#that bird would be a very large gull of some kind

[fandom-junk-drawer]

The Witcher Headcanon - High

The more time Jaskier spends around Witchers, the more he notices how much they are like cats in some ways. Of course, they had those signature cat eyes that allowed them to see in the dark. And he started noticing how their eyes would dilate when something caught their attention.

A stalk of field grass with a bit of seed fluff on the end would cause Geralt's eyes to immeidately dialte if twitched. He had done it one winter in the Great Hall, with a willowy twig, and five heads had snapped toward the motion, and five pairs of eyes had dilated.

Jaskier had been reminded just how fast Witchers could move. He survived only because he managed to yeet the twig before he got dog piled.

Then he discovered that they purred, and liked cheek and chin scratches. He would start scratching cheeks or chins, and their eyes would dilate, and they would turn into Witcher-shaped puddles.

There were a lot of things that made their eyes dilate: cheek and chin scratches, being warm and comfortable, hugs, seeing something interesting, being excited, White Gull, and now, whatever the h*ll that plant was that Geralt was laying next to.

Jaskier had been waiting for over an hour for Geralt to return to camp. He had said he was going to set some snares, but he'd been gone too long, and Jaskier had gone looking for him. The bard had found him laying on his back next to a large shrub that was all shredded and mashed down, and he'd panicked, thinking he'd been attacked by something and left to die.

After getting a closer look though, he discovered that Geralt was unhurt. He was idly rolling a twist of pungent smelling leaves between his fingers and staring up at the sky, looking like he was having some kind of religious experience. There was only a thin ring of gold around his dialted pupils.

Jaskier *gently shaking his shoulder*: Er...Geralt? Geralt, can you hear me? Are you okay?

Geralt *dreamy voice*: Wouldn't being a-a bird be, like, the best? You could just fly around all day, sh*ttin' on people... I'd sh*t on Whatshisname...Valdo. Yeah, man, I'd totally sh*t on him. I'd just follow him around all day, every day, just sh*ttin' on him for you.

Jaskier: That's very touching, Geralt, and I appreciate the sentiment, but--! Melitele's tits, is that catnip?!

Geralt: Yeah, *rubs leaves on his face and starts purring*

Jaskier: Er, okay, big guy, let's get you back to camp. *slips arm under his shoulders and levers him into a sitting position*

Geralt *dramatic voice* : I ASCEND!

Jaskier: *gently takes the handful of leaves away and puts them in his pocket* Let me just hold on to these for you.

Jaskier heaved Geralt to his feet. The Witcher wobbled but stayed upright. He raised his hand, fingers positioned as if he were holding something, took a bite out of the invisible thing in his hand, squinted up at the sun, then demanded that Jaskier blow out the giant candle in the sky because he couldn't taste his cheese.

Jaskier regarded him silently for the space of a few heartbeats, then took a breath and blew it out at the sun.

"You blew out the sky candle! F***ing h*ll, I can't see anything now!"

"Your eyes are closed, Geralt."

Geralt opened his eyes, frowning irately, and grumbled "Blowing out the f***ing sky candle and plunging us all into eternal darkness-!" he stopped mid-rant as he remembered his invisible cheese, and took a bite. "Tastes like purple!"

Their trip back to camp had been punctuated by more stange ramblings as Geralt talked about all the mysteries of the universe, and randomly stopped to yell at a tree that was giving him a dirty look. He had passed out as soon as Jaskier had dropped him on his bedroll.

Geralt woke later, and in answer to his confused look, Jaskier had gleefully blurted, "You got high off catnip!", and then laughed himself breathless while Geralt growled and grumbled and denied it.

Jaskier pulled a few of the leaves out of his pocket and held them out to him. He'd been rather disappointed when Geralt had taken the leaves, examined them, and had absolutely no reaction to them. Geralt had given him a smug look that screamed "I told you so!".

Days later they stayed at an inn while Geralt worked a contract, and Jaskier entertained himself by tring to make friends with the cat that lived there.

She had stopped to sniff under the door, so he had opened it and tried to lure her in with some food scraps. The cat had been reluctant, having smelled Geralt's scent in the room. Jaskier remembered that cats did not like Witchers, but his inner Disney Princess was going to make friends with this cat through h*ll or high water!

He had taken some of the catnip, rubbed it between his palms, then put it in a little pile on the floor and crouched near it, hoping to entice the cat to come closer. He wiped his hands on his shirt and pants for good measure, in the hopes that he could get his new friend to sit in his lap.

Geralt returned a while later and found Jaskier sitting on the floor with a spaced out cat in his lap. He was curious as to why this cat was not immediately hissing and spitting at him like cats usually did when he encountered one. He slowly moved a little closer and caught a whiff of something herby...

The cat barely even flinched when Geralt dropped his bags and practically knocked Jaskier over trying to rub his face into his shirt. Jaskier ended up pinned to the floor by a hulking Witcher and a cat. He was grinning like an idiot while both the cat and Geralt rubbed their faces on him, and Happy Purred.

Jaskier made a few mental notes: 1. This is gold, tell Yen! 2. Don't mention this to Geralt. 3. Start collecting catnip. Ask Yen to help.

By the time Jaskier went to winter in Kaer Morhen that year, he had, with Yennefer's help, stockpiled a sizeable amount of catnip. He kept it hidden in his pack, wrapped with all his other herbs and dried florals, tucking it down in with his soaps and lotions and scents.

He had originally brought it as a joke, something to use to tease his adoptive family with, but he found that it really came in handy. Fights were a regular thing at Kaer Moren, especially when you were stuck indoors for weeks on end.

Jaskier started secretly burning a pinch or two of catnip in the Great Hall's fire pit when the usual minor scuffles looked like they were going to turn into fistfights.

Sometimes, when they were drunk and starting to try to fight each other, Jaskier would lobb a little catnip stuffed beanbag into the middle of them and let it work its magic.

Catnip tea became a thing.

Along with catnip cookies.

Sometimes, if he was bored, cold, or feeling a little down, Jaskier would rub a little catnip on his clothes and walk into the Great Hall, and then just enjoy the massive cuddle pile that resulted.

Yennefer knew exactly what was going on and was lowkey impressed her bardling had been able to smuggle the stuff into Kaer Morhen without Geralt knowing. It was an amusing distraction. She and Jaskier would sit and listen to their random thoughts.

"Forks are just a hand for your hand."

"Bread has a wetness scale, and here's why..."

" What if dragons had their wings on their back legs?"

" When two people kiss, they make a really long tube with an a**hole at each end."

"Your belly button used to be your mouth."

"If potatoes have eyes, then that means they watch you as you murder them."

And of course there was the humorous behavior, like:

Lambert balancing on the top of a door, claiming that he was a hawk.

Witchers crowding around a window to 'ekekekekek!' at a bird outside.

Geralt standing in the stables, bare a** naked, telling Roach she was pretty.

Eskel swearing that the rats in his room were talking sh*t behind his back, and it was really hurtful so, could Jaskier please go tell them to stop being mean?

Coen standing infront of a mirror, combing hair he didn't have, and swearing that Yennefer was lying to him when she told him he was bald.

Vesemir trying to fight everyone because he was feeling like he was 150 again because his joints didn't hurt anymore.

Then came the event that Yennefer personally could not stop laughing about. Lambert had started a massive drunken brawl one evening. Jaskier had been in his room, trying to make friends with some of the rats, when he'd heard the enraged screaming. He'd run to the Great Hall and seen an obviously inebriated Geralt and Lambert rolling and snarling on the floor.

Coen and Eskel tried to break it up, but were dragged into the free for all. Jaskier started yelling for them to stop, but he was ignored. He ran back to his room and did the only thing he could think of.

