#kelp tracks

[kelpiemomma]

I. COULDN’T HELP IT.

I thought it’d be funny if Zoroakari were to run into @betasuppe‘s Sad Champion Emmet fjdaklfask

She is currently all up in his business sniffing him. “You look like my dad, but you don’t smell like him. You smell like tears and sadness. Hm.”

Meanwhile Emmet’s like “whoever this zoroark belongs to, please recall it it’s calling me out”

😂😂😂

[zukoromantic]

Idk the general opinion on this but on fucking god??? Splatoon 3 sacrificed so many good maps in order to make some. Mediocre ones

[peepee-poopoo-lord]

🥵🥵

[hopelesslyromanticshark]

can you do headcanons about percy x athena's daughter? except she's like... not annabeth? hehe if a fic is easier, do that, but sometimes headcanons are js more fun :)

⋆⭒˚.⋆ percy jackson x daughter of athena! reader hcs

content: percy jackson x daughter of athena! reader hcs warning: possible language warning but tbh i don't remember even tho i legit just wrote this- author's note: not annabeth was hard bc girl is like...THE daughter of athena lmao this prompt scared me frfr bc like...how da freak do i make it not annabeth???? i hope i did okay, lmao, but i think if i had to try this prompt again i'd just combust frfr worse than writing daughter of apollo stuff and that's saying SOMETHING FRFR

kelp head and his clever girl

(see what i did there??? it's okay, i know it's not funny, leave me alone)

you were quiet, kept to yourself and your books for years and years

the only reaction people ever got out of you was a tiny little smirk whenever you'd beat their ass at some game

chess, sword fighting, sudoku, the wordle

you'd always managed to win and you'd smirk to yourself, clearly proud as the person marched away

that's actually how you met percy, the boy eager bounding up to you with flushed cheeks and asking you to a friendly game of checkers

your eyes glimmered at the prospects of pummeling the boy, shaking his outstretched hand and letting him lead you towards the game board

and you lost

you lost to the stupid son of poseidon, who looked almost sheepish as he won the game, glancing up at you with offers of next time

you stomped away, fuming, and percy mentally screamed, figuring he just screwed all of his chances with the daughter of athena

the next morning, while percy moped into his blue pancakes, you marched up to him, slamming down a deck of cards and ordering that the two of you play go fish

percy would have agreed to anything if it meant spending more time with you

you guys continued to find random games to play, keeping track in your notebooks of how many games each of you had won

but at some point, it turned from an eagerness to win, to a yearning to be with the other person

you realized this significantly later than percy, sleep alluding you that night as you realized you'd fallen for the son of poseidon without your own knowledge

figures just as much for the daughter of athena

you next day, you met with percy, who awaited your next game proposal

"ever heard of spin the bottle?"

"whAT?"

"it's a game. im gonna win."

"o-okay. i think calling it a game is a bit of stretch-"

"do you want to play or not, jackson?"

"you know what? you're on, ln!"

you guys couldn't decide on the winner of that game, you're mouths a bit busy to voice their opinions

in your notebook, you denoted it as a tie, a mutual winning for both parties involved

for your first birthday with the two of you as a couple, percy thought it would be a marvelous idea to make you a paper garland out of your all time favorite book

he wasn't stupid enough to use your personal copy, rather buying his own and chopping it up into shapes

he proudly presented it to you, only for you to rip him to shreds for decimating a perfectly good book

from that point on, he made sure NO damage ever befall a book in your presences

he never wanted to face that wrath again frfr

he once annotated a book for you, leaving little notes (on posts it) for you in the margins and doodles that he thought of while reading certain passages

you never had so much fun reading a book again

it proudly lives on your nightstand, getting read at least once a day

you like giving percy those goofy little math equations, that when solved, always come out to like 'i ♡ you' or 'luv ya' or whatever

do you have to help him solve it everytime?? yes

and do you get a kiss for solving it with him?? yes so it's all worth it

every morning, you guys sit together and go through the new york times app and do all the little games together

your fav is the wordle, the og

and percy loves strands

and you both DESPISE tiles and it's the only one you guys dont do

avoid it at all costs frfr

and yes, you guys are very strategic with your guesses...mostly

you do, in fact, use bagel as your first guess every time for wordle

totally not speaking from personal experience, of course

i hate bagels...yeah

it started out as a joke, percy typing it in on your phone when you left for a bathroom break, figuring it would be fun to toy with you

but then it got like two yellows and green, like what???

so you guys just kept using it???

and it works like a charm usually

but post the bagel guess, yall are taking notes and writing down all the possibilities and narrowing it down

it takes fifteen minutes to put in the next guess everytime

this has just devloved into promo for the new york times lmao

anyways, percy and you play a lot of games together, but you both agree that your favorite game to play together is the game of love

[clovercrafted]

✨ the shrine of remembrance ✨

Thought by Duskwood historians to be a long forgotten place of worship this old cave seems to have been taken over by an overgrowth of plant life.

Tah-dah, finally finished the portal room and the connecting nether portal too! The first shot is the nether-side portal while the rest is the remains of the stronghold I consumed.

Tag list ☘️: (ask to be +/-, if you changed your url/changed blogs and I lost track of you, let me know if you’d like to be readded!)

@gronglegrowth @absintheaftershock @adairctedgibbgirl @theronlovingcare @thefoxesraven @yourfriendphoenix @entomolodee @grymmdark @polnareffsbrows @sluttysoulcowboy @sculkgrowths @berieecraft @asynchronouscommunication

Blocks used: amethyst, basalt, stone, cobblestone, mossy cobble, andestite, oak planks, glow berries, flowering azalea leaves, calcite, sea grass, kelp, sea pickles

[teethflavoured]

get it guys bc sea urchins eat copious amounts of kelp. (laugh track

[starwrighter]

I am not a baby!!(Yes you are)

(Ao3) (Masterpost) (Previous) (Next)

(Chapter 18 baby!)

The hatchling didn’t stay in his nest very long. Damian had thought the little one would be exhausted after his first encounter with Grayson. He himself had been exhausted by the encounter. It had taken ages to convince the other to leave and stop stalking near the plateaus.

The constant attempts at surveillance from his siblings were irritating before he’d been assigned to watch the hatchling. They were infuriating now. He isn't an infant anymore, and he hasn't been one for a thousand years. It's annoying that his siblings thought him so incompetent that he couldn’t complete this one simple task.

They acted like they weren't guilty of losing hatchlings in their territories. Scolding him like a hatchling slipping past someone was this unheard-of act of negligence. He knew for a fact each and every one of them had lost track of a guppy at least once. At least the little one he’s guarding was still alive. Damian had managed to keep it that way. Unlike other's he could think of.

This little one was healthy, swimming around faster than a pissed-off crashfish. He clicked his teeth at the child, a call of “come here” that the child either couldn’t understand or was blatantly ignoring. The little one was desperate to explore, but as he kicked his little legs closer and closer in the direction of the crash site, Damian couldn’t help but take action.

Bolting from his spot in the sand, he crooned. A worried scolding noise. A gentle nudge from clawed hands was met with a frustrated nip from the hatchling. With puffed-up cheeks, the hatchling darted around him, dodging his attempts at blocking him with a stubborn determination.

Why the little one was so determined to make his way to the crash site was beyond his understanding. Was it a built-in instinct to head towards their “Mother”? The structure that harbored them was no doubt artificial so it was safe to assume he wasn’t straying to gain comfort from a dead parent. Maybe he thought other members of his clutch would be nearby. These little ones tended to flock towards places other hatchlings had been. Presumably, Duke had been the one to find the hatchling near the egg in the kelp forests, even if the elder didn’t realize it.

Damian followed the hatchling deeper into the sand-clouded waters anxiety flaring the longer the little one ignored his warning. The metal here was still hot enough to mutilate a hatchling who drew close enough to touch it. Wreckage everywhere the eye could see, Damian didn’t trust any of it. How could one trust something that tended to spontaneously combust around a child? You couldn’t. This biome was too dangerous for a hatchling and he hadn’t even taken the reapers into account yet!

