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merigreenleaf · 4 years

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Unexpected Inspiration Series: Concordia’s Art Magic

Blythe could only assume that if Adair was holding a paintbrush, the jar in his other hand must contain paint or ink. Then again, it was Adair. It could just as likely be grape jam. And to think, she'd finally got herself unsticky from Sol's glue fiasco this morning. With some trepidation, she held out her hand. Adair dipped the tip of his brush into the jar, then drew a quick blue swirl on her palm. At least that solved the mystery. It was, in fact, paint. "I wouldn't call a paint smudge much of a glow." "Give me a minute." This time Adair didn't return the brush to the jar and instead held the tip of the bristles just far enough away that they tickled Blythe's skin. She fought back the reflex to close her hand so she wouldn't disturb whatever it was he was trying. When nothing happened for a long while besides Adair gazing intently at her hand, Blythe mouthed to Etri, "What's he doing?" Etri tapped his finger against her wrist, calling her attention back down. She had expected nothing to change and hissed a sharp intake of breath when it had. The swirl was still there, but now there was an aura of purple about an inch away from her skin. When she moved her hand, the strange glow stayed with it. Etri leaned closer for a better look. She pried her eyes away in time to catch Adair looking pleased with himself in an embarrassed sort of way. "So all Weavers' hands look like this?" "Yeah, but not just our hands. Picture that covering your entire body and you get a better idea of how we glow." Blythe made a face and wiped her hand clean on the paint-stained cloth he handed her. "Blech. I'll pass." -Excerpt from an early draft of Colorweaver (Book 1)

Concordia as a whole is filled with artists, craftspeople, inventors, and creative hobbyists. The culture has art at its center and almost everyone joins in, even if it's just a way to pass the time rather than as a vocation. It's a drive passed down from generation to generation and the reason for this is that art magic runs deep in the blood of Concordians. History and myth have blended together into stories telling of how the first Concordians-- several struggling, displaced groups of people who joined together to survive-- asked for help in driving away a threat and to help keep their small population safe. Legends say that the constellations came down from the sky to teach magic to the people. Centuries later, these magics have become the nine types of art magic in Concordia.

(Info about the art magic below!)

Here are the types of magic. These are represented in the moodboard from left to right, top to bottom.

Wordweaving (Glow color: red) These Weavers work their magic into words, both spoken and written. These are the poets, the storytellers, the actors, the writers. They're the ones who can affect emotion or, in the case of my morally ambiguous main character, influence someone's thoughts for a short time. This is probably the most dangerous or easily corrupted of magics, but considering the tests that go into becoming a master artist and the checks in place after someone does, this hasn't been a huge problem. (Dray has just made it a problem by avoiding any real training, which is also not a usual thing-- nothing Dray has done with their magic is correct, if you get down to it, and it means that they are going to have Consequences sooner than later. But I digress.) Another example of how this magic can be used is in the scrolling marquee in front of the theater the characters visit in book 1.

Colorweaving (Color: purple) These are the artists whose tools are ink, paint, pencil, charcoal, etc. They're essentially illusionists with the ability to make what they draw/paint move around on whatever they're using as a canvas. Adair has this magic and while he'll sometimes use this to make animated paintings, his career as a cartographer has him creating interactive maps. As the series progresses, he figures out that if he paints on himself or someone else, he can change their appearance. He may even work out something that Colorweavers have forgotten they once knew how to do: by drawing on the air, it's possible to create a believable 3D illusion.

Timberweaving (Color: dark green) Woodworkers and carpenters, obviously, but their magic does more than just allow them to make sturdy creations from wood. Not that this is anything to scoff at-- this is why the oldest Artisans' houses haven't fallen over despite being built on stilts and almost every generation adding a new room or even a new floor. This magic can also make wood as buoyant on air as it would be on water and is a frequent way transportation is built. Not all vehicles hover a few inches off the ground, but this does include the "float-wagons" my main characters call home. Those are something of a cross between a motorhome and a house and can be driven (albeit slowly) around.

Terraweaving (Color: orange) These are the Weavers who work with stone and clay, sculpture and pottery. Way back in Concordia's history there was a Terraweaver who used to sculpt trainable dog-sized animals to give companionship and help to those who needed it. Not just by way of a service dog-- one of the things she made for a gardener friend was a pet that doubled as a planter. The more traditional ways of working this magic are the ability to work stone as though it were soft clay and putting their magic into buildings to make them more steady and solid, much like the Timberweavers, or to make them resist fires.

Oreweaving (Color: red-violet) These Weavers frequently have chemical or heat magic and often use this to etch, shape, and manipulate metals. They're the jewelers, the smiths, and are probably the most "inventor" group of the bunch. Sol tends to use his light/heat magic in a similar way to how the arcane metalworkers would (softening and shaping metal in his hands), so there's some overlap here in terms of heat with the glassworkers. The reason for this is Oreweaving was originally a kind of lightning magic. You'll still find it used as a kind of "battery" when an Oreweaver works with a different type of Weaver on a project. This could be to extend the life of the magic in something else, because eventually all magic inside a creation will run out and need to be recharged, or it'll be a backup battery. Concordia relies on wind, water, and solar power, so magic is only ever a backup or a way to store power they already have.

Savorweaving (Color: pale green) The Weavers who work with food and drink. What they cook doesn't burn, produce stays fresh longer, herbs don't lose potency or flavor after they're dried, food keeps longer or can be made to be more filling. They're the reason Concordia has the equivalent of refrigerators. These artists can also influence the taste and strength of flavor, and I bet they can look at a person and guess what their favorite foods might be.

Glassweaving (Color: gold) This magic involves heat and/or light. These artists are the reason why Silveridge has so much stained glass! As well as using this to make super-strong glass, some Glassweavers use this magic directly by putting it inside glass globes to be used as lamps. Portable heating, like something to keep in your pockets to keep your hands warm? Probably also had a Glassweaver involved. Concordia's mail system is via pneumatic tubes that run about twelve feet off the ground, and while a few different kinds of art go into creating these, the tubes themselves are made of magically-influenced glass.

Songweaving (Color: blue) This magic involves sound and voice, although in terms of pitch and changing how you sound, not the verbal influence of the Wordweavers. I have a character in later books with this magic who can make her voice sound like anything, as well as throwing it so that the sound appears to be coming from somewhere else. This is also the reason that Concordians are able to record sound and music, as well as amplify it or play it at another location simultaneously.

Threadweaving (Color: blue-green) These are the fiber artists, the spinners, weavers (small "w"), knitters, tailors, etc. They can put their magic into clothing and fabric to make it warmer or cooler than it would otherwise be. (This suits Concordians well because current fashion calls for lots of layers of embroidered fabrics and they live in a warm climate.) This can also make clothing protective, usually against things like weather, but it is also how the Protectorates are able to stay safe without needing to wear something heavy that would look like protective gear. Remember the floating homes I mentioned earlier? Some of these are propelled via large fans, sort of like a hovercraft, but some are made with sails on the roofs. Whether it's land or sea, these sails can propel the vehicle forward even if there isn't much wind and can quite likely store some of the wind for later, should it be a still day.

Not everyone in Concordia has magic particularly strongly: some are only good at never burning what they cook, some have simply a pleasant singing voice, some are above average at writing poetry. Sometimes these people will make this part of their careers, sometimes it'll only remain a hobby they enjoy. If the magic is particularly strong, though, it requires additional training and those people are considered Artisans. There isn't a lot of difference between an Artisan and a craftsperson when it comes down to what they create; the only real difference is that an Artisan has magic as an extra tool, so their end results are different. Considering no two artists ever create exactly the same thing anyway, this means that there has never been more importance placed on the Artisans versus craftspeople. Each person will only ever have one type of art magic; even if they carry several types in their bloodline, one will be dominant and only this one will be usable. Each of the nine types of art magic has its own color that glows in both the artist and the creations they make. Only those with decently strong magic can see this, but it does mean that a lot of people, clothing, objects, and locations in Concordia have almost a stained glass look to them if it's something you can see. Part of the reason buildings in Silveridge are made with white stone is because of these glows. Silveridge is where a large percentage of the Artisans live, so it became a tradition to build and paint in white, then add colorful embellishments. Otherwise think about how badly paint colors might clash with the glows used to create the things in the city! Even if most people aren't really aware of how magic glows, they've embraced this aesthetic. Concordia, and Silveridge in particular, is all about aesthetics.

These are just some examples of what each kind of magic can do. Concordians are always coming up with new ideas-- sometimes those ideas work great, sometimes they fail spectacularly. Either way, the artists and craftspeople are constantly creating. Their art magic allows for greater technology than their world might have had without it. Concordia freely trades their creations, so most of their world has access, as well. At some point I'll talk more about Galanvoth, the country that considers itself Concordia's competition.

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This moodboard is for @homesteadchronicles theme of “craftsmanship” because how could I not talk about Concordia and their art magic when most of my series involves this. :D In the future, I'd love to talk more about the Artisans, the history of Concordia’s magic, and just more world building stuff in general.

Tagging my series list! Let me know if you want on or off the list, it’s all good. And as always, please add me to any writing tag lists you have, whether you’re on my list or not. I love reading about writeblr projects. :)

@homesteadchronicles @ageekyreader @lynnafred @the-gay-hufflepuff @oceanwriter @desperatlytryingtowriteabook @muffindragon227 @theguildedtypewriter @toboldlywrite @wchwriter @dreameronthewind @shadow-maker @pen-for-sword @loopyhoopywrites @emptymanuscript @madmoonink @perringwrites @megan-cutler @elliot-orion @thatwriternamedvolk @indecentpause @writer-on-time @ravenpuffwriter @siarven @musicismymoirail @lady-redshield-writes @bluemartlet @reeseweston @worldbuildingwren @hiddswritingrefs @cay--scribbles @focusdumbass @enasroterfaden @missrobinswritings @joshuaorrizonte @zofiehelen @kainablue @kalis-scribbles @inspirited-goddess

#writing #writeblr #moodboard monday #moodboard #world building #about my world #fantasy series #art aesthetic #worldbuilding #magic #unexpected inspiration series #unexpected inspiration aesthetic

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guardianofjunmyeon · 4 years

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Finding Atlantis (part 1)

Pairing: Baekhyun x Reader

Genre: Action/Adventure, Enemies to Lovers, PirateAU

Description: 20 years ago the seas became angry. Unruly and unkind to any sailor, to any ship that dared venture too far out in her waters. Many a man has heard the tales of Atlantis, the lost city, the key the ocean. But fewer men know the tale of it’s missing child. The key to the ocean, the key to Atlantis but a lost little one. The power one would hold should they find this child would be nearly that of Poseidon himself. Thus, the hunt began.

A/N: Hiiii long time no see lmaoo...I started a pirate story and I felt like i should upload it here on tumblr bc i think it’s fun and i have a few chapters written already so ...here you go!

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14, Part 15, Part 16, Part 17, Part 18

20 years ago the seas became angry. Unruly and unkind to any sailor, to any ship that dared venture too far out in her waters. Many a man has heard the tales of Atlantis, the lost city, the key the ocean.

The heart of the ocean.

Atlantis was created by the Gods. Created by the God of the ocean, Poseidon, himself. He created a land, a city, in the middle of the ocean among the humans in order to be closer to humanity. He went on to fill his new city with his many half God, half human children; he allowed others who felt the pull of the ocean deep within their souls to populate his city and call it their home. Their Atlantis.

The people of Atlantis were a rich people, culturally, morally, financially. Their advances far beyond our own. They lived in peace, in harmony and kept the sea happy, kept her calm and teaming with life. Poseidon’s children ruled the city with kindness, with understanding and neutrality for hundreds of years. They protected the city and the oceans for many, many years even after Poseidon himself returned to live amongst the other Gods.

One day, a thousand years in the past, the people of Atlantis decided that they wanted more. They were the keepers of the sea, they were the people of Poseidon. They wanted more money, more attention from their creator, more reverence from the humans and animals that they watched over. They wanted to be worshiped. They created waves large enough to drown continents, monsters big enough to destroy ships, and storms scary enough to keep the faint of heart far from the ocean, and even farther from their city.

And so they were bestowed with destruction for their greed.

The city was destroyed with volcanic eruptions, lightning storms, and ultimately a tsunami large enough to bury the city miles below the ocean’s surface.

The city was lost beneath the waves of the ocean to never be found or seen by humanity again, but it’s believed to still exist. It is believed to still thrive, to have adapted, and reverted to its original task of protecting the ocean without greed or desire for repayment. For the seas have been kind again after the disappearance of Atlantis.

Until 20 years ago.

It was said that each of Poseidon’s children were born with a destiny that they were meant to fulfill. A destiny that was crucial to the survival of the seas. To the survival of marine life. To the survival of humans.

Rumors that one of Poseidon’s children had run away to live amongst the humans began to spread across the lands like a wildfire as the ocean began to act restlessly, and monsters were starting to reappear in places they’d long vanished.

For the return of this child, for the rediscovery of Atlantis, you would be rewarded with riches beyond your wildest dreams.

Humans had tried to find Atlantis since its disappearance and none had gotten close to uncovering her secret location, so humans began to look for its lost child instead.

The key to the ocean is Atlantis. And the key to Atlantis is its missing child. The power one would hold would be nearly matched to that of Poseidon himself.

Thus, the hunt began.

