#except for Gull occasionally

[ggitty]

(Same anon) As someone who's been in multiple fandoms for years, art-styles that are semi-similar or are extremely different from the source material pretty much comes with the package. It can be very fun at times. (Franchises with very simplistic designs seem more prone to it)

That's something I've noticed with fandom when it comes *CG series, unless there's 2D content or some concept art floating around somewhere, fans seem to have a harder time translating the characters into drawings. (With Jimmy, it's mainly just him you can find this stuff on. The rest of the cast you kinda have to wing it. For such a big show, character refs is surprisingly scarce. And some promo stuff being lost to time.)

*nods* Yeah, crossovers can be cool. Nick and CN had plenty of official bumpers that was just characters mingling with each other outside of shows. (But when it comes down to the shows individually, Jimmy unfortunately has been holding the short{hehe} end of the stick for quite a while now if we're talking just the OG Unite gang. Both official and fan stuff. Planet Sheen left a big sour taste.)

(*Probably why I'm adamant that if the show ever came back, I rather it stayed CG. Not because I think 2D would be bad or an ironic twist that the 3D show comes back in 2D while its sister 2D show{FOP} had came back in 3D, but the sheer fact that it was Jimmy's identity. The fact that people were blown away by the animation from that one car commercial that came out a year after the show ended, imagine what they can do now without the technological limitations.)

Ah yes, classic fandom meme “Original artstyle: 0.0 Fanart: *damn Rembrandt ass painting*" Not gonna lie, I'm a huge fan of this, give me two and don't forget the cheese sauce!

But yes, this show has some incredible amount of content that can be considered almost lost media of a kind. The huge amount of official fanfiction promotional materials, comics, illustrated books and other things released on the prime of the series is almost impossible to find completely on the Internet. I still occasionally dive into the Internet archive or through old forums to see if I can find a new one piece lol

Yeah, I can kind of see it. If I recall the 3D show fandoms I've encountered, they all really either have official 2D concepts that influenced general "fandom art style", or a huge fan base that chews it up for you *cough* Miraculous *cough* and you don't have to think about it much because you get it ready on a plate from more skilled people in this regard lol

It's not a stick anymore, it's almost a broken twig “No.. No Not You Seamus” (this franchise is like a middle child who was abandoned in the mall as soon as he turned 18 and their parents have already replaced the locks in the 3 hours they were walking home)

Oh Planet Sheen... 🚬... I haven't heard this name for a while...

The only good thing I got out of it was the headcanon that it was a Sheen's self-insert fanfic, because if you say that Sheen didn't make a poorly written self-insert fanfics you're lying to yourself lol (I like to joke that the failure of Planet Sheen scared Nick's tops so much that they hid everything related to the show in a separate room in the office and it haunts the CEO like a cryptid lol)

Although the story behind its creation is kind of sad, because it was never meant to be like this, not even being part of JN, and was just forced into one mass of a show. (didn't even allow them to add Carl, so they had to use an artificial substitute, for me, is telling something)

I damn sure agree with you!! And this is coming from a person who loves 2D animation much more than 3D lol (although I also love stylized 3D, it's such a blend of different dimensions that I just drown in it) I don't know if anyone would like to go a little more in the stylized 3D direction, mostly because I have no idea what it would look like in my 2D brain lol, but I'd be interested to see it

BUT I will always be more worried not so much about the style of animation as about who will be responsible for this animation. Because we can get both Trollhunters and Miraculous post S1, it's a gamble of budget and effort lol

[thedemonscrawler]

Call/Response

A lil' oneshot for @bloo-the-dragon of a branch of their mer AU cos we kept talking about it in Discord and then I got brainworms OwO

----

When Eclipse wakes up, Ruin isn't on the bed.

That was… unusual, but not overly alarming. Even though Eclipse's ‘just this once’ had extended by nearly two months now, with the slender mer curling up in a nest made of stolen blankets or wriggling under the sheets almost every night, there was still the occasional exception. His current favorite jacket, claimed just before laundry day and which wouldn't be surrendered until the next laundry day, is also missing, which soothes Eclipse’s mild anxiety further. Clearly Ruin had decided to move to a different sleeping spot during the night, that was all. 

Eclipse stretches, feeling cables pull and worn joints scrub, before he leans over to look off the other side of the bed. No sleeping fish here, just a pillow that had gotten knocked to the floor. The door to the closet is wide open, which leaves either the couch or the tub as options.

He hopes it's the couch this time. He's getting really tired of hanging soggy sheets out to dry.

“Rue? You get overheated or something?” Eclipse listens, a faint frown pulling at his mouth when he doesn't hear anything. No scratch of scales against the tub, nor any sleepy chirps. Standing, he heads to the bathroom, poking his head inside.

The shower curtain is pulled back, revealing the tub to be as empty of mers as the bed. There aren't even any puddles on the floor to suggest Ruin might have been here earlier, only to move when it got closer to morning. 

Faint unease coils in his chest, but Eclipse tamps down on it, turning towards the living room instead. Things were fine, there was no need to panic. Maybe the fish was feeling sick or something, and that was why he was hiding.

“Ruin?” His boots thud against the worn hardwood floor. From this angle he can't see the couch, nor if anyone is on it. He crosses the threshold of the bedroom–

– and stumbles as his foot comes down on a swaying deck.

Automatically his optics adjust to the change in light levels, from a darkened room to mid-morning sun, with the added bonus of glare thrown back back by cresting waves. There’s activity around him, men with heavy coats and heavier beards lugging coils of rope and net to the ship’s edge, checking that the hauling chains were in good order. Gulls call to one another in their shrill voices, the background soundtrack for most of his life.

He was… back on the ship?

Eclipse’s ventilations hitch, and he immediately turns on his heel. He shouldn’t be on the ship, he’d left it (brilliant red flames leaping into a sky filled with smoke, the distant sound of sirens) but through the door is nothing but his pitiful little closet, too small to even be called a room. 

“Well there you are!” The harsh voice pulls him out of his stupor, and he looks over to see the captain glaring at him. “Come on, Sleeping Beauty, get your tools and go check out the No. 2 winch.”

“No, I…” His head feels like it’s full of fog, smothering his thoughts under a blanket of panic, but he manages to force words through the static haze. “Wasn’t I guarding the mer?”

“Hm?”

Eclipse shakes his head, fixing the captain with his best level look and trying to keep the distress out of his voice. “The– the mer that we picked up, the one that was all– all mangled. I’m supposed to be keeping an eye on h– it?” 

And the captain tilts his head in that way, scorn and impatience under heavy brows, and it sparks a nervousness in Eclipse that he hasn’t felt since he was a boot just learning what his new life would be. The device at the base of his neck weighs heavily with malicious potential.

“You flush your memory after breakfast or something?” The captain snorts, gesturing towards the stern. “We offloaded it this morning! Nearly wasn’t worth the effort of keepin’ it fed on the way back– I would have made twice as much if we’d just gone ahead and skinned it for a pair of boots!”

Offloaded…?

Eclipse isn’t listening anymore. He pushes past the human and rushes to the stern of the ship, catching himself against the railing.

Just on the horizon is a grey smudge, and something in Eclipse twists with despair when he realizes how far they are from shore. Any wild ideas about jumping ship are immediately dashed; he can’t swim, and trying to grab one of the life rafts would get him shut down before he even got it inflated.

Something rises in his throat, bitterly cold and covered in sharp edges, but it’s only when the half-static sound falls from his mouth that he recognizes the feeble cheep for what it is.

A call for help, or to locate companions.

(Where are you?)

His ventilations hitch again. It feels like his chest is crumpling in, like some uncaring god has reached out and started wadding him up like aluminium foil. He can hear the men moving around the ship, low conversation and boisterous laughter and nothing connected to him. Eclipse was a toy, a machine: on the records as barely sentient, the mockery of life constructed from metal. Of no use and no importance to anyone.

Except, maybe, a mangled little mer, who had met his assigned vigil with tolerance and curiosity. Who hadn’t yelled at him, hadn’t dismissed him as a thing just because he was made of metal and there was a hole where his past should be.

Who had heard Eclipse, and called back.

Another cheep rises in his throat.

(Where are you?)

“Hey! Shut up and get back to your station!”

The railing creaks under his grip, metal fingers leaving shallow dents in the aluminium. Conditioning has his voice faltering for a second, the habit of just enough obedience to buy him another day– but the despair is stronger. The longing is stronger. 

Eclipse slams his volume to max and shrieks. 

(Please, answer me.)

The echoes fade, shrill sound thrown back by countless cresting waves. Land was so, so far away, but surely something would make it the vast distance, and all he had to do was listen. Past the calls of gulls circling the ship, the slap of water against the hull, the complaints of the men behind him.

Listening for the faintest hint of a response. A whisper, a breath. 

Anything to let him know he’d been heard, for once.

“I said knock that crap off!” 

Heavy boots against the deck, jingling buckles and the snarl of promised punishment. Eclipse turns just in time to catch the blur of metal before something impacts his face.

Everything goes dark.

—

When Eclipse wakes up, it takes his panic-addled mind several seconds to recognize his surroundings.

The soft surface under his cheek and clenched hands is a blanket, a bed, and when he sits up he can feel the gentle tug and sway of a charging cable. Shadows gradually resolve themselves into doorways and furniture, a pile of clothes on top of a shabby dresser, his boots by the door. His roaring fans are loud in the darkness of so-late-it’s-early-morning, yet he can’t seem to get them to quiet.

Something gently touches his arm.

Still on edge, Eclipse can’t help flinching away from the contact, head whipping around to stare down at the culprit. The mer stares back up at him with wide, mismatched eyes, looking nearly as alarmed as Eclipse himself.

“Eclipse…? Are you alright?” 

The British accent is still jarring to hear, even now– some hysterical part of him wants to laugh, or snap at the mer in misplaced irritation. The rest of him is struggling to form words, to figure out how to dismiss this or reassure the mer or just get him to forget about it. Everything feels brittle, like the soft blankets draped over his legs will shatter if he moves, but surely he can get himself back under control. 

He can’t do it. The words won’t come. Expression crumpling in misery, he stops trying to swallow back the lump in his throat and cheeps.

(Where are you?) 

And Ruin blinks, ragged frills flaring out like the rays of a tattered sun, and chirps back.

(I’m here.)

The pitch is a little flat, with a layer of complexity his own chirps lack. It still hits that hollow place inside him, covering near-constant anxiety with a soft blanket of reassurance, a cool hand on a feverish forehead. The rest of his self control breaks and Eclipse buries his face in his hands, shoulders shaking with sobs that are equal parts relief and fading fear, interspersed with pitiful cheeps.

Ruin chirps back every time. A constant stream of reassurance, an unignorable reminder that there was someone here, that they hadn’t left. That he wasn’t alone. 

(I’m here. You’re safe. We’re together.)

Eventually the sobbing trails off, then stops. Eclipse spares a moment to be glad that he’s not organic, otherwise his hands and face would probably be covered in tears and snot and it would just be even more embarrassing. It’s bad enough he just broke down over a stupid nightmare, of all things. Huffing through his vents, Eclipse finally drops his hands from his face, and finds that Ruin has built a nest around him. 

That’s what it looks like, anyway. The blankets have been arranged so that they more or less encircle him, with Ruin’s current favorite jacket tucked in closest to his body. The mer himself forms the outermost layer of the nest: head pillowed on his arms, body curled in such a way that his crooked tail goes all the way around behind Eclipse and comes back to nearly touch his cap thing.

“Thanks…” The gratitude just slips from him, rough and scraping like gravel. He doesn’t even know if a ‘thank you’ is the appropriate response to this kind of thing.

With how Ruin’s eyes light up, the barely visible patting of his hands against the sheets, he can guess that the mer is probably fine with it. “You’re welcome! I hoped– are you feeling better?”

He can’t help the bitter laugh, looking down at the hands that sit limply in his lap. Scratched, dented, scuffed: the marks of a life spent clawing for anything he could hold on to, and having it ripped away anyway. “Yeah… I guess? I’m not– …yeah. I’m fine.” 

Out of the corner of his eye he can just barely see how Ruin’s head tilts. His voice is soft, hesitant. “Did you have a bad dream?”

Well, there was no sense in hiding it, was there? Ruin could sometimes lack what Eclipse considered common sense, or made some bizarre leaps of logic– but it didn’t take a genius to figure out why Eclipse might have gone from peaceful slumber to outright sobbing.

“Just… stupid stuff. Like being back on the boat, working for that asshole again. We were already pretty far out at sea– and it’s dumb, right? That hasn’t been my life for months now, and I made sure that it wouldn’t be ever again.”

Soft tugs on the blanket, a pair of webbed hands slowly inching their way across his legs. It’s easier to watch their progress towards his own hands than it is to look Ruin in the face and see those big, gentle eyes. Eclipse takes a deep breath, trying to keep his voice flippant and steady.

“We were out at sea, and– and I guess I chickened out or something because you weren’t… there. I’d left you in that cage on shore.” The lump is back in his throat, scraping the edges off of his words so that they emerge laced in static, barely more than a whisper. “I tried to call out, but we were too far away, I think. You didn’t answer.”

“Oh. I see.” Soft, organic fingers close over his own, covering the scratched metal with cerulean blue and buttery gold. It always took him by surprise that Ruin’s hands were so warm; all of an animatronic’s warmth was centered in their chest, with the extremities left to range from ‘room temperature’ to ‘christ that’s cold!’. The tail behind him shifts as the coil of Ruin’s body gets a little smaller, the mer doing his best to scootch closer while refusing to let go of Eclipse’s hands.