Yennefer had heard all the rukus and stormed into the Great Hall just as Jaskier came running back in, carrying the biggest joint the Continent had ever seen. The size of it was just absurd. Yennefer had started laughing as he'd dropped it unceremoniously into the firepit. Smoke billowed up, filling the room, and seconds later, the fight was over. Witchers were laying in a pile on the floor, stoned off their a**es, and contemplating the complex mysteries of the universe. Jaskier was pretty sure some of them were seeing gods.

It had taken weeks for the room to air out enough to were the Wolves weren't getting high just walking in to it, but there were still a few spots on the wall, and one of the furs where the smell continued to cling. It became a big joke after Jaskier guiltily explained what happened. Now when one of them, especially Lambert, started getting extra prickly, someone would say "Go sniff the fur/wall and calm the h*ll down!"

[fandom-go-round]

Sea Salt Like Glitter: Part Two

Summary: You’re a forest ranger. Trees and mammals are your specialty. Mermaids in the ocean? Way outside your area of expertise. Good News: They like you. Bad News: They like you a lot

Mer! Sun x Plus Sized! Reader x Mer! Moon

Part One , Part Two (Here!), Part Three

Part two for everyone who was looking forward to it! Mostly fluff and plot set up here, I hope you enjoy! Also this is over 4k and honestly people need to get me away from the computer. Also also, happy Ruin DLC! I’m hoping we see something good

Warnings: Different Species, Threats of Bodily Harm, Implied Poaching, Cross Species Interactions, Mild Flirting, Cross Species Courtship

           You take the realization of mer people pretty well in your opinion. Sure, there was some yelling and swearing, pacing up and down in the woods. The birds that make their nests by your cabin are convinced that you’re crazy but you’ve always been an odd one. You want to chalk it up to a hallucination but the rope burn on your hands and lack of fuel tell a different story.

           Mer people don’t change anything about your job, which is a relief and a struggle. You have to go back to your normal day to day knowing that there are other things out in the world. It does renew your passion around nature and conservation, just with a different twist. Your boss raises your eyebrows when you come in a little cagy but doesn’t push for an explanation, only requesting that you get some more rest.

           You swear you will, even though it’s been a struggle. In your dreams all you hear is the sound of waves against rocks and red eyes under the water. You’re treading water and keep feeling something try to pull you under. Every morning you wake in a sweat and want to scream. The creature had been scary, sure, but it hadn’t tried to hurt you. Just chase you off. You argue with yourself as you head back to the beach, mumbling under your breath.

           “You’re being ridiculous. Even if the thing lives around here, you saved it. It doesn’t want to eat you.” Your rational brain agrees with your words but the other part of your brain scoffs. You know some kind of underwater secret now, why would it let you live?

           The argument continues as you go down the stairs, scanning over the beach. There isn’t any trash and you’re thankful. It takes more willpower than it should to look over the water and, very slowly, you relax. The gulls are the only animals above the water and fish dart happily underneath. There’s a ping in your chest and you hope the creature you saved is alright. It had looked like a deeper water fish. Your brain happily chimes in that it might be nocturnal too, based on all the squinting it was doing. Even better, now you won’t have to see it and you can go back to pretending the experience was a fever dream.

           A high-pitched click, almost like a dolphin call, snaps you out of your thoughts. Your eyes scan the surface again and go wide, white eyes peeking out above the water. There’s a head sticking out of the water.

           Both of you refuse to move, the other new creature in the water and you on the shore. Red fins raise just a little and you remember the other splashes. Your creature had a friend. Well fuck.

           This creature makes another click and, ever so slowly, moves closer to shore. Your feet are rooted to the spot in fear and it pauses, not knowing what to do. You know that you need to do something but you have no idea what and you wave. Your hand comes up to give a few, very quick and sharp wags before going limp at your side once again.

           You want to curl into a ball. Your brain howls at you for being an idiot while another part is cackling. How in the world humans have become the dominant species is beyond you. Waving at a fucking fish, are you crazy-

           You’re brought out of your spiraling thoughts by a loud splash. The creature’s fins are widely displayed, fanning around it’s face like petals and it has a large grin on it’s face. Webbed fingers break the surface to give you it’s own furious waves before it dives under the water. You watch, half fascinated and half terrified, as it makes a beeline for shore.

           You back up a meter as it getting closer, the mer dragging itself half out of the water. The fins by it’s head wiggle happily, reds and oranges and yellows distracting you. This mer is covered in warm colored splotches and you watch as two larger fins by it’s hips come to hug the sand. It’s teeth as just as sharp as it’s companions, as are it’s claws and you resist the urge to book it.

           The mer has been making clicking sounds the entire time you’ve been staring at it and you subtly close your mouth. Hopefully it doesn’t think that you’re trying to be a threat. Of course you aren’t but who knows what mer culture is. If there is mer culture. A long, low whistle catches your attention and you focus on the mer. The fins around it’s head have wilted a little and you realize that it’s eyes are completely white. Part of you thinks there may be a pupil there but you’d need to get closer to confirm.

           “Umm sorry bud, I didn’t mean to ignore you.” It takes you a second to find your words but when you talk the creature perks up again, a wide smile on it’s face. It gives something like a coo and you nod, ignoring the way the hair on your arms stands on end. “Nice to meet you?”

           “Friend!” You almost scream when it speaks fucking human and moves closer to you. You scramble back or at least try. Your boot gets caught in the sand and you fall backwards, landing straight on your ass. Your eyes are huge but the mer doesn’t stop, getting closer until it can almost touch your feet. It doesn’t touch, claws stopping about half a foot away. It looks almost like it’s vibrating in place, fins wiggling and no actually, that’s it’s entire body wiggling.

           “You speak-?” You cut your own question off, gesturing between the two of you. It gives a high-pitched giggle that makes your ears ring. It nods, getting lower to the ground and reminds you of a dog doing a play bow.

           “Yes yes! Only little.” It’s voice is deeper than you expect, not that you expected anything. There’s another tone behind the first that you can’t exactly place; maybe it’s a mer thing? You nod back and introduce yourself, pronouns included. You want to laugh at yourself; maybe you’re in shock? Why else would you give your pronouns to a mer person? Was gender even a thing under the ocean??

           “Nice to meet friend!” The mer gives a few other happy body wiggles and then a cross between a hiss and bark. You stare, not saying anything and it frowns. “Name translate no. He!” You could already feel your brain starting to melt but give him a nod.

           “Is there something that’s close? To your name” His head tilts to the side at your question and he begins to hum, tail burrowing into the dirt. The humming is soothing and you find yourself  relaxing at the wordless tune. As you watch him and notice that he seems completely happy in the sand, his larger fins pushing the sand around him.  It reminds you of some kind of fish but the mer speaks up before you can get too far.

           “Sun!” He’s more than a little excited to tell you his name, leaning as close as he can get. His face is much larger than yours and you shrink back a little, even though he doesn’t seem to notice. Sun changes back to clicks and coos, tail slapping rhythmically in the water.

           “Sun huh?” You can’t help but smile a little. He seems like a big puppy dog, just with extra teeth. And his fins are sort of like the sun. Kind of? “Nice to meet you too Sun.” You don’t have time to react. Right after you finish saying his name, his eyes go wide and a long tongue comes out of his mouth. He drags it across your cheek and you shriek in surprise, the mer giving a pleased rumble.

           The next couple of hours pass in the same way, Sun chatting as much as he can and you carrying the conversation. It’s easy to pass the time; you and Sun are both fascinated with each other. It seemed that while Sun could talk, it was rare that he actually got to interact with people. You were getting more comfortable with him, letting him lean on you and put his head in your lap.

           The sun was starting to dip below the horizon and your new mer friend was slowly sinking back into water. The darker the sky got, the more he yawned and seemed to drift off. He was almost all the way back into the water now and you gave a small wave, Sun giving one back. You turned to go but a deep, more menacing growl came up from the water and you froze.