“Owwwwww”

Damian stared at the little one. There wasn’t a scratch on him yet pain and nausea radiated of him. The child blinked rapidly, pushing through the water despite Damian's attempts to pull him back.

“Get back here!” Damian called, the hatchling didn’t even acknowledge him. He just kept swimming forward. Closer to the reaper and closer to a mother that likely was never alive in the first place. The hatchling acknowledged his own pain, his swimming staggered the hatchling struggling to keep upright but continued his plight.

Damian huffed, snapping his teeth, flaring his gills, and striking the space beside the little one. An intimidation tactic, if the child wouldn’t respond to a guardian, he’d respond to an agitated predator. Using his size to his advantage, Damian towered over him, the glowing blue slab in the hatchling’s hands screamed.

Those little slabs had to have a tracker of some kind inside of them. The children would look at those glowing screens and wander towards somewhere dangerous. Specifically, a dangerous area another hatchling had once been in. Damian couldn’t bring himself to feel bad when the screen went blank.

“No!”

Distress was clear in the little one’s cry, blue eyes fixated on the slab.

“Sad” Damian reached for the child, freezing in his spot when a bone-chilling noise could just barely be heard. A noise he could recognize in a heartbeat, but it didn’t matter how quickly he recognized the sound. He had heard it, and that meant it could see them.

A reaper shouldn’t be here! Jason was supposed to be corralling them today. They’d wandered too close, and a reaper had snuck away from Jason’s care to take advantage. The hatchling kept staring at the dead tablet, unaware of the impending danger.

Damian puffed up, taking in a breath and letting out the loudest shriek his body could manage, wrapping his body around the guppy. His clawed hands prevented escape or in this case, prevented sharp mandibles from impaling the tiny skull of an infant. The little one was silent as the reaper charged, Damian’s tail raised to smack the mindless attacker away.

Its body was all muscle, eyes hungry and irrational. The strikes from his tail made an audible crack but did nothing to deter the beast. His defenses only served to anger it further. Reapers only cared about food, it would’ve been normal behavior had it not been for the bloodthirsty way they attempted to eat anything that moved regardless of size or age. Damian was far too large for the reaper to eat on its own on the unlikely chance the creature managed to finish him off, but it didn’t seem to care.

Logically he knew the animal was driven by instinct, but his bitterness prevailed. Reapers were not a part of this ecosystem that he favored, but he could understand the crucial role they played in local population control. Even if said population control attacked everything, including each other.

Blood spilled into the sea, but so long as it wasn’t red, Damian didn’t falter. Red copper-smelling blood meant death; a sign of ensured failure that’d stick with him for the rest of his natural life. Damian glanced down at the hatchling. The little one pointed a tool through the small gaps in his claws.

The tool was easy to recognize. The little one pointed it at everything, sometimes he would eat whichever flora or fauna he used it on. Damian wouldn’t be surprised if he was taking the opportunity to check if a reaper was edible. Father told him growing babies were always hungry and this hatchling had done nothing to disprove this theory.

Damian thrashed his tail, striking the beast into the ground. They didn’t know where that fish spent its time. Reapers didn’t care if what they ate was diseased. The ultimate carrier of plague. A baby's immune system was so incredibly fragile it had only taken three hours for the child in Dick’s territory to fall prey to illness. They needed to get out of here, now.

“Swim!” The hatchling beat his tiny fist against his skin. It was only the direction he was drifting towards that reassured him the little one wanted away from the reaper. He snapped, baring his teeth at the reaper, striking it down once more before shooting off with the hatchling gripped gently in his claws.

“Speed!!” The hatchling cheered, kicking his legs like he hadn’t almost been swallowed whole by a reaper.

“We wins, next time” The little one stared at him with those expressive blue eyes. There wouldn’t be a next time so long as he could help it. It wouldn’t be long before he was lectured for allowing the child anywhere near the site in the first place.

His tail ached, as they glided towards the safety of the shallows. A tsunami of nausea struck him as lingering adrenaline slowly faded from his system. He hadn’t failed, the guppy was fine. Not a scratch on him. This was fine. There would be no need for Father to assign someone else to watch the hatchling.

He was the most competent out of all of them! A whole three days this hatchling had been alive on this planet. His siblings couldn’t even keep one alive for three hours. This little one was stubborn and tiny, everywhere was a good hiding place for him and if he wanted to go somewhere he’d go with or without a guardian. Anyone with a brain could imagine the outcome of a hatchling wandering the crash sight by themself. They’d seen what happened, and it wasn’t pretty. Damian had done everything right, and dealt with the difficult situation handed to him without any casualties.

All it would take was a few seconds of them watching him before the guppy escaped from their watch. A few seconds and they’d be swimming around panicked like a shoal of rabbit rays. Damian doubted the hatchling being passed to someone else would stop his need for exploration. With the ability to maneuver on land, it wasn’t hard to imagine the child running off to explore one of the islands completely out of their reach. Damian didn’t even want to think about the possible tragedies that could happen if he’d wandered completely out of reach. The little “adventure” they’d gone on today induced a lifetime of anxiety in just a few minutes, but he doubted this would be the last time something like this would happen.

“Free me!” The child demanded, squirming in his gentle grip as they entered the coral-filled biome. The little one pried the claws off his back, diving into the sand the moment he regained his freedom.

Thwack!

“OW!”

A peeper charged straight for the child, impacting against chubby cheeks with a loud smack! With the bravo of a biter, it slapped the child directly in the face with its body. He couldn’t help but snort, quickly batting the small blue fish away before the hatchling could take his revenge. A thin trail of glittering gold followed the retreating prey fish, leaving Damian alone to do damage control.

“Gross!” The hatchling scrunched his nose, rubbing his hands against his face. Not a mark was left on him, only the lingering sparkle of yellow clinging to his skin. An encounter with a peeper wouldn’t kill them. If anything, one might argue it's healthy for him.

“Bleeding!” The child frowned, staring guilty at Damian’s tail. Yellow oozed from long thin scratches running down the thinner parts of his tail. Minor injuries that’d do him no harm in the long term. It was the better of the many morbid outcomes that’d been possible.

“Am sorry,”

Damian chuffed, holding the child in his palm, raising him slowly to the surface. Chubby hands smacked against his forehead the moment he lowered the child into the water a brief warning before he shot off into the kelp forest.

There wasn’t a second where he took his eyes off the guppy. Stalking with his body pressed up against the ground. The biome had plenty of hiding places for the hatchling but Damian was limited. His second form was far better suited for stealth but ran a higher risk of fatal injuries from larger fauna and attracted the attention of precursor-built predators.

A Warper was the last thing anyone wanted to introduce to a child. They attacked at random, culling off populations of fish and flora. While they preferred killing those with glowing cysts on their body, it didn’t stop them from attacking perfectly healthy individuals. It wouldn’t stop them from attacking the hatchling.

Tiny flippers cut through the water. An abundance of creepvine keeps the biome a murky green. He curled around stone arches watching the hatchlings chase fish, catching them between sharp canines.

“Distraction!” The child shouted, followed by the wet thwap of a dead fish impacting against a stalker's jaw. The animal was dazed by the attack but not injured as they eagerly scarfed down the “Weapon” that struck them. Other stalkers were smarter. Slowly approaching the child with open jaws, accepting a snack without having to face the violent throwing hand of an infant.

He himself was guilty of feeding stalkers. They never became docile enough to be a pet, but were still one of his favorite animals. Feeding them was much easier for him than it was for a hatchling this tiny. The child’s method was rather violent but it was necessary to ensure he wouldn’t be eaten alongside the offered fish.

“What the fuck were you doing in the crash site earlier?” Jason questioned cutting through his observations. Concern entwined with the fury lacing his words.