-Anonymous

~~~

“Are we ready to leave port?”

“Yes Captain. All members are present and accounted for.”

“Good. Our heading is east, let’s make haste. I want to get this bounty and be back before the month’s end.”

“Ay, Captain.”

Leaving port is always as gratifying as it is stress inducing. There’s nothing that can quite match the rush you feel when you see your fellow crewman rushing around your ship, bringing her to life again, after weeks at rest. Raising the sails and cleaning down her surfaces before taking her back out home on the open sea, that rush is what excites you most in this world. The entire vessel buzzes with energy as your men call out to each other across the ship ensuring that she’s prepped and safe to take out on the water.

You always feel your chest swell with pride as they do their jobs with a confidence and energy that you hoped you played a part in inspiring. You’ve recruited each of them personally, and watched them grow under your guidance from nervously getting their sea legs to being some of the fiercest pirates known to man. Your first mate, Junmyeon has been by your side the longest, and is your most loyal second in command. Kim Junmyeon knows the ocean and the workings of the ship with nothing but innate talent. You would consider him just as respected and in charge of the ship as the captain himself.

Your quartermaster, Zhang Yixing has been with your ship for slightly less time than your first mate, but he is just as important. If Junmyeon is your right hand, then Yixing is your left. Yixing understands the workings of the ship and handles moral and makes every voice on the ship heard when issues among the crew arise.

You have a few sailing masters, those who handle navigation and piloting the ship. They are the keepers of the charts. Kim Yeri, your head sailing master is the smartest woman you’ve ever had the pleasure of taking aboard your crew. No one can read a map, chart a course, and follow the stars quite like her. Lee Taemin is your best pilot. He can guide your ship like it’s an extension of his own body, no matter the weather, no matter the conditions. Although Yeri and Taemin handle mostly navigation, they work hard at easing the burdens of your other crewmen as well.

You have 2 head gunners, Kim Minseok and Kang Seulgi. They lead two separate groups of men who are in charge of the ship’s artillery. Minseok and Seulgi are the fiercest fighters on the ship, well trained at aiming the heavy cannons and teaching their men how to work them safely. Minseok takes on the role as master gunner, the one in charge of all 8 men in the artillery.

Your cook, Qian Kun, doubles as the ship doctor. Both he and Yixing have been trained to attend to any kind of injury your crewmen may face.

You have 6 boatswains, or deckhands –those who handle all other activities on the ship. Whether it be anchoring, handling naval provisions, raising and lowering the sails, or just keeping the ship running smoothly. They all report directly to you, Junmyeon, or Yixing. They may be on the lowest rung of the ship, but they are just important to the ship as you are.

The crew of Storm Chaser have built a relationship based on trust and respect. All men are important, all men are heard, and all men are expected to put their life on the line for his fellow crewman. If you are unable to follow this general understanding of how the crew works, then…well, you as captain would make sure that anyone who misbehaves is handled.

You’ve captained the Storm Chaser for seven years now. She’s a decent sided ship, black as night with dark blue sails. She’s not huge, but she’s faster than the winds. She’s your pride and joy. She’s your home, and she’s home to the 20 odd other people who work her with you.

You bought her with your first big bounty, back when you were but a powder monkey on some brute’s ship, dealing with the ammunition and cannons with other dispensable suckers.

He was a shit captain and an even shittier person, but he’d allowed you to work on his ship in the lowest position possible because he saw the drive in you. He gave you a chance, and you’ll forever be grateful for him.

Even if you ended up being the one to poison his food and bring his dead body to the admiral who’d wanted him dead or alive.

He’d underestimated you. That was his mistake. You should always watch your own back and build up relationships with others who you can trust. He was a bully and a hot-heated asshole. No one liked him, he didn’t respect those beneath him, and he was careless just because you seemed young and naive. So now he’s dead and you cashed out on his life.

That's the way of the pirates after all.

The award you were given, for leading that unnamed admiral back to the brothel room where you’d left your dead ex-captain, was a hefty chunk of change. You bought your first ship in cash at the ripe age of 19.

You became a Captain at only 19.

You began to slowly build up a crew of trustworthy men and women who would lay down their life for you and for each other. You promised them safety in return for the building of trust aboard your ship. You’d seen captains who would do nothing but boss around their crew, take half of any reward for themselves, and would turn on any man on their ship at the drop of a dime.

That wasn’t the kind of captain you aspired to be. A good captain works with his men, is on the frontline of every fight, and acts as mediator when the ship is split on crucial decisions. A good captain works with their ship, not against it.

You’ve wanted to be captain of your own ship for as long as you can remember. The ocean has called out to you since you were big enough to have memories.

You grew up on a small port on the easternmost part of Xiao Shitou, a large island known for its dealing with pirates. It was easy to do business on the island and get away with things that other islands would arrest you for. Things other islands would hang you for in the middle of its largest city. You grew up watching ships come into town with people of all kinds of looks, backgrounds, stories. You watched them with wide eyes and an ache in your chest that you could never quite explain.

You just knew that where ever they were going after they left your port, that’s where you belonged.

Your mother owned a bar right in the heart of the seaside town. Storm Breaker. You can remember playing around with the regulars as your mom served them ale and smiles and would listen to their stories. You can also remember hiding in the back room among the bags of flour and crates of unopened beer whenever people your mother didn’t trust would enter her bar. Pirates and hooligans visiting for the first time. People who did nothing but cause problems when they visit.

She was a fighter, your mother. A scary woman that everyone in town respected, and a loving woman who did everything she could to protect you. You looked up to her, you admired her, but still you knew that you couldn’t do what she did. You couldn’t grow up working a bar and seeing the same people and doing the same tasks every day. You didn't belong trapped in a small town so close to the ocean, but never actually on it.

At 8 years old you watched you mother get shot right in the chest in the middle of your living room. One bullet to the heart by some ruffian she’d threatened with her own gun when he was harassing women in her bar days before.

You managed to escape him by throwing the pot of boiling water that was still burning on your stove straight at his face, and then running straight out the door that he’d kicked down. You’d left your mother there and ran away just as she’d always instructed you to.

That was just how life in pirate port cities worked.

You dragged your mother’s body out of the house a week later with the help of a man who frequented your mother’s bar often enough to basically live there. You both gave her to the ocean. He stood at your side, patted your head and told you that you would be okay.

You never saw him again after that.

The next years you lived alone on the streets, stealing food, earning money for little odd jobs around the town when you could. Some people recognized you and would help you out when they could, but they had their own struggles and issues, so you continued to live on your own the best way you could. You got into fights, got chased by people who caught you picking their pockets or filling your cheeks with their food. It wasn’t easy, but life could have been worse.

You kept your eye out for the man who murdered your mother. He made Xiao Shitou his home not long after that night. He ended up taking over your mothers bar, changed the name to Slut Cavern, and ran it into the ground a year later because he didn’t know how to fucking run a business.

When you were 11 you were able to find real work as a blacksmith’s apprentice. A woman with kind eyes and rough hands who taught you self defense and how to make and use the artillery she was selling.

Everyone just called her Victoria.

She’d known your mother, had gone to Storm Breaker a few times. She never had her own children, too busy working and owning her business on her own to bother with the excuses for men who frequented Xiao Shitou, so she took you under her wing as her own.

Her business wasn’t clean. She often sold blades, gun parts, and bullets to the worst kinds of men. To pirates, looters, murders, slave owners, anything of the like.

She did what she could to make money. Your mother did the same with her bar.

Victoria would take you along when she would deliver her swords. You would watch her threaten men who dared try to steal from her, and kill those who would try to take advantage of her. You learned quickly how to surprise people with your brutality and quickness with a blade under her guidance.

By 13 you’d killed your first man. A dirty older man who bought a knife and wasn’t going to pay you since you’d come to collect the money on your own. This wasn’t the first collection you’d gone on without Victoria, but it was the first time it hadn’t gone smoothly. He’d planned on assaulting you on top of robbing you. He’d pulled out his blade and advanced on you, but you were faster; you evaded his first swipe and slit his neck in one go with the thin but sharp sword on your hip.

You took off with his personal sword, the sword you were meant to sell to him, and all the valuables on his person. He lay there dead in an alley and you walked away with a smile on your face.

At 14 you cornered the man who killed your mother. He was stumbling drunk out of the bar your mother once owned and he hadn’t recognized you. You figured he’d forgotten all about the kid that slipped away from him. The kid who fucked up his face. He’d made disgusting advances that evening; uttered despicable words that you knew were meant to get you in his bed. You walked up to him and watched his lip curl up in a smile and he started to unbuckle his pants. You shoved your sword right in his chest, just as his hand reached into his pants to pull out his cock.

You watched the shock fill his expression; he choked out an agonized moan. You twisted the blade and pushed it as far as it could go through his heart. When you pulled it out and felt your hand wet with his warm blood, he slid down to the ground. You crouched down and looked in his eyes, watery with drunkenness and pain.

“I hope you rot in the hottest part of hell,” you’d said evenly. You drove your blade into the middle of his throat and watched the last of his life drain from his eyes, head lolling to the side and body going still. You went back to Victoria’s and she helped you wash away the blood without question.

At 16 you and Victoria parted ways. You wanted to go off and make your own money working aboard ships. Staying on the island wasn't the life for you. You watched the people who spent their whole lives on land. Watched them live the same daily routine over and over until they died. Watched them eat and shit and fuck the same people in the same place over and over again.

And you watched the pirates who would come for short periods of time, never staying put for too long. Living life on the unpredictable sea, following no one’s rules, taking what they wanted out of life and doing something new and exciting every day.

You wanted to be like them. That was where you belonged.

You had the swordsmanship. You didn’t have any ties Xiao Shitou outside of it being the place you were raised. Victoria would live on with or without you around. And you found that you had no fear of death.

You found your first captain, Captain Lee, inside of a bar that people tended to frequent when they were looking for work or for men to complete jobs. He was signing on crewmen that night and you joined a line of big, mean looking guys trying to make yourself fit in as much as you could. He laughed right in your face when you walked up to the table and demanded he let you on his crew.

“And how old are you sweetheart? Isn’t it a bit late at night for you to be at a place as dangerous as this?”

“Don’t worry about how late it is; I know how to handle myself. I want to join your crew. I don’t care what job it is, I just want to be on the sea.” You stood confidently.

He laughed at you again and waved you away with a roll of his eyes. The man behind you pushed you out of the way to take your place at the front. “I wasn’t done you brick-headed fucker!” You yelled. He’d looked over his shoulder, given you a once over and scoffed.

You took the gun out of your holster and shot a single shot directly into the air. The bar quieted. You finally had the attention you wanted.

You looked directly at Captain Lee. “I said, I want to be on your crew and-”

The man in front of you turned around fully with a scowl set on his face and a step in your direction. “Listen here little wench-” You cocked your gun and pointed it at the man who interrupted you.

“If you put your hands on me, I will kill you right here,” you challenged.

You watched the captain stand up with his hands folded across his chest and an amused smile on his face. “You going to let a little girl threaten you sailor?” He teased.

The man went red in the face at the challenge from the captain and the audacity of you to embarrass him in front of all the patrons in the bar. He lunged at you with all force and no coordination. You slipped under his reaching arms, lifted your gun to his head and fired a bullet directly into his skull.

He fell to the ground with a thud that shook the ground, and shocked everyone watching in silence. You lowered the smoking barrel and looked at Captain Lee in exasperation. Have I made my point?

With an impressed nod, he pushed forward the signing papers and the bar erupted back into normal business.

Here you are 10 years later with the ship you bought for killing him in turn. Life is a fickle thing.

Your first mate Junmyeon comes up to your side as you’re manning the helm, getting your ship farther away from the random port you’d all spent the last few weeks at. Weeks getting drunk, having fun, resupplying the ship.

“I’ve put the bounty papers on the table in your quarters. From what I’ve gathered, the guy we’re after has been going around destroying random port cities in the south east. Pillaging, raping, setting fire to homes, and then leaving with anything him and his men can find worth value,” Junmyeon tells you evenly.

You sigh and nod. “Dead or alive?” you ask with a look in his direction.

“Either. 50,000 dollars for him, and another 5 for each member of his crew,” he replies.

“That's a shit ton of money…”

“It’s enough to set us all for at least 3 years,” he agrees. “I can call Taemin to guide the ship while we discuss the logistics in your quarters.”

You nod again, and watch as Junmyeon walks off to search among your men for the purple haired pilot.

The sun begins to set as you all set out for the next weeks at sea. The sky blooms in shades of pink, purple, and blues. You don’t think that you could ever get tired of this sight.

“Captain, I can take over from here,” Taemin chirps from your side. He beams and leans an elbow on your shoulder.

“All yours.” You hand the ship over and scan the deck quickly for any sight of your first mate. His shiny black hair blows in the wind as he leans against the mast. Even doing nothing, he manages to look just as unreal as the day that you met him. You walk up to him with a smile and put your arm around his shoulder.

He laughs and wraps his arm around your waist. “So tell me more about the son of a bitch that we’re gonna go kill.” You guide him to your room with a lift to your voice. The excitement of going on another bounty hunt after days of relaxing make your hands itch to use your blade again.

You both enter your quarters and he takes a seat first at your large table covered in documents. You close the door while he settles in, chin in his hand and fingers tapping against the newest addition to the pile of papers. “You really need to clean this up,” he throws out lightly.

You shrug. “I like having them all, for sentimental value.” You keep the wanted posters of yourself, of your crewmen, of the people you hunt, and anything else that goes to show just how much of a name you’ve earned. How many accomplishments you’ve achieved.

“Hoarder,” he jokes.

You roll your eyes. “Whatever, my junk doesn’t matter. As my first mate it’s your job to keep me in order. You could clean it up if you wanted.” You flick him in the temple. He winces. “I wouldn’t be able to function without you.”

“You or the rest of the crew,” he scoffs. “I’m here to help you keep the ship moving, not to literally put your old paperwork in order.” You sit across from him and lean over the table to scan the papers splayed in front of you both. “Speaking of keeping the ship moving, let’s talk about our latest mission.”

“Of course!” Your skin thrums with excitement. “Has Yeri managed to get a handle on where our elusive man might be headed?”

He puckers his lips in thought and taps a map marked in red circles with his finger. “She looked at his previous hits and has been working to predict his course, but because he seems to be rather…unpredictable she’s reported difficulty pinpointing an exact location.” He looks up from the map. “We have a general idea of his location based on the last place that was reported hit and the direction of major currents that they may be following.”

“A general idea is better than nothing…I trust Yeri’s navigation and mapping skills. I’ll have her update when she finds changes. For now I think we should continue the course we’d set following you and her suggestion.”

“I’ll make sure-”

“CAPTAIN!” Junmyeon’s mouth closes immediately as you both train your eyes on the person who stormed in on your meeting. “Captain,” he says again out of breath.

“What is it Johnny?” you ask, standing up from the table. Your full attention sets on him.

“There’s a stowaway on board.”

“Fuck,” you curse.

“Where are they now?” Junmyeon asks the boatswain.

Johnny jerks his thumb behind him. “We’ve got him in irons and dragged him above deck. He was hiding in the food storage. We only found him when we were taking stock of food supplies.”

“Good job, I’ll be right out. Gather the rest of the crew. I want everyone on deck,” you command.

Johnny rushes out and you and Junmyeon share a look. This doesn't bode well and you both can feel it.

When you emerge from your quarters, you take note of your crew still gathering and the stowaway on his knees in the middle of the growing crowd.

He’s objectively handsome, you note. Dark hair, strands fall messily across this forehead and ears. Strong jaw, a well built face. He looks to be in his mid twenties. He’s wearing a beige blouse with leather pants and boots that tell a story of self care, of money. He looks like someone who spends a lot of time in the sun if the color on his face and hair tell you anything. He’s no dirtier than any of your men.

Not a beggar. Not by the looks of him.

You don’t have the time to deal with him at the moment. Not in the middle of a bounty hunt. You’ll send someone to question him later. “Throw him in the brig,” you call out to no one in particular.

“Wait…” you watch as your quartermaster pushes through your other men. His eyes widen at the man on the ground in front of him. “Jongin?” he asks in disbelief.

The stowaway looks up at the sound of his name and catches the eye of your crewman. “Yixing,” he sighs out in happiness, in relief. He sags a bit in his chains at the familiar face. You look between the two men in confusion.

“You know him?” You ask Yixing simply.

He nods vigorously. “Friends from childhood,” he says. “Almost like a brother.”

“Good. Then you take him to the brig and question him.” Yixing nods at your words and is quick to get the stowaway on his feet. He looks alarmed at the fact that he’s still being taken to the brig, but Yixing understands your position on stowaways hopping aboard your ship. It’s not something to take lightly.

You look around at the rest of your men. “As for everyone else, I want all eyes searching the ship immediately. Stop whatever you were doing and start looking around. From top to bottom, from bow to stern. Look in every fucking crack. I fear we may have more than one stowaway on board. Find them and throw them in the brig. Find me or Junmyeon afterwards to deal with them.” At your words everyone disperses to frantically search the ship.

Yixing drags Jongin below deck by his chains. Junmyeon places and hand on your shoulder with a concerned frown.

“I know,” you say.

This can be no coincidence. No one would dare just hop aboard your ship without any devious ulterior motive. Your ship is known for its ruthlessness and its ability to complete jobs quickly and cleanly. You’ve heard the stories in pubs.

“No one who has ever seen the captain has ever lived to tell the tale,” they say. Your ship is feared. You are feared despite keeping your identity as captain of the Storm Chaser on a need-to-know basis. You’ve built relationships with all of your crewmen, and you all thrive on the fact that the captain’s identity is kept secret. No one will mess with anyone on the crew in fear of them being the deadly Captain.

It works out for you all.

And this fear is what keeps lesser ships from fucking with you. You’ve had…dealings in the past with individuals you’d rather forget existed, but you and your ship are always able to get away with minimal damage. You, along with pirates around the globe, know that this is not a ship you can just fuck with and get away with it.

You take it upon yourself to keep somewhat on course while the rest of the crew are looking for any extra bodies on the ship.