           Red eyes glared out of the water at you, mouth pulled into a snarl. Sun didn’t seem at all worried, giving a coo but not turning towards the other mer. You quickly glance between the water’s edge and where you stood, wondering if you had enough distance. Quiet hissing got louder and you watched as the other mer dragged itself out beside Sun.

           The mer looked a lot better than before; skin healed and healthy looking. Red eyes were brighter and more focused, squarely on you. You didn’t know if you should bolt or stay still. Sun leans on the new mer, rubbing his head against a dark shoulder. The one you rescued gives a snarl but rubs their head back, not pushing the other off. You’re still in shock that the mer is completely healed, even though it’s been less than 24 hours. Maybe a couple over? Either way, that’s nothing short of impressive.

           “Him Moon.” Sun’s voice is sleepy, slurring heavily but still clear. You look at him and then the new mer, apparently dubbed Moon. Moon makes a face and begins to click and whistle. The two of them fall into conversation, leaving you to watch and figure out what to do. You’re more nervous with Moon here but Sun doesn’t seem worried. Your eyes keep scanning the beach, just in case; you remember the tentacles on Moon and have no desire to get snatched.

           Moon sees you scanning and gives a deep laugh, flashing his teeth at you. Black tentacles slide onto the sand and you want to be terrified, you really do. You can’t though because they’re gorgeous. Moon, like the other fish in the area, has bioluminescence and it looks like stars are dancing across his scales. Now that you’ve noticed the lights you see them everywhere, covering his entire torso and arms.

           Sun gives a happy coo and smiles at you, beckoning you closer. You hesitate, looking at Moon. He looks half annoyed but also half amused, lips curling up a little but the rumblings have stopped. You give a sigh, wondering if anyone would find your body and get closer. Both of them watch you approach and don’t move, a tension in the air. It doesn’t feel bad, just intense.

           You stop in front of Moon and he doesn’t shrink down like Sun has. He looms over you, blocking out the moonlight. Sun gives another sleepy coo, fingers gently wrapping around your arm. You can’t breathe, ruby eyes locked on your face. Moon leans closer, scanning your face and then your entire body. A cold tentacle wraps itself around your ankle and you resist the urge to yell; if you’re going to die, you aren’t going to show any fear.

           Being this close you can really see Moon’s lights fading in and out. There’s a larger patch of lights at the end of his head fins, dangling over his shoulder. It almost looks like a lure and you try not to think too much about it. Moon calls your name and you flinch, focusing back on him. You had been so zoned out earlier that Sun must have said your name and you didn’t realize.

           “Keep secret.” Moon’s voice is harder to make out than Sun’s but you understand him. He hadn’t phrased it as a question but you nod anyway, wanting to reassure him.

           “I won’t say anything, I promise.” You’re completely sincere and Moon scoffs, rolling his eyes. You furrow your eyebrows, not know why he wouldn’t like that answer. You don’t get a chance to ask because one of his hands comes up and places a claw directly on your forehead. A tingle of tear slides down your spine but you ignore it.

           “Ours now.” The words themselves are ominous but Moon’s tone is kind, even a little fond. You don’t get it, not really, and he can tell based on his face. He gives a rumble and gently flicks your forehead, snickering as you yelp.

           “Hey! What was that-!?” You’re clutching your head and don’t notice him going in under your hands it’s too late. Another cold tongue drags itself against your cheek and you shriek, mer laughter filling the air. “Eww again!? What is with you two and licking!?”

           Either of them answers your question, Moon snickering and Sun giving a lazy wave. You watch as Moon helps the other one into the water, hands gentle and they disappear under the water silently. Your heart is pounding like crazy and you can’t stop the giddy laughter even if you wanted to. Does it sound a little hysterical? Maybe. But it also feels like something you’ve been missing is finally clicking into place.

♥

           The next few weeks you feel like you’re living the high life. Your trips to the beach have increased from once a week to every other day and you’re tempted to go every day. Without fail, one of them will meet you, even if it takes a little while. During the day it’s Sun and if it’s closer to evening, Moon may come visit. Sun is defiantly the friendlier of the two, pulling himself onto the sand and hanging out with you. Moon is more reserved, liking to stay in the water and splash you.

           From what you’ve figured out, the two of them have been living in the area for years now. The secluded beach and lack of people make it ideal for staying out of the public eye. They’re also a mated pair; you’ve been too cautious to ask more details about that. There are cultural barriers that you’re trying to navigate and that seems like a topic to avoid for now.

           The first time you ask about how they learned to speak, Sun gets a little sad. His fins drop and he snuggles closer in your lap. He’s the more physically affectionate of the two and you’ve gotten used to having wet pants.

           “Human friend, long time ago.” His words are muffled by the fabric but he keeps going. You gently start to rub his back and he purrs, eyes looking up at you. “No stay, left soon.”

           “Were they a ranger like me?” Your question earns a dark chuckle from Moon in the water. He glides around the edge, eyes locked on the two of you.

           “Ranger too stupid to notice.” He rasps and you take offence, even if you know he’s not talking about you.

           “I noticed you.” He hums, eyes half lidded and grin sharp.

           “Not completely stupid.” You scoff at his words and he laughs. Sun gives a huff and flips his tail at Moon. The tentacled mer sputters at the water thrown at his face and sinks below the waves.

           “Not ranger, visitor. Before beach was closed. Left once vacation over.” Sun sounds a little better now, not as sad as he explains. You nod, still rubbing his back and he soaks up the attention like a sponge.

           “I’m sorry they left.” Sun smiles at your words, pulling you closer to him. It’s still unnerving to be manhandled so easily but you try to ignore it; people your size don’t usually get moved like feathers after all.

           “Better now that you’re here.” You ignore the embarrassment you feel at Sun’s words, giving him a smile back.

           “I’m glad you think so. I’m happy that I met the two of you.” Sun preens at the praise, the fins around his head fanning out in a dazzling display. Moon cuts off your admiring, shooting a jet of water directly at your face. You yelp and he snickers, crawling up onto the sand next to Sun. The two of them bicker as you clean your face and you can’t help but smile. This is the best time you’ve had in a while.

           That, of course, means that it can’t last. A couple days after your sand cuddle session, you spot a boat out on the water. It’s larger than a normal speedboat and the hull is so dark grey it’s almost black. Dread settles in your gut like a stone; poachers.

           They aren’t a common occurrence but that doesn’t mean poachers are rare. Normally you deal with them on the forest side and its easy to drive them off. Being on the water is going to be harder, partly because of the lack of equipment and partly because of your new friends.

           You keep an eye on the boat as it lingers. You don’t see any nets or obvious illegal fishing but you can’t be everywhere at once. You ask Sun about it one day, making sure the two of you are out of sight of the boat.

           “Boat fine.” He doesn’t seem nearly as worried as you are, chomping on a fish he caught earlier. He had offered you some and you declined, trying not to make a face. He clearly didn’t need to cook his food.

           “You’re not worried about it?” You ask, a little surprised. Sun shrugs, half looking over his shoulder.

           “Boat no fish, boat just stay.” You sigh, leaning against him.

           “That’s what I’m worried about. I’m afraid that they’re poachers.” Sun listens as you speak, giving a rumble. “The two of you shouldn’t visit me until I figure this out.”

           “What?” Sun sits up, fins flaring out along his head. He looks more than a little offended, leaning close to you. “Why no visit?”

           “I don’t want you to get hurt.” You tell him, face serious. “I doubt anyone knows that you’re here but it’s better to be safe than sorry.” He watches you for a moment before leaning back and pouting.

           “You take care of it?” You nod at his question, giving him a reassuring smile.

           “Yeah Sun, I’ll take care of it.” He hums, fins wiggling for a bit before licking your cheek. You protest and all his does is laugh before sliding into the water. You figure that he’ll tell Moon your warning; you’re less worried about the nocturnal mer anyway. Now, onto the harder task.

