fact that Jean mentions Judit stopping by Harry’s apartment at one point, it sounds more likely for Judit to live nearby than Jean.)

Anyway, tl;dr Harry is the one who lives on Perdition. Y’know, on account of the whole “you have to stay in hell forever” thing. If you didn’t know before, now you know 🫡

[bestiarium]

The Sjörå [Swedish mythology]

In Swedish folktales, the Rå are a group of spirits associated with a particular habitat, which they protect and rule. The Bergrå, for example, rules supreme over the mountains whereas the Skogsrå is a forest spirit and the Gruvrå inhabits mine tunnels. Though their appearances aren’t set in stone, generally they can appear as humans or human-like beings but with some supernatural characteristics, such as a back that is hollow like a through or the tail of a fox.

Among them is the Sjörå, the water spirit. They usually inhabit lakes or pools, but some particularly powerful Sjörå rule over entire lake systems that can cover huge areas of land. A Sjörå resembles an exceptionally beautiful human woman with long, usually greenish hair. These beings are not malicious, but they can be dangerous nonetheless. Those who disrespect or insult the spirit often experience some misfortune which leads to a death by drowning.  Then they become food for the fish that live in the Sjörå’s lake. But on the other hand, a fisher who pays tribute to the local lake spirit – by throwing a handful of coins in the water – might get rewarded with an exceptional catch. If a Sjörå likes the offering someone gives her, she may also warn them about bad weather and incoming storms. Sjörå are known to herd strange, cattle-like creatures that somewhat resemble cows. Very rarely, these creatures can be seen from a distance, but if someone approaches they will quickly retreat into the water where they transform into pikes. Therefore, someone who catches an abnormally large pike fish in a Swedish lake should return it to the water immediately, lest they attract the wrath of the Sjörå.

Another aquatic spirit from Swedish folklore is the Näcken, a malevolent creature that is related to the Dutch Nikker, the Danish Nøkken and the German Nixe. Näcken and Sjörå, however, despise each other and will never live in the same body of water.

Sources: Lecouteux, C., 2016, Encyclopedia of Norse and Germanic Folklore, Mythology, and Magic, 329 pp. Kvideland, R. and Sehmsdorf, H. K., 1988, Scandinavian Folk Belief and Legend, Norwegian University Press, 429 pp. Egerkrans, J., 2013, Nordiska Väsen, B.Wahlströms, 126 pp. (image source: Johan Egerkrans)

[garblegarden]

I will add that I've got some more keychains already on the way... if anyone here likes coelacanths, phosphophyllite or the two guys from trigun... stay tuned for those.

I'd do another poll for the fish if they win... what fish do people like on here? I know the coelacanth for sure so I already ordered some... maybe salmon... probably bettas... but anything else?

For the confibula zine... I reached out to some risograph studios for quotes but I never got any! So I might save the risograph stuff for later and just make a normal one to start out with. If using expensive riso ink is no longer a concern, I'd be able to buy more pages and have it not just be a short story but also an encyclopedia.

For the "more variety" in the sticker sets, I'd probably add a couple more dinosaur species and a couple more minerals. Like parasaurolophus. I love parasaurolophus there'd definitely be a parasaurolophus sticker in there if that wins

And the idea for the palindrome charms is that I'd make just one of each design, so each one would be totally unique. Maybe they'd have cool accessories or quirks to them. (Maybe they'd also come with their own import/masterlist entry on the ARPG?)

(The store in question: link)

[ask-the-furies]

what are you guys called? like, as a group? like how you can have a flock of birds or a school of fish. what's a group of skills called?

CONCEPTUALIZATION- We're all anthropomoprhpized aspects of thinking processes. Perhaps a "cluster", like a nerve cell cluster in the brain?

ENCYCLOPEDIA- That wouldn't be accurate. We aren't all representative of parts of the brain. Endurance is associated with the lower intestine. Pain Threshold correlates to all the nerve endings on the body...

DRAMA- How about a crew? Or a troupe?

PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT- We aren't a traveling circus, nancy.

CONCEPTUALIZATION- Ooh, maybe a colony. An independent micro-group.

AUTHORITY- What does that make Harry, then? Our territory?

SHIVERS- Our natural habitat.

LOGIC- Does the answer change depending on the skill family? I elect that intellect skills should be referred to as a "ponder". A ponder of intellect skills.