It’s hours later when a deckhand, Taeil, finds you at the wheel. “Captain we found one other stowaway. You won’t believe who it is…” he says with wide eyes.

“Are they in the brig already?” He nods. “Find Junmyeon and Yixing and tell them to man the ship while I go talk to the prisoners.” He runs off and you tell any other crewman on your way to the brig to go back to manning their normal positions.

The lamps in the brig have been lit at the new addition of prisoners. It’s been nearly half a year since you all had to use your brig like this. Most of the bodies you all bring back are dead and thrown in a body box you all keep deep below deck with other nonessential items.

Your ship has two decently sized cells (enough to hold 20 men in dire, cramped situations). In the first cell is the first stowaway, Jongin. He’s huddled in on himself in the far right corner of his prison with his head against his knees. He looks up at the sound of you coming down the stairs. You see the sadness and fear in his eyes before he hides his face once again against his knees. In the second cell you catch sight of hands languidly relaxing outside of the bars.

Hands adorned with various rings. You know those hands, it’s hard to forget them with the various encounters you've had with them.

“Ah…if it isn’t the fearsome Captain of the Storm Chaser,” he drawls amusedly.

The sneer that finds its way onto your face comes instantaneously at the sound of his voice. You step closer and take your second prisoner in. His flashy jewelry, the cloth wrapped around his forehead to soak up sweat, the stupid ass eye patch that he wears, and that grin that brings you nothing but fucking trouble.

“What the hell are you doing on my ship Byun?”

#whoop whoop #here we go!! i'll upload the next chapter as well!!!#baekhyun #byun baekhyun #baekhyun fanfiction #baekhyun fanfic #exo #exo imagine #exo stories #exo fanfic #baekhyun imagine #baekhyun pirate au #exo pirate au

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moonlightmadnessreviews · 5 years

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Underwater (2020): A deep sea horror that tugs at the feet of your greatest aquatic fears

Much has been said about our inherent human fear of the oceans dark depths. It seems that, from the moment we were first able to set sail on the ocean, we began telling tales of the horrifying creatures that dwelled below us, awaiting the perfect moment to breach the surface and drag us under. What better way to set the scene for William Eubank’s Underwater.

Written by Brian Duffield and Adam Cozad, this film was a pleasant surprise! Eubank’s two previous efforts Love (2011) and The Signal (2014) were a sci-fi drama and sci-fi thriller, so it was only a matter of time before he dipped his toes into some sci-fi horror. The film centers around a team aboard a deep sea drilling rig trying to make it back to the surface after a series of tremors leaves the rig in dire conditions. They’re forced to race against time, and a depleting oxygen supply, in order to make it out of the rig only to be forced to walk the ocean floor itself. As they soon find though, those are the least of their worries!

Over the films opening credits, we see reports of deep sea drilling, research on the effects of prolonged isolation and reports of odd sightings during the construction of the rig. It’s a great way to get some exposition out of the way and let us get right into things. We are first introduced to Norah (Kristen Stewart), as she surveys the long halls of the rig. A panning POV shot shows her following flickering lights and strange creaking noises as we can tell shes beginning to feel more and more concerned. In a stunning opening set piece, we see the walls of the rig rip open as they succumb to the pressure of the ocean floor! It’s certainly an exciting way to open a film and let’s us known what kind of stakes they film is setting up for us. Our team of survivors is rounded out by Captain Lucien (Vincent Cassel), Paul (T.J. Miller, who starred in 2008’s Cloverfield) Emily (Jessica Henwick), Smith (John Gallagher Jr, who, hey would ya look at that, starred in 10 Cloverfield Ln) and Rodrigo (Mamoudou Athie).

Cinematographer Bojan Bazelli gives the film a wonderfully mechanical look inside each deep sea station and the mech suits the team uses, and scenes that take place out in the water itself look incredibly murky and menacing. Instead of bathing the ocean floor in deep blues and letting us see everything nice and clear, the debris and darkness help to make the vastness of the ocean floor terribly claustrophobic. In addition, many shots are from inside our survivors helmets, so we feel just as trapped as they do. Composers Marco Beltrami and Brandon Roberts give us a score that takes on the feel of a ticking clock at times, reminding us just how little time this crew has if they hope to make it out of this situation. Their pieces are integral in ramping up the tension when it needs to be.

I quite enjoyed the dynamic between most of the crew. T.J. Miller is wonderful as the comic relief of the film, though not all of his lines land. This may have a bit more to do with the script than Miller’s delivery itself. Stewart and Cassel have a great dynamic together, with Cassel’s charm helping to balance out Stewart’s expected dryness. Screen time be damned, Athie made a real impact with his performance and is integral to the message of the film. The dynamic that works the least for me is between Henwick and Gallagher Jr. I pin this again more on the script than the actors portrayals, but their relationship seems more like puppy love than the grand romance the film would have you think it is; a real shame considering how important it winds up being to the story. I have a feeling the film makers realized this too, as they dedicate a few scenes to prove to us just how in love Emily and Smith are.

I have to be honest, my hat goes off to Kristen Stewart in this role. As Norah, Stewart finds a way to use her style of acting to her advantage. Rather than coming off as mechanical, Norah seems calculating, a realist who will not sugar coat the dire situation, not even for herself. Rather than feeling dry, her delivery is that or someone who wants to come off as reassuring and whose past traumas have made them somewhat cold. It doesn’t work 100% of the time, I could have done without her voiceovers, but when she really hits the mark it’s on target and effective every time. I was extremely impressed.

“Now there was going to be mention of the deep sea monsters in your deep, uh, deep sea monster movie review, right Jon?” Alright there Doctor Malcolm, I’m getting to it. Though fully CGI, the decision to keep the monsters hidden by way of deep sea debris and darkness made them all the more terrifying to me. A set of eyes staring back at us from the darkness just sends a tingle down my spine! We don’t see too much of them and we don’t see them often, so just like in Jaws, when we do get spooked by them it’s incredibly effective! The movie did have one big surprise in store which worked well for me and helped to satisfy that corner of my brain that loves a good Lovecraftian beast. The movie also had a good deal of gore that I really wasn’t expecting to see, but which was much appreciated. In my eyes, where there’s a diving helmet involved, there should be some amount of blood filling said helmet! Also, I will have to consider this movie my own personal Cloverfield film for 2020, as there are enough connections to Tagruato’s deep sea drilling from the original film’s ARG to connect the two in my head. Just let me have this guys, please!

The movie did leave a few questions unanswered for me which, though I’d love a solid answer and further exploration, I don’t think it would warrant another film, prequel or otherwise. I like that we get just enough to formulate our own ideas about certain characters and how that colors our view of them come the end credits. Honestly, I’d say where the film suffers most is in its pacing. The film does lull a bit between big set pieces and, though I wasn’t bored, I did feel myself getting impatient with some of the dialogue. Where it was felt most was in the films need to get us to really buy into Emily and Smith’s relationship.

I remember seeing the previews for Underwater and being really excited. As it had a January release, I didn’t want to get my hopes up too high. In spite of some dragging between set pieces, a somewhat forced love story, and a few jokes that didn’t really land well, the movie really made for a fun experience! Im sure there will be comparisons to a certain space aged thriller, but don’t let this sway you one way or the other and do your best to go in fresh. We get some real dread when it’s needed, scares that are set up well, and a performance from Kristen Stewart I was not expecting to work as well as it did! If a sinking cinematic affair is what you fear, rest assured matey! Underwater is sure to keep your interests in deep sea monsters and sci-fi thrills afloat!

Rating: 3.5 Full Moons out of 5 🌕🌕🌕🌗

#underwater #underwater movie #kristen stewart #vincent cassel #deep sea horror #aquatic horror #william eubank #horror movies #horror movie reviews #film reviews #horror reviews #moonlight madness #moonlight madness reviews

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random-imagines-blog · 6 years

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The Sky Is Falling {Ellaria Sand X Reader X Tyene Sand}

Requested by: @purplewings12 Wordcount: 4570 Synopsis: As a Lannister with a secret, you became fearful of becoming too close to people. However, two Dornish women are looking to change that.

Dorne was extremely different from King’s Landing, where you had grown up. Myrcella and yourself could see that from the boat that you two arrived on, standing on the deck staring at the opulence - you’d never seen so many high trees, especially contrasting with the sands. What’s more, this place was to become your home to keep you and your little sister safe. She was greatly looking forward to it, you could see that spark in her eye. She saw this as a grand adventure, while you tried to be more realistic about this trip. The truth of it was - you would not feel safe, no matter how fortified a city may be. The sky was the only place where you could truly be free, but it was only a dream for now, so you had to make do with the strange people and customs of Dorne. Then when it was safe back home, you could fake your death like you had planned and spread your wings.

“I wonder what the people are like here,” Myrcella said, her hands holding onto a rope that was swinging from the sails. Abruptly, the ship seemed to hit shore, and you nearly went flying onto the sand but managed to catch your step just in time. The sell hit you first - it was something entirely unfamiliar to you, but exotic. Hard spices perhaps, you could not tell, and you couldn’t ask Myrcella what she thought. She had grown up on the bland, seasonless food of King’s Landing, just as you had. Damn, your mouth was already starting to water and you hoped that they had feasts like they did back home.

“What’s more important right now, dinner or introductions? Am I just being too much like our father right now?” You laughed, remembering how your dear father (or so you thought) loved to eat and how you gained that appetite through him. He has been dead for some time now, and you thought of him dearly, and missed him uncontrollably. A secret keeper until the end, you had confided in him the magic that ran through your veins, for you were much to afraid to tell your mother.

Just as you and your sister disembarked the boat, a party had come to greet you. No, not just a party but a group of four women and a couple of guards, clad in gold like you had never seen before. No, they were tunic type materials, not iron like they wore back in King’s Landing! A curiosity indeed, and you looked past them to the four women that were approaching. No, three of them seemed to be girls, not too much older than yourself and the fourth was an elegant woman with thick black hair.

Because of you and your sister’s Lannister blonde locks, you felt a disconnect from these women. No matter what you did, you saw immediately, you would never fit in with them. Because of your paler skin tones as well, you couldn’t help but shyly admire the bronze tones in their skin, like the golden statues that you had seen from great artists that came through King’s Landing. Coincidence? When you heard about Dorne, these golden goddesses were the last thing that you were expecting.

Coincidence as well that they looked at you then to the sun above, as if they were able to see right through your human flesh to what you really were. Or perhaps they were just looking at the weather, that’s a lot more likely. By the time your imagination calmed down, they were a close distance to you and your sister, and you both did a curtsy as you were taught to do from a young age. But they did not do the same back, just looked between one another and smiled.

“Tonight, we’ll get together for a grand feast,” The mother figure said, holding her hands out to you and your sister. “And until then, we should let you rest, it’s been a long journey, hasn’t it?”

“After that journey, I do hope it’s a while before I set foot on a boat again.” Myrcella said, using her natural charm immediately. “Where are our manners, my name is Myrcella, and this is my older sister.”

“Where are ours,” The motherly woman chuckled. “Ellaria Sands, and this is my daughter Tyene, and two of my stepdaughters, Obara and Nymeria,” She then turned towards the guards that were accompanying them. “Can you take their bags to their rooms, we’ll follow.”

All of your things fit into two luggage containers, and neither were very heavy. Still, it was a sight to behold, those men in their breezy uniforms picking them up as if they were filled with feathers rather than clothes, and carrying them past the women up towards the grand city.

A soft wind blew from the sea to your backs as you accompanied the women towards the city, and up to the palace that you would be staying in. A place such as this could never exist in King’s Landing. Until recently, you thought that the palace there was the most beautiful one that existed in all the realms, but here there were large trees, pools rather than courtyards and guards that didn’t clang about whenever they took a step. And, of course, three female companions around your age while before, you only had your siblings and traces of the Stark children though they didn’t speak to you often.

“What an honor it is to be here, Ellaria.” You said, gazing up at the woman’s beauty. Ellaria took the compliment with a lift of one corner of her lips.

“You are both beautiful - but pale.” She commented back to you and your sister. “Don’t take that as an insult, it shows that you didn’t have to grow up working in the sands.”

“Would it be such a bad thing, to work in the sands?” You asked, tilting your head.

Ellaria seemed to like that answer, for she chuckled at it and pressed on forward. The guard had indeed beat your little party to your rooms, which were beside one another, thankfully. Sleepy as you felt, you didn’t think you’d be able to get much rest in a room where your sister had such an energetic and excited aura. They had set the trunks at the end of each bed, each with transparent gold curtains surrounding them. Myrcella’s squeal from the next room showed me how much she liked hers.

The woman and the sisters left you to your rest. You unlaced the corset that was holding you in tight and breathed a sigh of relief at how much better you felt just with that. “Went away from home,” You whispered, looking out the window towards the sky. “Daddy, please protect me here.”

He might have protected you while you were alive, but he didn’t save you from tardiness while he was dead. Ellaria’s dinner had come and gone by the time that you finally woke up, and the sky was dark outside of the window. “Let’s have a little rest? Okay, how about too much?” You grumbled at yourself, as your stomach growled at you.

You left your corset on the floor, and remained in your gown as it was - loose-flowing. And you slipped on your favorite slippers because it would be disrespectful to walk around with your barefeet in a palace like this, you assumed. Because you were so hungry, you left your room and tried to guess your way to the kitchens, thinking about what they might have served and if they had leftovers. For some meat, perhaps - spiced with something exotic? For some vegetables - what kind did they even have here in Dorne, you wondered. For a goblet of sweet wine? What could be better than those things together?

Ellaria, Obara, Nymeria or Tyene were nowhere to be found as you walked through the long corridors. Thank the Gods though, the guards were out and didn’t seem to be at all bothered that you were going around by yourself. There was even one very nice guard who pointed the way to the kitchen for you.

He had given you the right directions too. He had lead you straight to the kitchens where there was a cooking pot over the burning embers of a fire. Maybe it would still be hot, you thought, your eyes widened in delight. You took the cloth that was hanging from a hook, and used it to get the lid off. Simmering in the pot was a stew that smelt so amazing, your stomach had to have it’s say and grumble to you again.

You fixed yourself a bowl of it, and grabbed a bit of bread to dip into the broth as well. Rather than stay in the empty, dark kitchen, you smuggled the bowl and bread out into the courtyard, and sat on a bench overlooking the pool of water and gorgeous palm trees. Even in the night, maybe especially in the night, this place was beautiful.

As you took spoonful after spoonful in your mouth, you looked up into the sky and thought about being up there and touching the stars. You didn’t know how the magic had come to be in your veins, all you knew was that it had always been there. When you were seven, you transformed for the first time in front of your tutor, who subsequently was fired for his insane rantings. The second time you transformed was in front of your Uncle Jaime who had a fear in his eyes you had never seen before, nor since. He had promised not to tell your mother, if you promised never to transform again.

You hadn’t kept up you side of the promise.

The power that you had, the shapeshifting blood that went through your veins, could make you transform into a dragon. It had been some time since your last transformation since it was near impossible to get out to a place where no one would spot you in the skies, flying through cloudless skies preferably. You hadn’t been able to shift in over a year, and the spirit of the dragon inside of you was breathing out fire, wanting to get out.

“No, we’ll not be shipping in wine, our local grapes are more than good enough,” A feminine voice rang out, making you freeze where you sat, spoon clenched in a white knuckled hand. Ellaria and the young woman around your age who was said to be her daughter, walked just enough into the moonlight to be seen by your eyes.

Tyene, her name was, you recalled. This wasn’t the ideal time to be discovered, you thought, sneaking around in the dark with a near empty bowl of their food. Anyway, you didn’t quite trust the Dorne yet - you were a Lannister, and had to be careful with whom you tred. You’d been sent here to take care of your little sister, and that meant being cautious of the company that she kept.

“Damn - I miss that wine we had from King’s Landing. So sweet.” Tyene replied to her mother. “And those sweet rolls.”

“You will get sluggish and slow if you keep eating all that sugar.” Ellaria said to her daughter, taking her cheek in hand. “You’re not to lose your strength. Whatever happens, you are meant to avenge your father with your sisters.”

“I will.” Tyene said, her face hardening at the word avenge. “I will make sure the Mountain dies a painful death for what he had done.”

Maybe being here wasn’t safe at all, you thought. You remembered Oberyn Martell, and the obscene way in which he had died. Who wouldn’t want revenge? But that made you and your family a target.

Somewhere above you, a cool night breeze started to blow in. You stayed as still as you could in the darkness in the hopes that the two women would not see you sitting there and think that you were spying. Goosebumps erected on your flesh and you willed yourself not to shiver. It didn’t help. When the women continued their walk, they came rather close to you, and your fearful intake of breath had caught their attention.

“Y/N?” Ellaria called out, finally settling her eyes on you. A torch was lit by a guard, and the fire illuminated your Lannister blonde hair in it’s glory. It certainly wasn’t anyone from Dorne, and you couldn’t hide.

Not moving was no longer an option, since you had been caught, and running for the door would be an act of cowardice not appropriate for a Lannister. You slowly stood up from the bench, setting the bowl on it behind you, but held onto the spoon in case it may be used as a weapon. No, it wouldn’t come in handy, you knew, but it felt good to hold onto something nonetheless. You took one step away from the two women, further into the darkness but you did not run. If what they were saying was the beginning of a plan, you were in danger no matter where you were. Sooner or later, you were going to have to use your secret to defend your family and this was as good a place to start as any.

“Stay away from me.” You said, cautiously. Tyene had been the one to sneak a little bit closer, while her mother stayed in the pale light. The young woman stopped, and looked to her mother for guidance. Like her daughter, Ellaria wasn’t sure what to make of this situation. “If you do anything to hurt Myrcella or I, I do have the capacity to inflict a lot of harm upon not just you but this city.” You warned.

“I have no intention of hurting either of you.” Ellaria cooed, stepping forward, her stance showing a gentleness that did not suit the sharpness of her face. “There is no need for harm.”

“I am not a Targaryen but the blood of a dragon flows through my veins,” You said, threateningly. “And I will use that power to protect my family. As I’m sure that you would yours.”

Tyene rolled her eyes but gave you an unexpected smile. “Y/n, you’re getting the wrong idea. I want to avenge my Father. It was not you or your sister who killed him.”

“Let’s get you to bed, it’s late. You had a long journey and you could use some more rest.” Ellaria said, moving forward quickly. The last thing that you remembered was her face coming towards you, then a kiss.