           Mark, at the end off the day, is a pretty good boss. He tends to be a little nervous (mostly around people) but he was always willing to go to bat for his employees and wildlife. He’s also the one to notify when you have issues in your remote part of the woods. He’s never been afraid to drive out and see what you’re dealing with.

           “You’re making me nervous.” Mark can’t stop himself from commenting and you can’t blame him. You’ve been pacing up a storm since before he pulled up and hardly let him get a word in edge wise. You take a deep breathe, counting to four before releasing it. Make is here to help, even if you have to get a little more creative in your explanation.

           “I’m sorry I just, I’m really worried about this.” You do your best to explain and Mark gives slow nod, looking out at the ocean.

           “Normally you’re less concerned with ocean life.” Mark doesn’t make it sound accusatory but you still winced, looking out at the ocean. You watch the waves, trying to figure out how to phrase your thoughts.

           “You’re right… I found something out there worth protecting.” You feel like your face is burning but pushed on, Mark watching you closely. “There are creatures who needs our help and don’t deserve to be hunted for sport. They’re worth more than that.” Silence fell and you held your breath; if he didn’t support you there was no way you could drive them off on your own.

           “Some day you’ll have to tell me what you found.” Mark gives you a hearty back slap, surprising you and making you stumble. He laughs as you sputter, grabbing his binoculars and looking out. “Come on then, let’s get these folks out of your ocean.”

           “It’s not my ocean!” Your protest is ignored, Mark snickering as he headed back towards his truck.

           “Course it’s not. Come on, let’s get this down to the boat launch and go pay our friends a visit.” You grin at his words, calmed down with Mark’s confidence. He might normally be nervous but when it comes to wildlife, he was the pushiest person in the world.

           Mark’s boat is nicer than yours and you ignore the ping of jealousy that stabs through you. Wish your boat was that nice. Mark drives you both closer to this boat, now on the south side of the rock formations. The boat had been driving around the rock formations in the area and it makes you nervous, knowing that Moon and Sun like to hunt there.

           Once you get close enough, Mark hands you a megaphone and you stand up, doing your best to stay stable. Taking a deep breath, you let your voice boom out, thoughts of the mers down below giving your courage.

           “Attention, you are in protected waters! State your business!” The ship stays silent for a moment after your request and the two of you tense. If they didn’t react, you would have to call in the coast guard and that was always hit or miss.  You repeat the message, seeing if there were any signs of movement. Nothing.

           “What do you want to do?” You ask Mark, turning to face him. Your boss frowns, shaking his head.

           “It doesn’t mean that they’re poachers but it doesn’t look good. Let’s head back and call it in.” You nod in agreement and turned back around just in time to watch someone lean over the edge. Your eyes go wide as this person begins to puke, wincing as the sound echoed over the water. You and Mark share a look before you bring the megaphone back to your lips.

           “Excuse me?” Your call has the person on the boat jumping, a high-pitched shriek filling the air. The person on the ship turns to you and you give a wave. “Please state your businesses, you’re in protected waters.” You watch as the person flails for a moment before putting their fingers up in a ‘hold on a second’ gesture and heading back into the boat.

           “Not poachers.” Mark says from behind you and you nod, going boneless with relief.

           “Not unless this is their first voyage.” You joke back and he laughs.

           “Bad crew choice right there.” The two of you laugh to yourselves, pleasantly surprised as the person comes back with a few more people, their own megaphone in hand. You take another breath, begging yourself for some patience. This was going to be a long talk.

♥

           It took almost two hours to convince the boat they had to leave. Apparently, it was a private party ship that had drifted too far south. You let Mark do most of the technical talking, especially when it came to where exactly the boat was supposed to be. You had more fun watching the people try to be sober when they very clearly were not.

           You also keep an eye out for your underwater friends but they stay away and you’re thankful. You don’t want to have to explain to Mark about mer people on top of dealing with drunk tourists. Finally, the two of you watch the ship drive off and you sigh, leaning back and closing your eyes.

           “Tired?” Mark sounds as tired as you feel and you nod, closing your eyes.

           “Yeah. They’re more than 20 meters off course, how does that even happen?” Mark gives a snort, turning the boat back and driving to the shore.

           “That’s what happens when you get drunk and your ship is fancy enough to have cruise control. I’m going to call it in once we get back and hopefully someone will meet them on their way back.” You give a hum back, acknowledging his words.

           “Sounds good to me. I’ll write up my report tonight and get it to you by tomorrow.” He waves you off, shaking his head.

           “A couple of days later is no big deal. I have the regional meeting tomorrow too.” You wince at ‘regional meeting’. Sucks to be the boss. The two of you spend the rest of the ride in silence, getting the boat out of the water easily. You’re just about to part ways when there’s a large splash in the water behind you.

           Your stomach drops out as you turn and see a flash of Sun’s bright red tail. Mark’s eyes are wide like yours and you don’t know what to say. He clearly saw Sun, even if it wasn’t all of him. You want to tell him he’s crazy but Mark just shakes his head, rubbing at his eyes.

           “I’m… seeing things, I think. I’m gonna head back. We’ll talk once you finish your report.” You nod, trying not to come off as too relieved because of his words.

           “Have a good night Mark, we’ll talk later.” He gives you a half wave as you see him off, making sure the boat is hooked up before driving off. You pray that Mark will ignore what he’s seen; he loves the ocean more than anyone.

           Sun jumps into the air again and now you watch with a smile, heading back towards the beach. With the sun getting close to setting, maybe you’ll see Moon tonight too. Mark may have competition for ocean lover, now that you think about it.

[christiansorrell]

Play-By-Blog #1: The Isle by Luke Gearing

Welcome to my large-scale play-by-post of The Isle by Luke Gearing! We are playing this adventure with its original system, The Vanilla Game (although this will likely be adjusted somewhat to fit the Play-By-Blog format). This is the first proper entry, but you can check out PBB #0 to get a feel for the ideas behind this play-by-blog concept and at character creation. For now, let's lay some groundwork.

How Play-By-Blog works:

I write up the situation, NPCs, and more, just like a DM.

You vote in the poll to help decide the character's course of action.

I roll the dice, resolve actions, and write them up next week.

So on and so forth for the rest of the adventure!

Notation:

[Text in brackets is out-of-character text!] "Non-italicized quotes denote text from the original adventure!" "Italicized quotations denotes NPC dialogue."

Last week, LOADS of you (over 150 people) voted for our character's class and Magic-User won in a landslide. Using that, I randomly rolled a character (using this Vanilla Game character generator). Let's get to know them a bit before we dive in.

The Player Character: Medon Girdou - Magic Cutpurse

Medon Girdou, a cutpurse turned unlikely wizard, is in a bad way. You don't stage a solo raid on a place like the isle if things are going well. Somewhere back out in the world, there are forces calling for Medon - calling on their debts, calling for their death, or calling them home (when they'd rather be anywhere else). Now, the chance of riches, enough to possibly settle the score, has brought them here to the isle.

[Because Medon is braving The Isle alone, they are coming in at Level 3 to help turn the odds very slightly in their favor. This isn't their first raid.]

[We'll let any background and whatnot build out during play. Feel free to propose your own ideas about what kind of person Medon is and what may have come before but remember, Medon's true character will come out during play and be determined by the actions they take!]

With their katana in one hand, spellbook in the other, and a pocket full of cheese and lead figurines, they step onto...

THE ISLE

"The isle is tiny, a mere 40 acres of forbidding rock and low grasses. Seen from the sea, the monastery buildings stand adjacent to the peak of the isle, lit by a fire atop a tower. The monks never let the fire go out.

"Cliffs rise above the bitter sea, mauled by waves and weather. Fallen stones jut like Frisian horses, big enough to skewer whales. The abbot knows this, because he has seen it."