INLAND EMPIRE- A "sensation" of psyches? An impression?

PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT- Physique skills should be a "flex". Or an ice hockey or volleyball team, because there are six of us.

REACTION SPEED- Can motorics be a "whoosh"? Or a "swish". Or a "whizz"!

COMPOSURE- I don't want to be part of a "whizz".

CONCEPTUALIZATION- I'm starting a new thought project on this one. We have to come up with the right name for a group of skills. Otherwise, how will people refer to us?

THOUGHT GAINED: FLOCKS, HERDS, AND SCHOOLS

You know that a group of mallards is called a sord. A group of hawks is called a cask. A group of ravens is called an unkindness. Those are just birds- what do you call a group of bodily and mental functions given personality? It has to be exquisite, perfectly capturing the ephemeral and unknown nature of these furies. Categorize and label what they are, together. That will bring you a step closer to understanding them.

[ms-scarletwings]

Every Dredge Aberration (2023), Part 1

Grotesque Mackerel

Encyclopedia #79

Aberrant form of Blue Mackerel

Description:

Corrupted scales and bulbous eyes - like nothing you’ve ever seen before.

Comment: Compared to what’s to come, an incredibly tame introduction into the dark underbelly of the local ecosystem. Along with the other mutant forms of blue mackerel, squid, and cod, this is often one of (if not the) very first aberrants that the player will stumble upon while getting their bearings in the starting region. Only mildly deformed, this fish is one of the lucky. Also, it’s the least valuable aberrant available, but at bare minimum, it’s still an improvement upon the least valuable fish in the game.

How to catch: Commonly spawn in the coastal waters along The Marrows during the day. Can be trawl-netted. Atrophy may take a few tries since this is one of three possible variations of the normal fish.

Lumpy Mackerel

Encyclopedia #80

Aberrant form of Blue Mackerel

Description:

A writhing mass of lumps, twisting and pulling their way under the scales of their vessel. How long can it have lived like this?

Comment: My first aberrant catch that I felt a twinge of real pity for, and the first one that made me feel appalled concern for those characters who could be implied to willingly feast upon such things. Its riddled body teems with cancerous mass, or, as the undulating suggests, something much more vivacious and sinister…

How to catch: Same as above.

Many-Eyed Mackerel

Encyclopedia #81

Aberrant form of Blue Mackerel

Description:

Gill plates dotted with eyeballs. Superfluous but scanning, frantically. All eyes see right through you.

Comment: This one really makes one wish fish had eyelids of their own. If it could comprehend its situation, I wonder if this specimen would wish for the same thing. What cruelty to be blessed with this paranoid, all angled gaze, only to still end up in the grasp of a superior predator. The most valuable malformation of the least valuable fish in the game.

How to catch: Same as above.

All-Seeing Cod

Encyclopedia #82

Aberrant form of Cod

Description:

Staring outwards, unblinking. Eyes borrowed from a larger being but not the mind to process what it sees.

Comment: Was that a pun…? Anyway, there’s something strangely appealing about the colors of this one to me. Stare long enough into the eyes of cod, and I guess they will gaze back. I hope those massive peepers don’t go to waste at the fish market- the hands of an experienced chef should be delighted, if anything, to work with such a nutritious addition.

How to catch: A coastal regular around The Marrows during the day. Can be caught in trawl nets.

Fanged Cod

Encyclopedia #83

Aberrant form of Cod

Description:

Deviantly sharp teeth, with chunks of smaller fish lodged between. A hunger in its eyes

Comment: For a mutated wretch of the deep, this biter doesn’t seem so intimidating until you reflect for a moment on the actual size of an average codfish. The largest individuals you snag of this variant can be as long as nearly 4 feet. I begin to hope that those living in the Marrows keep their children far from the water’s edge.

How to catch: second verse, same as the first.

Three-Headed Cod

Encyclopedia #84

Aberrant form of Cod

Description:

Three heads writhe and struggle in unison. Three mouths hang agape, then close shut together. Three lives lived as one. One fate bound to many.

Comment: More meat for the same amount of cargo space? Not much to complain about when dragging one of these up from their home. Probably by coincidence, irrelevantly, but still humorously, “3-headed cod” also happens to be the name of a real life beer, only available annually.

How to catch: Third verse, same as the first.