This time when you woke up, the sun was streaming in through the window, softly moving the translucent curtains. You weren’t alone either, Ellaria was sitting on a chair next to the bed, and was running a comb softly through your golden hair.

“What are you doing?” You asked, once you realized how close she was, and what she was doing.

“The sea winds had matted your hair. I was brushing it out for you.” Ellaria hummed, focusing on a strand that she had combed until it was silky smooth.

You weren’t used to being touched, but even you found this a little bit relaxing. You untensed your shoulders and rested against the pillow, your eyes on the dusky-skinned young woman. You remembered last night, what you had said, what you had threatened, her assurances. And you found that you did not feel like your life was in any danger here. It was too beautiful.

And Ellaria was starting to feel like what you thought a mother should be like. Your own, Cersei, was not much for affection or for brushing out hair. Only using her children for political advantages.

“Please, do not tell anybody what I confessed last night,” You said, meekly, closing your eyes. “Even my own sister does not know - I wish to keep it that way.”

“About your dragon blood?” Ellaria asked, leaning down towards you. You could feel it - her warm breath on your skin. The brush still going through the hair which was in her hands. “Is it true?”

“Yes.” You said, feeling secure in telling her. “But if people know about it, if my own mother knows about it, she’ll want to use me in the war. I’m not a weapon.”

“The Lannisters-” She said, and you detected there was a distaste for the name which made you wince. She quickly soothed that away, bringing you back to relaxation with the strokes of a brush. “-will make weapons of anybody. You are safe here, do not fear. My girls and I will take care of you - in fact, Tyene has taken an immense liking to you.”

You remembered the dark haired girl from when you had arrived, and from your walk the night before. There was something intimidating about her. More so than her mother. A fierceness behind those eyes. It could be that she hadn’t shown affection for you the way that Ellaria did. Tyene gave you a sense of unease.

“Am I really safe?” You asked, snuggling against Ellaria’s hand and her brush.

“Of course.” She cooed, and started to hum a song for you. It was comforting, and it lulled you back into a gentle sleep. You had no memories of your mother singing you a song like this. Dorne was becoming more than you could have asked for.

Myrcella had made a friend out of the Prince of Dorne, which left you plenty of time to make friends of your own. When you weren’t spending your time with Ellaria, you were around Obera, Tyene and Nymeria. They were teaching you how to defend yourself with Dornish weapons, something that you found to be both productive and fun.

“Join me for dinner?” Tyene asked after a workout that left you sweating, your chest heaving.

You looked over to see the other two women making their way to their respective rooms to get cleaned up, leaving just you and Tyene. You nodded - there was something about her that was so intense, it intimidated you somewhat. Perhaps it was because she knew the secret of your dragon blood, and you never had a conversation about it with her, unlike Ellaria who made you feel very secure about the secret being hidden.

Tyene grinned and took hold of your arm, bringing you to her room to have dinner together. There were times when everyone ate together at the table, but that was more so for special occasions or announcements. Most of the time, it was just ask the servants to bring it to you wherever you wanted. And once the plates were in front of you on a table in Tyene’s bedroom, you were left alone and tried to make yourself comfortable.

Tyene attempted to entice you into conversation, and you answered politely. With every joke that she made, you laughed with your eyes averted onto the stone floor rather than looking at her, and preoccupied yourself with your food. You were trying - you really were, you didn’t want to seem rude, but Tyene with her constant touching of your arm, was a bit overwhelming. You wished that Ellaria were here. You would have felt much more comfortable that way.

When the meal was finished, and the plates were cleared, you stood up, pressing your skirt down against your legs as a motion to show that you were finished. “Oh, and thank you for teaching me how to fight, Tyene. I do appreciate your lessons.” You said, in case she had thought that you were being rude during the dinner. She didn’t seem to take any offense, but rather, she beamed as she reached for your hand. You didn’t recoil, but let her take it. She swung them back and forth, and moved in closer.

“That’s not the only thing that I can teach you, you know.” She said, a mysterious cock of her eyebrow catching your attention. Flushing from head to toe, you escaped her grip once you caught her meaning and made for the door, not saying goodbye to her. Due to the light fabric of the dresses that Dornish women, and eventually you, wore, you didn’t have to hold up your skirts as you ran for the sanctuary of your room, they just flowed out behind you like a colorful stream.

You closed the door and though of barricading it, but it wasn’t as if you were in fear of any sort of violence. As you sat on your bed, pulling your knees towards your chest, you looked at your hand as if you had never seen it before. It was different now - someone had held it. Someone other than your little sister, who had given up that habit after the two of you stepped off the ship and onto the Dorne shore. Affection was not something that a Lannister showed, so receiving it ... you weren’t quite sure how to handle such a thing.

A knock came from your door, and you meekly stood and held it open just enough to see who was there. When you were greeted by Ellaria’s sharp features, you opened the door wider and welcomed her inside. Before she could even ask, you were spilling everything to her, all of the feelings that you had about what had happened with Tyene.

“I didn’t mean to run, I just didn’t know what to do, Ellaria. I’ve never had someone other than Myrcelle hold my hand, and this felt different. In fact ... I’ve rarely even been touched except for when the servants would help to dress me. Is ... am I broken for not knowing how to react to something like that? Is there something wrong with me, that my skin develops these little bumps whenever someone gets too close? Even you, when you were brushing my hair that morning. That was the best that I have ever felt...”

“Shush,” Ellaria said, gently. She sat on your bed, and crossed her hands on her lap, resting on her dress. “We in Dorne ... we like to touch. That’s how we show our feelings, not through money and blood like the capital.” She looked as if she wanted to spit, but managed to swallow it down. “Come closer, come to me.”

You did as she asked, tentatively getting closer to her until you were standing directly in front of her. “On your knees.”

That was the first time that anyone asked you to do that - you, a Princess! A Lannister! But you did it anyway, putting your trust in Ellaria. You lowered yourself onto your knees, and Ellaria guided your head to her lap, and she stroked your hair. You had seen people doing this with dogs in the street, but it didn’t feel as if you were a dog. And even if you were - this wasn’t bad. A pet could have a good life here. You closed your eyes and hummed without a tune, basking in the feeling of being touched.

The rumors started to circulate that you had become Ellaria’s pet. During meals, you sat by her side. During relaxation hours, you had your head on her lap, like a trained animal. It didn’t mean that you were broken - oh no, you were learning how to accept affection. It was like nothing you had experienced back home.

You were sitting with Ellaria by a pool of water. Both of you had your feet in it, soaking up the cool feeling against the hot Dornish sun, and she was telling you a story about her childhood as a bastard. You had nothing to do with your mother and father’s opinions of bastards, mainly because Ellaria was the best person that you had ever met. You were enthralled with her - and she with you.

Tyene approached and sat down on your other side. The two of you had not properly talked since the incident in her room, but this time, you felt a little less uncomfortable about her close proximity. “Morning,” You said to her cheerfully, making the short haired girl smile.

“Good morning.” She said, taking off her sandals and put her feet in the water too. It was just the three of you, and one guard that was out of sight, but keeping vigilant that nothing bad would happen. The privacy here was astounding.

Making herself comfortable, Tyene leaned her head onto your shoulder. You looked over at Ellaria for advice on what you should do, but all she did was give a smile and then looked up at the blue skies above. You exhaled a breath you didn’t realize that you were holding, and did nothing to dispel the young woman from touching you. Moving forward a little bit more, Tyene then put her hand on top of your knee. Once more, you weren’t sure entirely what to do, but tentatively, you put your hand on top of hers. She smiled and hummed into your skin, her breath warmer than the spiced air around you.

The three of you stayed like that for a couple more minutes, taking in the sounds of the birds, the ripples in the pool from the slight breeze, and sensations of the sun on your skin. But a chill went up your spine with what Tyene did next. She put a finger under your chin and turned your head to look over at her, catching eye contact. Your own face must have looked silly, for she giggled before leaning in and putting a peck on your lips.

Like a child who had done something confusing, you looked back to Ellaria. She was your rock here - you were more attached to her than you were to your own sister these days. She put her hand on your other knee and nodded curtly. “Enjoy it - appreciate it.” She said, soothingly. Tyene was not put off by you looking away from her, but rather used the opportunity to plant some kisses on your cheek, and then down your neck. You did your best to do as Ellaria had said, and enjoy the moments.

It was stimulation that you’ve never felt the likes of before. The hairs on your body were standing up straight, goosebumps erupted on your skin. A strange quivering made it’s way down your body, and you went from feeling chilled to feeling warm. The blood was rushing through your body, seeming to try to make it’s way to wherever Tyene was touching you with her lips. It was when Ellaria started running her fingers through your hair that your mouth opened to let out a gasp at the sensations.

You were never going back to King’s Landing, you decided in that moment. There was nothing for you there.

Not with this awakening of the need for affection that these two Dornish women have brought out of you.

#Ellaria Sand #Ellaria Sand Oneshot #Tyene Sand #Tyene Sand oneshot #Ellaria Sand x reader #Tyene Sand x reader #Game of Thrones #Game of Thrones oneshot #oneshot #requests #GOT #GOT oneshots #EllariaS #TyeneS

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pride-prejudice-and-vampires · 6 years

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Half in Anguish/Half in Hope || Jane & Will

Wind whipped her hair stinging her eyes as the ends lashed against them. Her scarf threatened to blow away in the sea breeze. There was no avoiding the sun, though it was starting to go down so it had less power over her. The shadows from the buildings allowed her to walk with almost complete confidence that the sun would barely touch her. This made her evening very nice the temperature was still nice enough to get away with walking along. The great redwoods in the distance shook their green foliage. Her scarf whipped up and about against her and lightly blowing billowing. Her eyes looking from person to person. She would need blood soon, already the darker part of herself was aching in her mind and belly.

Will walked along the street Max beside him who was engrossed in his pokemon go. Will had needed to go out for a breath of fresh air, be among the public. The wind had tousled his dark locks in a beautiful manner the cowlicks and curls framing him well. Occasionally he would have to reach out and move Max out of the way of a pole. They stopped when a poke stop was near allowing for Max to refill his items for free. It was at a stop that a familiar heartbeat stood out above all the rest. The cadence was a drumbeat that once learned one could dance too. His eyes closed as the familiar scent filled him in mind and heart, lavender. The pain and peace of... Jane. His eyes opened and a large gust of wind blew his coat open and his letter away! His eyes widened as he darted out after it grasping and clutching ever missing its swirling, whirling dodge. Hand grasping desperation edging him on.

Evelyn was a name she had chosen, having seen it on a gravestone some time ago. It was a pretty name but, there had been a time where the name Jane had caught the shell of her ear, saying hear me, and know me. A scent drew her in, a scent of cloves the sweet-spice filling the air like a balm drawing her into the past a beat of a drum echoing in her ears, not a drum, a heartbeat. Walking almost in a daze she smiled as a wind gust spun her about as her foot came down her eyes followed a motion catching her something very off white and aged with time. The paper crinkled in her hand as she held it in hand taking the words upon in.

Dear Mister “Darcy”

I felt that you were the last man in the world whom I could ever be prevailed on to marry. You must understand this, that my love cannot be so easily as given, I am not like the heroines of my books, nor you the heroes. Indeed how far you have allowed me to be blinded to yourself and your true nature has now caused me to leave you. I wish never for my eyes to be set upon you, my heart is ever closed from your love if that is what you call it. Know that I have taken to leaving by the time you read this my ship will have already sailed for the Americas. I bid you good health.

Carpe Noctem

Jane Austen

Her lip tightened as her jaw trembled, those words that haunted her every night, the ones she had written in a moment of desperation. But how? Was the Demon here? Had he brought these to torment her? To bring her further pain? Was it not enough that she had left Will? It had all been to protect him. She had no choice! Looking up her dark eyes met a familiar pair.

Will had run as fast as his feet could carry without revealing his true nature. He had been about to catch it when a final gust had taken the letter to a young woman. Slowing down his eyes trailed up over her, he knew her canvas well, no matter the time. The peach blossom of her lips that had always been curved in a smile as he had known her. The apple of her cheeks were flush. Tracing to those eyes that had always held such a warmth, a kindness, the last thing he saw when he drifted off was her face full of laughter such a laugh! One that made you feel safe, giddy, and loved. So here stood his beloved lost Jane. Not his, in possession long ago they had tethered their souls to each other, all they had needed was say the words without the words there was nothing to keep them together. How he had wept. The loss of her had brought about the man who stood before her now.

So he stood, her Will, with his dark cowlicks asway in the breeze, that face that had always held a smile hidden in the corner of his mouth how she longed to kiss that mouth. To bring his head into her hands and be with him. The shell of his ears the curve of his brow ever arched in a handsome manner. How his words had captured her he would murmur poetry into every crook and cranny with his mouth against her skin. It had been poems all for her and her alone. His mind had been the whetstone of her sword keeping her sharp. He had been the soul she had needed in her life and even in their darkest moments he had never forsaken her. Never questioned her, not when it mattered, trusting and sweet, funny and kind. She had betrayed him the proof betwixt her fingers that the wind threatened to blow away. She almost wanted to let it go, and with it the past perhaps they could forge a new future? No the demon had been very specific, to leave Will alone. Her eyes welled with tears even more. How she longed to be wrapped in those arms. Had he still not spoken? Had his anger risen so high he could not muster a word? He had never been good at anger, it was not a mask he wore. He wrote it wonderfully well and understood it, but anger was not a trait he kept for himself. Or sorrow? That was the one he wore too well, tragedy his ever constant mark of his trade. What could she say?

Her eyes had studied him, behind them a mind that had known his own, they had been so very deep in love once, he still felt for her now as he did then. How her novels had delighted him, her ferocity in battle at his back and side, they had slew many a creature of the night bringing peace to those who had been ravaged by their kind. Will’s mouth for once could not speak. How could he speak to her? She had asked he keep his distance and he had, by God he had, to be truthful he had no idea that she would be here. Will had done all he could be respectful of her words contained in the letter she still held in her hand. What would happen now? Would the sun find it’s way through? Destroying them both? Just him? Her? That would be how one of his tragedies would end. He was done with tragedy. Comedy, truth, that was what he craved, love above all he coveted most of all. Too long had this life denied him. If she asked him to leave he would, with only an apology for breaching the very request penned down. Those tears? Were they rage? Fear? Or did she long form him as achingly as he for her? This pining it was all too familiar. He wanted to speak, but his words still failed him what did one say after a hundred years? Well over in fact. The times had changed, how much had they?

“I believe this is yours.” She rasped out her voice twisting in pain. She forced herself to fold it her hands shaking. She tried to hold it out in a matter-of-fact manner. “Isn’t it?” She felt her lip tremble again as the question left her mouth giving her a sharpness to her heart. How she longed to burrow into his arms to beg him for forgiveness tell him everything, most of all tell him she loved him! She had never stopped loving him, but he had written it all so long ago, how these things turned out. In the end it was always another god damned tragedy.

Will felt his lips purse with the threat of tears sadness gripping them. His hand moved up careful precise. Taking hold of the paper, waiting for her to let go. He had held onto it so long he would wait forever if it meant her holding it here with him. “Yes.” His voice hoarse as a whisper usually it was so smooth and silky and deep, rippling with his accent. Yet here his voice had cracked like his heart had then.

She couldn’t let go, her eyes looked around, the demon could be anywhere, and yet? Yet there was no fire coming to claim Will. Their meeting had been and remained hidden. Jane took a step closer to him standing less than an arms length in her direction. Her movement had caused their hands to brush. How he had held her hand at every opportunity. He would brush his lips to it and offer up words only for her ears to hear. His eyes speaking the words not yet created to further add upon his devotion to her. Devotion she had been careless with in the past, she would no longer be careless with it. “And yet I should never have given it. I am not speaking to renew the sentiments contained within the letter, callous and cruel as they are. But to address the lies contained within. You are the only man I could ever have wished to and still wish to marry. My love and heart are not so easily given because to you they have always been true. Your true nature has always been good, kind and I have always loved you, it has made you a target for those that would wish you dead, Thus my love endangered you it would seem. I do so want to keep my eyes drinking in the sight of you. My heart could never be closed from yours it is yours and if yours is still mine then I consent to be yours until the end of our time. I hope this does in short explain and perhaps it may even mitigate my actions that have so thoroughly estranged us.” During this she had come closer and closer to him till she was now before him imploring him with more than her words but her eyes. Her words echoing the very letter he had written her the one she had transposed to her story about a headstrong prideful couple who had to over come their prejudice to find love. This was a different story now, but would they still find their love?

Will could still say nothing but his hand had let go of the letter, it was of little importance to him now, there was only one thing he wished to hold. His arms cautiously silently asking if it was alright to hold her. She was the only person who could silence him like this. That rendered him inert forever caught up in the reverie that was her.

As he held his arms out to her she walked into them soft sobs as she let herself be vulnerable with him she could be. He was vulnerable too together they could watch each other’s backs, just as they had done so long ago.

Will held her tightly his love was here and she was in his arms again. Will leaned down and kissed her softly. “You need not trouble yourself over the pain of it all my love, it is forgotten.” Immortality had a way of shaping one’s perspectives. Love didn’t make one desire to lash out to feel the pain, that was anger. He had never been good at anger. Love wanted only the same love in return. He held her tears streaming down his face. “My Dearest one.”

Jane stood there with him crumpling the letter, it was only now a piece of paper the writing on it no longer held meaning for either of them. Now only life and love would hold meaning she leaned up looking at him through teary lashes.

Will looked down with tears in his eyes. “Jane?”

“Will?” She answered back.

“I love you most ardently,” Will whispered. “Love is a weapon a dangerous one as you have so written as have I. Forget the mortal wound for it has healed with your love brought back. I am deeply under thy spell, bewitched and brought tightly around your finger. I am yours still even now the hour the moment that made me know that my soul and yours could never be truly separated.”