“You need to be more specific Todd, everyone’s been frequenting the crash site recently,” Damian replied, an obvious dismissal of the other’s concerns.

“You know damn well what I’m talking about,” Jason seethed “You’re on babysitting duty. Why the fuck would you try to fist fight a reaper when?”

“Would you have preferred I allowed the creature to eat the hatchling?” Damian sneered. “He’s determined to wander, our excursion to the crash site wasn’t planned,” He started.

“You were supposed to keep him in the shallows,”

“If I’d managed to stop him he’d have escaped and gone on his own,” Damian reminded, his voice tense. Many hatchlings had escaped or died on their careful watch, especially when they were kept confined to a single biome.

Damian didn’t want to keep the hatchling cooped up somewhere so cramped. Not when their species was still unknown to them. What if wandering allowed them to fulfill needs crucial to their survival? Precursors were the ones who kept children as prisoners. They were the ones who’d lock a child up and leave them until they died in agony, not him! Not his family, they wouldn’t do that. “Is he okay?” Jason asked.

“He’s catapulting dead fish at stalkers so I think it’s safe to assume he’s healthy,” Damian replied.

“What about you, demon spawn?” Jason questioned

“A reaper couldn’t even dream of hurting me,” Damian huffed.

“Not what I meant,” Jason sighed, the other sounded exhausted. “Something in the crash site is making everything really fucking sick. Bruce thinks it’s the mother spilling off some nasty decomp,”

“…” Damian felt fine, a little nauseous, but he was fine. There was no need for bed rest or a break. The idea of an artificial structure spilling toxic decomp was new but not impossible. Precursors did have a morbid fascination with playing god. It wouldn't be too much of a stretch to assume this is a failure of this overconfident thought process.

In the thousand years Warpers’ had been on this planet, none of them had ever died naturally. None of them had shown even the smallest sign of degrading with age. A Warper rotting, was an unthinkable concept you’d expect to happen when the sun dies out. But these hatchlings weren’t Warpers. Warpers were put together in an intricate process that had likely been perfected over a long time. These crashes screamed of a rush job. Tim had theorized the precursors had set both “mothers” on a timer before they’d gone extinct. Since there was nobody to monitor development, they were shot down far too early.

They didn’t know whose DNA was stolen to make any of the hatchlings. Knowing the precursors, most of these hatchlings had DNA that could stem from other unfortunate planets.

Damian glanced back to the hatchling. Incredibly tiny, with dull fingers and a reliance on the technology he created. They were dealing with a premature baby. A premature baby whose egg had malfunctioned upon impact. Smaller than any of the hatchlings they’ve seen before yet twice as ferocious to make up for that.

A string of strange chirps sounded from the little one’s tablet glowing once again. The guppy spun around looking around the kelp forest before his eyes landed on Damian.

“I sees you!” The child shouted before returning to cut pieces of kelp. Damian wasn’t sure if the boy’s short attention span was a blessing or a curse.

“Will I need to be quarantined?” Damian stalked the child as he swam back to the shallows. His tail dragged awkwardly against the sand. Small piles of rock were knocked to the seabed, a cloud of dust upturned with his attempts of swift stealthy movements.

“Probably, B has me contained in the fucking dunes,” Jason complained like he didn’t spend his time there daily.

“Sad,” The hatchling projected, Damian looked around, searching for anything that could have caused the child distress. Maybe he was tired? Damian wasn’t a guppy anymore, he didn’t think the same way a child would, but it was only logical for him to be tired after the day they’d had.

“Want my siblings,” the guppy cried, shaking his head with a scrunched nose. Damian frowned, reaching out for the child with a mournful croon. The child had been looking for his clutch mates back then and likely had been searching for them when he’d escaped Damian’s watch before.

“Loud, ouch, hurt” He froze watching as the little one cradled his head in his hands. A softer lower croon was sufficient for a hatchling with a developing sense of hearing. The child stared at him with utter confusion, like he couldn’t comprehend Damian could control his volume. Everything the hatchling said was either a shout or barely audible. Compensation for not having access to the bond yet.

“Mad!” The hatchling huffed, almost giving him a heart attack as he began coughing. A hatchling couldn’t die from being too mad right? No, none of his family would have made it past infancy if that were the case.

“Who will watch the hatchling while I’m in quarantine?” Damian questioned.

“Tim or Dick, they’re the only ones who haven’t gone to the crash site recently,”

Damian rested his head on his chin with a sigh. Tim being one of the only ones not to enter the crash site was a surprise. Tim was the first person you’d think would be flocking to the biome to investigate. Tim loved knowing about everything precursor-related and was especially obsessed with the tools the hatchling used. The insomniac thought they’d be able to mimic the hatchling’s abilities if they studied them hard enough. Tim had fought tooth and claw to loot the few buildings the hatchlings managed to make but Father rejected his requests no matter how he begged. Said it was disrespectful to the dead, and so the buildings were left to rust.

Tim not swarming to scavenge through the wreckage before anyone could stop him was strange. An outlier in an otherwise predictable pattern of behavior. It was an obvious plot to gain access to the only hatchling who lived long enough to build. It’s infuriating but at least the hatchling would be safe under his keen but obsessive eyes.

Dick would be a good babysitter in theory but was overly excitable. Shallow water made his emp field oppressive, and dangerous, something the hatchling had been rightfully terrified of. Dick showing up would surely stress the child out more than would be necessary. The moment he made a grab for the child was the moment he fled and they lost him forever.

“No touch!” The little one puffed up his chest darting back to his nest with ferocity kicking his legs like he wanted to attack the water itself. Damian could only assume the hatchling was cranky because they were up all day. Father said guppies needed lots of sleep but this one didn’t seem to get the memo.

“How long will I be quarantined?” Damian asked staring deeply at the metal structure.

“Until you’re better or until we figure out if what we caught is contagious,” Jason replied bluntly. Damian glared at the sand like each grain had offended him personally. What if the hatchling forgot about him? Object permanence in hatchlings is severely lacking, this one wasn’t any different. It was an unfortunate factor of harboring a brain just beginning to develop and take in information.

“Where am I quarantining?” Damian questioned, raising an eyebrow when he heard the other groan exasperatedly.

“In the dunes with me and everyone else,”

“You’re joking,” Damian accused. The dunes were plenty big enough to hold all of them but it’d be extremely unpleasant.

“Kill me,” Jason deadpanned. Damian nodded, a mercy killing was the ethical solution to this problem.

“I was screwing around earlier so now Duke and Steph think they’re dying of a new precursor plague and Cass has been playing dead in a ditch for about an hour,” Jason complained, a painful-sounding wheeze tainting his words.

“I see…” This wasn’t an ideal situation. He assumed the hatchling would be quarantined inside its nest. It was too dangerous to move him but deadlier to infect him with whatever they’d caught if they didn’t have it already.

Damian eyed the hatch of the child’s nest. The only entrance to the little building. Before he even knew what he was doing he’d curled himself around the hatchling’s base taking incredible care not to break anything. Like a boulder blocking a cave entrance Damian rested his head in front of the hatch.

Blocking the hatchling’s escape into anywhere dangerous while also preventing any physical contact with him. Now all he had to do was wait until his replacement came. Damian sneered, the thought of leaving the hatchling behind for someone else to bond with still irked him more than the pounding headache.

Maybe now the child might finally decide to sleep?

(No more tags because we're on the 18th chapter and there is both a master post and an ao3 link,)

[akkivee]

The Rosho Special☆ Cream of the Crop Curry: Hypmic Curry Drama Track TL

Sasara: Oh, you’ve really been cookin’!

Rei: That curry smell is really making me hungry!

Rosho: It’s a miracle I was able to even decipher what you meant in that text! Why am I the only one working on this??

Sasara: Don’t sweat the small stuff! Have you finished making our super interesting curry yet?

Rosho: I did my best to follow your recipe but…

Rei: Hm? You didn’t make a normal curry?

Sasara: Tut tut tut! You see, this curry was made with some special ingredients!