“I understand. Believe me, I do understand,” he says quietly. There is a deep sorrow behind the words, scars matching the ones that cover Ruin’s body from top to tailtip. The marks of a life spent clawing for anything to hold on to. “However…”

Organic fingers tighten their grip, a reassuringly solid presence. The mer flattens himself against the bed, trying to catch Eclipse’s downcast eyes, and he offers a small smile when the animatronic finally relents. 

“However, I am here. You are here.” His smile widens, showing razor sharp teeth, and he makes a musical, trilling sound that Eclipse has no hope of reproducing. It’s soothing, a sound that doesn’t pull at his programming like the chirps do, but it makes him feel better in a way that he can’t quite nail down. He’s hearing it because Ruin is here, because they’re both here.

“Yeah. Yeah, you’re right, bud.” Eclipse tries a small smile himself, though he knows it's still pretty wobbly on the edges. The tattered remains of the nightmare cling to him like cobwebs, but Ruin is still holding his hands, and it’s surprisingly easy to focus on that warmth instead. 

This hasn’t been taken away from him. Ruin won’t suddenly disappear into the morning mist. Eclipse has his own home and a companion that wants to be here, and stupid nightmares can’t change that. 

“Come on, we might as well get up now and start the day early.” The small grin gets wider when Ruin whines dramatically, flopping over onto his side and covering his face with his tail in protest. He knows that it’s all for show, and he reaches over to pat what he can see of Ruin’s head, his other hand unplugging the charger. “I’ll make you some waffles, how’s that?” 

“...fish waffles?”

“Yeah, I’ll cut ‘em into fish shapes, too.”

[serpentface]

Historically plausible depiction of semi-mythological Wardi founding heroes Erub and Janes, engaging in rites of sworn brotherhood.

Each were princes of separate pre-Wardi tribes (Erub was of the western Ephenni, Janes was of the central-southern Wardinae from which the name 'Wardi' derives). Two men of their general description historically existed, but their cited exploits were likely performed by many people over a larger time scale (conquering lands to the south and east from rival Wardi and Wogan tribes and founding the kingdoms of Wardin and Erubinnos).

They are unclothed (as is necessary for the rite) but wearing recognizable regalia, as their sworn brotherhood was a display of alliance between the ancient Ephenni and Wardinae and performed before their men. Erub wears both gold and bean-bead jewelry, Janes wears gull feathers and a pearl choker (aspects of these have been retained in contemporary east and south Wardi regional adornment). Erub's wearing of tattoos (stylized paired lions across the back with their tails looping around to the chest) is an obsolete practice, and the form of headband Janes wears is now considered women's dress.

This post is not actually about them.

SWORN BROTHERHOOD IN IMPERIAL WARDIN: A POST:

Sworn brotherhood is both a ceremonial rite and a legal institution in contemporary Imperial Wardin. Progenitor variants of this practice occur or are attested to in all historical human inhabitants of the region (Wardi, Wogan, Cholemdinae, and Hill Tribes); where and from whom these traditions originated is unclear. In most cases, its historical function was as a form of allyship between larger groups of people (powerful families, tribes, occasionally entire kingdoms) via two men as a proxy, but its contemporary Imperial Wardi function is much smaller in scale has a heavily diminished role in politics.

The core function of sworn brotherhood is to both spiritually and legally bind unrelated men as kin. Similar rites involving the physical exchange of blood are used in marriage ceremonies and formal adoptions, for much the same purpose of kin-making. A person's blood is regarded as housing their living spirit, and thus to share it binds spirits together that would not already be bound by biological kinship. The contemporary variant of this practice emerged primarily between warriors/soldiers as means of establishing security for their families should one member of the brotherhood die prematurely, and to encourage loyalty and strong partnerships for mutual defense in combat.

It is an oath of exceptional loyalty and friendship, establishing mutual devotion in allyship and accepting the same duties and responsibilities to a compatriot that are otherwise only expected of blood relatives. The physical exchange maintains this bind tightly and ensures its lasting endurance. This bond provides a sense of spiritual security and will persist after death- if one brother dies alone and unburned, the other may be able to find his soul and help guide it away to the afterlife.

This rite establishes kinship in a very practical legal sense. Each brother is sworn into the other’s family, with most of the obligations implied. Each brother is sworn to familial duties towards the other’s parents- providing for them in old age, defending their status and honor and providing retribution for damages, and serving roles in certain familial rites.

Each brother’s wife and children is considered legally under the care of the other- if one brother dies, the other is in charge of filling practical obligations of a husband/father in continuing to provide for them for life, or otherwise arranging a new marriage or (if he is unwed) marrying the widow himself. He remains in control of the wife's assets, inheritance, and children unless or until she is passed into the care of another man. This is considered legally enforceable, and overrides any objections of the wife's father (who will have already lost his legal authority over her in handing her out in marriage). The wife has no direct say in this matter (and does not in general, with women being legally under near-complete authority of their father or husband).

These familial duties are required on part of each brother, but not strictly required to be requited by their family members. A family patriarch can refuse kinship to an unwanted son-in-blood, or accept one the rest of his family does not, and can enforce this decision on his wife, daughters, and any underage sons, having ultimate authority over their formal relationships. When accepted, a son-in-blood will usually receive a formal place in his new extended family's inheritance (usually treated as a youngest son). A son-in-blood is very occasionally adopted as a formal heir, though typically only in cases where a father's biological sons die prematurely (especially given this can cause complicated situations in terms of which family name the son-in-blood is bound to).

The rite of sworn brotherhood is accomplished in stages and with the assistance of a priest (generally those devoted to Ganmache, which presides over most domestic kinship affairs). Both men are blessed and purified by the priest and garbed in simple robes, and will then recite a lengthy, formal oath before God to declare allyship and swear to all expected duties as kin. The second half is done in privacy. Both men will remove their robes, with the metaphysical vulnerability of nudity under a mutual gaze allowing for the transformative effects of the rite. Each slices the palm of their hand deeply enough for blood to run and drains it into a bowl of wine. The oaths are then repeated, with remaining blood being smudged onto prayer parchment and cast into fire as an offering. The wine is then consumed by both, physically imbibing each other's blood/spirit to seal the rites. Most variants also include additional matched scarification in a prominent location (usually the forehead)- the intentional violation of the body via permanent modification, displayed prominently on the body to the public gaze, acts as a constant enforcement of the bond.

This rite is only strictly required to be performed once, though in practice is generally repeated on a yearly basis (as most rites with permanent effects are- the world's movements are cyclical and impermanent, the only permanency is in repetition).

The practice is regarded as an ideal of platonic affection between men. The family as a social unit is of vital importance in this cultural sphere, and inducting an unrelated man as one's kin is an ultimate, idealized display of loyalty and friendship. This practice may be notably attractive to men in romantic partnerships with other men, as it allows for a lifelong commitment to an unrelated man, comparable in many ways to a marriage. Though (like most male relationships) sworn brotherhoods are de-facto expected to be non-sexual, as it is a relationship between equals, a circumstance wholly out of the accepted realm of male homosexual behavior (you should not want to 'shame' your sworn brother). The vast majority of these brotherhoods are platonic.

No comparable rite exists in an official capacity for women, akoshos, or eunuchs (largely due to its place surrounding men’s roles as family patriarchs), though some may undertake similar rites to accomplish the same spiritual kinship results (without the legal benefits).

[superprincesspea]

Courted by the Dragon

Chapter 1 - Spring

Aemond Targaryen is both the cause and witness to the greatest humiliation of your life. You would rather die than see him again. Yet summer at court and the precipice of civil war have other ideas.

Masterlist

~~~

Though summer had not yet fledged, the stifling heat in the keep of Storms End had become intolerable for every soul residing in the castle.   

Usually, you enjoyed the warmth of sunshine and would happily sit and bask in its glory for hours on end, but this was no mere heat. This was humidity. Hot and wet, lingering in the air and drenching heavy clothes to clammy skin.   

You couldn’t escape it even when the sun went down, and everyone was miserable, too lazy to do anything more than sit and swelter and too uncomfortable to find any rest.  

You, however, had other ideas.   

You’re Father had strictly forbidden any of his daughters from leaving the keep without an escort and, even then, he did not readily allow it. But you had always been a somewhat unruly child and as a young woman you had certainly not become more obedient.   

No, quite the opposite, you’d grown accustomed to doing as you pleased regardless of your fathers demands. He had daughters enough for obedience and you had no ambition to become a well-trained pet for him or any other man.   

So, when breakfast was finished, you escaped the keep, ducking between the watchful eyes of your fathers' guards before wandering down to the pebble beach below the imposing castle walls.   

Down here was the realm of smugglers and pirates but it had been years since the caves had been used for any nefarious purposes. So, you were alone, the beach clear except for the gulls which landed on the rocks before sweeping out across the waves.  

As expected, the air here was much more tolerable if you could forgive the stink of seaweed and salt. More importantly, you could enjoy your own company while the creeping tide chased at your feet.  

It was a risky game, daring the water to soak through your shoes and you didn’t want to spoil them. You wanted to take them off and hitch up your skirt to feel the cool lick of the bay's glistening sea. How refreshing, how scandalous, how irresistible ….   

Your shoes slide off so easily as do your stockings before you find yourself tucking your skirt and chemise into the waistband of your dress.   

It’s a precarious thing, exposing the bare lines of your legs for anyone to see and, all the while, you find yourself craning your head back and forth to check for prying eyes. But you remain alone down here, and the water feels as good as you’d imagined. In fact, it's bliss enough for you to finally take pleasure in the heat of the midday sun and, like a cat rolling on a cool stone floor, you relish it.   

Ice smothering your legs while fire kisses your cheeks. The only sound is that of the waves and the occasional cry of a gull which, after days spent listening to your sisters complaining, is the sound of absolute serenity.   

In the following afternoons, your secret trips down to the beach become routine. Even though the weather is not as insufferable as before, you like the solitude and the feel of the water on your legs. But it isn’t enough, and it hadn’t taken long before you’d began to toy with the idea of submerging yourself into the depths of Shipbreakers Bay.   

What would it feel like to have salt and sand tangled in your hair? To float on the waves? To be suspended between air and earth in a crystal sea?   

Those questions have tantalised you beyond rational thinking and, if you wait any longer, it might be too late to find their answer.  

Already storms are on the horizon and when they arrive, this little stretch of pebble beach will be underwater for the foreseeable future. So, with this in mind, you’re wearing a gown that fastens easily in the front and, though the wool is far too hot for the climate, you do not plan on wearing it for long.  

After removing your shoes and stockings, you do your usual checks. Looking up and down the beach to ensure you’re still alone while your fingers dally at the knots on your dress before finally conceding to unfasten them.   

One by one, you loosen the ties while the prick of frightened delight coats your skin as the fabric becomes looser and looser before sliding to a pile at your feet.   

Without your dress, your chemise billows about as if the wind has fingers which grasp and pull, urging you to freedom. But you need no encouragement, your mind was already set the moment you woke up and, when that happens, there is little chance of dissuading it.   

You pull your chemise over your head and the wind snatches it away, sending it through the air like the sail of a ship before it snags on a boulder further down the beach.   

Your heart is in your throat as you retrieve it, wondering what excuse you could possibly imagine to explain the loss of your undergarment. The answer is none. You have to be more careful. Yet careful is the exact opposite of what you’re being.     

In all the excitement, you’d almost forgotten that you were standing on the beach wearing nothing more than a necklace which rests at the hollow of your neck, catching the sunlight. But you are naked. The breeze cool against your flesh, your nipples tightening to hard buds.   

You laugh at the absurdity of the situation just as a chill of unease ripples down your spine. If someone sees you now, it will be a scandal so terrible you’re not sure you could survive it. Yet that does not stop you from opening out your arms to embrace the air.    

It isn’t often a high-born woman or any woman at all gets to choose her own actions but you’re choosing one now. Perhaps this will be the only time you ever swim in the bay, perhaps you will hate every moment of it, but it doesn't matter. At least for a single afternoon, you can be completely in control of your own autonomy. Men take such freedoms for granted but you will savour it.   

With careful steps, you make your way into the bay, deeper and deeper until the water comes up to your chest and the cold bites harshly into your skin. You know you will grow accustomed to the temperature as you had done on previous days, so you keep moving, letting the blood flow into your limbs and the warmth return.  

When you’re ready, you duck your head under the waves without regard for how you will explain your wet hair when you return to the keep. Instead, you dive down, propelling yourself through the water until your lungs begin to burn and you’re forced to surface.  

With each dive, you can hold your breath for longer and swim further and the cold becomes a forgotten thing. You’re like a dolphin or a siren, a creature of the sea, flipping through the water with what feels like grace, and you know one thing is certain- Today won’t be the last day you’ll swim in the bay, not when it feels like this- or so you think.   

With the sound of waves crashing against the wall of rocks beneath Storm’s End and the rush of water all around you, you’d be forgiven for not hearing the beat of dragon wings as they fly overhead.   

No, too consumed by your own amusement, you don’t even notice the large shadow grazing the beach or see where Vhagar lands on a tuft of grass barely a stone's throw from where your clothes are strewn across the pebbles.  

All you know is one minute you’re ducking under the water and the next, the sun is bright on your face and a tall black figure is standing on the beach.  

A man .   

Your heart plummets, the bay choking down your throat as you gasp and inhale a mouthful of water. Perhaps letting yourself sink and float away from all consequence would be the better option, but you resign yourself to whatever reprimand is waiting for you on the beach, coughing and spluttering as you move closer to shore  

Wiping your eyes to bring the figure into focus, you expect to see your father or perhaps Ser Maurin Selmy but the person on the beach is an almost stranger. A man you have never met yet recognise by reputation alone.   

Aemond Targaryen.  

“Your Grace!” you exclaim, concealing yourself beneath the waves with little success. Afterall, he’s close enough for you to see the sigil stitched onto his doublet so you’re in no doubt of how easily he can see you- even with one eye.  

A mischievous smile lights up his entire face as he glances at the black and yellow clothes piled at his feet.  

“My Lady Baratheon?” he suggests, his manner surprisingly soft spoken yet commanding enough not to be lost against the waves, “you seem to have misplaced your gown.”   

“I was taking a swim,” you say rather absurdly, and he laughs to himself before moving closer and bending down on one knee. Not close enough to be caught by a wave but close enough to touch the water, which he does with great care, carefully removing a single glove to dip his fingers in the surf when it stalks towards the toe of his boot.  

“Far too cold for my liking but do not stop on my account,” he smirks, his good eye peering once more beneath the waves.   

You wrap your arm a little tighter around your chest as though it will prevent him from seeing the curve of your body and the rise and fall of your nervous breaths but, of course, it doesn’t. The water is like glass and your bare skin shines brightly in the sun.  

You’ve never been so exposed before, not even in front of your handmaid who only enters your room when you are already wearing your chemise. So, this is beyond anything you can imagine, and shame would have burned on your skin if it wasn’t for the cold seeping into your bones.  

“Your Grace is right; the water has grown cold. I should like to get out.”  

He raises his eyebrow, his tongue licking lazily across his lip before his smirk returns.  

“Suit yourself,” he says, standing upright and towering even taller than you’d remembered. But he doesn’t walk away, he remains rooted to the sand, the waves daring to reach out and sully the soft suede of his riding boots.   

“Your Grace?” your teeth chatter and his smile inches even deeper into his cheeks.  

“My lady?” he says, toying with you and seeming to enjoy every ounce of your humiliation before he slowly steps back to where your clothes are still spread on the rocks.    

Using his boot, he kicks your dress up into his hands and you think, for a moment, that he’s going to steal it away, but he doesn’t.   

He tosses it a little closer to the water, grazing your body with one last look before he turns to face the wall beneath your Fathers keep.   

In all this time, your heart has not stopped racing and your muscles are beginning to tighten painfully. Still, you wait another minute, hoping Aemond will leave altogether but he does not, and you have a choice to make.   

Withdraw from the relative safety of the water and risk being seen,  or remain in Shipbreakers Bay for the rest of eternity. So perhaps, when you think of it like that, you have no choice at all.   

Bracing yourself, with a wary eye cast towards your escape route, you force your feet to move forward. Emerging with gooseflesh and chattering teeth yet cheeks burning hot enough to rival the sun.   

You scoop up your dress, cursing yourself a thousand times over while your numb fingers struggle with even the simplest task. You can barely hold the fabric, let alone dress yourself. Yet more than anything, you curse Aemond and that’s before you notice him glancing back at you.  

You pause, breathless with fear though you know you should be moving faster, dressing quicker, running away. But you’re like a frightened deer under his scrutiny.  All you can do is stand there; the dress clamped against your body.  

He could do anything to you, and it would be your fault. You had done this. You had disobeyed your father and all sense of propriety to leave yourself vulnerable and completely at the mercy of a Dragon.   

Mercifully, Aemond’s gaze only lingers for a moment before it returns to the wall, and you move far quicker than before. Hurriedly pulling your arms into sleeves before fastening two of the strings in haphazard knots.   

Though Aemond Targaryen might be a Prince, he is certainly not a gentleman. He glances at you again but this time you’re feeling bolder.  

You blow out a huff of bad-tempered air, displeasure oozing from your every movement as you snatch up the rest of your clothes and make haste towards the slope which leads back to the keep.   

You need to get away from him as quickly as humanly possible. But your escape is hindered by bare feet on jagged pebbles. You can’t ignore the sharpness and you don’t dare to stop, leaving you to slip on your shoes in an awkward half hop as you try to maintain the momentum of your furious exit.   

Aemond, on the other hand, has no such hindrances and catches up to you with little effort, stepping into your path and blocking you again when you try to skirt around him.     

Frustrated, you hold your ground knowing that in a physical fight between yourself and Aemond, you would certainly not be the victor. But you would not cower either.  

“Will you not tell me your name, Lady Baratheon?” he asks, as though this was some ordinary meeting between strangers.   

“I think your Grace has known quite enough of me for one day!” you snap through gritted teeth, your temper growing shorter as your body grows colder.  

He laughs softly, bowing his head, “perhaps another day then.”  

You expel a gasp of complete disbelief. “I shall endeavour to avoid it!”  

Aemond’s smile broadens, and he seems surprised, even somewhat delighted by your candour as you push past him with a complete disregard for his name, his size, his strength or his dragon.   

“Then we will see who is the victor,” he calls after you, but you ignore him.   

You would rather die than ever lay eyes on Aemond Targaryen again!  