You've convinced Cioran, a local fisherman, to grant you passage to the island, claiming to be a pilgrim in search of your god. Once a month, he delivers supplies to the monks on the isle out of some sense of obligation you can't quite place. You watched him sit and listen to the sea in the dark of night for hours aboard the boat.

Cioran drops you at a small cove on the island's eastern side [C], wanting to see you on your way before sailing around the island to the main jetty. He's not sure how the monks would take to an unexpected visitor on his boat, even if you are a pilgrim. He'll check this cove again in a month, if you are looking to return to the mainland. His ship slides away quietly around the northern cliffs.

You are alone.

A bloated corpse, fought over by a dozen or so gulls, is bobbing facedown in the water of a small, rocky alcove.

A stone-carved staircase leads up out of the cove, coated in wet, slimy moss fed by the ever-humid conditions. [Saving Throw to not fall down the stairs and take damage: Success!] Taking your time, you manage to safely climb to the top and look out across the rest of the isle.

[You can see out to 3, 4, 5, and 6. 2 and 1 are partially obscured.]

To the north [3], you see a squat formation of man-made stone some 30 or more feet high, scars and bird shit marring the surface.

To the northwest [4], you see a collapsed building of some sort, a loose pile of rubble.

To the southwest [5], you see a scenic view of the western sea atop of an hill topped with an outcropping of rocks.

To the south [6], you see the Monastery, the reason you came to this place. The supposed home to a number of riches, meant to bring glory to a god but that do little more than languish here in obscurity when they could change everything for you, if only you can get to them.

Beyond these places, you can make out a partial view of a sizeable collection of graves to the far north [1] and the upper branches of a large tree to the northwest [2], past the collapsed building.

The choice now, of course, is...

You can now read PBB #2 HERE.

[ulfwolf]

Vultures -- Musing 267

Vultures do not   kill to eat They eat the   already dead Cleanup crew

They have got a bad rap, these magnificent birds. But, really, they are Buddha Birds.

They don’t kill. They eat the already dead.

These days, the way my eyesight is going (the same way as the Dodo, incidentally) to me there are now only four kinds of birds: Ospreys (for all birds of prey), Gulls (for all sea birds), the ubiquitous Crows (including their bigger siblings Ravens—they ought to wear signs, you know, these two: an “R” for Raven and a “C” for crows, to help us tell them apart), and Sparrows (for all small birds—though at times I can make out swallows as well, darting within arm’s reach).

I loved Ospreys the best. I loved to see them glide around up there on beautiful, spread wings.

“Did you see the bald eagle?” wonders a fellow morning walker sort of out of the blue.

“No,” I say. “To me, they’re all ospreys.”

She laughs. “No, it was definitely a bald eagle. I’ve seen him a few times lately, and this morning as well.”

“I envy you,” I say.

“Why?”

“I don’t see that well. They’re all ospreys to me.”

“Ospreys are not that large.”

To which I can only shake my head and say, “I rest my case.”

Then there are the really huge ospreys that circle above what appears to be a dead seal down there on the beach below. “Vultures,” says a friend.

“Not ospreys?” I clarify.

“Oh, no. They don’t eat carrion.”

“Vultures, huh? I wish I had your eyesight.”

“Yup, vultures. Much bigger than ospreys, too.”

Vultures: now, there’s a much-maligned bird for you.

As I grew up, I never saw one in real life. Vultures are rare in Sweden, especially up north. “Gam”, they’re called, usually referred to as “Asgam”, which means carrion vulture. I learned about them in school, of course, and saw them in movies where they always circled way high above someone out in the desert busy dying—just awaiting death’s fait accompli as it were. The word gam, or asgam, always left a bad taste in my mouth. They were not good birds, the hyenas of the sky, they were. And ugly, too—at least from the long neck up.

And so, for seventy-odd years I’ve not liked vultures much. Ospreys are much nicer said my book. Until that day when I watched the vultures circle and settle and then actually take polite turns approaching and nibbling on the dead seal pup. That day I realized that these birds were not bad birds at all. If a bird was bad, it was the osprey who will hunt for live, quite happy fish tirelessly until it catches and kills and eats one to then go right back out hunting and killing and eating some more. Not very Buddhist at all.

The vultures on the other hand, they don’t kill to eat, they eat the already dead (much like the grocery store hunter who only captures [buys] already dead meat to then fry up or stew or whatever and devour).

Vultures are nature’s cleanup crew. They are good birds.

Buddha birds.

::

P.S. If you like what you’ve read here and would like to contribute to the creative motion, as it were, you can do so via PayPal: here.

[tracybirds]

I was very determined to finish something today :D Yo all knw I’m back in lockdown which like... bro every time I try to write a thing that seems to happen so I’m snowed under again......................... Anyway, decided to finish up the exhausted Virg fic I began on Friday the 13th of August and how has it nearly been a month of lockdown already?? anyway I’m reposting the first bit with this, but wanted to say thank you to everyone who left comments on that snippet and encouraged me!! And big thanks to @gumnut-logic who read the first, slightly sleep-deprived first version of this before it underwent edits

It’s 11:30pm, my brain is no longer functioning, anyways, enjoy <3

 --------------

Virgil drags his leaden feet across the floor, still pink from the hot water, barely acknowledging Scott and Alan, chatting lightly together as he walks past them.

He’s not ready to sleep, but he’s not much good for anything else either.

He’s tired from the ground up. The exhaustion is only in his feet, his calves, his thighs, but it reaches up into his mind all the same. His shoulders ache, but it’s from good work and kind deeds, a balm for any residual overthinking.

He did good today, he knows it, can feel it in every torn muscle fibre.

He’ll just rest for a moment or two. Debrief can wait. John’s probably already written up most of the report.

He collapses onto the nearest sofa, but it’s more muscle memory than aim that lands him safely amongst the cushions.

“Cannonball!” crows a voice from somewhere above him, followed by a sharp yell of “Gordon, no!” and a crash that reverberated through his skull.

Then it hits him, and he launches himself sideways.

Gordon dives onto the sofa, arms and smile wide, as though he hadn’t just come off the same seven-hour mission plus bonus two-hour administrative argument with the nearest hospital who had just had their landscaping done.

And now, incidentally, redone.

Virgil glares from the floor.

“How’s it going, V?” Gordon says, still grinning.

“Ow.”

“Did you fall off the couch? You’ve gotta be careful about these things, you know.”

Short, sharp, monosyllabic words might be enough to fend off some lower forms of life, but Gordon is rather like moss, clinging to hard rock. Virgil opts to ignore him instead as he picks himself up with a groan.

A strong, sure hand grasps his arm and he accepts the extra leverage gladly, hauling his stiff muscles upright and stretching them carefully. He can see the chair Scott had leapt from halfway across the room. Alan isn’t even pretending he’s not laughing, the jerk.

Gordon is nestling, smirking as he burrows down into his cushions.

“Let it go,” he mutters, his hand now resting on Scott’s shoulder. He can’t handle a shouting match now, jackhammering into his brain after a day filled with enough pain.

Scott settles for pulling the cushions from under Gordon’s head and he falls back onto the hard frame with a squawk.

Alan’s laughter erupts again and Virgil doesn’t bother to smother his own smile.

Gordon sits up and his eyes are shining.

“Fine, fine, I deserved that,” he says, grinning up at Scott. “Now, get lost and put the large lump to bed, I checked the stats. There’s fifteen miles registered on his pedometer and he basically hauled three tons today.”

“Not all at once, Gordon, stop exaggerating.”

Gordon shrugs.

“I know the medical studies as well as you do. Sure, they might not think rescue work counts as overtraining, but science doesn’t lie.”

“But, people do,” Virgil says, scowling at him. Each word ripped more energy from his depleted stores. “And I was resting, thanks.”