Rei: It looks brown like any other curry, so I can’t tell the difference.

Sasara: I’ll give you a hint! I was thinking of calling it, "This Curry's Got You Gigged!!" Setting off any bells??

Rei: You can’t be thing about… Actually, no, that hint was so stupid, I got nothing for you.

Sasara: Hey now!!

Rosho: I used flounder in the curry, but if you can’t tell that at a glance, that’s gotta mean your joke’s fallen flat, right?

Rei: The curry’s meant sell, so it should have a little more impact.

Sasara: I guess you’re right… It’s gotta be appealing televised too…

Rosho: Let’s take a moment to brainstorm.

-----------

Sasara: *pops a cold one open* Man, nothing’s coming to mind at all…!

Rei: The theme you had settled on was, “A Bizarre Brown Curry,” right?

Rosho: We shouldn’t even try to be teeming with themes! It’s all about the flavours!!

Sasara: “Okra-zy Curry” doesn’t sound too bad!

Rosho: Okra me a river!!

Rei: How about “Kelp!! Addicted to Seaweed Curry”?

Rosho: Oh, now you’re just sailing on his coattails!

Sasasa: “Ya Kraken Me Up Squid Curry”!!

Rosho: Quit it with the seafood puns!! Geez, you’re not even trying to solve the root of the problem.

Sasara: Nyahaha…! No, yeah, you’re right.

Rei: But curry’s just curry, isn’t it? How can you even get someone to give a laugh at it at just a glance?

Rosho: How many times do I gotta say, that’s why we’re sittin’ around thinkin’ about it!!

Sasara: I think the alcohol’s getting to us~ Let’s get some food down, so we can sober up.

Rei: I agree. I’d like one order of flounder curry with rice!

Rosho: You takin’ my home as an izakaya?? Serve your own curry!!

Sasara: Phew whee, Mista Rosho here sure is stingy!

Rei: Well, sounds like I got no other choice.

---------------

Rei: Hey, so this is getting annoying to handle, you mind if I use this whole pot?

Sasara: Rosho, whatcha want me to do with this bag?

Rosho: Shut up, the both of you!! For now, just bring everything to me.

Rei: And there. Rice is served~

Sasara: And here’s a bit of the curry to top it off!

Rosho: Oh yeah, we’re using this too!

Sasara: “A White Stew for Rice”? You brought out some boil in bag goods you had bagged up?

Rosho: A student of mine gave it to me as a souvenir from a Hokkaido trip. It apparently has some Hokkaido specialties in it.

Rei: Their milk is incredibly tasty. And so… *pours it in*

Rosho: Hey!!!! What the heck are you doing??

Rei: This is my specialty, “Stew On This Rice”!

Rosho: The bag wasn’t even boiled yet… I guess I’ll stick it in the microwave.

Sasara: Wait a sec!

Rosho: What are you making that serious face for?

Sasara: If it’s cream… How does “Cream Of The Crop Curry” sound??

Rei: Ohhh, we are aiming for something eye-catching but… Wait, actually, this might work.

Rosho: It’s more of a stew though…

Sasara: Let’s have a taste test first!

*microwave dings*

DH: *eats*

Sasara: Woah??? This creamy stew and rice pair together so well!!

Rei: And this white colour gives it quite the impact.

Sasara: This is it! This is the curry that’s going to carry Dotsuitare Hompo to victory!

Rosho: But this isn’t curry?? What do you mean we’re going to use a stew??

Rei: Why’re you fussing? All we have to do is say we made a white curry.

Rosho: Then how do you explain how we made it??

Rei: White curry does exist, you know. There are spices for it and everything. Curry connoisseurs would be familiar with it.

Sasara: Is that so?? Well, there you have it, Rosho! I’ll let you figure out what those spices are!

Rosho: No, you won’t!! Shouldn’t we all be trying to figure this out??

Rei: Ahaha! I believe you’ll figure it out somehow.

Sasara: Alright! “The Rosho Special☆ Cream of The Crop Curry” is definitely going to take us to the top!!

[meowmeowmeowmeow4x]

Dark Blue Moon and the Suffering Sun Chapter 19

MASTAPOST

Danny woke from his little cat nap soon after, stretching his tail out like a lounging snake. Damian sat next to him, characteristically unimpressed as the teenager cracked his knuckles and shook off the remaining grogginess.

“Are you done?” Damian asked.

Danny yawned again. “Yeah what time is it?”

“It has been about two hours. We are wasting time.”

Damian swam to Danny’s left side and nudged him with his head. Danny bonelessly flopped to the side without moving. “Dude, what’s the rush? I thought you liked animals.”

“The whales have been amenable company, but my father needs me back as soon as possible. In addition, we have entered a coral reef.”

Danny blinked, and got up. The boy leaned his head over the edge of the mother whale. Seemed Damian was right. The waterscape in front of them was filled with tall kelp forests in the distance. Below the, the sea floor housed miles of vibrant coral in all sorts of colours. Red, purple, yellow and green coral spiraled and twisted and grew from the rocks and sand, living alongside schools of big and small fish. Clownfish peeked in an out of anemones. Little critters like shrimps and lobsters crawled in and out of crevices, sheltered from predators.

Damian apparently thought he was taking too long. Danny belatedly realised his harness was untied, just as Damian rammed into his back and pushed him off the edge.

“We need to replenish our supplies.” Damian said. “Teach me how to gather forage and hunt.”

Well that was a slight issue. Being a modern American teenager with access to such things as fridges and a global supply chain meant that he was perhaps less suited to roughing it than the younger boy might have assumed. It was not like he never had to live off the land, but the less said about long swim home after Vlad happened, the better.

“Well?” Damian repeated, arms crossed, looking down Danny expectantly.

“Alright then. I’ll teach you silly human what it’s like to live off the land, like your ancestors long before you.” He said sagely.

The whale pod crooned a deep farewell as the continued on their journey. He and Damian waved them off, before returning to their own needs.

He led his young charge to perch atop a cliff overlooking the reef. The boys laid their fins flat so as to avoid drawing attention. Danny scanned the landscape, settling his eyes on a lobster hiding underneath a rock. Despite their reputation these days, lobsters did not look nearly as appetising raw and alive. From the bottom, they looked more like cockroaches than delicacies. Plus, they were literally the worst possible travelling food ever. No.

Instead, Danny caught sight of his real prize. Mussels!

“You good with shellfish?” He asked the younger boy. Damian turned up his nose, looking haughty like Sam’s parents were it not for the adorable pout he’d put on too.

“If the only other option is starvation.”

“We’ll keep an eye for more plants on the way.” Danny said, preparing to descend.

The thing about mussels was that you didn’t need to kill them to bring them along. They came with their own natural packaging, even if it was a bit heavy. Danny stuffed his pockets with a couple handfuls of the shellfish, leaving space for a more varied diet, and leaving the rest to stay and reproduce. He wasn’t greedy! Sam had taught him about these things. Mussels were very important to the environment. Evidently Damian was aware too. The boy nodded in approval as Danny continued his search.

Damian’s sword came in useful as well (he would’ve taken it away if he wasn’t sure that the kid would slash him for it) for harvesting kelp and seaweed. The pair snacked on kelp strips as Danny took them to their next prey.

However, Damian protested. “I do not wish to kill this one.”

The huge trout, easily as big as Damian, floated blissfully ignorant of the two predators eyeing it like hawks. Danny ‘s head spun as he tried to keep track of Damian’s seemingly endlessly shifting opinion towards eating fish or not. “That thing could feed us for like 300 miles.”

“The largest fish also reproduce the most. This one is a female.” Damian continued. Now that he thought of it, didn’t Sam make a whole protest about this in the beginning of summer? “Many oceans are in danger due to overfishing from humans. As a human myself, it is my responsibility to fish sustainably.”

The boy’s fins puffed with pride and conservationist fervor, a quiet determination that reminded him of Sam. Danny had some doubts. “If we eat the small fry, there won’t be many left to grow big and ‘reproduce’ as you say.”