It was her turn for silence the words he spoke stilling her and instilling in her a beacon of hope as she grasped his head in her hands and planted a kiss firmly on his mouth. She whispered before she went back in for a kiss. “You are the love of my life.”

“Then allow me to once again to ask,” He knelt down taking her hand in his. “Once more with both a deep anguish and ever rising hope, that I may be your husband and love you with all that I am.”

“Yes,” She nodded. “Yes my Darcy-Darling-Will.” She stuttered out. “Yes the answer is yes. My answer is yes.”

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twilight-resonance · 3 years

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Whirl

Well, it turns out that whatever I did last night does not in fact keep my dreams from fragging. Was just as bad last night. So I guess I’ve got to do the normal processing for it to work. Which is not to say that I don’t need to bother with anything else. Actually making myself be a person is also important, but dreams are a place to start. Sigh.

Hurting a lot tonight. Been hurting a lot the last few. ...This is not helped by my fairly throughly trashed sleep-quality the last few nights. I tried a new shampoo and it turns out there was something in it that I’m allergic to (lavender) and I didn’t realize right away; so my allergies have been absolutely terrible the last few nights, and consequently so has my sleep quality. Not sleeping enough doesn’t typically wreck me, but this - whatever this is - really has. I haven’t been able to think straight for a few days now. It’s amazing how much muscle memory tries to compensate for decision-making - and how it results in things like, oh, taking the coffee cone off the cup so that you can pour hot water directly into your cream. *facepalm* My last few days have been a minefield of these things, to say nothing of my ability to focus on anything less concrete. Sigh again. Well, I’ve got different shampoo now and I washed my pillowcase, and I’m hoping between that and writing properly tonight maybe I’ll get a good night’s sleep this time. If we can get up early we’ll make waffles again tomorrow morning, so we’ll hope for that.

It’s hard to describe what, exactly. We had to take the car we’ve been borrowing from Hearthsnail’s dad to get smogged today; and while we were waiting, we went to hang out on the harbor that his dad’s been rebuilding for the last couple years (yes, the entire harbor, from the docks to the pilings to the buildings - the man is formidable). It... I don’t know. It hit a sweet-sore spot. Reminded me of how much I miss being down the coast at my old job. Not the job itself - though I miss that too - but the place. Those salty-sweet early mornings with the frigid sea breeze blowing in, and the wind pulling at all hours, and the sort of... loneliness that comes with it. It’s a loneliness that is itself a sort of balm for loneliness; that takes the bitter and makes it soft and familiar and somehow comforting. I’ve never been one for the beach, nor for the coast itself; but oh, in another life, I could have been a sailor. I understand that siren’s call to leave and up-and-go and lose yourself in the day-by-day rhythm of minding the sails and the ropes and the salt and the tar; in the hard work, and in the nowhere else to be. There’s a way that sort of life makes room for finding some peace in and with yourself, because you’ll go mad if you can’t; because you lose all your other ties in the world, and all there is is what you bring. It’s that sort of peace, I suppose, that I crave; and that sort of hurt brought up and pulled tender today. I would have liked to sit on the end of one of the docks and simply sat and done nothing, and maybe find a moment of that peace; but it wasn’t in the cards. Still, though. Still.

There are other things that are hurting, but to be honest I get the sense that many of them are only hurting because I’m hurting; and that it’s other things at root. Once upon a time I could’ve searched it down, but that’s a skill that still escapes me these days. These nights are practice, for what it’s worth.

Sigh. Let’s talk about the last little while. May’s been busy. Part of why I haven’t written. Part, I just haven’t. It’s been a whirl of appointments, chores, tours, and other meetings. Been looking at wedding venues this month; so far, we’re two for four with four to go. There’s one in particular that looks promising - if I could get them to respond to my contact attempts. But there are other good ones too. Then there’s the health things - I needed my TB clearance updated and that turned into a saga of three separate appointments, and another checkup I need to schedule that is... probably nothing, but something you want to catch as absolutely as early as possible if it is something (and given I've let it go two years now, we’re already a few strikes down on that one). Then all the miscellaneous chores: smogging the car, as I already mentioned, and going through the motions necessary to actually buy a new one of our own. So that’s new - and also a process. Hoping to have it in time for summer.

Then there’s all the other bits and pieces. Signing up for intro sessions for possibly intern teaching next year. They’re going to need teachers, and I’m tired of not having work - and I can do the double load. Also applied for a position at EdPuzzle that, well, we’ll see - haven’t heard anything back from them either. I’ve just reached a breaking point with... not having proper health insurance, and doctor access, and not being able to replace the things I need when they break or wear out, and not having any kind of independence or safety net if something goes terribly wrong. I would like to be able to help pay for the variety of expensive things coming up - the car, the wedding, a new mattress that you can’t feel the springs through, dental work, etc - and I’m, just, tired. Tired of having these things hanging over my head and feeling immobilized because I can’t, you know, actually do anything about them. ...There’s a position I’ve got my eye on, if I can make the interning thing work. It’s not quite where I wanted, but it’s doable, and at this point that’s good enough for me. If I can get it. We’ll see.

Thing’s’ve been hard. For a long time now. Most of the time I trudge on without thinking about it, but I feel like the cracks have been showing a little more and a little more lately. It’s rough. I’m still miles better than I’ve been, but there’s still miles left to go too - well. You know how it goes.

Let’s see. More mundane things. I think I said that of all the things we planted, only the corn’s growing; but my gods, is it growing. An inch a day on the biggest stalks, which is nothing to sneeze at. Had a few not quite come in right - the seeds are a bit old so I wonder if they just got a bit weird - and had one gnawed down by a mysterious critter. Not sure if it was bird or bug or mammal or mollusk. The corns that I transplanted did okay and are still shooting up, so that makes me happy. We’ve been enjoying spending time in the garden now that we’ve got the space set up for it; it’s a nice space.

There’s food. Was craving french dip the other night of all things, so I spent some time figuring out how to best make that vegetarian and got the things for it. So that’ll be new, when we do it. Got things to make coffee cake, too - something else I’ve been wanting to try to make - and banana cream pie, which I’ve made once before a long time ago. Hearthsnail’s never had it, and I figure he’ll probably like it, so. We also got lemons for lemonade, and ingredients for sushi now that it’s warmed back up again... So lots of food we haven’t done before, or haven’t done for months. I still keep hoping Hearthsnail will feel up to making bread one of these days. Not that I couldn’t do it, but it was his idea and it’ll make him happy to be the one to do.

Ugh, which reminds me of wedding catering. I’m both looking forward to that, and not. Spent some time trying to figure out how you put a menu together, and as far as I can tell the only guidance that exists online is for how to get a caterer, not how to work with one - so. Bleh. I dunno. This one goes into a separate ramble about vegetarian food, and how frustrating it is that most peoples’ idea of what vegetarian food is consists of “uh, I dunno - eggplant? mushrooms? squash? tofu? and maybe let’s throw that together with some quinoa or rice or something, and maybe have a salad on the side”. Like. It’s not that hard, you guys. It’s all the same recipes you’d make... without the meat. It’s not that hard to make tikka masala or chicken noodle soup and just add potatoes instead of meat. Or gumbo without the sausage. Or sushi without the fish. It’s just... not that hard. Most of the time the taste of the dish is good enough on its own, and if you really need or want a meaty flavor for something, there’s things you can do about that. Soy sauce helps fill in for beef, curry helps add a bit of a chicken-y flavor (weirdly enough), etc. Some things are harder - like the french dip above is definitely not one that’s intuitive - but seriously. It’s not that hard. I don’t understand the disconnect, and I'm not looking forward to trying to navigate it for catering.

Simple pleasures. What else. Gods, I don’t know. I ordered some more socks the other day because I’m tired of not having socks, even though I can’t really afford it right now. Should be here tomorrow. There ought to be other things besides, and I feel like there ought to be, but I can’t fathom what. On to other things, then, I suppose.

We’ve been watching Stargate SG1. Maybe I already mentioned that, maybe I didn’t. Either way, we’ve been enjoying it, though as with all things it took me a while to get there. We’ve enjoyed most of all, I think - once they get a few seasons in and really hit their groove, the characters just act like I swear honest-to-gods adventurers. Like, there are so many moments we’ve just straight-up been there for before, or watched players do or try to pull, and it just all feels very RPG in a way. I particularly enjoy the part where Daniel just decided at some point that he’s died too many times and just doesn’t give a fuck anymore, and just kind of says and does whatever. Been there, buddy. Been there too. So that’s a thing.

Events have been a thing, but they’re a kind of stressful that I don’t want to touch right now. Plenty have been good. Many have been fine. There are just other background elements that exist too. Another day. Maybe once I’m closer to resolving them.

Heh. Thanks, song. “You’re doin’ me wrong/Dissecting the bird/Tryin’ to find the song//It’s a miracle/That you’re here at all...” (John Craigie)

(True enough. I just wish I knew how to go for the song otherwise though, you know? I feel like all I’ve got is scalpels and I’m supposed to do... what? Sigh. I dunno.)

There’s a game I’ve been playing - did I talk about it at all? - called “Yes, Your Grace”. I was expecting it to be a bit more “Papers Please” and a bit less story-adventure, but I’ve still enjoyed it. Lost my first run of it - won the battle but got strung up by my peasants afterwards, so that didn’t go too well. Trying again with a second run and it’s going better now that I’ve got a feel for it. We’ll see if the end goes any better this time.

Not sure what else to talk about. Still trying to dump as much of my brain on the page as I can tonight so that the dreams don’t find me. Last night’s was upsetting; more in undertones than overtones, but it still upset me nonetheless. Old hauntings, and all.

Been working on Fal the last few. Not that that’s unusual itself; more that there are a few things I haven’t made headway on for a long time that all came together in leaps and bounds. Prices for large structures, equipment slots, how to organize the health section, illness symptoms, etc. It’s just been, dunno, nice. I’d like to have another draft of the rulebook out as soon as I can, because it hit me recently how outdated the one everyone else has been working with is and I ought to fix that. Just, want to wrap a few things up first so they’ll be more useful. Past lives, too, I made some headway on. Website needs some working but that’s its own other deal.

I think I’m about out. Not sure I’m empty, as it were, but I’m out. We’ll chance bed and see how it goes tonight. Hoping for sleep to go a bit better this time. Gods, I’m tired.

#blog #journal #busy #wedding planning #work #fal #loneliness #sailing #garden #corn #health #cooking #vegetarian food #dreams #emotions #feelings #harbor #ocean #sleep #stargate sg1 #tv shows

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cactuarjen · 7 years

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Prompt #11: Gone Rogue

A score and three turns past, a pirate ship dropped anchor in a hidden cove nested on the western coast of Vylbrand. The hull shone a brilliant white to match the sails, and its flag from afar would fool even the sharpest eyes. By the time a ship sailed close enough to see the crossed bone and sword, the Flayed Man would be upon them. Ruthless and thorough as they may be, even the strongest crew cannot withstand the scurvy, and La Noscea's plentiful orange groves and fruit-filled jungles called as sweetly as the jingle of coin.

"Oi! Ratcatcher!" It was all the warning he had before a heavy rucksack was thrown atop him, upsetting the balance of his hammock to dump him unceremoniously onto the rough-hewn boards of the crew's quarters. "Getcher kit on, laggard, work's t'do!"

"Piss all, coulda called first." He grumbled, wincing at the crack of his own voice.

"Didn' I?" If half a heartbeat counts, he had. The gruff-voiced, bearded crewman rumbled a laugh on his way back up the steep, creaking steps out of the hold. The sky beyond him was hardly even purpling yet with the light of sunup.

'Ratcatcher'. When he'd been a boy of five, he'd been proud of the name. He was born on the sea, raised on the sea, and learned early that on a pirate ship, if you don't work your share, you don't eat your share. His job, once he'd grown old enough to wander the ship without falling overboard, was to catch rats. Catch them and kill them for fishing bait. It was an important job for a boy, and it got him used to bloodying his hands early. He'd been proud of the name at five, but at five and ten, he was ready to be named for more than rat-catching.

He and three other of the crew set out at dawn, after breaking fast on salt fish and flat ale. He had been determined to win this expedition--to fill his rucksack and the set of rough hemp bags tied to the sides and bring home more than anyone else! Even 'Fruitbagger' would be a better name, though he'd never end up earning that one. Each man set out on a different course, armed and armored against kobolds and the ever-bothersome Limsans with four days and nights to haul all they could before the Flayed Man would return to the bay to collect them.

The other three men were big, hulking and brutish, all hyuran, but one so large and thick, you'd swear his veins pumped with Roegadyn blood--though only the Captain dared say so. She was near as tall and twice as fierce, and had they not looked so alike, no one would have believed Ratchacher was her trueborn son. After all, she was never his mother in name. She was only ever the Captain. He had been the product of a night of weakness and far too much wine. The Captain had been equally as drunk off a hold full of fine cloths, newly smithed swords, and gilded coffers, and she had broken her own command and took her Quartermaster to bed.

It was a story Ratcatcher knew well, so oft was it told about the ship. His Pa was a soft man outside of reaving. He loved the Captain more than allowed, and though he spoke to her no differently than any other, his eyes always gave him away. Unless he was in his cups, then his mouth loosed and the entire crew was treated to his one and only bawdy tale, of the Captain herself and their night of forbidden passion. It was a story Ratcatcher knew well, and reluctantly so. And many a night he doctored his Pa's bloodied face after the Captain got wind of his tales.

Had it not been for his Pa, he’d have been thrown overboard like an inedible fish along with the sack he came in, or so the Captain told him one day when he’d disobeyed orders. It had been enough to give him nightmares for turns as a boy, of being thrown overboard tied in a sack, and he never, not once, disobeyed again.

Had it not been for his Pa, he’d not have grown into a strong youth. He’d not have grown at all. The old hands loved to tell of finding his Pa crying over a spilt pail of milk, a freshly born babe screaming himself purple on his cot, and a nanny goat screaming every bit as loudly, perched atop his desk. In truth, the story made his Pa turn red even fifteen turns later, but never once in anger. He was an honest man, for a pirate, but clumsy with his feelings. Pirates apparently aren’t supposed to have them.

Had it not been for his Pa, he’d not have kept such detailed record of his journey that day: his bearing, the time, landmarks he’d passed. He knew one soul aboard that ship would truly miss him, and he’d not find himself lost for it.

The bells wound on, and by midday he was in the thick of a jungle, surrounded by leaves as long as he was tall and twice as broad, the screeching call of pink birds overhead, and flowers in abundance. The closeness of everything made him uncomfortable, unable to see far for all the growth, but there was a magic in it all the same. In all his turns, he’d rarely ever been allowed ashore. Only once he could remember, when he’d been sick with a pox too great for their herbs to cure and it seemed he might quit his breathing. It was hardly a fond memory. He’s read enough of it, though, in the tomes they’ve plundered. Most of the crew would rather use the pages to wipe their arses, the squiggles that lined them entirely meaningless, but his Pa was literate, and tomes were miraculous objects with unknown magics inscribed in their pages that would transport the mind of the reader to far seas, great heights and perilous depths at the turn of a page. He had half expected some great adventure to unfold before him the moment he set foot into the underbrush, and with sweat slipping down his neck and his leathers sticking to his skin, he was quickly disillusioned of his fantasies.

He made note of fruits he’d seen on his path, but he was saving his strength and his bags for juicer things, a great grove of orange trees that no doubt laid ahead. He soon heard the sound of distant water, rushing, crashing, and though he’d never heard one before, it could only be the sound of falls. And where there are falls, there’s fresh water. And where there’s fresh water, there’s fruit. Or so he’d read, and what better choice was there?

Soon enough, he came to a clearing and a billowing puff of mist that glittered with a thousand rainbows. He was so distracted by the top of the falls, that he very nearly threw himself off the edge of the cliff onto the tumbled boulders twenty fulms below. More than once he’d jumped from the foreyard onto the deck of the ship, but that was not so near a fall, and not so uncertain a landing. His eyes were already wide and his heart thumping from the brush with danger, but in an instant, his eyes went ever wider, and his heart thumped with such force as to lodge it firmly in his throat. He’d just looked down into the clear pool that rippled out from the falls, attention caught by movement below. His first reaction was fear and awe, but as he watched the bathing form, fear was overtaking by a feeling altogether different.

Floating in the water below was, what he could only assume to be a goddess clad in flesh. Her skin was as perfect and pale as milk, her hair drifting out like blood in the water, and had she not been silently moving her arms against the pull of the current, he might have thought her dead. He crouched and watched her for a long moment. He’d never actually seen a woman in her nameday garb before, and the opportunity felt too rare and too tempting to resist. Had she been a goddess, he decided, it would be worth facing her wrath just for a closer look.

The climb down was tricky, but the vines were numerous and near as good as ropes if he caught a handful at the time. Sneaking over was simpler than he had imagined. The undergrowth was thick and the falls loud, and even the keenest senses couldn’t have known he was coming. So thick, and so loud that he couldn’t discern himself how close he was. His eagerness was his own undoing, however, and he stumbled over a arched-up root, fell through the thick of leaves and splashed face-first into the water, not five fulms from the goddess who cried out and hurried to cover herself.

He sank to the bottom of the shallow pool, horror-struck and embarrassed. Not only had he been caught, but caught in such a clumsy way! Goddess or no, he was convinced there was no redeeming himself. None. And for a moment he decided he’d rather drown than show his face.

And he very nearly did.

Unexpected hands grabbed hold of his rucksack and pulled hard, making him gasp half a lungfull of water in surprise. She lacked the strength to haul him up armor and all, but she gave a great effort and between his sputtering flail and her panicked dragging, he survived.

“What in the gods’!” She cried, whacking his back hard while he laid, face-down and coughing at the edge of the water. “How does a man grown stumble into the falls?!” She had forgotten in the urgency that she still sat in her nameday dress. Until, that is, he looked over at her, his face blanched and splotched with red.

“I--I were,” he choked and coughed a bit longer before he managed to push himself up to sit, soggy through and through. He couldn’t help his eyes darting down to take in the sloped curve of her breasts; a drop of water clung to the underside of one and shimmered with reflected light. It may have been the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. “I were lookin’ oranges.” It was only half a lie. Whether she believed it or not, or even heard his answer is a mystery, because the last of his words was blunted by the wet slap of her hand across his cheek.

“How--how dare you look!” she shrieked and physically turned his face away with shoved hands. “I shall drown you myself if you look again!”