~~~

Thank you for reading! Please let me know if you would like to see more.

[gosecretscribbles]

Stanuary 2025 Week 1: Mindscape

Summary: Stan is on the beach looking for clothes to steal when heatstroke sets in. He pops out of his body and into the Mindscape, where our favorite Dorito is hoping to make a deal.

AO3 link

Stanley was cold. 

He got up and walked.  Sand and candy wrappers crunched under his bare feet.  Shorebirds chased the waves back and forth.  Gulls chased the occasional flying chip wrapper.  It was really hot today.  Why was he cold again?

Whatever.  He was busy.  He was sick of hand-me-downs.  Pa only bought Ford new clothes.  Stan was sick of hand-me-downs.  By the time Stan got them, it was because Ford had almost outgrown them, which meant Stan only wore them for a week before they were too tight to really wear.  So he was going to find a few charitable tourists and borrow some semi-new stuff. 

Except there…weren’t any tourists.  That was weird, too.  And the gulls were gone.  And he was cold.  If it was so hot, why was he shivering?  Shivering sucked.  Stan got up and started walking.

Had…had he been lying down?

“Stupid sand,” he grumbled.  Must’ve tripped.  Ugh, he was cold.  He squinted.  Oh, duh, there were no tourists because he was headed the wrong way.  He could see the shadow of the Stan O’ War over by the cliffs.  They’d only been working on it a couple of months, but they’d stowed some basic running away supplies in there.  Water and chips and a couple towels.  He could use a towel.  He got up and started walking. 

The Stan O’ War was getting close now.  He felt a little better already, and a whole lot lighter.  He grinned.  See?  Stan-the-Man’s still kickin’.  You know what, forget the beach.  I’ll go to the boardwalk and steal the clothes right off people’s backs!  Literally!

“I’ll train a pet fly!” he said aloud.  “I’d make it go up people’s shirts and bug them until they took it off.  No wait, a pet wasp.  Wasps are cool.  I’ll tie some string around it like a leash and feed it…whatever wasps ate.  Apples?  Oh, I could use Shanklin!  No, wait, if I sic Shanklin on them, Shanklin he’d just tear up the clothes.  Okay, no Shanklin.” 

He was still working out his plan when he reached the boat.  He put one hand on the side of the boat and lifted his foot to step over the broken wood.

His hand went straight through the boat.

He fell forward with a sharp cry, expecting more pain as wood dug into his leg.  But he didn’t even hit the ground.  He looked down.  He was floating.  Apparently. 

“Huh.”  He waved his hand through the boat again.  Come to think of it, he hadn’t heard his own footsteps for the past…however long.  “Am I a ghost?  Oh man, Sixer’s gonna love this!”

“HEY THERE, KIDDO!”

Stan looked up.  Lounging against the mast was a bright yellow triangle.  It had one eye, little stick limbs and a top hat.  He snorted.  “A bow tie?  What are you, an insurance salesman?”

“HA!  YOU KNOW WHAT THEY SAY, KID!  DRESS FOR THE JOB YOU WANT, NOT THE JOB YOU HAVE!”  The triangle swooped down and circled Stan.  “YEESH.  YOU WANT TO BE A TRASH HEAP, KID?”

“Depends, what’ll you pay me for it?”

The triangle laughed and zipped away, coming to rest on the rail of the boat.  “YOU KNOW WHAT?  I LIKE YOU KID!  NAME’S BILL!  HOW’S ABOUT I HELP YOU GET SOME REAL DUDS, HUH?”

“Yeah?  You the magic money fairy?”

“EVEN BETTER, KID!”  The triangle multiplied itself in a ring around Stan.  All the triangle-guys tilted in slightly and their shapes turned into screens.  He saw recordings of himself, like he was watching his memories play out on TV.  The time he got Ford’s old jeans.  The time he patched up Ford’s old belt with tape.  The time Ford ripped a white T-shirt, so when Stan got it, he started rolling up his sleeves.  “I’VE BEEN WATCHING YOU, KID.  WHY STOP AT A WARDROBE UPDATE?  I CAN UPDATE YOUR WHOLE LIFE!  NEW HOUSE, NEW YOU, NEW FAMILY!  WHADDAYA SAY?”

“Nah.”  He turned and started doggy-paddling through the air.

The triangle was suddenly in front of him again, a little too fast.  His yellow edges seemed to snap with static.  “HEEEEY, BUDDY!  PAL!  WHAT’S THE RUSH?  I’M OFFERING THE SALE OF YOUR TEENY TINY EXISTENCE!”

“Con,” Stan said flatly. 

“WHAT –”

“COOOOON,” Stan said flatly, sounding bored.  He lounged back on thin air.  “Pretty bad one, too.  Is this from the moldy corn chips last night?”

Bill was definitely buzzing with static.  The yellow flashed briefly to red.  “CORNCHIP?  GUESS AGAIN, KID!  YOU’RE IN THE MINDSCAPE!  I’M AS REAL AS YOU ARE!”

Stan frowned.  “Mindscape?  I’m dreaming?”

“DREAMING, ASTRAL-PROJECTING, DYING, WHAT’S THE DIFFERENCE?  DO YOU REALLY WANT TO RUSH BACK TO A FLESH PUPPET THAT’S HOT, HUNGRY, AND TIRED?”

“Yep.  Bye.”  He swam through Bill. 

Bill turned bright red and got way, way bigger.  Bigger than a dump truck.  His eye turned black with a slitted white pupil. 

“BIG MISTAKE, KID –”

“Con.”

“I’VE BEEN WAITING A TRILLION YEARS –”

“Con.”

“STOP SAYING –”

“COOOOOON.”

It might’ve been scary, but Stan had already proved that they couldn’t touch each other when he ghosted through Bill.  He was pretty sure this was all real, though.  Mostly because he’d never ever dream up a bowtie and a top hat.  What was that even about?  Was the money fairy running for president or something?  At least grow a beard, Mr. Shiny Abe Lincoln!  Or get lasers.  Lasers were cool. 

If this was real, though, then he wasn’t sure what had happened to his body.  He didn’t really remember dying, so maybe he was just…part ghost?  He’d been walking around on the beach before, so his body was probably somewhere on the sand.  He wanted to go back to it.  But it actually was nice not to feel hungry or tired.  That, and the sun was starting to set.  Ford might’ve gone looking and found him.  And Stan really didn’t want to lead this thing back to his brother.  He wasn’t sure if being a ghost meant people could see them or not.  If they could, though, Ford would take one look at Bill and go all Obsessed Robo Nerd.  No thanks.

It took a few hours, but Stan eventually made Bill go away by singing “I know a song that gets on everybody’s nerves” over and over.  Bill started making weird screechy noises at him, which was absolutely <em>hilarious.</em>  But the sun was setting and he really needed to find his body before the gulls tried to eat him for smelling like corn chips.

Sure enough, he spotted his body slumped over a little way up the beach.  Looked like he’d collapsed face-down.  (Okay that was a little bit funny.)  The tide was coming in up to his shoulder.  Ford had found him, at least, and was dragging him out of – oh, wait, no, he was dragging Stan <em>into</em> the water.  A flock of seagulls surrounded them, periodically trying to dive-bomb Stan’s body.  Ford was trying to fend them off with a bent beach umbrella. 

“Back, ye beasts!” Ford shouted at them.  “BACK TO THE DUMPSTERS FROM WHENCE YOU CAME!”

…Alright, so Ford wasn’t completely trying to kill him.  Just drown him.  Apparently. 

Stan braced himself and dove back into his body.  He didn’t even have a full second to think, It worked! before gravity yanked him face-first into the next wave.  He flailed, coughing hard, and all of his limbs threatened to crush him under his own weight.  He thought he’d felt cold before.  He was practically freezing! 

“Stan!”  Ford grabbed Stan’s head and pulled him above the wave.  Which did not help.  Ford realized this and switched dropped him –

“OW!”

– and then grabbed Stan under the armpits, hauling him a little further up the beach.  The seagulls drew back, sullen disappointment in their beady little eyes. 

“Sixer,” Stan croaked. 

“Stanley!  You’re alive!”

“You – tried to – drown me!” he managed between coughs. 

“I’m trying to cool you down!  How long were you out here?  You’ve got really bad heatstroke, you’re burning up!”

Is that what this was?  Heatstroke felt like a bad fever, times a thousand.  His body hurt and he was so cold his teeth were chattering and he couldn’t even see and he felt so dizzy he was going to throw up. 