Gordon lifts a finger, waggling it with a half-smile.

“A couch isn’t a substitute for a bed,” he says, dropping his voice to mimic Virgil’s own. “How many times did you say that to me?”

“When you had a broken back!”

“Right, that’s enough.” Scott steps forward between the bickering brothers. “Decompression time for you both.”

Virgil blinks, realising that he was stooping to an argument with Gordon. Gordon, who always fought dirty, twisting intent and laughing in a way he never could manage. He must be tired.

“Virgil, can you get up to your rooms alone?”

“Yeah,” he says, holding himself upright against the sudden wave of exhaustion. It was as though in remembering he was meant to be tired, his body had decided to lean into that realisation.

“And Gordon…” Scott pauses, eyeing Gordon who was still fairly vibrating with energy even after nine hours in the field. “Go watch a fish or something. Just stay away from each other.”

Virgil is already halfway out the door and his ears have been stoppered by weariness, the external world becoming fuzzy. He doesn’t hear Gordon’s quick reply.

He doesn’t hear Alan’s sharp cry either, doesn’t even register the way the world is tilting sideways.

He merely crumples on the floor in the hallway.

***

Virgil wakes slowly, awareness seeping into his bones and spreading outwards. His neck is propped up at an awkward angle; he’s resting on the pillows that he rearranges around him every night and they are much too high.

He moans a little as he shuffles, his neck creaking as it falls back in alignment with his spine.

The gulls call from outside his window, a high and keening cry. He can hear the light whistles of forest bird. The low murmur of voices unable to pierce the early fog of morning.

He doesn’t remember making it to his bed, but nor does he intend to rise from it.

 He wants to cling to slumber, doesn’t want to make conversation or move. But he’s already lost the game of sleep and settles for burrowing further into the light cotton comforter that had seen him through every summer of his life.

A rough hand on his shoulder greets him instead and he groans a warning as it flips him onto his back.

“Come on, Virgil, we know you’re awake.”

The voice floats down from above him. He grumbles deeply, unintelligibly, and turns his back on the inhumanity of it all.

A sharp poke pierces his clouded thoughts and Virgil growled as he opened one bleary eye.

“What?”

“Gentlemen, he lives,” crows Gordon, arms wide and ready to receive undying adoration for his proclamation.

“It’s been fourteen hours,” Scott says, grimly. “Time for a check-up.”

Virgil wonders at that. Fourteen hours of sleep, while rare in their home, was hardly reason for medical concern. He suspects though, that Scott already knows this, and doesn’t resist for fear that he’ll be forced to leave the warmth and comfort of his bed.

“The air’s stale in here,” he says instead. “I don’t sleep with my windows shut.”

“Arm,” orders Scott, and Virgil lifts it automatically, puzzling over his last memories which certainly don’t involve him shutting his windows. Or entering his room for that matter.

“I fell asleep?” he asks, suddenly.

“Right in the hall,” Gordon says, his eyes dancing with half checked laughter. “You went down like a ton of bricks.”

“It wasn’t funny.” Scott’s manner is terse, his shoulders tight and the deep crease between his eyes growing as he turns to glare at Gordon. “He could have seriously hurt himself.”

“He didn’t though.” He whips around to face Virgil. “And you’re welcome, by the way. I convinced Scott to let us put you here instead of the infirmary. Even woke John up to back me. I risked the wrath of John for you, he said you were physically fine otherwise you’d be waking in that cold infirmary and Scott would have a back spasm from sleeping in those terrible chairs. All for nothing too because you’re fine.”

Virgil stares at him.

He wants to argue with Gordon, the necessity of rules made for their safety niggling at the back of his brain. He wants to roll his eyes, tell him that the infirmary beds aren’t that painful, that the fluorescent lights that blink and buzz might be made for suturing and not sleeping but that they held their own kind of relief, of comfort.

He wants to thank him, for giving him this moment where he could wake slowly to the sounds of birdsong and crashing waves, unheard in the depths of the island. For that moment where he could lay still as the sun streamed in with warmth and good cheer.

He has a thesis of carefully memorised protocols warring with pure sensation of soft coziness and the luxury of a brother who loves him.

He isn’t sure which instinct is winning when he opens his mouth.

“You made me sleep on two pillows.”

The room blurs as the soft mound beneath his head is ripped away at lightning speed. Virgil hardly has time to hear the whirl of rushing air before the pillow connects with his head with a dull thud.

Gordon jabs at his arm.

“No appreciation, I tell you.”

“Gordon! Out!”

Virgil throws the offending pillow after him, chuckling at the sharp laughter that pierced the slammed door.

Scott isn’t smiling.

He pulls the sphygmomanometer tight around Virgil’s arm.

Virgil winces slightly, but says nothing. Not yet.

Scott’s movements are precise and ordered, with nothing to suggest he isn’t conducting a normal check-up at all.

But Virgil knows his brother.

“Hey,” he says softly, watching Scott stare at the dial. “I really am okay.”

Scott’s not listening to the blood pounding through his arteries, not even in pretence. Still, he ignores Virgil and pulls up a new medical report so he can stare intently at that in place of his brother’s gentle eyes.

“Scott,” says Virgil, leaning forward and placing a hand on his shoulder.

Scott shoves it away, his eyes snapping to Virgil’s.

“Why didn’t you call for backup?”

“You were off duty.”

“I don’t mean me,” Scott growls. “I mean, I do, I would’ve been there in a heartbeat if you’d asked. But you didn’t, did you? Not even Alan. Not even John.”

“John was helping,” says Virgil, sharply. “Just because he wasn’t on the ground, doesn’t mean he wasn’t working that same stretch of time. Why do you think Gordon had to wake him?”

“Stop side-stepping my point,” snaps Scott. “We’re a team, Virgil, you can’t work yourself to the point of exhaustion like that.”

“What choice did I have?”

“I should’ve been there, I could’ve-” began Scott, but Virgil merely raised his own voice.

“You couldn’t, Scott. What you’re angry about, I could turn right around and parrot back, you know. Don’t be a hypocrite.”

He fell back against the headboard, wishing he hadn’t woken up. Or at least that he wasn’t having this argument, not here and now.

And he recognises those eyes, the burning frustration at one’s own limitations and the rising fear for a brother mixed with torn compassion and understanding.

He’s mirrored Scott all his life, and it’s startling to see his own familiar expression on Scott’s face.

“Please, Virgil.”

He doesn’t say anything. He can’t make that kind of promise to Scott any more than Scott could to him. Not without breaking it.

Scott smiles sadly as he stands, accepting the silence.

He knows.

“Don’t even think about moving from this room for the next twenty-four hours. Just... get some rest, will you, Virg?”

He thinks he will.

[adventuresofalgy]

Algy flew and flew and flew and flew, not once looking back at the tropical island he had left behind, but only ahead, seeking new adventures...  And yet he saw nothing but the mighty ocean, perpetually rolling and tossing beneath him - just nothing at all except an unimaginably vast expanse of salty water, stretching out to the horizon in every direction.

As the day wore on, Algy inevitably began to grow more and more fatigued, until he started to feel that he would not be able to flap his fluffy wings for very much longer... but still there was no land in sight.

The heat of the day had passed, and the sun had almost touched the sea, beginning to sink into its watery nest for the night, when suddenly Algy heard the unmistakable shrieking cries of gulls in the far distance. Eagerly he peered ahead into the failing light, and with a final burst of energy he flew on, towards the screaming sounds.. and there they were! In the dim light of nightfall a shape was looming up from the vastness of the sea as he approached, and gradually it took the form of an island, where Algy could just make out various seabirds swooping and screaming around the cliffs as they prepared to settle down for the evening.