“Aye--aye-aye!” He rubbed his cheek and sat still in the chilly water, not daring to move. The only woman in the realm he’s ever met was not one to disobey, and he’d not risk this one being the same in kind. He could hear her moving in the water, the sudden slosh and tinkling drip of her standing nearby, then a rustling, shuffling, and small sounds of a private struggle.

“You may look, now.”

He turned his head slowly back towards her, the sting of her slap long since faded. She was a tiny little thing, slender arms draped with loose white cloth that clung to her wet skin. Of course she didn’t hit so hard as the Captain. The belted tunic stuck to every slope of every curve and turned transparent, though the pale of her skin was hardly different from the creamy color of the cloth save for the pink of her nipples, which he made a valiant effort not to ogle. It was mostly successful.

He was obviously young, no more than a wisp of hair on his chin and a scraggly fluff along his jaw. He hardly fit the image of a pirate, hardy and hardened, battle-scarred and bitter, ready to reave without mercy, and so she clearly took him for a Limsan boy. “One might think you would know better than to leave the path and then not watch beneath your feet.” She taunted, but not cruelly.

“I ne’er--” He didn’t want to admit he’d never been ashore before. How pitiful would that have sounded? “--been ‘ere ‘fore.” He got to his feet with a slop and a slosh and started squeezing water from his gear. “Thought I’d farther ta go.”

She laughed in a way he’d never heard before. It was a bright, bird-like sound that she hid behind her hand. “Well, I daresay you shan’t be drying out like that.” She stepped into a pair of loose-fitting sandals and picked up what looked like a gnarled walking stick. “Come home with me. I’m sure there ought be something to fit you while those leathers dry.”

“Home?” he repeated with a rising panic. He’d heard the men tell bawdy tales of women ashore who’d invited them home, and he had no doubt whatsoever that that was exactly what she meant. He wanted to, gods, did he ever want to! But he couldn’t deny his worry that he’d embarrass himself even worse than before. He’d never even kissed a woman before, and as much as he’d heard of what men do with women behind chamber doors, he suddenly realized he’d not really understood a bit of it!

“Well, home enough, I suppose. It’s a farmhouse out on a bluff where I rent a room to paint,” she smiled over her shoulder at him, wet hair stringing down her back, “though I confess I’ve gotten no better for the experience.” He watched her disappear down a dirt path where it bent around behind a cluster of giant leaves, though her voice was still close enough. “Coming?”

“Aye!” He called back as he slopped down the path after her, leaving a wet trail in his wake.

Gradually, jungle gave way to grasses and shrubs and the soft dirt path turned gritty with silt and sand. He couldn't help a gasp of breath when they crested the first hill and a wide valley of La Noscea laid out before them, as rolling and sparkling as a vast green sea, the wind in the grass like the lapping of waves. “By the gods! S’beautiful!”

She spun around to face him, the bright blue of her eyes full of shine. “Isn’t it just picturesque? I love it!” She reached out without a hint of hesitation and grabbed his hand. “Quickly!” Without the chance for him to protest, she started down the hill at a full tilt, letting loose a shrill cry and laugh with one arm thrown out for balance.

This wasn’t anything like the fishwife tales the crew would tell. This was realms apart, like something he’d read in one of his tomes. And just then, that moment, he felt like his adventure had really begun, rumbling down a hill with a great smile on his face and a shout that echoed back to his ears, a soft, pale hand in his and water in his boots.

“By the by,” she asked at the foot of the hill, breathless and pink-cheeked, “my name’s Devona. Devona Webb.” She let go of his hand the moment she realized she was still holding it. “And yours?”

“Ra--” No, idiot! He kicked himself for nearly telling her his embarrassing monicker. “Piers.” He wore a toothy grin that spread like sunshine on his dark face. “Jus’ Piers.”

#ffxivwrite2017 #cactuar rp #my writing #Piers #Dee

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bangtan-b-blog · 7 years

Text

‘Till we meet again (Chapter 1)

Description: when a young merman saves a prince, what measures will he go to just to be reunited again?

Words: 1863

Fandom: Free! -MakoHaru

Read on AO3

Haru was a strange child, quiet and thoughtful. Together with his five siblings, he lived in his father’s castle, deep under the sea. He was the most beautiful, with smooth pale skin and eyes as blue as the deepest ocean. All day he would sit in his garden, surrounded by fiery red flowers which waved to and fro, almost dancing with the current. In amongst these flowers, stood a marble statue of a handsome boy, which had fallen to the bottom many years ago.

This statue was his pride and joy, and he cared for nothing else quite as much as he cared for it. His deep blue eyes would gaze upon its marble features, as if imploring questions which he knew it could not answer.

The little merman had a curiosity for the land above that no one quite understood. His wise grandmother told him many tales of what lay over their heads; towns and cities teeming with people, the most sweet-smelling flowers, and little fish, called birds, which sung perched in the trees. He wished to see these things for himself, however he was too young and the surface too dangerous. ‘On your fifteenth birthday, you may swim to the surface,’ she told him.

Haru’s blue eyes sparkled with joy, for he would finally be able to see what he could previously only imagine, however, being the youngest, he would have five years to wait and the joy left his eyes as soon as it had arrived. He envied his siblings, each of them would see the land sooner than he, but none of them cared for it like he did.

As the years passed, each of his siblings went to the surface and when they came back, told tales of the wonders that they had seen. This pained the young merman. Haru longed to be fifteen. He couldn't wait to break free from the grasp of the water, to breathe air, to hear the birds singing. He outstretched his pale little hand, reaching for something he could not quite grasp. Soon, he thought, soon it would be his turn.

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

On the evening of his fifteenth, his grandmother waved him off as he eagerly swam away, not at all hesitant or scared. Soon, he broke through the surface and his eyes widened in awe. The sun had begun to set, leaving the sky streaked with crimson and gold, illuminating the peaks of waves.

There in front of him, lay a great ship, illuminated with colourful lanterns and bustling with people. They seemed to be celebrating, and the air was light with laughter. Haru cautiously swam closer. With the rise and fall of the waves, he was able to see through a small port hole. There stood a prince, with the most beautiful green eyes, more vibrant than any emerald found in a sunken treasure chest, more radiant than the orb in the sky that people call the sun.

He was greeting his guests and bore the kindest smile Haru had ever seen. His features were soft and gentle, not unlike the statue Haru loved so much. Haru had been so mesmerized by the boy that he had swum closer, his nose almost brushing against the cold glass of the window.

The prince turned his head and green eyes met blue. Startled, Haru dived back under the water. He had gotten lost in the boy’s eyes for too long. After a few minutes, he cautiously poked his head above the water, however the prince was already gone.

It was getting late and he knew he should return home, however Haru could not bring himself to leave. He was mesmerized by the ship and its passengers, especially the prince. From out of nowhere, great gusts of wind began tossing the ship about, and the sea grew restless, waves crashing on board the vessel. People began frantically running around, hastily unfurling the huge sails in a vain attempt to make it to land. By now, raging waves crashed against the hull of the ship, spraying white sea foam creating artificial rain.

The mast had been snapped easily in the palm of the sea, like a mere toothpick, and pieces of wood cascaded into the water below. Haru had to be careful, otherwise he could be crushed. Everything grew dark, before a flash of lighting illuminated the scene. Haru observed the passengers on board; they were all there, but one. He had been swept off the deck of the ship, into the cold depths below.

There he was, the prince, being strewn about like a piece of driftwood. Without a second thought, Haru began to swim towards the boy, swerving between the various debris. Blindly, he reached out his hand, managing to grab the thin fabric of his shirt as he slipped further into the depths of the sea. Holding the boy’s head above the water, Haru slowly made his way to land.

Dawn began to break as they reached the sandy shore, slivers of pink and yellow cutting through the darkness. Haru placed the prince down. Gently, he pushed his wet brown hair away from his face as he got a closer look. His pink lips were slightly parted, and the slight rise and fall of his chest indicated the prince was alive. Relief swelled in Haru’s chest; he was so glad the boy had survived.

They laid on the beach as the sun rose further into the sky before voices could be heard. Reluctantly, Haru slipped back into the sea, safely obscured from the sight of some young girls who, at the sight of the prince, rushed onto the beach. When his emerald eyes opened, Haru could not help but feel jealous that he was not the first one whom he laid his gaze upon, however he knew it was far too dangerous. The girls soon took the prince along with them and Haru dived down, back to his father’s castle.

He resigned himself to the garden, silently sat by the marble statue. His siblings questioned him what he saw, however he ignored their enquiries. Each day, he returned to shore, hoping to see the prince again, but never saw him, returning home more sorrowful each time, his only comfort being the statue. He neglected to tending to his garden, the plants growing wild and unruly.

One day, he could no longer bear it and told his sibling everything. The news spread around the others and it just so happened that one knew who this prince was. They took him to the surface, to a splendid palace with winding turrets and marble stairs which ran to the sea. Indeed, there he was. He could not have felt any happier to have found him again, however the prince did not know who he was and it would have to stay that way.

Every day, Haru would swim to the castle, longingly watching the boy. One day, as he returned from the surface, he asked his grandma, ‘Do humans live forever?’ ‘Humans have an immortal soul and carry on living after death unlike us. After we die, we become sea foam and there ends our existence,’ she responded. This piqued Haru’s curiosity. ‘Is there anything I can do to win an immortal soul?’ ‘If a man were to love you so much that you were more important than everything to him, and you became wed, his soul would be shared between the two of you. However, that cannot happen. Humans think your tail is ugly, unnatural, compared to the two stumps that they call legs.’ Haru sighed, staring wistfully at his tail. Perhaps if he wished hard enough, it would become a pair of legs instead. ‘Come,’ said his grandmother, startling him, ‘there is a ball tonight. Let's be happy.’ With that, the two made their way to the castle.

The ball was magical; light spilled through the coloured crystal windows and the hall was filled with merpeople of all kinds, dancing and singing. Multicoloured fish swam through the castle, light bouncing off of their scales. Even quiet Haru sang, his voice lovelier than that of any merperson or human. However, even the merriment could not calm his restless mind, which was filled with constant thoughts of the prince and the idea of winning an immortal soul. Suddenly, he remembered of a person who could help. He snuck away, unnoticed, to the lair of the sea witch.

He had never been there before, no plants grew there and the ground was bare and sandy. Instead, was a forest of strange, many-legged creatures resembling trees, which flailed their multiple limbs, grasping at anything close by. Some were holding various items in a vice like grip; bodies of sunken humans, treasure chests, and even a mermaid which they had caught. Taking a deep breath, Haru darted between the waving arms, careful not to be caught. Soon he reached an area of flat, marshy land, in which stood a house made of human bone. There sat the sea witch, surrounded by fat water snakes, which rolled on the ground at her feet, whom she called her pets.

'I know what you want,' suddenly spoke the witch, 'it is stupid, and you shall only suffer. You want to get rid of your tail to win an immortal soul.’ At this, the witch laughed, a loud and ugly laugh, as if it was the funniest thing she had heard, before continuing. ‘I shall prepare a draught, which you must then drink on the land before sunrise tomorrow. Your tail will then shrivel up and become two; however every step will cause you great pain, like that of sharp knives. If you are willing to bear this, I shall help you.’ ‘Yes, anything,’ he blurted out. He would be willing to do anything if it meant he could be with the prince. ‘Listen carefully. Once you lose your tail, you can never be a merman again and will never be able to return to your family and if you do not win the love of the prince, on the day that he marries another, your heart shall break and you will become part of the foam on the waves.’

Haru nodded. Fear overcame him but he would do it. ‘I must be paid,’ said the witch, eyes gleaming wickedly. ‘You have the nicest voice in all the land. I find that should be sufficient payment.’ The merman paled; if he had no voice, how would he win the prince’s love? As if reading his mind, the witch answered, ‘use your beauty, grace and those deep blue eyes. Surely you can enchant a man’s heart.’ Haru agreed and with that the witch took his voice before beginning to create the draught. In no time, it was ready and Haru hastily took the glimmering liquid and hastily made his way back. From a distance, he observed his father’s castle. The lights were out, meaning his family must be sleeping. He could never return and that pained his heart greatly, however he would surely find happiness in his new life. With a final glance, Haru swam away, towards land and his new future.

#makoharu #fanfic #makoto tachibana #haruka nanase #free iwatobi swim club #little mermaid au #hans christian andersen #fairytales #bittersweet #prince!makoto #merman!haru

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writerspink · 6 years

Text

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8.1

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8.2

exclude civic compact painstaking supplement habitat leeway minute hoax contaminate likeness migration commentary extinct tangible originate urban unanimous subordinate collaborate obstacle esteem encounter futile cordial trait improvises superior exaggerate anticipate cope evolve eclipse dissent anguish subsequent sanctuary formulates makeshift controversy diversity terminate precise equivalent pamper prior potential obnoxious radiant predatory presume permanent pending simultaneously tamper supervise perceived vicious patronize trickle stodgy rant oration preview species poised perturb vista wince yearn persist shirk status tragedy trivial snare vindictive wrath recede peevish rupture unscathed random toxic void orthodox subtle resume sequel upright wary overwhelm perjury uncertainty prowess utmost throb pluck pique vengeance pelt urgent substantial robust sullen retort ponder whim saga sham reprimand vocation assimilate dub defect accord embark desist dialect chastise banter inaugurate ovation barter muse blasé stamina atrocity deter principal liberal epoch preposterous advocate audacious dispatch incense deplore institute deceptive component subside spontaneous bonanza ultimate wrangle clarify hindrance irascible plausible profound infinite accomplish apparent capacity civilian conceal duplicate keen provoke spurt undoing vast withdraw barrier calculate compose considerable deputy industrious jolt loot rejoice reliable senseless shrivel alternate demolish energetic enforce feat hearty mature observant primary resign strive verdict brisk cherish considerate displace downfall estimate humiliate identical improper poll soothe vicinity abolish appeal brittle condemn descend dictator expand famine portable prey thrifty visual

9.1

stance vie instill exceptional avail strident formidable rebuke enhance benign perspective tedious aloof encroach memoir mien desolate inventive prodigy staple stint fallacy grope vilify recur assail tirade antics recourse clad jurisdiction caption pseudonym reception humane ornate sage ungainly overt sedative amiss convey connoisseur rational enigma fortify servile fastidious contagious elite disgruntled eccentric pioneer abet luminous era sleek serene proficient rue articulate awry pungent wage deploy anarchy culminate inventory commemorate muster adept durable foreboding lucrative modify authority transition confiscate pivotal analogy avid flair ferret decree voracious imperative grapple deface augment shackle legendary trepidation discern glut cache endeavor attribute phenomenon balmy bizarre gullible loll rankle decipher sublime rubble renounce porous turbulent heritage hover pithy allot minimize agile renown fend revenue versa gaunt haven dire doctrine intricate conservative exotic facilitate bountiful cite panorama swelter foster indifferent millennium gingerly conscientious intervene mercenary citadel obviously rely supportive sympathy weakling atmosphere decay gradual impact noticeable recede stability variation approximately astronomical calculation criterion diameter evaluate orbit sphere agricultural decline disorder identify probable thrive expected widespread bulletin contribution diversity enlist intercept operation recruit survival abruptly ally collide confident conflict protective taunt adaptation dormant forage frigid hibernate insulate export glisten influence landscape native plantation restore urge blare connection errand exchange

9.2

feasible teem pang vice tycoon succumb capacious onslaught excerpt eventful forfeit crusade tract haggard susceptible exemplify ardent crucial excruciating embargo disdain apprehend surpass sporadic flustered languish conventional disposition theme plunder ignore project complaint title dramatic delivery litter experimental clinic arrogance preparation remind atomic occasional conscious deny maturity closure stressed translator animate observation physical further gently registration suppress combination amazing constructive allied poetry passion ecstasy mystery cheerful contribution spirit failed gummy commerce prove disagreement raid consume embarrass preference migrant devour encouragement quote mythology destined destination illuminating struggle accent ungrateful giggle approval confidence expose scientist operation superstitious emergency manners absolutely swallow readily mutual bound crisp orient stress sort stare comfort verbal heel challenging advertisement envious sex scar astonish basis accuracy enviable alliance specific chef embarrassed counter tolerable sympathetic gradually vanish informative amaze royal furry insist jealousy simplify quiver collaborate dedicated flexible function mimic obstacle technique archaeologist fragment historian intact preserve reconstruct remnant commence deed exaggeration heroic impress pose saunter wring astound concealed inquisitive interpret perplexed precise reconsider suspicious anticipation defy entitled neutral outspoken reserved sought equal absorb affect circulate conserve cycle necessity seep barren expression meaningful plume focused genius perspective prospect stunned superb transition assume guarantee nominate

10.1

install reticent corroborate regretfully strength murder concise cunning intention holy satire query confused progression disillusion background mundane abrupt multiple enormously introduce emulate harmful pragmatic pity rebut liberate enthusiastic elucidate camaraderie disparage nature creep profitability impression racist sobriety occupy autonomy currently amiable reiterate reproduce cripple modest offer atom provincial augment ungratefully expansion yield rashly allude immigration silence epitome exacerbate somber avid dispute vindicate collaborate manufacturer embellish superficial propaganda incompetent objective diminish statistics endure ambivalent perpetuate illuminate phenomenon exasperate originality restrict anxiety anthropology circumstances aesthetic manufacturing conventional dubious vulnerable reality precedent entity success term critical repair underscore stepmother republican hesitantly classic wary contents prediction immediate invoke notorious implicit excluding input skeptical foster element punish frank humanity profound dessert orthodox substance disappear encourage neighborhood elder superfluous naive ascertain complacent resilient deafening military tend prudent glare acceptance skillfully induce monster beam gullible conciliate vessel petty cantankerous disclose archaeology anecdote disdain electronics substantiate subjective tourism advisable joyful incredible provocative psychological ruins discipline condone indifferent misfortune judgmental industrialize tasty assume astute mission mar protective definitely escape oppress shocked virtual zealous endorse qualification hostile eccentric abstract disparate geographical scrutinize generalization tolerate activity claim dogmatic influential obsolete extol implausible subsequent resource chronic benevolent improve confidential ambiguous seriously dearth perplex hatred throughout dine contemporary evoke essentially economic flagrant obscure alleviate eloquent dreaadful clumsy sympathy victim condemn vigor condescend spontaneous quell reprehensible substantially sleeve equivocal ironic decry errand articulate progressive eradicate refreshments elicit aspiration recently exemplary bribery theoretical disingenuous partisan revere particle nostalgia self-aggrandizement debunk tyranny rhetoric hierarchy warning whimsical venerate commend assert miserable awful vibe constrain undermine explicit differentiate compliment scrupulous contempt erroneous ideal refute imply cynical rash presume insight revival vary delay renounce indignant offensive temperate circumstantial export peep logo advertise suppress distort chunk convoluted denounce overwhelming fertility rigorous acquire arrogant university antagonize profitable indulgent strategic breathing idiosyncrasy profession frugal discern accommodation adversary incredulous disturbance digress social belie roam smug continual pertinent voluntarily elite subtle blame sincerity lick horror censure involvement candid infer futile impetuous exploit bewilder sustain diligent sincere protect sealed musical empathy callous parenthetical insure acorn sarcasm seize sacrificially allege emphatic irrelevant progress diplomatic stunned improvise deride reconcile meticulous deject scientifically incontrovertible pressure justify gloomy depict supplant endurance analogous diary bolster slip contemplate pesticide glow religious advocate negligent creator lament fundamental embrace throne inherent inferior valuable thrive trivial pretense reserved capricious refresh refusal flight boost explanation coherent prevalent tenacious official royalty assassin rub poach delete