“Wanna go back t’ the mind thing,” Stan groaned, and then almost screamed when the next wave crashed over his legs and back.  It was so cold, why was it so cold and why did it hurt so much? 

“…making sense.  It’s okay!  We just – okay, we can’t go to a hospital, but I read about heatstroke!  You can’t sleep – no, that’s concussions.  But it’s fine, we’re cooling you off –”

“<em>Hurts</em>.”

“We have to, Stanley, you could die from heatstroke!” 

Ford’s face was really pale, actually, even in the orange light of the setting sun.  No wait, it was night.  Because it was all dark.

“It’s not dark, I just opened the umbrella.  Uh, you’re cooling off, you also need to drink a ton of water <em>not the seawater!</em>”  Ford yanked Stan’s chin up above the waves.  Stan tried to bite him.  He was thirsty!  “No!  It’s 3% salt, processing salt in your kidneys takes more water, you’ll actually dehydrate drinking it –”

Stan lost track of what Ford was saying.  His head was pounding and his vision was going all dark.  But Ford was making nerd noises, which must mean that everything was okay.  He closed his eyes.  This time, instead of a weird talking triangle, he saw black, and slipped down into a heavy sleep.

Week 2 week 3 week 4

[hanjicakes]

⏆ summerboy ︵

synopsis .ᐟ - after spending what you would consider the best summer of your life in Australia, you aren't sure if you're ready to give it up

content info .ᐟ - felix x gender neutral!reader, summer (or winter? idrk), barely angsty but juuust in case, reader canonically makes bad decisions

word count .ᐟ - 1.0k words

author ' s note .ᐟ - my first fic!! i didn't have a plan for this i just started typing and kept going lol but i had some friend proofread and they said it was good so let's trust them

my mastrlist ૮₍›ᆺ ‹ ₎ა

You stare down at your hands quietly, using your thumb to push out the sand managing to hide under your fingernails. Foamy sea water washing over the shore and the occasional gull squawking creates a serene and safe atmosphere. You felt at peace here, like nothing can harm you when it’s just you, your thoughts, and the beach— and Felix, as well.

Despite the peace, everything about this was spontaneous. Random, unplanned, maybe even reckless to some people. Most people would definitely believe it is a crazy, perhaps dangerous idea to plan a trip to Australia without telling anyone. They would think it’s even worse that you didn’t bring any money and had no plan. But, you easily managed to find Felix. He stood out clearly in bustling crowds, not because of his dusty blonde hair, but because of his attitude. He was never bothered. Nothing on this Earth, not even the end of times, seemed to worry him. He didn’t even seem fazed when you told him what you did.

“That was quite the idea you had, huh?” He asked. His voice fit that stereotypical Australian accent but still held its own charm. Something uniquely his own. “Oi, I don’t mind having you stay at my place. My parents— They have a spare room in the basement.”

The first night, you were reasonably intimidated. Staying in a stranger’s home, in a foreign country, with no real plan in life was starting to seem a bit crazy. But, when you’re with Felix, none of that seems to matter. He gave you a sense of stability in a situation where most people would shut down or falter. He showed you the best restaurants, all the true “must see” spots in town, and all the hidden spots on the crowded Aussie beaches.

He even took time to teach you to surf. You, unsurprisingly, were not successful. The memory remains vibrant and fresh in your mind. The sound of your combined laughter when you emerged from the waves soaking and your hair a tangled mess. 

“God, I think I swallowed some water…” You mutter while you vigorously rub a towel over your body, attempting to dry your skin. Felix pulls the surfboards onto the sand. His hands rest casually on his hips. The ends of his bleached hair are so drenched that they stick to the nape of his neck. Still, he smiles proudly.

“You can’t learn without a few failures. I’ve probably swallowed a whole lake’s worth of water trying to teach myself. You’ll get it one day.”

Felix seemed perfect— the kind of person someone would write as their inspiration on a job application, or something like that. You aren’t sure how to put it. He’s raw, unfiltered yet knows his limits. He’s never crossed a boundary in his life, except for that time he swerved into the opposite lane on the highway. You wished to be like him, to make everyone comfortable and loved. Part of you didn’t think he was real.

You were indecisive and random, literally. It would take over a dozen sets of hands and feet to count how many decisions you made based on the flip of a coin or eenie meenie miney moe. Your family always said you needed more control, but something about letting life guide you was exciting. Thrilling, even. And, right now, the rewards of that process were showing. Even after only a couple of weeks together, you can’t imagine a life without Felix. You think back to your hometown and wonder, ‘God damn, what the hell did I even do all day?’

“Hey, you still with me?”

Your head snaps up, turning away from your palms to look at the man next to you. He lays in the sand, his elbows holding up the weight of his torso. Salty water clings to the strands of his hair and water droplets cover his skin like freckles (besides the ones he already has, of course.) You hum faintly in acknowledgment of his words.

“Month’s almost up. What ‘re you planning on doing now…?” Felix asks. The tone of his voice is hesitant and strangely concerned. Like he was worried about your future plans.

You meet his eyes before folding your legs so that your knees meet your chest. Your gaze shifts out to the water, watching how the sea seamlessly meets the sky. With a simple shrug of your shoulders, you respond.

“I don’t know…” You reply, “Gonna go home. Pack my things then go back to school. College, y’know?”

“Ah.” He hums, nodding his head along as he also turns to look at the water. Silence settles between the two of you, but it’s not uncomfortable. Nothing is ever uncomfortable with Felix. Nothing.

“My flight’s Tuesday.” The words seem to slip out of your mouth despite trying to keep them to yourself. You didn’t want to upset Felix, but part of you thinks you really didn’t want to upset yourself. Part of you knew that you just weren’t ready to go back home. Back to normality and responsibilities and God awful dormmates. Part of you knew that you just weren’t ready to leave him.

“I see.” He says. From the look on his face, he seems unaffected by your words.

“You should come back one day.” He blurts out. Felix turns to look at you, his eyes flickering over your face. “I’m not going anywhere. I mean, outside of Australia. I’ll still live here.”

You swallow heavily. Eye contact wasn’t your strong suit, but it felt different this time. It was like Felix was trying to see inside of you— into your soul, mind, and spirit. He’s begging for an answer. Maybe not physically, but you sense it. You’ve learned to read him well during the days you’ve spent together. So well that he doesn’t even have to speak sometimes. You just get it.

“Yeah, I will.”

“I hope you will.”

The two of you continue sitting in silence, letting the sound of waves washing against the rocks fill the air. It felt like nothing had to be said. Maybe, because it didn’t feel like a goodbye. It didn’t feel like things were over, just paused momentarily. And perhaps one day, you won’t have to pause Felix. Perhaps one day, you could have him forever. Nonstop, always.

[iminahole247]

this is not what I was ever expecting... (2/3)

Part 7 <- Part 8 -> Part 9

Word count: 3465

TW: blood, violence, death

The next evening, the air was crisp with salt, the scent thick against the slow roll of the waves. Zeta sat on the edge of his boat, the motor silent, letting himself drift where the current willed. The ocean stretched endlessly, unbroken but for the occasional ripple. It should have been peaceful.

But something was wrong.

The sea was too quiet. No gulls wheeled overhead, and no fish jumped to break the surface. The usual hum of life beneath the waves had dulled into an unnatural silence, like the ocean was holding its breath.

Zeta tightened his grip on his fishing rod, his gaze flicking toward the water’s edge. Sentinel floated just beside the boat, his massive frame half-submerged, tail moving slowly and deliberately. His gills flared slightly, his expression unreadable—but Zeta could see it. The tension in his posture. The sharpness in his gaze. Sentinel wasn’t just still.

He was listening.

The realization sent a prickle down Zeta’s spine.

“You hear something?” Zeta asked, his voice low.

Sentinel didn’t answer right away. His pupils narrowed slightly, his head tilting just enough for his gills to catch the faintest shift in the water. Then, after a moment, his lips parted.

“They’re here.”

A chill laced through Zeta’s veins. He didn’t need to ask who ‘they’ were.

His fingers twitched toward the knife at his belt as he scanned the empty horizon. The water seemed… different now. The way it moved and lapped against the boat—like something beneath the surface was stirring.

Then the ripples came.

Not from the wind. Not from the tide. But from movement.

Zeta’s breath hitched as he caught the first shadow, long and sleek, slithering just beneath the boat. Then another. And another.

A slow, deliberate circling.

His stomach clenched. He had seen sharks do this before—sizing up prey, testing boundaries. But this wasn’t a shark. He knew that instinctively.

Sentinel remained motionless, except for the flex of his claws beneath the water’s surface. His tail curled slightly, his muscles coiling beneath his skin. Prepared.

Prepared for a fight.

Zeta swallowed hard, barely moving.

A sharp splash sounded off to their left. Zeta twisted just in time to see a dark, jagged fin cut through the surface before slipping back beneath the waves.

The water rippled.

And then, without warning—

Three mers surfaced.

Zeta’s breath hitched. They weren’t like Sentinel. Not as large, but big enough. 

He’s glad the axe is going to come in handy.

These mers were leaner, their bodies etched with scars, their eyes too sharp, too hungry. Their fins were jagged, their teeth flashing as they grinned. They moved with a different kind of power—reckless, unpredictable.

Mers. 

Spiney with sleek scales and sharp eyes, predatory and calculating. Nothing like how Sentinel’s eyes look.

Zeta knew Sentinel was dangerous, but this was different. These mers weren’t just dangerous. They were feral.

One of them, a female with deep crimson streaks across her dorsal fins, tilted her head, scanning Sentinel with something like amusement.

“Well, well,” she purred. “Look at you.”

Sentinel didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

She flicked her tail lazily, circling around him. “Didn’t think I’d see you protecting a human. How the mighty have fallen.”

Sentinel’s gills flared slightly, but his expression remained unreadable. “Leave.”

A second mer, a male with jagged scars running down his throat, let out a clicking growl. “You don’t tell us what to do.” His gaze flicked to Zeta, and his teeth bared in something too sharp to be a grin. “Maybe we should take the human instead. Since you seem so attached.”

Zeta’s grip on the axe tightened. He could feel his pulse hammering in his throat.

The third mer—a wiry, twitchy thing—hissed. “Bet he drowns easy.”

Zeta felt the boat shift suddenly as Sentinel’s tail swept beneath the surface, churning the water.

“Try,” Sentinel said, voice low, “and I’ll show you how you drown.”

The female mer laughed, but it had no humor—just teeth. “Feisty,” she mused. “I liked you better when you knew your place.”

Then she lunged. The others flanked her.

The water exploded.

Sentinel met her mid-strike, the force of their collision sending a violent wave crashing against the boat. Zeta barely managed to keep his footing as the deck rocked, water sloshing over the edge.

But as Sentinel fought, Zeta exhaled slowly, fingers itching toward the knife strapped to his belt. He should go inside, grab the harpoon—

Too late.

Another mer lunged from the water, all claws and jagged teeth, lunging straight for him—

Zeta ducked, barely avoiding a set of claws aimed for his throat. His axe in his hand before he could think, swinging upward towards its neck, but the mer was already recoiling from the strike, baring a gargling, twisted, grinning snarl, as a vibrant red fountain burst from where the axe struck. The mer fell back into the water.

Another one surged from the other side—

The boat rocked violently. Zeta staggered, losing his footing just as something grabbed him.

Pain.

Claws pierced his arm—deep, unforgiving, locking in. A sickening pull, a rush of air—

Then the world ripped away.

“Sen—!”

The cold crashed into him like a living force, swallowing him whole. Salt burned his eyes, his lungs, as he was dragged down.

The creature was fast. Strong. The pressure around them thickened as they sank, the surface warping above him, light growing thinner—

A shadow.

Zeta barely had time to register it before the water exploded around him.

Sentinel.

A blur of sheer power, slicing through the water like a harpoon. His form was massive, his presence crushing. He didn’t slow. Didn’t hesitate.

He slammed into the mer.

The impact sent a violent shockwave through the depths. The rogue shrieked, a twisted, garbled sound, as Sentinel’s claws dug in, yanking him away from Zeta with monstrous force.

Zeta barely registered the release before Sentinel tore into his attacker.

Blood spiraled into the water. The rogue thrashed, but Sentinel was relentless—jaws snapping, claws ripping, every strike precise, brutal. The rogue didn’t stand a chance.

Another shape surged toward them, but Sentinel turned, snarling, his teeth bared in a wordless threat. The second mer halted, tail flicking—hesitating.

Sentinel didn’t.

He lunged.

The rogue had no time to react. Sentinel’s claws found flesh, his grip digging into its abdomen, pulling it apart from its halves. Dark clouds pooled around where he was, the mer hopelessly battering against Sentinel. His powerful tail coiled as he drove them both downward, deeper into the black.

Zeta’s vision blurred. He tried push up towards the surface. 

The light isn’t getting closer.

His chest burned. 

He was sinking—

Then, arms wrapped around him.

The next thing he knew, he was rushing upward, Sentinel’s grip firm but careful, his movements swift and purposeful.

Light—air—

Zeta broke through, gasping, choking, the night sky spinning wildly above him. The boat was close, but the water wasn’t still.

Shapes still lurked below.

Sentinel held him afloat, eyes scanning the dark waves, his gills flaring as he listened. The mers were hesitant now—watching. Waiting.

Sentinel let out a low, dangerous growl, deep and guttural. The kind that promised death.

He held Zeta close with one arm, the other still stained with blood.

The water was still for a long moment. Then—movement. The remaining ones slipped away, vanishing into the depths.