With a massive sigh of relief, Algy toppled down towards the very nearest bit of land, and collapsed onto what felt like some kind of grass. Without a single drop of energy left, he simply curled up exactly where he fell, with no choice but to hope that if such an isolated island did have any predators of the night, they would not manage to find him, because he could not possibly go any further...

Algy tucked his head under his wing and closed his eyes, assuming that he would fall asleep instantly, but his excessive exhaustion, combined with the excitement of his adventures on the magical tropical island and the anxiety of the arduous journey he had just completed, kept his tired mind dancing about, full of “alarums and excursions”... He tossed and turned on the ground, tucking his head first under one wing and then under the other, but sleep evaded him. He even resorted to counting fluffy birds hopping over branches, and concentrating on the soothing sound of the sea, which was still very close, but it was to no avail. 

As he was far too tired to get up again, Algy just lay on the ground with his eyes open and his mind spinning, trying at least to relax his weary body, until a large and extremely bright moon rose up in place of the sun, dazzling him as it flung its glaring white beams across the island. He sighed a deep sigh, for it was clearly impossible that anyone could sleep in such glaring illumination, covered his eyes with both wings, to exclude as much light as possible, and - while the moonbeams danced merrily all around him - immediately fell into the deepest possible sleep...💤💤💤

Algy hopes that if you too are having difficulty sleeping, you will find the aids described by Wordsworth much more effective than he did 😴

A flock of sheep that leisurely pass by, One after one; the sound of rain, and bees Murmuring; the fall of rivers, winds and seas, Smooth fields, white sheets of water, and pure sky; I've thought of all by turns; and still I lie Sleepless; and soon the small birds' melodies Must hear, first uttered from my orchard trees; And the first Cuckoo's melancholy cry. Even thus last night, and two nights more, I lay, And could not win thee, Sleep! by any stealth: So do not let me wear to-night away: Without Thee what is all the morning's wealth? Come, blessed barrier betwixt day and day, Dear mother of fresh thoughts and joyous health!

[Algy is quoting the poem To Sleep by the 19th century English poet William Wordsworth.]

[anonsally]

Day 1 of Family Vacation

There were some nice things, but it was a Bad Day.

At the farmers’ market on Saturday, I saw an amazing thing at Frog Hollow Farm stand, from which I buy most of my jam. They had a half-gallon jar--about 2 liters, for those of you in other countries--of my favorite kind of jam: a nectarine-plum conserve. (It’s called “conserve” because it contains less added sugar than real jam and cannot legally be called “jam” or “preserves”. But I refer to it as jam anyway.) It was just hilariously huge. And it was my favorite flavor, and it was a really good deal compared to the small jars they usually sell. So after a brief attempt to resist temptation, I bought it.

Here’s a photo of the Giant Jar of Jam next to its normal-sized sibling:

I found this Giant Jar of Jam really delightful; it made me giggle every time I looked at it, and I looked forward to sharing it with the family on the trip. We had plans to make rice pudding and use the jam as a topping, and to put it on vanilla ice cream, or plain yogurt, and of course to use it as an accompaniment for cheese or on peanut butter sandwiches. 

Yesterday, we tried to open the jar. Nobody could get it open. We tried various tricks, including soaking it in warm water, tapping the lid with various things or knocking it gently on the edge of the counter, running a knife around under the edge of the lid to try to break the seal, all to no avail. 

So then my mom decided to take it outside and hit it against the concrete stairs. We all said this was a bad idea. But my mom, who really does not have much of a sense of her own fallibility in any context, insisted that it would be fine.

Needless to say, she broke the jar. She still seemed to think we could salvage some of the jam from it but the rest of us put our collective foot down and said no, we were not risking someone eating a shard of glass, and we threw it away.

I was devastated.

And it took her well over an hour to apologise to me, during which time I wanted to cry but couldn’t, as I choked down a very dry peanut butter sandwich with no jam.

Everyone seemed to “get” how upset I was, but my mother sort of... talked in a mystified voice about how this had never happened before. (Perhaps that’s because she’d never tried it with such a large jar before and physics is a thing.) 

Eventually I went for a walk with my brother, two sisters-in-law, and my mom, and my mom finally apologised. And I know that she feels really bad about it. So at least I didn’t have to be so angry anymore, but I was still pretty upset and disappointed about it. And I am still sad about it today. 

Other than that, I guess the day was okay. There was some birdwatching. The early part of the day was much sunnier and warmer than expected, so I had taken a walk on the beach with my dad and got my feet sandy. (I also lost a sock, but luckily when I retraced my footsteps I was able to find it.) We can see some birds and hear some frogs from the house. Also there’s a big fluffy cat in the neighborhood. And I played Blokus with my brother (and lost) and then Wingspan with my brother, my sister-in-law, my uncle, and Wife (and lost again, but I still don’t fully understand or care how the game works, I’m just in it for the birds).

Wildlife spotted: surf scoters (in the surf!), Heermann’s gulls (some adult, some juvenile), some other unidentifiable gulls, a double-crested cormorant, a few other cormorants not seen well enough to identify, brown pelicans, black phoebes, Townsend’s warblers, an oak titmouse, Anna’s hummingbirds, sanderlings, red-winged blackbirds. Also the aforementioned fluffy tabby, and the frogs we heard but couldn’t see. 

Today I am setting the bar very low: I just want nothing terrible to happen today.

[knowsbones]

Hope you don’t mind seagulls, I really like asking about them. How would the skeletons react to their S/O just chilling with a seagull? :D

Sans - oh hey that’s weird. Sans will be sort of weirded out, but eventually he just shrugs and joins in. The seagulls might like him as a perch a bit more than you.

Papyrus - Wowie! Looks like you made new friends! Papyrus will be delighted at the prospect of friendly seagulls. He will feed them chips and whatever else he has on him. Papyrus will ask you politely if he can hold one.

Red - Red will be confused at your situation. He doesn’t get it but, if you don’t seem to mind seagull poop, then do whatever you want.

Boss - Upon seeing you, Boss will let out a large screech and run over to you. He will try and shoo the seagulls away. If you stop him and tell him that you want the seagulls to stay, he will be very confused, and will lecture you on how filthy wild animals can be.

Blue - Blue thinks it’s cool! He desperately wants to join you with his own batch of seagulls. Unfortunately, all seagulls seem to be scared of him and fly away once they hear him. Blue is saddened by this, so you may need to help him make some seagull friends.

Stretch - Stretch is seemingly unfazed by the situation. He occasionally throws over a chip or a bit of bread, to watch the seagulls squabble for a bit. Although, he doesn’t get too close to you in case the seagulls see him as a threat and attack him.

Black - Black will drag the seagulls from you, without saying a word, even when you protest. He will then drive you home and force you to take a shower. He goes on about diseases, bacteria and how fragile humans are. You may think he’s being mean, but he is just worried that you’ll get sick.

Rus - Rus loves animals and has no issues with you becoming the ruler of seagulls. He will even join you in your rule as your lovable court jester. Luckily, the seagulls love him.

Berry - Berry was alarmed at first. He was worried that you may get hurt, but with a little persuasion from you, he will join you. Berry is actually very affectionate towards the seagulls, he finds them fascinating and will gladly accept his role as the co-ruler of seagulls.

Ca$h - Ca$h will laugh hysterically at you. He thinks it’s the funniest thing in the world. Ca$h will fully support you on your decision to rule seagull kind, and will hype the dramatics up to 100. He will call you “your gullness” for a week.

Wine - Wine is very nonchalant about the whole thing and will interact with you like the seagulls aren’t there. The two of you will even have lunch with a couple of seagulls still hovering around. Although, he won’t touch you until you bathe.

Coffee - Coffee will let out a squeal of alarm and will fret on what to do. You will have to comfort him and tell him that you’re unharmed. Coffee will then calm down, but won’t go near you as long as seagulls are nearby. He won’t admit it, but he is quite scared of seagulls.