10.2

warrant circumscribed somewhat explosive optimistic mandate previously detract opinion intuitive feasible intimate persistent humble simplicity tempt deliberate painful unethical fundamentals discrepancy remorse pessimistic possibility conclusion acknowledge impregnate soberly creation paralyze suitability oblige tranquil medal arbitrate pacify illusory susceptible vibrate vengeance infection democratic stressful grave speculative sample identification stifle obligation revenge organization namely mediocre practical scream weaken consensus affectionate deficient treacherous console isolation ingenious memory melodrama despair awestruck composition regret recommendation celebrity decision devoid opaque ornamentation longevity participate dread restore interrogate aid accordingly mislead embarrassment optimism domestic apt funds virtue geography fundamentally thoroughly press despite horrible chilling rental esteemed disappointment innovative contemplation assign popularize haunt deafen serene percent estrangement suffer extravagant throng estimate comment priesthood mass dreadfully promote periphery animated saying relate clarity triple derivative succeed distortion register suicide improvement discreet inquisition probable curative incident praise convenience baffle covet dreadful genuinely weary undisturbed disgruntled humility renown nonchalant monopoly comedy vague decisive inconsequential announcement fabricated nevertheless vigilant scarce neglectful hushed attainment tedious explode snatch pslm agency sentimental tension adhere meanwhile sacred avert conformity likewise challenger accessible responsibility peril contact event roast fallible catastrophic competitor violate resolute deceive exaggeration discredit intolerable approve paste dimly novelist demeanor norm politician satisfaction obvious vehicle reservation defer involve restoration crush audible assistant backpack attain inanimate commemorate confrontation emigration parasite disperse quantitative laughter policy vulgar occasionally repay effective eulogy starvation empty therapeutic overall immortal encompass inappropriate opportune engagement illustrate turmoil observatory classification expression reminiscence comedian invention depress remedy protagonist gesture texture diplomatic election prolong conducive emotional invigorate curiosity expressive %

K-12 Words was originally published on PinkWrite

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abucketofdumbos · 7 years

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At Any Cost Chapter Two

Rose shivered as a powerful gust of wind hit the sails of the boat. Arthur had conveniently recommended they travel by ship that morning. His excuse was a reasonable one, he wanted to rest before they arrived in Dalaran. She knew what he really meant- he wanted her to rest. He wanted to spare her the embarrassment of struggling to summon a portal for them. He’d noticed months ago how even the simplest of tasks had become difficult for her. Sure, Arthur didn’t have magic intuition, he had nothing to compare the deterioration of her magical aura to besides the memory of how powerful it had once been, but he knew.

He made excuses for her, so she’d stop conjuring food for them, portaling them places, and even enchanting the brooms in their home: he’d apparently wanted to return to their roots. Arthur had convinced himself in his own misguided way that they lived minimally not because of her illness, but because they ought to. Rose had stopped fighting him on that matter. If it gave Arthur peace of mind, then it was more important to her than forcing any reality she had. She loved him in a way she had never loved before. She had never once doubted herself, her capabilities, or her purpose on Azeroth-- until she met him. He brought everything into question, every plan she’d made for her future seemed like a cruel joke when he'd come around. None of it was worth anything if it meant Arthur wasn’t in the picture, and so she’d loved him in the kind of way that didn’t falter as they grew.

No, she loved him in the way that made her resent herself when she discovered she was dying.

Rose rocked in place as the bow of the ship dipped in accordance with the rough waves of the northern sea. She could feel the eyes of the crew lingering on her, watching her emaciated form with a concern they hadn’t earned. Rose did not appreciate their pity, she was not a thing to be pitied. A great deal of stories were known about those who had harnessed arcane magic in astonishing ways, the concept of magical power like Khadgar’s was a beloved tale for children and adults alike. But no one ever heard the stories of the aftermath. Of those who fought continuously for their magical intuition.

She had been young the first time she’d ever heard that phrase, ‘magical intuition’. Her very own mother had assured her that it ran in their family, a trait hardwired into their lineage. Rose hadn’t found a way after all these years, even long after the woman's death, to explain just exactly how hard she had struggled to find an inkling of it within herself. Had her mother said it with the intention of embarrassing her? Or, more terrifyingly, had Rose just been a fluke in the matrix of her family's great history?

She had fought long and hard to master a power which the world made clear was not intended for her. But perseverance and being headstrong trumped even the best of nature’s will. She had been a great mage, of this she was certain. She had served the Kirin Tor well and she would continue until her last days. Perhaps that was what forced Arthur into such pure denial- he knew better than anyone what she’d wanted from life. He’d given up his own ambitions to join the coalition and serve alongside her. Maybe it was this, the desire to not feel as though it’d all been for naught, that drove him to turn a blind eye on her deteriorating health.

The boat drew into the harbor at Valiance Keep, the crew waded reluctantly out into Borean Tundra’s endless expanse of snow. Arthur had removed his heavy coat, braving the frigid cold, and draped the dense furs over her own shoulders. He had the same soulful eyes as their daughter, the color of bourbon imbued with a rich honey. She could have fallen into them each time he regarded her, and yet just this once she felt a pang of annoyance. For as much as she was headstrong, so was he. She pulled weakly at his arms attempting to draw him near and return the fabric to his person. Should she have died from the cold then the gods had willed it to be so. He did not need to risk a similar fate on her behalf. Yet as she weakly shifted the arm of each sleeve onto his shoulder she could sense him compromising. He pulled her form, with immeasurable delicacy, into his own, balancing her feet upon the tops of his greaves and wrapping them ceremoniously together in the warmth of its furs.

For a fleeting moment, she could only imagine him as her own Father. Who had once gently balanced the giggling mass of her childhood self on the tops of his very own shoes, and with the same supreme delicacy Arthur displayed now, aided her in taking her very first steps. Her heart swelled with the familiar pang of love she’d always felt for him, unfathomably deep and expansive.

She was thankful then for her small stature more than anything, and in turn for Arthur's lack thereof. Her petiteness provided him the means to cuddle her close to him and start in a determined march for the flight master's quarters. Arthur had been a source of great strength for her, a constant in an ever changing world. He provided her a cloak of warmth within his arms, a wall of protection from those that wished her ill, and most importantly- a provider of shade during the blistering months of summer where she'd first fallen in love with him. Had Norei been gifted with any of her traits she was grateful it was the strikingly blonde mop of hair and that very same petiteness. She could not imagine her own daughter with Arthur's thick black hair, or his tall built frame. Though she was certain Arthur himself could never have imagined their child with Rose’s blue eyes or rounded face. No, the features Norei had now were precious details of themselves passed down into a life made all of their own volition. A beautiful creature destined for unbounding greatness.

He trudged forward, arms wrapped protectively around her, leading them straight towards the stables. The flight master seemed unsurprised when Arthur entered, they discussed in quick and concise words the nature of their deal. A single gryphon, for two, charted to Dalaran and paid for in advance. The Flight Master seemed to agree with these terms until Arthur trudged farther into view and he was finally able to regard Rose. The man’s face fell and he leered warily over the small bundle Arthur kept against his body.

Rose knew he could tell she was a magi, as weak as her magic had become it still radiated from her every pore. But, that was not what provoked his sudden trepidation. It was the flickering and fading nature of her aura in conjunction with her and Arthur's tabards. Rose knew all of this without looking, satisfied instead with burying her features shamefully into Arthur's chest.

“She-” the man drew back on the reigns he'd been just seconds away from handing over, “is sick.” His voice had no hesitation, regarding Arthur with spite.

“We have paid,” Arthur commanded.

“I do not care,” the man's voice cut in, “I will not be responsible for delivering a dead magi to the Kirin Tor.”

“Then you will provide her safe passage,” Arthur's voice commanded, sharper this time. She could feel the thick muscles of his abdomen tensing under her grasp, she whimpered in turn.

“No,” the man's voice challenged Arthur's, “if you know what is good for you then you will find a magi to take her.”

“She is a magi,” Arthur hissed. He pulled more of the coat forward, shielding the small bit of her blonde hair that poked out from within.

“Your wife very well may have been a magi, but she is barely that now. Do not misplace your grievances on me. I will not be responsible for the gryphon that delivers her dead at the foot of Dalaran,” the man tugged sharply on the reins and turned from the two. Rose could hear his footsteps shrink into the distance as Arthur huffed in frustration. He turned suddenly, causing her quite a fright, hurrying back into the streets of the keep. A sharp gust of wind welcomed them to the impending storm that had begun to brew just outside.

Arthur raised a hand to shield Rose’s face, bracing the two of them against the powerful winds. A clamor of people rushing to make haste for their departures filled the spaces between howling winds. Arthur fought the current of air and trudged helplessly about, pleading and bartering with anyone he could for safe passage. Few regarded him with more than disdain and those that felt sympathy had little to offer in terms of space or safe travel. He rounded the corner of the stables looking hopelessly for anyone, for anything.

In the far corner of the keep he regarded a single man, lithe in stature and cloaked in dark red leathers. He stared reluctantly for all but mere seconds before pushing onward. The leather clad man swung a leg over the saddle of his gryphon and paid Arthur no mind as he hustled over. He tugged sharply on the reins, rearing the creature's head to the side so it would start slowly in that direction.

“Excuse me! Please, SIR!” Arthur exclaimed while hurriedly following in the creatures wake.

“I do not have passage for you and the woman,” the man stated flatly. The heels of blood red boots dug into the birds side and petitioned it along with urgency.

“Fine! Please- that is fine! Her,” Arthur stumbled to keep up with the creature as its pace quickened, “p-please. Take her.”

The roguish man turned his head now, a cowl hid the visage of his face though a thin pair of lips peeked through. He looked to be studying the pair scrupulously before settling on his response.

“The trip you wish to take is three days worth of flying on even the most well trained of gryphen. Your wife would not make it. You’re asking me to deliver a dead woman to a city,” his tone was absolute and stoic. It was jarring to both Rose and Arthur. More often than not those that regarded her ailment did such with less candor or ipso facto.

“She,” Arthur hefted a few breaths as the gryphon halted under its owner’s command, “she will make it. She must make it. You have- you need to take her.” Arthur's hand clutched the back of Rose’s head now, a creeping sense of panic quietly consuming her as he did. The man scoffed from his perch up on the bird, digging his heels once more into its sides and redirecting the creature back on its previous path.

“FINE,” Arthur's voice bellowed, “all the coin in my purse-” Arthur quieted the boom of his voice as the gryphon and its master came to a sudden stall. The man said nothing for a moment, rigid in his place. Cautiously Arthur approached with Rose still clutched tight in hand. The man offered little in the way of words, instead looking not to Arthur but pointedly at the precious life he held in his arms. The man's lips twitched into a tight scowl before a palm shoved itself in Arthur's direction. Arthur stared incredulously down at the piece of flesh before reaching into his coat, just past Rose, and for his coin purse. He offered it over then, the clink of several weeks pay gone in an instant as the stranger's fingers curled over the pouch.

“Help her up.”

#Malanorei

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carvedlakeart · 5 years

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Boating Must-haves You Don’t want to Skip

It’s very intimidating to sail in the wide-open seas especially if you are a first-time boater. There are strict guidelines to follow as well as other multitudes of things to bring. Boating accessories are an integral part of boating life. It’s like dressing up for the big game and wearing all the proper attire. But there are several things that you should not in anyway forgo when sailing.

Whether you are a seasonal sailor, a boating enthusiast, or a new boater, you need to fill your boat with the most essential boating accessories list. Boats have a rather small room for storage so its important that you are creative on how to store these essential accessories with ease of access. Even if you are only gone for a few hours, you need to check on these three things constantly.

You might be surprised at how small or big the list is but here are some of the top three things you shouldn’t forget- since your safety and for some situations, your life depends on it.

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1. Basic First Aid Kit

No one knows how to stock on their first aid kit until the situation calls for it. And its really important to be vigilant and prepared in case of emergency. So you need to think thoroughly about what you ‘might’ need in your first aid kit. You should at least think of every possible emergency scenario there is including a stalled boat in the middle of nowhere and at night. Also, you need to know how to apply first aid, even the most basic ones. Help may take at least a couple of hours before it reaches you and your crew, so you need to be prepared beforehand. As any emergency is a matter of life and death, its important to keep your first aid kit in a handy place that is waterproof and with clear markings.

2. Have A Working Phone Or Marine Radio With You at All Times

Nature has its temper and weather is all unknowing even for the seasonal boater. You may leave the dock with a clear sky but you might be greeted with thunderstorms and violent winds in the middle of the lake. With the Great Lakes weather, accidents can happen instantaneously or you might need to call for help from local authorities – you never know. Having a working phone or radio is always a must-have for every boater.

It’s also very helpful to stay tuned in to a marine VHF radio signal just in case to hear in any event of a storm. While every local maritime frequency has its own distress, safety, and calling, you can contact the nearest coast guard using an international 156.800 MHz frequency.

3. Floating Device

Any kind of buoyant aid that will help you float like a life jacket, life vest, and throw-able floating equipment can save a life in the vast ocean. It is not just a safety precaution but one that is required by law. And the law requires at least two kinds of floating device on a boat. Having a floating device is all self-explanatory from here.

from Carved Lake Art Blog http://blog.carvedlakeart.com/2020/01/boating-must-haves-you-dont-want-to-skip.html

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cksmart-world · 5 years

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The Completely Unnecessary News Analysis

By Christopher Smart

Dec. 3, 2019

THE RIGHT TO LIFE & BEAR ARMS

Everybody knows life begins at fertilization. The sperm and egg unite, two cells become four, and voilà — an embryo. This truth is non-negotiable. If a political candidate does not believe in “right to life,” then forget about it. Women do not have the freedom to choose what's going on with their own bodies, even in the case of rape or incest. Every life is precious and we must close all the embryo-killing abortion clinics immediately. And while we're considering morality and patriotism, it's also a truism that the 2nd Amendment guarantees everyone's right to own a gun, whether it be a snub-nosed .38 or an AR-15. “A well regulated Militia being necessary to the security of a free State, the right of the people to keep and bear Arms shall not be infringed.” (Don't pay any attention to the “well regulated Militia” part). Of course, there are mass shootings going on every day in this country. But all those corpses piling up are just collateral damage — the price of freedom, as Bill O'Reilly likes to say. You see, life in the womb is precious; at Walmart or middle school, not so much.

IMPEACHMENT GLOSSARY

Soon the Senate will conduct the impeachment trial of President Donald J. Trump for alleged bribery, obstruction of justice and abuse of power regarding interactions with Ukraine. In order to help Americans understand the complexities of this historic event, the linguists here at Smart Bomb have assembled a hands-on glossary for political neophytes. To get oriented, we first turn to George Orwell for definitions such as: freedom is slavery; ignorance is strength; and war is peace. As has been reported recently on Fox News Channel For Real Americans, the term “whistleblower” in this context really means “lying sonofabitch.” And according to a forensic analysis of the July 25 phone call between Trump and Ukraine President Zalensky, quid pro quo is Pig-Latin for “Go ahead, make my day.” One subject that is bound to come up is “Burisma,” the name of a Ukrainian energy company. But here, Burisma actually is jargon for, “Joe Biden will sleep with the fishes.” And the phrase, “Check with Rudy,” has been revealed as double-speak for, “nobody fingers the White House or it's curtains.” During the trial, Republican senators are bound to bandy about the term “CrowdStrike” in an effort to indict Ukraine for meddling in the 2016 election. The subtext, however, indicates the real meaning is, “pure bullshit.”

AIR POLLUTION & BRAIN DAMAGE

A new scientific study reveals that air pollution leads to Alzheimer-like brain atrophy. (We are not making this up.) The findings from University of Southern California are the result of a scientific study of 998 women ages to 73 to 87. Alzheimer’s is the fourth-leading cause of death in Utah, according to Deseret News scoop Amy Joi O'Donoghue. Pollution can get so bad along the Wasatch Front that it's rated as some of the filthiest air in the country. Here, at Smart Bomb, we have have determined that air pollution impacts men's mental abilities, as well. Our team of crack researchers came to that conclusion by studying the actions of the male-dominated Utah Legislature. For example, Utah lawmakers recently determined to help low-income workers by imposing a new food tax, clearly indicating some kind of mental impairment. As you may know, the Capitol Building is located near Interstate 15 and the oil refineries — a double-whammy of air pollution. And it's no secret that legislators have been resistant to clean air initiatives, largely because they keep forgetting about them — a Catch 22 or sorts. Actually that explains a whole lot things.

BLACK FRIDAY CAPTURES X-MAS SPIRIT

American shoppers charged bazillions of dollars on their credit cards Nov. 29 — Black Friday. Among other things, Black Friday keeps the economy humming. Not just here, but in every country that imports to the U.S. We are the world's consumers — the bedrock of capitalism. Shopping is our way of celebrating the birth of Jesus of Nazareth, who everyone knows was way into new stuff and consumption. (Actually, Jesus wasn't born on Dec. 25, but Christians usurped the Pagan Winter Solstice celebration. But we digress.) The origins of the term “Black Friday” are up for debate. Most recently, it is believed to be the day that retailers broke into the black, as in black ink — profit. Another story is that the day after Thanksgiving was a traditional time that slave traders put their products — human beings — on sale before winter set in. How American can you get? But the story that rings true is that the term “Black Friday” was coined in Philadelphia in 1961 by cops overwhelmed by all the extra traffic created by hordes of shoppers heading for the city’s downtown stores (remember them?), long before Jeff Bezos was even a twinkle in his mother's eye.