This point seemed to put pause on Damian’s previous showboating. The boy gritted his teeth, looking for a comeback. “What about invasive species? Those that threaten the natural balance.”

Danny shrugged. That was a good point, except Danny didn’t know how to identify any of those.

“But you live in the ocean!” Damian protested when this point was brought up.

“Yeah. You live on land. Does that mean you know about every species that lives on Gotham?”

“Yes.” Well he kinda walked into that one, didn’t he?

“Well if you know so much about invasive species, why don’t you look for them?” Danny challenged. Animal hyperfixation or not, surely this kid couldn’t identify the hundreds of species that lived in this reef.

Damian’s ear fins tensed, something he’d noticed in himself whenever he was concentrating on something. The boy turned away from Danny and to the reef in front of them. Suddenly, the boy’s body slumped.

A smug grin split open Danny’s face.

Damian groaned, as if his next words were like Soviet torture. “There are no saltwater invasive fish near California, to my knowledge.”

“Hah! Suck on that, fishboy!”

Damian mewled angrily. His hand drifted down to the hilt of his sword. On dear.

“Alright, alright, alright. What about a compromise?” Danny waved his arms defensively.

“Speak.”

“We grab the fish that we were gonna grab before you interrupted.” Damian hissed at that. “BUUttt only one. And we fill our pockets with small fry. A balanced fishing diet. What do you say?”

The grumpy child pouted one more time for good measure, before sinking back to the floor. “Fine. You still need to teach me how to make a kill.”

“You sure you won’t get attached?”

“I can suppress my emotions to complete the mission.” It spoke something about Damian that Danny wasn’t even that phased this time. That being said please let that just be a boast with nothing to back that up.

Danny lay prone, fins flat, head down, like a tiger about to pounce. In the entire conversation they’d had, the trout had drifted about five inches from its previous position. Survival instincts this poor girl had not.

“All you need to do is shut your gills, like holding a breath. Just get closer… and closer… and POUNCE!”

Danny leapt at the trout, using his powers to accelerate into a blur. His hands pinned it down in an instant, the trout thrashing and slapping him, trying to escape. With a swift motion, Danny bit clean through its gills. The trout rapidly lost strength, slowly fading until it went still.

He held the trout up like a trophy. “Tada!”

Damian frowned deeply. “That was an unclean kill. It suffered immensely.”

“Ughh!” Danny groaned. “What do you want from me. I’m a siren not an assassin.”

Damian unsheathed his sword, looking about 50% more menacing as any other six-year-old Danny had ever met. “It seems I will have to show you, instead.”

Five minutes later, his idea of showing Danny how to kill resulted in a fresh bruise and a bent fin. The carp he had tried to pounce managed to escape with a shallow cut on its side.

“I’m very educated now, Damian. Thank you.” He snickered as Damian roared in anger.

“Shut your mouth! You have an unfair advantage, seeing as you can use your powers, while I am hampered by my body.”

“You’ll grow into them. I think. I dunno I haven’t met a lot of siren kids.”

“I am not a child!” Damian said, pouting very maturely.

The rest of the morning was spent like that, roaming the reef in search of food and bickering over this and that. At one point they debated over dolphins were whales or not (Danny personally thought whales were too nice to encompass dolphins under their umbrella).

Their food supplies replenished and energy still raring to go, the boys sealed their satchels shut, and continued south.

Meanwihle…

Hundreds of miles away in the ocean, Bruce stands at the helm of the Fenton Family SAV, its modified engines going at full throttle.

In a hidden compartment in his room, Tucker Foley slams into the firewall of the Fenton’s new database with everything he has. Schematics, blueprints, notes. He needs that data and he needs it now.

Sam Manson meditates on her bed, surrounded by candles. She recites warding spells, a staple for any young magician.

Skulker sits in his private yacht, bandaging his wounded leg, sliding the pieces for his next upgrade. Behind him, an ornate fish tank sits empty, awaiting its guest.

Agent K and Agent O monitor the news. The sonars around Amity. A report sits on the desk. The Fentons have just left town? That will be interesting… 

[somnambulant-seraphim]

𓍊♡𓍊𓋼𓍊❀·₊˚⚘ Gladys Gator ⚘˚₊·❀𓍊𓋼𓍊♡𓍊

I've been interested in puppet-making in the past, but seeing as my sewing and crafting skills at the time where more simple, I decided to save that idea for later. But now, with my somewhat recent re-fascination with puppets, I'm glad to say that I finally made my first hand puppet! <:o)

This alligator is made of dark emerald green furry fabric and cardboard, partially sewn and partially hot glued. She has felt eyes and scales, a kelp green corduroy mouth, cardboard teeth and a black leather tongue.

I sewed her sweater out of a sage green weaved material (very carefully, as it frayed easily) and made her some necklaces with pretty green and black star, flower and pinwheel beads!

⚘ 𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊 ⚘ 𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊 ⚘ 𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊 ⚘ 𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊 ⚘ 𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊 ⚘ 𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊 ⚘ 𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊 ⚘ 𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊 ⚘ 𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊 ⚘

She also goes by Gladdy or Glad. I like to think of her as a "grandma" type of character. She cares very much for her friends will gladly do her best to keep them happy, comfy and on the right track! Though she may seem like a stick in the mud sometimes, it's because she's always looking out for her friends and has your best interests at heart! <3

She especially enjoys quilting, cooking and tending to the aquatic plants and algae in her pond garden. She loves seeing all the tiny organisms that live in and around her pond, like fairy shrimp and aquatic insects :) ♡♡♡

[kelpiemomma]

48, any of your Ingo interpretations. Angry Ingo IS the latest twitter trend, after all. Sorry if this got sent twice, tumblr's been a pain lately!

please assume that i am behind the curve of any trend at any given time! i frequently have no idea what’s going on! i follow a handful of submas people on tumblr, i don’t believe I follow any submas people on twitter, and I don’t dip into the tags on either site too often 😂 as a way to regulate myself, for Reasons ♥

Angry Ingo we go, though!

48. rampage - Jumping the Rail Ingo; post Akari banishment and return

He stormed past Ress, the guard taking a step back from the Warden’s march into town. Jubilife Village was never been too crowded but the people lingering in the streets moved out of his way, slipping to stand next to the buildings as they turned their heads to watch him silently. Beauregard didn’t even bother trying to stop the man- instead he held the door open silently, gaze turned away. Ingo never stopped. His head was tilted down, back straight, arms folded neatly behind him, staring straight ahead. He vaguely heard the conversation between Cyllene and Laventon die as he headed for the stairs, continuing calmly but relentlessly. Nobody tried to stop him.

When Ingo left Kamado’s office after his rampage, the commander crumpled on the floor before his desk, it was the worst kept secret in Jubilife Village. Words were never spoken to either man’s face but everyone knew what it was about. Who it had been over. The pair wouldn’t speak again for some time, not without any sort of necessity, but an understanding had been reached.

No one, not even Commander Kamado, made Akari cry and got away with it.

[mahoganydoodles]

PA’ATENI by neonheartbeat (@urulokid), author’s copies.

A memory of flames licking at the pillars of the throne room on the ancestral plane, N’Jadaka’s mouth curled in a mocking sneer, filled Shuri’s memory. Fire and earth. “You were happy to die at my hands,” she echoed, the skin on her arms pebbling as a shiver ran through her.

“Yes. But I only wished for one thing, and I had not gotten it before my death. So I was glad you showed mercy in the end.”

“And what did you wish for?” Shuri asked, advancing on him from the bed. “Your people swimming up the river to break Wakanda’s borders? An empire of blood against all other nations in the world?”

“I wished,” said Namor very quietly, watching her and not moving, “to hear you say my name.”

348,367 words | 1,112 pages | 2 volumes

When I first reached out to Neon to ask if I could bind pa’ateni for them, I had all these dreams of beadwork and jade and rich purples and golds and silk and layers of fabric emulating the rich description Neon weaves (you know this was gonna be a FANCY fancy bind). 