Zeta shuddered, body aching, his arm screaming where the claws had pierced him. Sentinel’s grip tightened slightly, keeping him steady. 

“You’re a damn idiot,” Sentinel muttered, voice rough but close.

Zeta wheezed a laugh, even as his body shivered. “Yeah… starting to realize that.”

Sentinel exhaled sharply, then, without another word, began dragging him back toward the boat.

----------

The boat rocked gently beneath them as Sentinel heaved Zeta over the side, depositing him onto the deck with little grace but careful hands. The human hit the wood with a dull thud, coughing out seawater, his arm burning where the rogue’s claws had torn into him.

The waning sunlight danced against Sentinel’s form as he surfaced beside the boat, water cascading off his broad shoulders. His gills flared, still adjusting from the fight, but his gaze was locked on Zeta—sharp, assessing.

“You’re bleeding.”

Zeta let out a breathless laugh, wincing as he pressed a hand to his arm. “Yeah. Kinda noticed.”

The wound was ugly. Deep gashes ran down his forearm, the skin torn unevenly where the rogue’s claws had locked in before dragging him down. Blood was still welling up, slowly flowing over his wrist, mixing with the saltwater that soaked his clothes.

Sentinel made a low sound, something close to a growl.

Zeta blinked blearily up at him. “Don’t suppose you’ve got a first aid kit hidden under those scales?”

Sentinel didn’t answer. Instead, he moved, disappearing beneath the water with a powerful flick of his tail.

Zeta barely had time to process that he had left; time felt mushy in his brain.

Before long, Sentinel returned, breaking the surface again—this time with something in his hands.

A handful of wet, frond-like leaves, their edges ragged, dripping seawater.

Zeta frowned. “...That’s not bandages.”

Sentinel exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “No, it’s not bandages, you wreck of a human. It’s a special remedy.”

He reached up, offering the soaked leaves. “Hold out your arm.”

Zeta hesitated, glancing between Sentinel and the plant. “And you’re sure this isn’t some kind of merfolk joke where I wake up with gills or something?”

Sentinel’s patience was already wearing thin. “Zeta.”

“Right, right.” With a wince, Zeta extended his wounded arm.

Sentinel moved with practiced ease. He took the fronds, tearing them with his claws, exposing the pulpy insides. The scent was sharp, briny, and tinged with something herbal, like ginger soaked in seawater.

Then, before Zeta could brace himself—

He pressed the pulp against the wounds.

Zeta hissed, a complete body jerk at the sudden burn. “Gah! Fuck, what the hell—”

“Hold still.” Sentinel’s grip tightened around his wrist, firm but just enough to keep him from moving.

Zeta bit back another curse, chest heaving. The initial sting gave way to a deep, throbbing warmth, sinking beneath the skin like something alive.

“What… is this?” he managed, his breath unsteady.

Sentinel’s expression remained unreadable. “... we use them to stop blood loss. Helps prevent infection.” His eyes flicked up to Zeta’s face. “You’d rather bleed out?”

Zeta exhaled shakily. “I mean… when you put it that way.”

They stayed like this for a few minutes, maybe more; he wasn’t keeping track. The pain dulled, settling into something bearable. Sentinel pressed another layer of the fronds against the wound before finally easing back, watching for any reaction.

The bleeding had slowed. The raw edges of the gashes looked less angry, and the color around them was not as inflamed.

Zeta flexed his fingers experimentally. “Huh.”

“Told you,” Sentinel muttered, tossing the used stems back into the water. “Would’ve worked better if you were submerged, but you’d probably drown.”

Zeta snorted weakly. “Yeah, I’m kinda bad at the whole ‘breathing underwater’ thing.”

Sentinel rolled his eyes but didn’t pull away just yet. His fingers lingered against Zeta’s wrist, his touch warm, lingering just long enough to feel warmth. Soft, cool, but warm.

A silence stretched between them. Not tense, not uncomfortable. Just… there.

Finally, Sentinel shifted, glancing toward the setting horizon. The water was calm again, but his shoulders didn’t relax.

“They might come back,” he said, voice low. “Not tonight. But later down the line, we‘ve got to be more careful.”

Zeta nodded, letting his head rest against the boat deck, not turning away from Sentinel. He was exhausted, the fight, the cold, and the pain pressing down on him like a weight. 

“Then I guess we’ll deal with that when it happens.”

Sentinel was quiet for a long moment before murmuring, almost too soft to hear—

“We.”

Zeta opened his eyes, looking at him.

Sentinel wasn’t meeting his gaze, but his grip around Zeta’s wrist lingered just a little longer before finally letting go.

The sunlight lingered on for a moment longer before disappearing beneath the horizon. The sea rocked gently beneath them.

Neither of them moved.

----------

The morning sun crept over the horizon, casting golden streaks across the rippling water. The boat was anchored just off the shore, the gentle waves lapping against the hull filling the quiet air.

Zeta sat near the edge of the deck, his injured arm stretched out before him as he carefully unwrapped the bandages that secured the fronds Sentinel had applied the evening before. The initial sting was gone, leaving behind a dull, numbing warmth that had kept the pain manageable. He turned his wrist slightly, eyeing the gashes. The bleeding had stopped completely, and while the wounds were still raw, they weren’t as inflamed as he had expected.

This will definitely leave a scar.

“Alright,” he said, glancing over the side of the boat where Sentinel lingered in the shallows. “I’ll bite—what the hell is this stuff?”

Sentinel, partially submerged with his arms resting on the boat’s edge, blinked up at him. “You didn’t believe me the first time?”

Zeta huffed, rolling his eyes. “I mean, I believe you, but I was too busy not dying to ask for details.” He held up the now-dried fronds. “So? What is it?”

Sentinel exhaled through his nose, his gaze flicking to the plant before back to Zeta. “It doesn’t have a name in your tongue. We call it kairis’eth.”

Zeta raised a brow. “That’s a mouthful.”

Sentinel shrugged. “To you, maybe.”

Zeta smirked but let it slide. “So, what does it actually do?”

Sentinel lifted himself slightly, the sunlight catching on his scales. “It works by drawing out impurities while constricting blood flow. The pulp seeps into the wound and binds to the flesh, slowing the body’s response to injury. It dulls pain over time.”

Zeta turned the leaves over in his hands, inspecting them more closely now that they’d dried. The edges weren’t as frilled as sea fern, the structure a little denser.

“It looks kinda like sea fern,” he noted.

Sentinel nodded. “Similar. But sea fern isn’t as productive. This grows in deeper waters, near warm currents. It clings to submerged rock formations, where the tides are strongest.” He glanced toward the distant horizon, his expression unreadable. “It’s difficult to find near the surface. Usually, only older pods know where to harvest it properly.”

Zeta tilted his head. “Pods?”

Sentinel’s jaw tensed slightly before he responded, “Mer groups. Families. The ones who still pass down knowledge like this.”

Zeta caught the shift in his tone. “And yours?”

Sentinel’s expression didn’t change, but there was a beat of silence before he replied, “Not around anymore.”

Zeta studied him for a moment. The way Sentinel’s fingers flexed against the railing, the slight twitch of his gills, the way his eyes flickered toward the open sea as if making eye contact would force him to pour out his deepest secrets.

He didn’t push.

Instead, he leaned back, letting the morning breeze wash over him. “Well, for what it’s worth, this stuff works better than anything I’ve seen before. Wouldn’t mind having more of it around.”

Sentinel huffed, a ghost of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You’d drown trying to get it yourself. Literally.”

“Then I guess I’ll have to keep you around, won’t I?” Zeta shot back with a grin.

Sentinel rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. Instead, he let himself sink slightly into the water, watching as Zeta absentmindedly traced the healing wound on his arm, rebandaged with the stitches he attempted to apply.

The tide was calm, the sunlight warm. For now, at least, they had a moment of peace.

-------

The boat rocked gently on the waves, the rhythmic rise and fall setting a quiet lull between them. Zeta let his legs dangle over the edge, his fingers absently tracing the now-dry fronds of kairis’eth beside him. The sea stretched vast and endless before them, yet here, in the sliver of space between sky and water, it felt almost… still.

Sentinel hovered just below the surface, his arms folded over the boat’s edge, watching him with unreadable eyes. They had fallen into an easy silence, one neither of them felt the need to break.

Until Zeta did.

“You ever been scared before?” he asked, staring out at the waves.

Sentinel’s gaze flickered to him, a hint of amusement tugging at his features. “What kind of question is that?”

“A real one,” Zeta replied. “Not talking about the instinctive kind, like when something’s about to bite your head off. I mean, actually scared. Like, deep in your bones, makes-you-rethink-everything kind of fear. Something that makes you wish you could redo it.”

Sentinel tilted his head slightly but didn’t answer.

Zeta exhaled, his fingers tightening around the fronds. “I have.”

Sentinel didn’t interrupt. He just watched.

Zeta hesitated, then spoke again. “I was alone when the ship went down. My parents—” He stopped, exhaling sharply before continuing, “I remember the impact, the water rushing in, the way it swallowed everything so fast. And then it was just me in that raft. Drifting. Starving. Thirsty. I thought—I knew I was going to die out there.”

His grip loosened, his voice quieter now. “And I wasn’t afraid of the dying part. I was afraid of disappearing. Of vanishing into the water like I was never even there.” He swallowed, staring at the rippling surface. “I started singing. I don’t know why; it’s silly. Maybe I just wanted to hear something, even if it was my voice.” He shook his head, letting out a breath. “I told myself I’d keep going until my body gave out. At least then, I’d exist a little longer.”

The confession hung between them, raw and exposed. Zeta almost regretted saying it. What is Sentinel supposed to say to this? This was stupid.

Sentinel had gone still. His fingers flexed against the boat’s edge, his gills flaring slightly. He didn’t look away, but something in his expression shifted—something unspoken, something unreadable.

Zeta laughed dryly, shaking his head. “Not sure why I told you that.”

Sentinel was silent for a long moment. Then, against his better judgment, he spoke.

“I know what it’s like,” he said, voice quieter than usual. “To be left alone in the water. To drift, knowing no one is coming.”

Zeta turned to him, surprised.

Sentinel’s grip on the wood tightened. “My pod was hunted. Picked off one by one. I was still young—small enough to slip away into water.” His eyes darkened, gaze distant. “I drifted for days. Couldn’t risk calling for anyone. Couldn’t rest. Just kept moving.”

Zeta’s breath hitched, realization settling over him. Sentinel had survived. Just like him.

Sentinel exhaled, his gaze flicking away to the horizon. “Another pod found me eventually. They took me in, raised me as one of theirs. But it wasn’t the same.” His voice was level, but something was beneath it— almost hollow. “I learned their ways, but I didn’t belong to them. Not really.” His gills fluttered slightly, as if recalling something distant. “I think they knew it too. A lone survivor with no real roots. A borrowed voice in a song that wasn’t mine.”

Zeta felt something heavy settle in his chest. He had expected Sentinel to deflect, scoff, and brush off the question like he always did. But instead, he had answered.

Zeta swallowed, then hesitated before asking, “But you do know some things, don’t you?”

Sentinel glanced at him, considering.

Then, for the first time, he relented.

“We don’t have jobs or roles like yours,” he started. “It changes as we grow. Our pods give them based on what we become. A hunter, a singer, a guardian—we earn them.” His tail flicked beneath the water. “We don’t keep histories in words. We keep them in song. Stories passed down, woven into melodies that carry across the water. The old ones say the sea remembers every voice that has ever touched it.”

Zeta listened, absorbing every word.

Sentinel continued, his voice steady but distant. “We mark time by the tides, not the sun. We don’t build like you do. The ocean shifts too much. Everything is temporary, so we learn to live with change, not against it.”

Zeta smiled faintly. “That explains you.”

Sentinel huffed. “You don’t know the half of it.”

Zeta shook his head, glancing toward the horizon, then looked back at him. “I’d like to.”

Sentinel regarded him for a moment, his gaze searching. Then, slowly, he smirked. “Then you’d better listen well, 'cause I’m not repeating any of this.”

[penny-for-her-thoughtsdv]

Penny For Her Thoughts

I

A Kinder Place

Words: 2200

TW: animal abuse, animal death, alcohol mention, vomit, heavy emotions

When outsiders thought of Pelican Town and its history, they often fixated on its rich (and frequently tragic) mining past. But long before miners from ZuZu City and beyond migrated to the then-village, the valley had a legacy of seafaring folk who frequented the area to sell their fresh catches and enjoy the temperate weather. Even in Mr. Mullner’s youth, while he worked in the mines, he would snack on fish products sold by these fishers.

As the town expanded—thirteen buildings erected on the land, plumbing installed under the soil, a singular public parking spot added, and twenty-six permanent residents calling Pelican Town home—the fishing culture remained an integral part of the valley’s identity. Willy wasn’t the only enthusiast sailing the clean waters in search of the season’s bounty. Commercial fishers contracted by Joja occasionally visited, though not as often as trawlers from Ginger Island, drawn by rumors of relics hidden beneath Stardew Valley's depths.

The early mornings in Pelican Town were busier than most people realized, thanks to the frequent fishers. Each ship docking at Willy’s shop carried about twelve crew members, though only three typically disembarked to refuel or sell their catch. By those numbers, Pelican Town arguably saw more foot traffic than any other area in Stardew Valley—except, perhaps, the Calico Desert during festival season.