Post Script — Well that's it for another fun-filled week here at Smart Bomb, where we keep track of Michael Bloomberg's election campaign spending so you don't have to. Time flies — the presidential election is now only 11 months away: Think of running a marathon barefoot on a Mojave highway in July with blisters on your feet. Coincidentally, the rate of clinical depression across the country is up sharply and the birthrate is down. No Wilson, we don't know if they've tried marijuana gummy bears. But listen, this is the holiday season and we ought to be focusing on joy, the spirit of giving and eggnog. Think good thoughts, like the Runnin' Utes ranked 5th in NCAA football (pinch yourself, it's real); the New England Patriots losing again; there's snow in the mountains; the lights are on at Temple Square; and nobody's dropping bombs on us from drones flying overhead (a different kind of giving we save for the Middle East).

All right, Wilson, wake up the band and take us into the festive season with something special: We were born before the wind / Also younger than the sun / Ere the bonnie boat was won / As we sailed into the mystic / Hark, now hear the sailors cry / Smell the sea and feel the sky / Let your soul and spirit fly into the mystic...

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ilovearticlesoffaith-blog · 5 years

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The Accusers

And I heard a loud voice saying in heaven, Now is come salvation, and strength, and the kingdom of our God, and the power of his Christ: for the ACCUSER of our brethren is cast down, which ACCUSED them before our God day and night.

Revelation 12:10

Although the devil is commonly known as the accuser of the brethren, he is actually the accuser in the midst of the brethren.

In your leadership experience, you will meet different kinds of people. Perhaps one of the most daunting enemies you will ever encounter is “the accuser in the midst of the brethren”.

Problems come in different levels but one of the highest problems is to encounter an accuser in the midst of the brethren.

At the highest point of your ministry, you will struggle with the accuser. Accusation is Satan's topmost strategy for dealing with an unconquerable enemy.

Satan's Best Weapon

Satan has different formats by which he operates. He may come to you in the form of a tempter, a liar, a murderer or a deceiver. However, if he takes you on as an accuser, the battle has been lifted to the highest possible level.

This principle is played out in the life of Jesus Christ. Initially, the devil came to him in the form of a tempter. Jesus Christ was tempted in the wilderness for forty days. Satan lied to Him in the wilderness and desperately tried to deceive Him.

Throughout his ministry, the Lord was attacked by the devil in the form of a murderer. "He was a murderer from the beginning" (John 8:44). On several occasions, Satan tried to kill Jesus through mob action but He would escape.

And they got up and drove Him out of the city, and led Him to the brow of the hill on which their city had been built, in order to throw Him down the cliff.

But passing through their midst, He went His way.

Luke 4:29-30, NASB

On another occasion, the devil tried to drown Jesus in the Sea of Galilee but he was not successful because Jesus rebuked the storm. It was not God who brought the storm; otherwise, Jesus rebuked God's wisdom by rebuking the storm.

But as they sailed he fell asleep: and there came down a storm of wind on the lake; and they were filled with water, and were in jeopardy.

And they came to him, and awoke him, saying, Master, master, we perish. Then he arose, and rebuked the wind and the raging of the water: and they ceased, and there was a calm.

Luke 8:23-24

Coming in the Garb of an Accuser

However, Jesus' ministry was finally brought to an end when Satan put on the garb of an accuser. Jesus endured one week of intense accusations, which brought His ministry to an end. This week of intensive accusations, started from Palm Sunday until He was crucified. In Matthew 21:1-17, you will see how He entered Jerusalem triumphantly and cleansed the temple. You will notice how the questions and accusations started from the day after He arrived in Jerusalem (Matthew 21:23).

This time Satan pulled out his deadliest weapon and unleashed it against the Lord. The weapon of accusation was finally deployed. For a whole week before the Passover, the Lord was in the temple being questioned and examined (accused) by the Pharisees.

Then went the Pharisees, and took counsel how they might ENTANGLE HIM in his talk.

And they sent out unto him their disciples with the Herodians, saying, Master, we know that thou art true, and teachest the way of God in truth, neither carest thou for any man: for thou regardest not the person of men.

Tell us therefore, What thinkest thou? Is it lawful to give tribute unto Caesar, or not?

But Jesus perceived their WICKEDNESS, and said, Why TEMPT ye me, ye hypocrites?

Matthew 22:15-18

The Lord was questioned about every aspect of His life and ministry.

For several days, the Lord endured the wickedness and hypocrisy of those who questioned Him in the temple. In the last twenty-four hours of His life, He was also accused in the palace of the high priest, in Pilate's court and also in Herod's palace.

Jesus met this series of high-level accusations with a variety of responses. He answered the temple questions succinctly and made fools out of His accusers.

When they had heard these words, they marvelled, and left him, and went their way.

Matthew 22:22

They had never heard anything like that before.

The officers answered, Never man spake like this man.

John 7:46

However, when in the court of Pilate and other heathen rulers, He answered nothing to the questions that were levelled at Him.

And he answered him to never a word; insomuch that the governor marvelled greatly.

Matthew 27:14

As you can see, Satan has different guises under which he attacks. In this section of the book, we will be dealing with the accusers who are used by the devil to intimidate you. Perhaps you suffer from a plague of accusations in the ministry. Often you do not understand what is happening to you. By the time you finish this book, God will give you wisdom to fight the enemy.

What Is an Accusation?

An accusation is a charge or allegation made against someone. It puts blame and points fingers at a person. An accusation is a statement saying that you think someone is guilty of doing something wrong, especially of committing a crime.

These statements, which are directed at a person, constantly minister a withering and weakening guilt. Only very strong-hearted people can live with persistent accusations for a long time. Even though accusations come out of human mouths, they are anointed by the accuser of the brethren himself. Satan is the accuser in the midst of the brethren.

Who Are the People Commonly Employed as Accusers?

In my country, some people are commonly employed as security guards. There are also people who are commonly employed as butchers and khebab sellers. Similarly, there are some people whom Satan commonly employs as accusers. These people fall into the category I call “familiar friends” of the accused.

Yea, mine own familiar friend, in whom I trusted, which did eat of my bread, hath lifted uphis heel against me.

Psalm 41:9

Familiar friends are the familiar people of your life: friends, husbands, wives, sons, daughters, beloveds, associate pastors, church members, journalists, classmates etc. For accusations to have any impact, they must be channelled through someone close.

Why Not Simply Brush off Accusations?

Are accusations not statements that are true or false? If they are not true, why don't you just ignore them? But it is never as easy as that.

Accusations are anointed from Hell. Accusations are spiritual things. Accusations are tiny arrows loaded with satanic poison. As soon as the poison enters your blood, it spreads through your whole being, attacking your heart. Like some fast-spreading natural poison, you are greatly affected by a seemingly little dart.

I have seen mighty giants of God totally ruffled by unfounded accusations which looked insignificant to the bystander. Such is the power of accusation. It is a puzzling weapon and its effects are mysterious. Truly, accusations are spiritual weapons.

The Pointing of the Finger

Then YOUR LIGHT WILL BREAK OUT LIKE THE DAWN, And your recovery will speedily spring forth; And your righteousness will go before you; The glory of the LORD will be your rear guard.

Then you will call, and the LORD will answer; You will cry, and He will say, "Here I am." IF YOU REMOVE the yoke from your midst, THE POINTING OF THE FINGER and speaking wickedness,

Isaiah 58:8-9, NASB

Accusations are also called “the pointing of the finger”. Such is the evil released by the pointing of the finger, that the light in your life and ministry will actually grow dim from it. Your light will break forth like the dawn and there will be recovery if you put away the pointing of the finger!

Ministries cannot prosper once a finger-pointing person is allowed to flourish nearby. Much of the darkness in the body of Christ is as a result of the incessant accusations made by brother against brother, sister against sister, husband against wife, and so on.

You must know the people around you who are used to accuse you. Every good leader must understand the principles of accusation. You can wither and weaken in ministry through diverse accusations! Your ministry can actually be misdirected by accusations. I have experienced that myself. Perhaps this is the most important section of this book and I pray you will study it seriously.

The book of Revelation shows how God dealt decisively with the accuser of the brethren. It reveals four amazing benefits of silencing accusations. In these four benefits, we see everything that we desire from God - strength, salvation, power and the kingdom of God. Oh, how much power and strength will be released into your life if the pointing of the finger was not there.

Most ordinary people do not feel that they are qualified to serve God. Most of the people I have trained in the ministry were discouraged and accused by the devil. But I simply encouraged them constantly to serve God and become priests in spite of their shortcomings.

This encouragement was completely contrary to the voice of the accuser in their lives. That voice told them they were not good enough! But my constant encouragement to serve God and to trust Him silenced the voice of the accuser. Suddenly, weak and incapable people received salvation, power and strength to do God's work.

The Benefits of Dealing with the Accuser

And I heard a loud voice saying in heaven, Now is come SALVATION, and STRENGTH, and the KINGDOM OF OUR GOD, and the POWER OF HIS CHRIST: for the accuser of our brethren is cast down, which ACCUSED them before our God day and night.

Revelation 12:10

This Scripture shows four clear blessings of dealing with accusers:

1. Salvation is the first benefit of silencing accusers in your midst.

2. Strength is the next important benefit for eliminating accusers from your little fellowship.

3. The kingdom of our God will come when the accuser of the brethren is cast down.

4. Finally, the power of Christ is released when the accuser is dealt with.

All these benefits are clearly outlined in the Scripture as being things that happen when the accuser is silenced.

If you allow an associate minister to point fingers at you, you will be weakened and the power of God in your life will be reduced. The salvation and the coming of God's kingdom are dependent on you dealing with the accuser.

by Dag Heward-Mills

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steroidusr · 6 years

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etrian odyssey III part 1: prologue

holy shit, it's eo3

As if tacitly admitting it, the Senatus ruling over Armoroad have invited explorers to their city. The invitation drew throngs of eager explorers who gathered to traverse the undersea maze. But none of the throngs who came to challenge that maze were strong enough to master it. The impenetrable ruins came to be known as the Yggdrasil Labyrinth, and its legend spread further... You yourself are an explorer who has heard its legend and now sail to Armoroad to investigate. Your only objective: to challenge the Labyrinth and win fame and fortune. Your hour is at hand!

i love that the whole plot of eo games is "explore this, get rich and famous"

so the first place we can go is the explorers guild and-- ok that looks a little glitchy nds emulation is hard

"I'm here to supervise all the explorers who find themselves in our fair burg. Here's a little something I give every new guild for signing up."

the gradient text box looks cool (he also gives us a cross script, a resolve script, and an offense script. i'll get into what those are for later)

"Think hard, because that name may be known someday across the seven seas. It all depends on you."

HELL YEAH

[i held a vote on our guild name and the channel chose “The Troll Slaiyers”, but that’s too long so i went with just “Slaiyers”]

absolutely not but the people have spoken

"Well then, step two is registering explorers in your guild. You'll need to hire a few folks, but it's up to you whether or not you want to become a member too." At the Explorers Guild, you can register explorers and organize your party. Choose your favored classes from the list and form a party of up to five explorers.

you can talk to npcs in town too

"Even experienced warriors get swallowed up by that Labyrinth every day... If you've come here as weekend warriors, I'll be straight with you: hit the beach instead."

we can choose up to five characters to bring along at a time i should add: characters in the front row take more damage from phys attacks and are more likely to be targeted, so it's better to put characters with high defense/vitality there

[and this is the party the channel voted on]

"Oh, but before you go, let me explain one more thing. It’s about the documents I just gave you along with the guild certificate... Smart explorers actually read them carefully. If you don’t feel like it, just throw them away... But if you hope to go all the way in the Labyrinth, you’d be well-served giving them a look."

In this game, powerful abilities called Limit Skills can be used by up to five party members. Limit Skills can be learned by obtaining documents with the skill details written in them. Gather various Limit Skills and use them well to make your time in the Labyrinth easier.

and then we're sent back to the main town screen, only now all the facilities are available to us. we could go to the senatus first like the guildmaster suggested, or we could check out the other places in town...

ONWARD

FIFTH STRATUM

...and then youre immediately kicked back to the town screen. >:(

FINE

"Then you’d best remember this: You stand in an assembly hall of the Senatus, Armoroad’s government. And I am she who wields the Senatus’ authority to manage explorers such as yourselves. This is where so-called explorers’ skills are tested to sort the true warriors from the cowards. If you want to be recognized as true Armoroad explorers, accept the mission I issue you now."

Carry out these missions to gain various rewards and advance the game’s storyline. Select ”Accept mission” from the menu to see the details.

so there are a few things we can do here. "accept mission", like the game said, lets us accept missions from the senatus. "report results" is how we report completed missions

"report discoveries" lets us log monsters we've encountered and item drops we've won from battles. materials we get from gathering points are logged in the item compendium too. "talk" is self-explanatory:

"Just don’t get lost in the assembly hall on your way here!"

anyway, you have to accept the senatus' mission before you can go into the labyrinth, so let's do that

"The guard there will have more details for you. Look to him before you proceed. Ah, but you must have parchment first, eh? Here is the blank map given to explorers. Use it well."

when she said we have to draw our own map, she wasnt kidding--a big part of the game is drawing a map of each floor on the bottom screen (...uh, i guess it's the "right screen" here) floor tiles are filled out automatically, but you have to draw in the walls and other details yourself

NOW we're free to go into the labyrinth ...but we're not going to yet. actually, doing so now would be a really bad idea

......because we still need to buy equipment

"In that case, welcome to Napier’s Firm. We carry all the weapons, armor, and tools you’ll require. Here at our Firm, the customer is God. We’ll spare no expense for those who line our coffers. Though that is conditional on you participating in a transaction. No window shoppers, please."

you start out with 500en (short for "ental"), which is just barely enough to get your party equipped

(i start by buying shuro's sandals for everyone) ...it says theyre made of shuro tree leaf, so i have a feeling the name shouldve just been "shuro sandals", as opposed to implying there's a dude named Shuro or whatever

i also buy an absurdly expensive shield for homare, because she needs a shield to use her tanky skills, and this is the only one available

aaand we're broke

"Skilled explorers have few qualms at parting with their money. Stinginess never saved a life. All things depend upon money. Your finances dictate whether you master Yggdrasil or die penniless. Remember that. So then, what can I get for you?"

alright, everyone's all equipped. we could go into the labyrinth now, but im gonna check out the rest of town first just to get it out of the way

"Not only can you spend the night here, we have doctors to treat your wounds, too! So, is this your first time in Armoroad? Isn’t it awesome? Those clear seas! Those blue skies!"

we're gonna be seeing a lot of this place

"stay" lets us, obviously, stay at the inn. this fully heals the hp/tp of all (alive) party members. it also passes the time a bit, allowing you to stay at the inn until either the next morning or until nightfall

"treatment" lets us revive dead or petrified party members (later games had dead/petrified party members heal automatically when staying at the inn)

"store" lets us put excess items in storage. this can be pretty useful because we have limited inventory space (and multiples of the same kind of item dont stack)

and "save" is, of course, the most important option of all:

anyway, we're not actually gonna stay here, because there's no need to. also we're totally fucking broke, in case anyone forgot i mean, we WILL stay here, eventually. but not right now.

ah, so youve heard about us...

"They call this the ocean city, ’cuz so many people from across the seas wind up here. I bet you’d enjoy taking a walk around town before you go down into the Labyrinth."

good idea! let's do that

"Well, welcomes to you! This is the Butterfly Bistro, and I am the owner here! Once you finish the mission that the old lady gives all the newbies, I can give you work. ...Until the then time, have some drinkings and chattings with the other explorers here!"

this is where you can accept quests, which are sort of like... mini-missions. tbh there wasnt much reason to do these in eo1 and eo2, cuz the rewards werent too great, but in eo3 they give you exp too, so it's worth it to do as many quests as you can

anyway, let's talk to this dude

(bar patrons dont have character portraits, unfortunately)

"I’m Wolfram, a troubadour. I’ve wended my way from the far north all the way to this ocean city. I’ve been here a long time... I may have a few words of advice about challenging that place."

(troubadours were a class in eo1/eo2. theyre bards, basically)

what should we ask him about first?

"Her sobriquet of the Porcelain Princess comes from her pure, white shining skin... Her voice is like music from the harps of the goddesses; radiant enough to tame monsters! But even the goddesses wouldn’t linger in her presence for having to compete with her face... She is Princess Gutrune, a lovely goddess of Armoroad in her own right! Her visage is the stuff dreams are made of... Though, mind you, I’ve never seen her in person. Each successive princess in Armoroad is named Gutrune. I’ll tell you the reason... later."

what should we ask next?

"A free city of clear skies and white clouds, an endless sea, and a vibrant, eclectic culture!

"...But freedom can’t exist without order. This country does have a royal family. Sadly, the modern royal family has been reduced to mere figureheads... Ah, but who then governs Armoroad? The aristocrats of the Senatus, led by a fearsome old crone! Consider her to be the true power behind Armoroad. You’ll most certainly meet her yourselves. There’s more to Armoroad’s royal family than that, but... Let’s leave that for another time, hm?"

the calamity, AKA the backstory

"But around 100 years ago, the center of Armoroad was suddenly swallowed by the ocean! Afterwards, the rippling waters became tidal waves... The gentle breeze gave way to earthquakes. Armoroad’s advanced technology was sunk, which ended diplomatic relations with nearby countries. It’s been a long road to recovery for Armoroad, but even today, it’s nowhere near what it once was... Not since the Calamity. If you ask anyone here, you’ll get nothing but a stony silence. Then again, that’s just because no one knows exactly what went on 100 years ago! It wasn’t all bad, mind you. After the Calamity, a Labyrinth was revealed, drawing explorers here. Though the Senatus had other reasons for gathering explorers... But that tale can wait for now."

I've Had Enough Of This Guy

"...Ah, but I jest, I jest. Come again, explorers, if you wish to hear my stories."

we have better things to do..... such as talking to the barkeep instead

uh... we're... working on it...

"...Ah, you are just heading out? You may want to gather info before you go in there. Oh, by the by the way, what’s the name of your guild? ...Slaiyers? That’s cool! I will make sure to be remembering it. I am hoping to do a lot of business with you, Slaiyers!"

u///u

alright, there's just one last place i want to check out before the FIFTH STRATUM

"You’ll need permission from the Senatus to go on voyages, so you should seek that out first."

...well, that was pointless

time to FINALLY get this show on the road

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