But when I asked Neon what kinda cover they wanted and they said “Ahhh just very natural I think,” that threw me for a LOOP. Because I was like fuck! Now what do I do! And the answer was… that I couldn’t be happier with how this bind turned out, so THANK YOU so much Neon for pointing me this direction!

One of the things i love about pa’ateni, and all of Neon’s work, is the attention to the ordinary. Part of the reason Neon’s characters feel so real is how much regular stuff gets description—whether that’s thinking about laundry chutes or washing their hair or getting drunk at a local bar. There’s a peacefulness to it, and that peace is at the heart of Namor and Shuri’s relationship (once they finally get on the right track). It reminds me of evenings at the ocean, of the quiet solitude of the ocean crashing. That something doesn’t need to be divine to be ethereal. 

I drew on that for this bind. There were two separate versions—the original NSFW story and a SFW version as well—that I modeled after a wave crashing onto the shore, two books forming a single image. The wave theme is echoed on the inside as well, in the moon cycle of the footer border, the moon and water iconography of the custom dinkus, and the full-page chapter titles of the sea. 

To complement the two volumes, I focused on one of the moments that stood out to me the most from the very start: the scene where Namor leaves Princess Shuri a bouquet of kelp. I made a custom Peller box with HTV of the passage quote on the inside, with multi-colored vinyl on the outside woven together to make kelp. A very special box (even by cool slipcase standards) for two very special books 🙂

Pa’ateni is such a beautiful story that builds on the emotions of grief, compassion, selflessness, and desire in Black Panther: Wakanda Forever. Read it on AO3, and thank you Neon for telling such a beautiful story. 

[monstersandmaw]

Laces for a Lady - 18th century, poly, shifters x human romance - Chapter Four (sfw)

Disclaimer which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me. 

Well, thank you to the people who've shown enough interest not only to make my mood the best it's been in months, but who made chapter four happen tonight! As I said earlier, I can't keep this pace of posting up because it's currently only written to chapter 6, but if you keep reblogging with such sweet tags and comments, it might keep me writing like a little gremlin anyway! Who knows!?

Contents: fluff, friendship, some wistful and slightly angsty longing, Locryn and Edmund being adorably obvious, and Nel thinking about the coming harvest festival dance, to which all the locals are invited... Wordcount: 2825

I've been listening to this track on repeat while writing, if you want some appropriate ambience...

Part One (sfw), Part Two (sfw), Part Three (sfw)

For the following three days after leaving Locryn Trevethan’s cottage, Nel felt off-kilter and kept to Heath Top House, and every night, she dreamed of the sea.

She’d always been a vivid dreamer, but these were something else. Sometimes it was simply the rush and whisper of the tide on the sand, and the incoming gallop of endless white horses, but other times it was much more than that.

In the murky shadows beneath timeless kelp forests, something shifted, eel-like and strange. It coiled and twisted like a ribbon in the current, and she caught flashes and impressions of mottled green-brown skin, translucent fins, and a mouth full of teeth like needles, and a rolling, golden-green eye, and she surfaced from sleep gasping, with a name half remembered on her tongue.

She dreamed of Edmund Nancarrow too.

She dreamed of his pale, elegant hands and the way his smooth-shaven cheek had dimpled when he smiled up at her from Locryn’s bed. Strangely she dreamed of him wrapped in the silvery fur of that seal skin, lying on smooth sand, naked save for that pelt beneath him, looking up at her adoringly on the smooth sand of the cove while something shifted and circled in the water behind her with a covetous hunger.

As a scorching July drew to a close, the dreams faded and finally ceased, but while Nel was certainly grateful to get a full night’s sleep, she couldn’t help but miss that odd sense of connection they gave her; the feeling of belonging that she had never experienced before.

The days turned from searing to sultry, and the golden evenings stretched warm and luxurious as a cat by the hearth. Nel made a few visits into Polgarrack, but most of the time she either walked with Winnie around the gardens, or rode Blackthorn alone around the Penrose estates and read in the afternoons. Her days took on a gentle, lulling pattern that seemed to match the motion of the tide as much as the ticking of a clock.

Two weeks after the storm which had nearly claimed Edmund Nancarrow’s life, Winnie practically skipped into the library where Nel had been reading in the window seat for the past hour.

The sun cast long, languorous, red lines through the room and set the chandelier and the mirror on the wall sparkling. Winnie had shattered the still silence by exclaiming that the annual harvest festival dance was to be held in the great barn at Heath Top House on the first of August, and that all of the village was invited.

“I quite forgot to tell you about it, and I was reminded just this afternoon when I heard some of the farm hands talking about clearing the barn for the Lammas Dance. You’ll want a new dress, of course,” Winnie added matter-of-factly, as if she were simply stating that the sea was wet.

“What’s wrong with my dresses?” Nel asked with mock indigence, and Winnie cackled.

Nel’s chest lit up like the glowing sunset outside on hearing the elegant young lady laugh like that, and her blue eyes glittered with new life and vigour in a way they hadn’t when Nel had first arrived at the end of spring. Winnie had always been pretty, if pale and gaunt, but now in the glow of the rich summer light, she looked beautiful.

Her grief would always be there, hand in hand with her love for James, but Winnie had grown strong enough to bear her grief most days now, and to carry it about with her instead of letting it drag her down and swamp the joy from every moment of her life.

“Well, at least get some new trim for that light green one you haven’t worn yet,” Winnie said with one eyebrow raised.

So it was that Nel found herself being politely bullied into buying trim for the unworn dress late one afternoon. They took two horses from the stables instead of going in a carriage, and although Winnie wasn’t as good a rider as Nel after her summer of practice and her slightly wild childhood, they managed a sedate canter together along the clifftop path before slowing to a walk to descend into the cove where the buildings of Polgarrack nestled like so many barnacles on the rocky coastline.

They stabled Blackthorn and Rose at The Lantern, and walked arm in arm up the steep street away from the harbour and towards the aptly-named Clifftop Street. Ribbons and trim dangled all around them like flags at a May Day dance, and they spent longer than Nel expected in there, choosing trim for her dress.

Winnie laughed and let Nel hold up ribbons against her hair as if the two of them were frivolous children, not young ladies who should have behaved with a touch more decorum. Mrs. Gwinnel just watched them with a knowing smile on her lips from behind the counter though, and when she caught Nel’s eye, she inclined her head in a way that spoke of approval before she looked pointedly at Winnie, whose radiant happiness was obvious in such close quarters.

Something swelled in Nel’s ribcage at that simple gesture. She felt not only ‘seen’, but welcomed as one of their own. She had not been born in Polgarrack — not even in Cornwall — and while she’d hardly been treated rudely, folks other than Aggie had definitely been wary of someone who had travelled two hundred miles, alone, from where they were born, to live among strangers. Now though, they felt just a little less like strangers, and a little more like friends. Perhaps even cautiously like her people.

With their ribbons and trim purchased, they stepped outside again and walked together down the street to the harbour, discussing the Lammas Dance, and the corn dollies — or ‘Necks’ as Winnie called them according to local tradition — they would make to decorate the windowsills of the house. “I’m sure Aggie will show you how it’s done,” Winnie said as they came across the carter’s wife huffing up the hill.

“Show you how what’s done, m’lady?” she panted, putting one hand on her hip to catch her breath while the other was hefted a basket full of jars and pots.

“Show Nel here how to make a good Cornish Neck,” Winnie said, and Aggie’s eyes lit up. “I would offer but I’m sure mine would be terribly wonky.”

“Oh, of course!” Agatha beamed. “You just let me know when, and I’ll come over to Heath Top and give you a lesson. Both of you, if you wish it.”

They laughed and said they’d appreciate a visit whenever Aggie had the time, and the older woman flushed at the courtesy and nodded before excusing herself and labouring on up the hill.

“She’s kind,” Nel smiled after her.