Not that Penny kept track. She had no interest in statistics as she sat on a washed-up log overlooking the beach every morning. The salty air, the lull of the waves, and the cries of gulls were a welcome reprieve from the stale smell of alcohol and the strained gurgles of hungover vomiting back home.

Still, her mind wandered. If her calculations were correct, Pelican Town gained nine visitors with each docking, three times a day—eighteen additional people setting foot on its shores daily. That surely outnumbered the participants at desert festivals. Penny chewed on the inside of her cheek, trying to picture the numbers in her head but giving up when the variety of festival-goers muddled her train of thought.

Her emerald eyes shifted to the distant blue horizon, idly noting a boat unloading in the distance. Her gaze lingered on the fishers, though she barely registered how quickly they worked that morning.

“Hm.” She hummed softly in thought, lowering her eyes back to the grayscale pages of The Solarion Chronicles: The Caves of Glass. Though she had read the book countless times since she was eight, its evolving lore and characters never failed to captivate her. Detective Daniel Stryfe’s discovery that his companion was secretly an intergalactic Leko always struck her as humorous. How had Stryfe not noticed? The signs were so obvious.

Sam had once told her the Leko species were the best to play in the board game adaptation of the series because their glassy bark-like skin made them nearly impervious to mortal weapons. Penny scoffed at the thought as her finger marked her place in the book. Closing it to give her eyes a rest, she looked up to find the boat now idling offshore, its lines plunging into the sea.

Curious but thankful that none of the fishers had interrupted her reading, Penny stood and brushed sand from her skirt. She decided to visit Mr. Willy. Leaving her book safely on the dock railing, she trudged across the beach, the coarse sand shifting beneath her flats and forcing her to exert more effort than she would have liked.

Reaching the wooden dock, she hesitated at the shop’s door. Just as her fingers brushed the handle, a sharp rustling sound from a trashcan beside the building drew her attention.

The noise was frantic, irregular, and louder than the usual clamor of seagulls scavenging scraps. Penny froze. It didn’t sound like a bird. The rustling stopped abruptly, as if whatever was inside had sensed her presence.

Her heart quickened. Clutching her skirt, she approached the trashcan cautiously, the early morning stillness amplifying every sound. Taking a deep breath, she lifted the lid.

Inside, atop rotting fish and decayed food, lay a small, twitching rat. Its tiny eyes darted around frantically. Penny gasped and, without hesitation, scooped it up into her hands. Her mind raced. She couldn’t leave it there to die. That would be cruel.

Emerald eyes darted to the fishing boat in the distance, her thoughts teetering between accusing the fishers and desperately hoping they weren’t responsible. She swallowed her rising sadness. The rat deserved better.

Cradling the trembling creature, she pushed open the shop door. “Mr. Bateman!” she called, her voice tinged with urgency.

Behind the counter, Willy looked up from weighing a herring. His salt-and-pepper eyebrows rose in surprise. “Aye—”

“Can you help it?” Penny interrupted, holding out the rat.

Willy frowned. “I’m not sure there’s much I can do, lass,” he said gently. Still, he signaled for her to wait as he disappeared into the back. Moments later, he returned with a dusty old box, likely once used for storing photos.

Carefully, Penny placed the rat inside. Willy sighed and scratched his beard. “Sometimes, even the smallest critters just need a bit o’ care. Maybe Marnie’ll know what to do. She’s got a knack for these things.”

Eyes watering, Penny nodded and thanked him before rushing out the door. She passed the log where she had been sitting earlier, the Harper sisters’ home, and Ms. Jodi’s house before reaching Marnie’s farmhouse.

Her focus had engulfed her to the point that she nearly ran face first into Shane, Marnie's nephew, as he turned the corner between his home and Ms. Jodi's.

"Yob-- fuck!" A very tired, very messy and very unsatisfied Shane shouted as the pair nearly collided.

"Oh! I'm sorry--" Penny replied. Then, she was gone.

Although Shane had been quite hungover and a tad late for work he stopped in his path and watched Penny rush to his home. Whenever they crossed paths she would always ask how he was or where he was going. Not this time though. With the lingering thought of her behavior, Shane continued his morning walk to Hell...or rather Joja Mart.

Marnie had no intention of starting her day as early as her nephew, she relished her morning ritual: several cups of coffee brewed slowly while she stood in front of the machine, watching each cup fill with steaming liquid. She sighed, savoring the calm before the inevitable busyness of the day.

The tranquility was interrupted by a knock at the front door. Rolling her eyes, Marnie moved toward it, assuming Shane had forgotten something again. The house was comfortably warm for a late autumn morning, and she didn’t rush. If it was Shane, he could wait.

The second knock was softer, almost timid. That difference prompted her to open the door, revealing Penny standing on the porch, her face tight with unshed tears and a shoebox clutched in her hands.

Without needing an explanation, Marnie stepped aside to let Penny in. “What happened?” she asked in a raspy voice, the result of years of smoking. Guiding Penny to a small workbench behind the counter, she placed a comforting hand on her back.

“I think…” Penny hesitated, choosing her words carefully. “I think it got into something it shouldn’t have.” She placed the box on the table and opened the lid, revealing the still body of the rat.

Years of scavenging scraps on ships had made it larger than the rodents Marnie usually saw scurrying for food around her farm. Its pale body bore a brown blaze running from its small head down its back.

“It was alive when I found it,” Penny whispered, her voice trembling as her gaze remained fixed on the lifeless creature.

“Oh, honey,” Marnie said softly, wrapping her arms around herself. She placed the lid back on the box, then sat beside Penny. “I’m sorry you had to see that.”

“I really thought I could help it. It couldn’t have been there for long.” Penny’s voice cracked.

Marnie nodded, knowing the truth: rat poison worked over days, not hours. The rat had likely spent its last three days in ignorant bliss, feasting on discarded fish and resting under the warmth of ship decks. There was nothing Penny could have done.

“I know you tried, honey,” Marnie said gently. “And I think the little one knows, too.”

Penny’s face twisted with grief, and Marnie could see how deeply the death of this small creature had affected her. Perhaps it wasn’t just the rat Penny mourned.

“What would you like to do with it?” Marnie asked after a moment of silence.

“I’d like to bury it under the big tree in the meadow,” Penny said. “It’s so beautiful—it deserves that.”

Marnie nodded. “The soil’s still hard from the cold night, but we can wait until the afternoon when it warms up.”

Penny hesitated, then said, “I can leave so you can start your day. I’ll come back later for Jas.”

Marnie shook her head, tying back her thick hair with a band from the counter. “Have some coffee with me, Penny. We can talk about the celebration of life. Jas would probably love to help, too.”

Penny pressed her lips together, emotion welling up in her eyes. The simple kindness in Marnie’s offer felt foreign to her—her mother never interrupted her routine for anything, and Penny couldn’t remember the last time someone made time for her.

The two women moved to the kitchen, leaving the box on the counter. Dust swirled in the golden sunlight streaming through the window. The rat, no matter how small or seemingly insignificant, was finally at peace.

When Jas woke up and heard why Penny was there so early, she simply sat beside her and said, “Flowers are nice."

“They are,” Penny agreed with a faint smile. “Maybe a poppy would suit.”

The hours passed as the three of them collected flowers in the crisp autumn air. Marnie and Penny took turns carrying the small box as they walked toward the big tree in the meadow. The soil had softened by the time they reached their destination.

Penny knelt and began digging a tiny grave while Marnie and Jas helped shape it with sticks. They lined the hole with berry leaves and petals, creating a resting place that felt almost sacred.

“Mom and Dad had pillows,” Jas remarked matter-of-factly. “But I think this will do just fine.”

Penny watched her with quiet fascination. Everyone in town knew about Jas’s tragic loss, but the girl spoke about her parents with an unsettling casualness. Marnie, her expression tinged with sadness, said, “Maybe I’ll get a few feathers from the chickens to make a pillow.”

“Yes, please,” Penny replied with a small smile, watching Marnie head back toward the farmhouse.

In the background, near Marnie's farmhouse, Shane rounded the corner. It was early but not odd for him to be returning home.

Then came Sam Maddox, his brother Vincent trailing behind.

Penny stood from her spot on the ground and quickly wiped the dirt off her skirt.

“Is everything okay?” Penny asked, her concern genuine.

“Mom burned the pie!” Vincent shouted with a laugh.

Sam grinned. “A little bird told us you were in a rush today, so we ditched work.”

Penny’s throat tightened. She glanced at Shane, who had appeared nearby and was avoiding her gaze, a knowing look on his face. “Thank you,” she managed to say.

Word spread quickly. Soon, more townsfolk arrived, bundled against the chill but drawn by curiosity and camaraderie. Emily and Haley brought warmth with their contrasting personalities, Clint followed Emily dutifully, and Gus came toting his hearty laugh.

Jas spoke first. “We should say something.” Her quiet comment broke the silence, prompting Willy to step forward.

“Aye, it was a good rat,” he began. “Ate the bad fruits and kept the flies away.”

“It got to see the world,” Haley added, surprising Penny with her contribution.

“And eat so many rare foods,” Gus said, his voice thick with emotion.

A long quiet fell over the group, each person finding their own to bury. Emotion hung heavy and eyes set downcast on the ground.

"To a kinder place." Maru said, her voice low. She too buried something and sent it to a kinder place; a place it could be set free and forgotten.

The group shared stories, each person reflecting on small, seemingly insignificant losses in their own lives. The burial became more than a goodbye for the rat—it was a farewell to unspoken griefs and forgotten dreams.

Once the crowd dispersed, Penny stayed behind. Alone beneath the tree, she wept—not just for the rat, but for her own innocence, for all she had lost and couldn’t regain.

Yet her tears were not entirely of sorrow. She cried for the kindness of those who had gathered, for the small but meaningful gestures that gave her hope. They hadn’t come out of obligation; they had come because they cared.

As she sat cross-legged before the tiny grave, looking up at the bronzing leaves, Penny thought to herself, “To a kinder place.”

[nardo-headcanons]

I loved the Kumo head canons. I'd love to see your take on the Sand village or the Snow village ❤️❤️❤️

hey dear! I have done headcanons on Sunagakure already, you can find them here.

thank you to @naruto-scribblings-j for requesting.

Yukigakure Worldbuilding Headcanon

People and Culture

The people of the hidden snow village are a small, silent, yet very proud community. They are not the most hospitable and take a long time to warm up. Having to save on precious air as there is not a lot of oxygen in higher altitudes, hidden snow citizens prefer to use as little words as possible. However, this makes their friendship the more valuable. Once you're considered a friend, you are their family as well. Humor in the hidden snow village is another interesting issue, as it is a rather crude and dry one. However, don't let the cold, uninviting attitude of the hidden snow people scare you off, as they are rather inquisitive. Gossip spreads like a wildfire here. Another fun fact: Fridges and freezers are only used in spring, why waste electricity when you can let your food cool in your backyard? This has led to very creative ways of building fences to protect your dinner from any stray polar bear... or neighbor. The hidden snow people is not one to celebrate many things, except Winter's solstice, which is also celebrated as the impending return of Spring. This spring is an artificial one, as huge heat generators are turned on to melt away the snow and ice.

Clothing and Cosmetics

The hair, regardless of gender, is almost always grown out, often times worn open or at least framing the face, as an additional protection against the cold. Hidden snow people have rather thick and luscious hair, and compared to other ninja nations, the most hair follices on an individual basis, evolution's trick against te cold. Hair care is very important for them, and learning how to braid your hair is a standard practice once you're old enough to brush your own hair. Clothes are worn in thick layers and rarely dyed, richer families making the exception. The ankles and feet are often wrapped in thick fur as cold feet make your entire body feel cold.

Nature

Flora The entire country is covered in snow and glaciers, therefore only allowing for evolution's hardest soldiers. The main vegetation here are icy wastelands, some grasslands and tundra made up of various conifers. Native deciduous trees include birches and some willow species, and birch sap is often served as a drink in the Land of Snow. Another survivor from the village of snow are the lichens that cover the barren rocks, adding at least a little bit of color. There are also some moorlands that run through the country, but these are located outside the village and have hardly been explored.

One special flower that had made its way here is the dandelion, a flower with a high cultural status. Its bloom mirrors the change from short, buoyant spring to the icy, merciless winter. Its leaves are often harvested and can be eaten in salads or used in traditional medicine. (although this traditional medicine is only popular with hidden snow aunties nowadays)

Fauna

The Land of Snow was once densely populated by polar bears, but their numbers have dwindled since the Snow Village was founded, as they were often hunted for prestige. The most widespread mammals are reindeer and musk oxen, and the occasional lemming can be found in the dense ice deserts.

Birdlife includes corvids, gulls, albatrosses and the snow villagers' favorite bird: the puffin. These are strictly protected and are also very popular with children. In addition to these birds, loons, ptarmigans and owls also feel at home in the land of snow - sometimes even one or the other odd duck strays in. If you reach the hard-to-reach coastlines of the Land of Snow, you will often encounter seals and walruses. Around the coast, orcas also make the Arctic Ocean unsafe, which often does not suit the other native whale species (humpback whales, narwhals, belugas, sperm whales and blue whales). Fish in the Land of Snow include cod, shrimp, crab, halibut, redfish, char, turbot and salmon.

Domesticized animals

It's not uncommon for a hidden snow family to own their own sled dog as well as a herd of sheep, depending on where their home is located.