“Most people here are,” Winnie said with a touch of wistfulness to her words. “They were very kind to me after James died. They loved him. He was a good employer to them at the mine. Not like the Cranmoore workings,” she added darkly, and then sighed and waved a hand to dismiss the matter. “But I don’t want to talk about that now. It’s such a beautiful evening.”

Nel knew that a lot of the workers who now laboured in Winnie’s — formerly James’ — mines had come from the Cranmoore works when conditions had grown especially dangerous, and the owners had done nothing to try to secure the tunnels. She reached for her friend’s elbow and gripped it gently. “They love you too, Winnie. You’re a fair employer and you look after them.”

She nodded, and they let the matter lie.

The iodine and salt tang of the harbour hit her nose above the soft wafting of Winnie’s perfume as the two of them rounded the corner, still linked arm in arm, and up ahead Nel spotted Edmund Nancarrow leaning against the low harbour wall, watching a small boat rowing in. He wore a soft smile on his pretty lips, and he looked simultaneously relaxed and excited. She was glad to see him looking hale again, given that the last time she’d seen him — outside of those strange dreams, of course — he had looked the next thing to crossing over.

Nel followed his gaze and, just where she’d half expected, she found the hulking figure of Locryn at the oars of the small skiff that ploughed through the glassy waters of the harbour. If her eyes lingered on the breadth of his shoulders and the curve of his biceps beneath the linen shirt he wore, she could hardly be blamed. She certainly wasn’t the only one. If Edmund was trying to be subtle about his infatuation, he wasn’t being successful at all. As if he felt her gaze on him though, Edmund twitched around a moment later and flushed when he discovered her watching him. He did muster a quick, shy smile for her though, and he knuckled his forehead politely.

Taking that as a sign that her presence was not entirely unwelcome, Nel slipped away from Winnie with a whispered, “Just a moment.”

Winnie arched an eyebrow but offered no comment beyond a very slight smile, and she carried on along the harbour road alone towards the sea wall that jutted out to protect the small port from the worst of the storms.

Edmund pushed himself off the wall, leaning on the cane in his left hand and carefully keeping his weight off his right leg. “Miss Bywater,” he said as she joined him.

“Mr. Nancarrow,” she smiled. “I’ve not seen you since the beach. I hope you’re well?”

“Yes, Miss Bywater,” he said, his warm eyes narrowing as he smiled. “And I must thank you again. I don’t remember very much about that day, but Lock — Locryn — told me what you did for me. I’m… I’m in your debt. I hope you’ll forgive me for not coming up to the house to thank you,” he added, looking chagrined. His pale cheeks flushed nearly scarlet, and he dropped his gaze to the cobblestones. “I wasn't sure it would be… uh… appropriate, if you follow…” And he cast half an eye towards Winnie, who was still strolling blithely along the gentle curve of the harbour in the sunshine some way away.

Where Nel’s hair was a little windswept and her riding habit somehow rumpled despite her best efforts, Winnie looked a vision in her foaming, sky blue dress with her bonnet affixed to her golden hair as if it had only just been placed there. Nel tried not to feel jealous of the woman’s delicate grace, but Edmund didn’t seem to have eyes for Winnie any more than he did for Nel. Of course, that was probably because he was only making polite conversation with Nel while waiting for Locryn to alight from his skiff and join him on the quayside.  

She shook her head to shake her thoughts into order. “I’m just glad you’re alright, and that Mr. Trevethan was nearby. I dread to think how I would have managed otherwise.”

“Indeed.” His eyes flickered down to the folded ribbon in her fingers but he didn’t say anything else.

“For the harvest festival,” she said, gesturing with it. “Winnie tells me I need to look presentable, though I can’t imagine who she’s trying to pair me off with.”

“Any man there would be lucky to dance with you, miss,” he said in his warm, slightly husky tenor, and his cheeks flushed again.

Nel gave a trill of laughter at that, and snorted indelicately, though not unkindly. “I think my chances of finding a man who thinks himself ‘lucky to dance with me’ are fast slipping away these days, but I appreciate your kindness all the same,” she said.

Edmund looked like he had been about to contradict her, but an earsplittingly shrill whistle from the water directly below them stole their attention and they turned to find Locryn tying up his skiff. “Give an old man a hand, would you?” he called to Edmund without looking up.

“You’re forty-two,” Edmund grinned without budging. “Hardly old. Get yourself out. You’d as soon pull me in as I’d pull you up.”

“If you ate more, you wouldn’t be so damned skinny,” Locryn grumbled, hauling himself up the metal ladder and onto the quayside to join them. Nel took a polite step or two back, but Locryn didn’t even seem to have noticed her standing there.

“You like me skinny,” Edmund muttered under his breath as Locryn joined him. Nel didn’t think that had been intended for her ears, and she felt her face heat this time.

“I like you however you are, selkie,” Locryn growled back under his breath, the sound just as heated and full of intent.

For a wild moment, Nel thought he was going to take Edmund’s face in his hands and kiss him where anyone could see, but he just stood there smouldering at him and looming over him until Edmund flushed and looked away.

Nel assumed that the unfamiliar word ‘selkie’ was some Cornish term of endearment and dismissed it, and it seemed all but confirmed when Edmund stiffened suddenly and glanced back at her with his dark eyes wide. Locryn’s tanned cheeks also turned a shade darker when he finally realised they were not alone, but he stared resolutely at her, as if daring her to make a comment.

She smiled to reassure them, hoping that she somehow managed to convey that whatever the nature of their relationship, it didn’t bother her, and that she wouldn’t speak of it. She inclined her head politely to Locryn, trying not to let that glaze of sadness fill her face again as she beheld two people so clearly in love with each other. Had Winnie and James been like that with each other too?

Yet again, Nel reminded herself that that chapter was fast closing to her now.

“Mr. Nancarrow, Mr. Trevethan,” she said and cursed the slight, choking tremble in her voice. “I wish you both the very best of afternoons.”

With what she thought was admirable amount of self-possession, she turned and walked along the quayside with the intention of joining Winnie where she had halted in the sunshine some way up the harbour road.

“We’ll see you at the harvest dance!” Edmund called suddenly after her, and she heard the soft sound of a jovial punch connecting some way behind her.

Glancing back, she saw that Locryn had playfully thumped Edmund in the chest, and the latter was rubbing his sternum comically while Locryn laughed loudly. The rich sound rolled up from his soft belly and he tipped his head back, looking truly delighted while Edmund flushed a very dark red and scowled petulantly at him. They caught her staring and she just offered a tiny smile. She could feel that it didn’t go all the way to her eyes, and she turned away as her vision blurred a little. It certainly had nothing to do with the salt-wind gusting in off the sea.

The memory of the two of them sat in her mind for the rest of the day, and even Winnie noted her quiet mood that night at dinner. “Did something happen in town?” she asked quietly as she set down her silver spoon after dessert.

Nel shook her head. “No.”

After a long pause, while Winnie’s father-in-law continued to bore his poor wife into a stupor at the other end of the table, Winnie reached for her hand and gripped it tightly. In a whisper, she asked, “Are you happy here, Nel?”

Nel found herself taken off-guard by the question, and by the worry in Winnie’s forget-me-not blue eyes. “Of course I am,” she replied. “How could I not be?”

Winnie shrugged one shoulder. “I’m older than you, though admittedly not by much. I’ve been married, and you never have. You never talk about engagements or young men or going to London or Bath. Have you truly given up? You know it’s not too late,” she went on in a rush when Nel half-opened her mouth to stop her. “We could go to Plymouth — they have dances and balls there all the time, especially with all the officers and the Navy. I’m conscious that…” she faltered and then swallowed a too-big sip of sweet dessert wine before continuing, “I’m conscious that you’re very isolated here, Nel.”

Nel shook her head and turned her hand over to squeeze Winnie’s fingers back. “I have everything I need, I promise you.”