Food

Fish and Other Proteins You know how it goes. Once you go fishing, your dinner is secured. This is the case for the hidden snow village as well. However, unlike Kirigakure, fish is not as extremely accessible as in Kirigakure, since fishermen often have to travel a bit before stumbling upon any fish. Popular protein options are reindeer, lamb and seal meat, which often times is frozen (duh), or brined. Smoking meats is also very common, since spices are not widely accessible here (resulting in a few... questionable food preparation decisions that the locals have come up with over time.) Carbs Although the hidden snow diet is rather high in protein due to carbs not being very accessible, wheat, buckwheat and potatoes are the most common source of carbs. The hidden snow country offers a wide variety of breads. Funnily enough, rice is seen as an "exotic" luxury carb. Fruit The best berries are grown in the Land of snow (and in the iron realm, but that deserves its own post). Most beloved berries include wild strawberries, currants, sea buckthorn, raspberries, blackberries, gooseberries and mulberries. Aside from berries, the hidden snow village also offers crunchy pears, apples and cherries. The fruit in the hidden snow country are very high in vitamin c, causing a rather sour taste, but also preventing any scurvy outbreaks. Any citrus fruits are a rarity here and can only be grown in greenhouses, making them very expensive, and not very tasty, in all honesty.

Tradition vs Modernity Nowadays, most foods that used to be inaccessible are now grown in large greenhouses. Most hidden snow citizens are not opposed to GMO foods, and in fact, embrace it. Most of the GMO foods are first cultivated in the hidden snow village before making their way to the market. Many youngsters prefer the modern dishes over the traditional ones. Traditionally, the hidden snow citizen always tries to make the most out of the food that they have, resulting in dishes such as blood sausage, blood pudding, brain (double fried to protect from any nasty prions) and many gelatinous foods.

That's all, folks!

Feel free to use these for your OCs, headcanons, fics, etc but it would be nice to give me credit c:

[proton-wobbler]

Hooded Crow (Corvus cornix)

"because when i moved to another country, now all the crows are black, but to me a crow will forever look like a hooded crow, which imo makes them look more silly than plain black and i miss them and i love seeing them whenever i go home" "looks scrappy + is my friend"

The Hooded Crow and Carrion Crow used to be considered the same species, but were split. I'll try my best to sum up the difference. The thought is that the original population of crow was split by glaciation during the Pleistocene. When DNA sequencing was done of the two species genomes, there were almost no differences found, except the lack of expression of a small portion of the genome in the Hooded crow. This is what gives them their lighter plumage.

"Thus the two species can viably hybridize, and occasionally do so at the contact zone, but the all-black carrion crows on the one side of the contact zone mate almost exclusively with other all-black carrion crows, while the same occurs among the hooded crows on the other side of the contact zone. They concluded that it was only the outward appearance of the two species that inhibits hybridization."

In January 2014, a hooded crow and a yellow-legged gull each attacked one of two peace doves which Pope Francis had allowed children to release in Vatican City.

Sources:

Image Source: eBird (Paul Fenwick)

[ladyluscinia]

Me and @rattus-villosissimus have Daemon AU Buttons's whole deal figured out, btw.

So Karl is a perfectly normal seagull that hangs out with Buttons as you see in the show. People have a sense of when an animal is a daemon vs a regular bird, so not getting this sense feels very novel and possibly unnerving - this is why Edward fucking loves it on first sight. Buttons absolutely still talks to Karl and sees nothing odd about that whatsoever.

Buttons's daemon is Olivia - a seagull of the exact same species as Karl. She can be seen occasionally preening his feathers and generally socializing as seagulls do... except the rule is animals naturally avoid daemons and often refuse to touch them so this is also very weird. Buttons went through an unspecified near-death experience as a young man that he only describes using convoluted metaphors. It left him truly separated from Olivia (like a witch) meaning she has freedom to travel as far as she wants from him, though most people don't actually realize this immediately since Buttons sounds like he's crazy talking and Olivia tends to stay around the ship (though uncomfortably further from him than most normal daemons).

They are both so weird.

Only issue I have is that I need to recast Karl, because the gull that played him was a Silver Gull native to Australia. I need one actually found in the Caribbean.

The left photo shows a Ring-Billed Gull (slightly larger than canon Karl) which looks a bit more like the Silver Gull, but they breed up in the Northern US / Southern Canada and only winter in the Caribbean. Meanwhile the gull on the right is a Laughing Gull (same size as canon Karl) which lives in the Caribbean year round. The black hood is their summer look, and their head reverts to white outside of breeding season.

I'm leaning toward the Laughing Gull.

[izzy-b-hands]

Weird thought as of Karl's first appearance:

-Karl has sadly passed

-Buttons is a bird now

-Olivia is presumably single (and aware of/respecting of the fact that Buttons' first love is always the sea and ignoring that gulls usually mate for life I think. I think Olivia might make an exception for the right gull, ya know?)

Like....Buttons/Olivia unspoken s2 background ship? Just two birds occasionally hanging out in the background of the remaining s2 eps, maybe preening each other.

[harrison-abbott]

I

The winds had quietened and they gambolled down the hill that

Had seen so many stories in atmospheres of hushed ivy and the

Night had an inky zone now on all that mattered most in the

Changing age. ………………………………………………….

In the old house that overlooked the hill the lights were still

Yellow from the strange isolated man that lived there with the

Shocked grey hair and the countless tales, too, that few were

Known about … only glimmer and glamour, secrets kept hard.

The foxes dallied across the roads by the nights and they

Were never going to be caught and they knew it and that’s

Why they even ventured out before midnight, why they muzzled

At the food bins outside the houses or the gardens in search

Of the cats or the mice, or whatever it is that these animals

Do – for you only ever see them within seconds and then nought.

The schools were back on in January nothingness; the mundane

Dreary walk up the motorway to the high school that

Looked like a building out of a true crime documentary …

The kids were angry that none of the storms had cancelled

The school days, yet; and thus they had to do the jaunts

In the lashing rain and blistering wind that had stopped the

Trains across the nation, had overlorded the news.

Christmas and Hogmany seemed like aeons ago even

Though it was only last month and there was little to go

On with 2024, as a year, save the casual mayhem that happened

On the radio or on one’s phone, with the occasional wowing

Event being one related to a soccer manager announcing his

Decision to vacate at the end of the season or some other

Thing that wasn’t nearly as important as war, except, was:

Only in a civilian way. …………………………………………….

Several of the trees had cracked and were destroyed by the

Storms and many of the folks would miss them because

There was nothing they could do about these giant shards of timber

Lying now on the fields of the park with their clear innards

Outside the gnarly bark and each of them wondered with ease

How easily such a brute branch could kill you if you stood under

It … if you’d been there during that moment in the carnage

When it quit the trunk and thundered down.

II

The cafes have slow businesses and there are various reports from

Week to week about restaurants shutting down, some of them joints

That have been alive for forty years in the city. And there’s not much

To rescue with such incidents, either. Oh, and even some of the

Watering holes, in this nation renowned for alcohol, have had to

Shut the doors also; and on social media these snapshots are met

With sad faces and what not, and it makes one wonder about

The fifty or so people that work in and around that particular

Venue and what on earth they will do for money now that their

Lives have changed. ………………………………………………

But the vans still hurtle buy delivering their parcels and folks

Still go to the supermarket in the busy times all the same.

Some of them even still stop to give the charity magazine seller

A coin or two outside of the revolving doors and when you go

Through said doors the heating in the building is ramped up full

And you sweat or your skin prickles because you’ve just come

Out of the cold and it’s fifteen degrees upgrade in here …

And there are young folks working in the market and there

Are older workers too who have been here, you know, for over

Twelve years. And they play pretty good tunes on the tannoids

High above and you can sing along in a civilian way as you

Go to get your stuff. And there’s this older chap who hasn’t

Worked in the place so long and he is always always always

Cheery and you wonder what gives him the zeal to be friendly

With other folks all the time. ………………………………………

Outside the supermarket the gulls are a bit twitchy and desperate.

And they have grown to picking on the gardens instead, up

In the suburbs, where the humans feed the seeds and bread to

The pigeons and blackbirds (the likable birds). But really it’s free

For any squirrel or rat, whomever, to come and rage at the output.

Following the latest storm, the wind has blown off the fencing

From several of the neighbourhood gardens as well and since

The residents are a bit older now they have hired other workers

To come fix it rather than try and hail up the fences themselves.

Which must be a sad fact to them, that they haven’t the physical

Verve anymore (although some of them are in their 70s, so no shame.)

Brave daffodils and bluebells poke from the fields and woods

In little miraculous pockets of colour, the way they always do;

And they are a cheerful sight indeed alongside the muddled streets.

III

The city is over half a million folks now which is quite a hefty

Number of people if you think about it and I remember when I

Was a kid it was about a hundred thousand less than that, and that

Makes me feel old and I suppose I am getting pretty old … and even

Though I’ve lived most of my life in a leafy suburb which is quite

Detached from Edinburgh, there even seethes this sense of quick-turning

Change, even here, in a place that never quite belonged to urbanity

From what I recall in youth. With the stark differences in the weather

And the way people act differently with technology, most things are

Moving far too fast and it didn’t move that way when you were a boy.

Or perhaps I’ve just come into the thirties with a shock, knowing I

Won’t live forever. Edinburgh is still alive, though, and I am too,

For now at least. Even though it’s night and black outside and lost

And changing, it still has an erratic pulse. ……………………………..

[nursingwriter]

Anorexia Nervosa is a psychological eating disorder that is characterized by a distorted body image and obsessive fear of gaining weight -- resulting in starving oneself or eating and then regurgitating food. The term was actually coined in 1873 by Sir William Gull, one of Queen Victoria's personal physicians. The condition typically effects younger women, between 15 and 19 years old (40% of the cases), and has an incidence rate of about 12 cases per 100,000 persons per year. Approximately 90% of anorexia sufferers are female, and the majority of cases go either undiagnosed or untreated until other medical issues intervene (Coslin, 1999, 6-10). Anorexia sufferers typically experience weight loss about 15% below the level of normal body weight for their age group. People suffering from the disorder are typically quite thin, but convinced they are overweight. They will often refuse to eat, take massive doses of laxatives, or indulge in excessive exercise -- all from the fear of being perceived as fat. The disorder itself is thought to be more common among members of higher socioeconomic sectors, and even more so within groups that are involved in activities in which being thin is considered a positive attribute (dancing, theater, long-distance running, modeling, etc.). Health professionals have attributed some of the psychological pressures of becoming thin to the way in which the media portrays beauty, and certainly noticed an increase in anorexic cases within the last 2-3 decades ("Anorexia: Media & Body Image," 2009). History of Anorexia Nervosa - the history of anorexia nervosa begins with early descriptions dating from the 16th century and 17th century and the first recognition and description of anorexia nervosa as a disease in the late 19th century. In the late 19th century, the public attention drawn to "fasting girls" provoked conflict between religion and science. Such cases as Sarah Jacob (the "Welsh Fasting Girl") and Mollie Fancher (the "Brooklyn Enigma") stimulated controversy as experts weighed the claims of complete abstinence from food. Believers referenced the duality of mind and body, while skeptics insisted on the laws of science and material facts of life. Critics accused the fasting girls of hysteria, superstition, and deceit. The progress of secularization and medicalization passed cultural authority from clergy to physicians, transforming anorexia nervosa from revered to reviled (Brumbert, 2000). In 1873, Queen Victoria's Personal Physician, William Gull published a work entitled, "Anorexia Nervosa -- Apepsia Hysteria" in which he described four cases of the disorder to the medical community. Sir William Gull writes that Miss a was referred to him on 17th January 1866. She was aged 17 and was greatly emaciated, having lost 33 pounds. Her weight at this time was 5 stones 12 pounds (82 pounds); her height was 5 ft 5 inches. Gull records that most of her physical condition was normal, with healthy respiration, heart sounds and pulse; no vomiting nor diarrhea; clean tongue and normal urine. The condition was that of simple starvation, with total refusal of animal food and almost total refusal of everything else. Gull prescribed various remedies and variations in diet without noticeable success. He noted occasional voracious appetite for very brief periods, but states that these were very rare and exceptional. He also records that she was frequently restless and active and notes that this was a "striking expression of the nervous state, for it seemed hardly possible that a body so wasted could undergo the exercise which seemed agreeable." Miss a remained under Gull's observation from January 1866 to March 1868, by which time she seemed to have made a full recovery, having gained in weight from 82 to 128 pounds. In fact, Gull's original description still forms the basis of modern day definitions of anorexia (Madden, 2004). (Note, will expand this historical section -- awaiting some other materials). Definition -- a standard global definition of anorexia applies to several criteria, now adopted by the World Health Organization. They include: Refusal to maintain body weight at or above a minimally normal weight for age and height (e.g. weight loss leading to maintenance of body weight less than 85% of that expected; or failure to make expected weight gain during period of growth, leading to body weight less than 85% of that expected). Intense fear of gaining weight or becoming fat, even though underweight. Disturbance in the way in which one's body weight or shape is experienced, undue influence of body weight or shape on self-evaluation, or denial of the seriousness of the current low body weight. Amenorrhea (at least three consecutive cycles) in postmenarchal girls and women. Amenorrhea is defined as periods occurring only following hormone (e.g., estrogen) administration. Restricting Type: during the current episode of anorexia nervosa, the person has not regularly engaged in binge-eating or purging behavior (that is, self-induced vomiting, or the misuse of laxatives, diuretics, or enemas). Weight loss is accomplished primarily through dieting, fasting, or excessive exercise. Binge-Eating Type or Purging Type: during the current episode of anorexia nervosa, the person has regularly engaged in binge-eating or purging behavior (that is, self-induced vomiting, or the misuse of laxatives, diuretics, or enemas) (WHO -- ICD, 2008). Causes of Anorexia Overview -- Because anorexia is a complex physical and psychological disorder, it is often difficult to isolate one single cause. There are those who believe it is a genetic predisposition, those who think it is environmentally motivated, and those who even find that there are certain vitamin and mineral deficiencies present in those with predisposition to anorexia. Likely, though, it has no single cause, but is a compilation of numerous factors that, depending on the personality involved, result in the disorder. Genetic Factors - Family and twin studies have suggested that genetic and environmental factors account for 74% and 26% of the variance in anorexia nervosa, respectively. This suggests that genes influencing both eating regulation, and personality and emotion, may be important contributing factors. In one study, variations in the norepinephrine transporter gene promoter were associated with restrictive anorexia nervosa, but not binge-purge anorexia (Klump, et.al., 2001). Neurobiological factors - Anorexia may be linked to a disturbed serotonin system, particularly to high levels at areas in the brain with the 5HT1A receptor - a system particularly linked to anxiety, mood and impulse control. Starvation has been hypothesized to be a response to these effects, as it is known to lower tryptophan and steroid hormone metabolism, which might reduce serotonin levels at these critical sites and ward off anxiety. Other studies of the serotonin receptor (linked to regulation of feeding, mood, and anxiety), suggest that serotonin activity is decreased at these sites. There is evidence that both personality characteristics and disturbances to the serotonin system are still apparent after patients have recovered from anorexia. Changes in brain structure and function are early signs often to be associated with starvation, and is partially reversed when normal weight is regained. Anorexia is also linked to reduced blood flow in the temporal lobes. It is possible that it is a risk trait rather than an effect of starvation. Anorexia may be linked to an autoimmune response to melanocortin peptides which influence appetite and stress responses (Kaye, et.al., 2005). Nutritional factors - Zinc deficiency may play a role in Anorexia. It is not thought responsible for causation of the initial illness but there is evidence that it may be an accelerating factor that deepens the pathology of the anorexia. A 1994 randomized, double-blind, placebo-controlled trial showed that zinc (14 mg per day) doubled the rate of body mass increase compared to patients receiving the placebo (Shay and Mangian, 2000). Psychological factors -Anorexic eating behavior is thought to originate from an obsessive fear of gaining weight due to a distorted self-image and is maintained by various cognitive biases that alter how the affected individual evaluates and thinks about their body, food and eating. This is not a perceptual problem, but one of how the perceptual information is evaluated by the affected person. People with anorexia nervosa seem to more accurately judge their own body image while lacking a self-esteem boosting bias. People with anorexia nervosa also have other psychological difficulties and mental illness. Clinical depression, obsessive compulsive disorder, substance abuse and one or more personality disorders may be the most likely conditions to be compatible with anorexia. High-levels of anxiety and depression are likely to be present regardless of whether they fulfill diagnostic criteria for a specific syndrome. Research into the neuropsychology of anorexia has indicated that many of the findings are inconsistent across studies and that it is hard to differentiate the effects of starvation on the brain from any long-standing characteristics. One finding is that those with anorexia have poor cognitive flexibility ((Jansen, et.al., 2006). Social and environmental factors -Sociocultural studies have highlighted the role of cultural factors, such as the promotion of thinness as the ideal female form in Western industrialized nations, particularly through the media. A recent epidemiological study of 989,871 Swedish residents indicated that gender, ethnicity and socio-economic status were large influences on the chance of developing anorexia, with those with non-European parents among the least likely to be diagnosed with the condition, and those in wealthy, white families being most at risk (Lindberg and Hjern, 2003). People in professions where there is a particular social pressure to be thin (such as models and dancers) were much more likely to develop anorexia during the course of their career, and further research has suggested that those with anorexia have much higher contact with cultural sources that promote weight-loss. There is a high rate of reported child sexual abuse experiences in clinical groups of who have been diagnosed with anorexia. Although prior sexual abuse is not thought to be a specific risk factor for anorexia, those who have experienced such abuse are more likely to have more serious and chronic symptoms (Carter, et.al. 2006). Relationship to Autism -- Psychologists suggested in the 1960s that there might be a relationship between autism and eating disorders, and following several studies in the 1990s, there seemed to be a correlation. Those on the autistic spectrum tended to have a negative outcome with their eating disorder, but may benefit from the combined use of behavioral and pharmacological therapies to diminish autistic symptoms and have a positive effect upon their eating disorders (Gillbert and Rastam, 1995). Bulimia nervosa -- is an eating disorder that can sometimes be related to anorexia. It is characterized by recurrent binge eating, typically followed by purging, fasting, using laxatives, enemas, and direuetics. The person afflicted is hungry, and does want to eat, but eats out of compulsion rather than to satisfy hunger. There may be a number of rather serious medical symptoms attached to this; chronic gastric reflux, dehydration, electrolyte imbalance, oral trauma from forced vomiting, constipation, and peptic ulcers (Russell, 1979). (Note, will expand this to other types of eating disorders that relate to anorexia). (Note, will expand treatment and prognosis, issues). (Is there anything else you'd like me to concentrate on? Like the media, etc. REFERENCES "Anorexia: Media and Body Image." (2009). WaldenBehavioral.com. Cited in: http://www.waldenbehavioralcare.com/anorexia_media_body_image.asp Brumberg, J. (2000). Fasting Girls: The History of Anorexia Nervosa. Vintage. Carter, J.C., et.al. (2006). "The Impact of Childhood Sexual Abuse in Anorexia Nervosa." Children of Neglect. 30 (3): 257-69. Coslin, C. (1999). The Eating Disorder Sourcebook. Lowell House. Gilberg, I. And Rastam, M., et.al. (1996). "The Cognitive Profile of Anorexia Nervosa." Comprehensive Psychiatry. 37 (1): 23-30. Jansen, a., et.al. (2006). "I see what you see: the lack of a self-serving body image." The British Journal of Clinical Psychology. 45 (1): 123-35. Kaye, W., et.al. (2004). "Seratonin Alterations in Anorexia and Bulimia." Physiology and Behavior. 85 (1): 73-81. Klump, K., et.al., (2001). "Genetic and Environmental Influences on Anorexia." Psychological Medicine. 31 (4): 737-40. Lindberg, L. And Hjern a. (2003). "Risk Factors for Anorexia Nervosa." the International Journal of Eating Disorders. 34 (4): 397-408. Madden, S. (2004). "Anorexia Nervosa -- Still Relevant in the 21st Century? a Review of William Gull's Anorexia Nervosa Text." Clinical Child Psychology and Psychiatry. 9 (1): 149-54. Russell, G. (1979). "Bulimia Nervosa: An Ominous Variant of Anorexia Nervosa." Psychological Medicine. 9 (2): 429-44. Shay, N. And H. Mangian. (2000). "Neurobiology of Zinc-Influenced Eating Behavior." The Journal of Nutrition. 130 (5S): 149-51. World Health Organization. (2008). International Statistical Classification of Diseases and Related Health Problems. Cited in: http://apps.who.int/classifications/apps/icd/icd10online/ Read the full article

[jacks-tracks]

Tierra blanca beach

Encouraged by David the surfers report of swimmable beach, I caught the highway bus to the entrance road, 20 minutes south of Puerto, 3 K south of Tomatal town. $40 pesosfor the bus, but I had to watch for the road sign, as the bus driver does not.

It,s a long dusty hot walk in, perhaps 2 miles, first up a steep hill, then down a long slope to the sea. No shade except the occasional pink blossom tree, but the sea was in sight . There a re lots of Gringo palaces being built in the old farm fields, and nobody around. I heard a peculiar chirp in the roadside scrub and spotted a long tailed Mexican Jay, with beautiful irridescent blue feathers, and a jaunty dingle ball like a quails on it,s head. I try not to imitate the bird calls I hear, as it upsets the birds patterns so they can come see who,s in their territory. I did call the Jay, and ever curious he came close in the trees to see me.

Finally at the beach(I did eye the low hanging coconuts alongside the road) I found a small restaurant with shaded palapa like tables, and a low bank beach with lots of surfers trying out the small waves. Beach bunnys, and surf mothers lounged in the scanty shade. There are 2 small hotels with nice grounds and private hammocks. Me? I hit the broad hard sand and hoofed east to a small lagoon. Beyond where I stood ,that wide empty beach streached for miles. Hot and with a nice onshore breeze. Next to the lagoon, ( no crocodiles in sight and pretty shallow) I saw a gentle sloping sand bank under the red mangroves. Perfect spot to loaf. Hint, do not roll over the toredo riddled log, it,s full of tiny ants who boil out indignantly. Out with the pareau/ sarong on a smooth spot, dappled shade. quiet except for the murmur of the surf. A pearly grey heron came to fish the shallows next door, and got some very small fish.

My book de jour was a turkey, but having nothing else I speed read throught the turgid phrasing. I left it there. My day bag had a bottle of welcome cold water, a mandarin orange,and a cheese tomatoe sprout sandwhich, all of which spread out over 3 hours tasted pretty good. I,ve rarely found a beach restuarant that makes tasty/ edible food., so a lunch in the bag is a good idea.

i did do the long(100 meter) walk across the flat beach to swim. One dead turtle, pretty well decomposed, but still stinky. The warm water felt good and I waded out 50 feet, knee deep. Naturally the tiny waves suddenly lumped up to 6 footers when I got waist deep. Bit of duck diving, and sand blasting, but quite safe as there was no undertow. It,s just fun to leap about in the refreshing splashes.

Back in the shade I applied a fresh coat of number 50 sun screen, and even so got a bit cooked. The shade was dappled, meaning 50 % exposure. The breeze keeps it deceptively cool. Only a bicycle rider rolled past going south, otherwise i saw nobody for 3 hours, and this just moments away from the roads end and the surf crowd. Flocks of sandpipers nervously skittered in the shallows, only to wheel away in a tight group at imagined danger. Larger gulls, similar to herring gulls were more settled and explored the saline shallows, before also flying south.

High noon, or so I supposed, being without a watch. Time to make my way out to the highway. Surprise! All the surfers were gone, leaving no possible rides. Only a few builders banged and cemented on new buildings. Nothing for it but to walk uphill, pausing in sparse shade. Happily a kid on a motorcycle picked me up. (Maybe he saw my pony tail from behind and thought he,d pick up a chick). Easy ride out, saving a long hot walk, he drove me in to Tomatal. I slipped him 50 pesos for gasoline. A short hot sunny wait, watching the small town( really a roadside slow down with enough topes to calm the racing trucks), then the Tomatal route taxi stopped and flagged me in That cab goes right to puerto, 20 minutes, all the way to the mercado. Stuffed in the back beteen a large woman and a young mother holding a solemn 1 year old girl. Everybodys friendly. Home in a jiffy ,back by 2pm,, quick shower, cool drink and a deep pool swim, relaxo,

I,m happy to find a remote very quiet beach, away from the Puerto tourist trail.

[dsandrvk]

Friday, August 2 - Lacepede Islands

Not a lot of pictures today, since the place we visited was incredible in person, but hard to photograph as it was four small islands barely sticking out of the water. However, these islands support a lot of bird life, and are home to about 1% of the Brown Booby population. There were lots of boobies and their chicks, but also many other birds, including terns, gulls, godwits, oystercatchers and more. Because this area is so shallow, it is also very clear (unlike most of the Kimberly Coast which has sediment and nutrient rich murky waters). As a result, we were able to see lots of green turtles just below the surface and occasionally sticking their heads up for a breath. We also saw sting rays, and even a small shark swimming right by our Zodiac.

Our day actually started a bit earlier when we went out on the bow deck just after sunrise and watched a couple of humpback whales cruise by. This area is a migration corridor for them and tomorrow we will be smack dab in the middle of their breeding grounds.

The four Lacepede Islands are imaginatively named West, Middle, Sandy and East, which at least is easy to remember. The entrance to the lagoon area with the shallows was through a narrow spot between West and Middle Islands, and was guarded in turn by a large sand bar creating lots of waves - at least it was obvious which way not to go.

It was a good start to our adventures, and took most of the morning, while the rest of the day was taken up with lectures and other information. Our favorite "bird guy" from our last trip (Will) is on this voyage for the next two trip segments and he gave the first lecture on birds of the area, and it looks like we have a lot to look forward to. We also had our first trivia session, and think we have assembled a competitive team, although we didn't win the first game. It's more about having fun, anyway (or is that just what we say when we aren't the winners).

We had the Captain's reception, also, where we are introduced to the officers, and our Norwegian Captain is very tall, and the Staff Captain (second in command) is Irish and very, very short. They looked a little like a comedy duo, and played up their differences in appearance.

The weather has been nice enough (not too hot in the shade) to sit outside for meals and tonight was no exception. There are some fires between our current location and Broome (someone said they were proscribed fires, but who knows), and after the sun went down the sky turned all sorts of colors in a band near the horizon, eventually fading to a deep red. It is nice that we have adjusted our time to North Australia time, so that sunset is during dinner, and not at 5:30 (and sunrise is also at a more civilized hour). And since we aren't interacting with anyone but local aboriginal groups (tomorrow) it doesn't really matter what time it is in Perth and Broome.

Tomorrow we are going to two places - the first is an aboriginal settlement with ancient cave rock art - it should be a real treat. And in the late afternoon we will visit Montgomery Reef - timed for the tides. I'll have more about it tomorrow after we visit, but it's supposed to be a unique place. We're off to a good start.