Winnie nodded, but she didn’t look entirely convinced as she changed the subject. “Perhaps Aggie will come tomorrow and show us how to make Necks. I never did manage it when I was a girl…”

With talk of the upcoming Lammas Dance, Nel’s mind drifted, and she wondered if Edmund and Locryn really would be there after all.

__

Next chapter ->

Things spice up a bit (just a tad, this is a slow burn after all) next time, and we get a harvest festival dance where all bets are off...

Thank you for engaging with this story of mine. It's been in the works for a long time, and I'm only just now sharing it with you, and I'm so glad it's now.

I hope you’re enjoying it and I hope you’ll consider reblogging as well as leaving a like if you enjoyed it. Take care of yourselves, and I hope you have a lovely day/night wherever you are, and whenever you read this.

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[inaris-mage-of-storms]

Warning for mildly suggestive content, swearing.

}{ Parts One-Three }{ Part Four }{

Martyn can't tell exactly where the song is coming from, but he knows Scott's voice from the first distant note, and pauses to listen. It echoes through the tunnels, surrounding him, filling his ears and overflowing into his bones. There's no chance of tracking the source, but Martyn's steps quicken anyway. His feet slip here and there on moss-slick stone, but he doesn't slow down once.

Some small corner of his mind whispers that he should be more careful. He's still unfamiliar with these particular tunnels - that's his whole reason for being down here, to poke around and add more detail to his mental map of the island - and unfamiliarity should breed caution. There could be any number of creatures ready to make a meal out of an intruder, plenty of places where he could slip and break his neck, all sorts of twists and turns to get lost in. Careful, that ever-present survival instinct whispers. Never take a step before you're certain of your footing.

The song grows in volume, and there is no more room for the little voice.

Martyn has long been tempted to leap before he looks when it comes to Scott, and never more than right now.

He has no idea where he's going, but he keeps moving anyway. His chest aches with longing even as a grin spreads across his face. He takes corners without thinking, ignoring some passageways and making a beeline for others without any conscious reason why. The song never changes, never wavers, but Martyn knows where he's going even as he doesn't.

He'll walk forever if it means getting to Scott. He'll run, when he can.

Martyn slips again in one of the straighter passageways that tempts him into a sprint, but he's back on his feet before he can register the water soaking into his clothes or the bruise-to-be on his leg or the scrape on his arm. It's not enough to keep him from his goal, so it's meaningless. The song is clearer. Scott is closer. Scott is closer and Martyn is running and if he falls again he'll crawl if he has to but Scott is close and Martyn can feel it and Scott is so close and Martyn needs him and -

He squints in the relative brightness of the cave the tunnel dumps him into, and the sudden change in light is enough to bring him to a halt as he shades his eyes. His heart is pounding as he sees Scott on the edge of the little pond, bare feet in the water and blue coat cast to one side. Scott doesn't stop singing as he looks up and smiles at Martyn, only holding a hand out to him.

Martyn jumps off the ledge he's on and splashes through the water, falling to his knees before Scott, closing his eyes at the caress on his cheek. He turns his head to kiss Scott's fingers, then gazes up at him. Scott's eyes are bright and his teeth are sharp. Martyn smells sea breezes and kelp, feels coral and grass under his knees instead of stone and moss. All he sees is his partner, his teammate, his lover, his Scott.

He feels Scott's lips against his, but not in a kiss. He's still singing, their breaths mingling together, and Martyn couldn't name the song if he tried. He's never heard it before. He's heard it a thousand times. It's in a language he doesn't know. He knows every word. It's meaningless. It's everything.

Martyn wraps his arms around Scott and lays him down on the moss, trailing slow kisses over his throat. Scott's breath hitches, but the song ringing in Martyn's ears never falters. He slides his hands up Scott's shirt, and the skin he's never touched is just as soft as he remembers. One of Scott's hands is pushing Martyn's vest off his shoulders, the other reaching for the hem of his shirt. He doesn't know which of them kissed the other first or when the ethereal notes faded away, but he doesn't care. He cares about Scott's lips and Scott's tongue and Scott's hands and Scott's soft gasps and -

Rough scales on his bruised leg and a low rumble snap Martyn's thoughts back into clarity, and he catches a glimpse of the last flick of a tail as its irritated owner slips past them and into the water. Scott blinks as Martyn scrambles away from him, then pouts. His flushed face and tousled hair and half-lidded gaze are tempting enough even without whatever unearthly call lured Martyn to him in the first place, but Martyn has - he's not sure if it's accurate enough to say he has standards, but limits, certainly.

"No. I am not fucking you in a bloody crocodile pit!" he yelps as he finds a perch and eyes the creature warily. The second one - because of course there's a second one, he thinks with borderline hysteria - bumps its nose against Scott's arm, and he rubs under the crocodile's chin fondly.

"You weren't complaining a moment ago," Scott grumbles, but looks resigned as he gets to his feet. "You seemed quite eager, in fact."

"Yeah, well - !" Martyn can't even begin to fathom what to say. The last few - minutes? hours? surely it wasn't hours, but it could have been days for all he knows - feel like a dream. "I'm not coming anywhere near that creature," he says instead, and looks around for the exit.

Scott waves his hand in the direction of the wooden stairs and the platform that leads out of the cave, and Martyn gingerly steps down and towards it with another wary look at the pond. Scott's pretty face is sullen and disappointed, and maybe just a little dazed, and Martyn wonders if he's just as clueless as to what happened.

"Do you...maybe want to join me at the tavern instead?" he asks hopefully. Scott glances up at him, the corners of his mouth still turned down, and for a moment Martyn thinks maybe everything he had only recently let himself hope for again has slipped from his grasp.

Then Scott smiles, and everything is right with the world again. "Okay," he says softly, and laughs when Martyn grins. "You owe me so many drinks, though."

"Deal," agrees Martyn, and waits while Scott rolls his cuffed pant legs back down, puts his shoes and coat on, and becomes Scott Denholm again instead of his partner, his teammate, his lover whatever it was Martyn thinks he saw while under his spell.

Martyn is still under his spell, if he's honest with himself.

(He never is.)

[witchofthesouls]

IDW/MTMTE fic idea,

A cultural exchange is proposed in the Council of Worlds to show a little bit of each other in good faith:

Cancer shows its deep militaristic culture in its oldest tradition: a dance competition. A no-contact sport where partners' tests constantly test each other’s skills: flexibility, speed, reaction time, strength, and coordination. A violent, vicious whirling to the rhythm that's both entertainment and discipline.

No one was surprised by Velocitronians setting up a race track in the city, but this particular style emphasizes acrobatics, flair, and efficiency as speedsters parkour through the infrastructure. This kind of race allows teams who will be judged on collaboration and creativity as many utilize immense drops to act out iconic or playful scenes. One pair had a full gamestation set up in freefall.

The Devisen showed off their food culture, which is dominated by molecular gastronomy. They enjoy playing with properties and compositions of ingredients. Thermal sense is a very popular technique among the locals.

The Eukarian tribes had settled with an art exhibition. The Scale Walkers shown off pottery with fascinating grooves and whorls with patterns of their planet. The Fur Walkers had submitted bone carvings ranging from delicate jewelry of native fauna to intricate designs recreating battles. Guests were able to interact with Cloud Walker furniture: elaborate hanging seats embedded with different textures, designs, and compartments. The Fateweavers sent beautifully woven, silky smooth fabric, each one with its own specific geometric design. The Wave Walkers' exhibit was done in a dark room where visitors watched a reconstruction of how marine life reacts to their sonata. Twinkling jellies, haunting kelp forests, the wild explosion of color from massive reefs, dancing phantomish creatures, and synchronized schools of fish.

Earth demonstrated a surrealistic fashion show based on Marissa Faireborn's observations on what Cybertronians focused on.

The Camiens had invited everyone to come enjoy a sacred rite that embraced all aspects of Solus: a widespread, drug-enhanced sex festival and revel at a monstrous bon fire.