Axe - As long as food isn’t involved, Axe loves the seagulls and the seagulls love him too. He just exudes this loveable energy, that animals can’t help but love him. Axe will join you in becoming a living perch and out of the two of you, Axe is the favorite.

Crooks - Welcome to Crooks world. Crooks gets used as a perch daily by birds, he doesn’t mind it but he wishes that they would ask first. He is a bit worried for your safety, but as long as you say that you’re unharmed, he is fine with it and may even join you. If you let him.

We actually love seagulls! Growing up on a costal town give you a lot of appreciation for seagulls and what they go through on a weekly basis.

Hope this is what you wanted!

[dansnaturepictures]

7/8/21-Return to Blashford Lakes

Today we went somewhere we hadn’t been for seventeen months and five days. A place that with its splendidly varied habitats which hosts a huge variety of birds throughout the year rare and common, and is strong for butterflies, moths, dragonflies and mammals too and was one of our most crucial and one of my favourite nature reserves in my late childhood and teenage years as I got hooked on birdwatching, wildlife generally and photography and I have always loved it since. Over the years there tended to be a barren spell of us going there over the summer as we maybe focused on more butterfly and other insect dominated locations this pattern developing into my working days a bit as we did come during summer holidays in my school/college days but all year throughout the winter especially this hub for wildlife has been a regular haunt for us for so long. But after that last visit on 1st March 2020 obviously Covid hit and the you could say main feature of seeing wildlife at this reserve is the hides, so it is a reserve good for piling into hides with lots of people looking at birds so obviously not good during Covid times. I have to say the team did work very hard to get the reserve open safely without the hides post lockdown 1 and we did explore the idea of coming back to enjoy this at a stage but due to one thing and another we sadly never quite managed it. But following 19th July the hides now are open with the welcome precautions still in place of masks to be worn and every window that can be opened.

A Black-necked Grebe that had been reported on Ibsley Water attracted us here especially today which we needed to see, and it allowed for this sweet reunion with a place I hold dear. During all the discussions of things you will do when lockdown eases or when we find our way to some kind of normal I felt extremely lucky as I have been able to do my main hobby still just because of what it is. But this was one thing on my list of things I wanted to get back to, getting back to places like these so hide dominated reserves. Prior to today since Covid hit it was only Sculthorpe Moor in Norfolk last September and an open screen/hide type area at Newborough Forest in Anglesey this June that I’d been to hides at.

As I walked in at the visitor centre side of the road entrance it was great to be back and one difference from when I last came here is obviously how vastly more interested I am in flowers now and other areas of insects too. And on the verge at the entrance was a lovely moth mullein which I took a photo of and tweeted on Dans_Pictues tonight one I learnt today. St. John’s-wort and yarrow adorned this patch of grass too and there was a lovely little deraeocoris ruber insect on the yarrow a new one for me which was delightful to see. A big thing about my deeper delves into flowers and other insects over the months has obviously been learning so much and it was the sign of the times back at one of my favourite nature reserves that I was only stood on a grass verge beside a road entrance to the site for two minutes or so and I’d learnt two new species!

I then proceeded across the grassy area to get to ivy north hide the first hide I went into in Hampshire since March 2020 and it was stunning to see the fields carpeted in St. John’s-wort, ragowrt and catsear/hawksbeard type flowers making it look deliciously yellow with thistle, black mullein, self-heal and others looking very pretty too. I took the first picture in this photoset of this area. I also liked seeing one of my favourite flowers foxgloves, purple loosestrife, centaury, wild parsnip, dock and Wood avens and Herb-Robert great woodland species that I hadn’t seen for a while still going strong with shadows of cow parnsnip as well throughout the reserve today. On the field area I noticed a beautiful moth flitting around which I got great views of landed on vegetation a smashing Treble-bar a new moth for me today which I also tweeted a photo fo. A welcome life and year tick for my moths and as my eighteenth identified moth species seen this year it levels (whilst I didn’t do a year list then, I worked this out recently) the amount of moths I saw and knew what they were in 2020 which I am pleased with. And whilst I might not ever be able to know every moth I see its more than justified me reinstating my moth year lists recently as I’ve seen more identified moths than dragon/damselflies and mammals two more year lists I keep beside birds and butterflies the main ones this year so far. I also did here today maybe my penultimate Big Butterfly Count this year with the survey ending tomorrow I had never done one here before and I saw three Gatekeepers and one Small White and Speckled Wood between the showers. A splendid Southern Hawker paraded over this area which I saw on the way out and back. 

I reached ivy north hide and among other things I came away impressed with how Covid secure the reserve is to visit as to save going into the hide if one wishes they have added a little open air viewing screen next to the hide which is interesting. As well as lovely views of ivy lake decent numbers of Sand Martins and a Common Tern parading over the water welcomed me back as key Blashford birds at this time of year and I’d not seen either for a few weeks now whilst having a really good year for them both. By the visitor centre I liked seeing some elecampane and mint in a very colourful flower bed area which I took the second picture in this photoset of seeing a nice bee on it too. Before spending some time at ivy south hide and seeing much the same wildlife wise to ivy north with Common Tern flying very nicely over and young Black-headed Gulls among the gulls out there and taking in some nice views I went in the woodland hide.

At this hide one of my absolute favourites with such intimate views available of feeding birds behind the glass where you can see them but they can’t see you as a shower came and went and some brightness emerged I liked seeing the memorable species of this area come one by one. Firstly a Robin one of some seen across the reserve today a fitting one as on that 1st March 2020 visit I took one of my favourite ever pictures I’ve taken of this iconic species. Then the commoner tits were there with Dunnock, soon to be followed by Marsh Tit coming to feed. Coal Tit and Chaffinch would soon follow as wood delicious looking Nuthatch. And I was stunned and got some very exciting moments when a dominant and large flash of red, cream and black arrived in the form of a Great Spotted Woodpecker (GSW). You can’t come to Blashford and the woodland hide and not see these, one of the species that has captivated me most at this reserve right from when we very first visited the bird of Blashford for me for so long with so many times waiting, watching and hoping and loving seeing and trying for photos of. I took and tweeted a photo of this bird, not the best in an awkward angle a little with it more so on the other side of the feeder than my side but having not been here for nearly a year and a half and how important the GSW is to our Blashford visits I was inclined to take whatever I could get if in the summer days when less birds come to the feeders with food available naturally I was lucky enough to see one. And whilst I’ve been so lucky to see and hear these birds a lot elsewhere since last March it was probably my best chances for pictures since this a species I did photograph from this hide on 1st March 2020 too so it felt so good to be back getting such a prolonged view of it. I rarely see many species on a feeder at the same time as the woodpecker they are that dominant but Great Tit and others did stand up to it and be on the feeder at the same time today. 

It was exhilirating to see a Jay and then another fly in displacing the dominant woodpecker and seeing a shaggy looking Jay especially dash past the window getting a striking view I thought it was going to crash into the window at one point. A spectacular moment and I loved getting pictures of them again this year today including the third picture in this photoset I have had a good year for them. Two standout moments on this trip today with two of my favourite birds. I took the fourth and fifth pictures in this photoset of the body of water on the way to ivy south hide and a lovely view of ivy lake there. 

I then met up with my Mum who had returned from a dog walk at nearby Rockford Common with Missy to end the day in the tern hide. There was no sign of the Black-necked Grebe for us as I arrived after a shower but I did see a lot else. This included an early Goosander, a key staple of a Blashford winter this female was something of an early one and we got a pleasant view of this distinguished duck I took the sixth picture in this photoset of this with my bridge camera which came to life in this hide alongside my DSLR for photos I certainly in summer days where maybe it happens less felt I got my fill of bird photos at this top bird spot. I loved seeing the young speckled Lapwing in the seventh picture in this photoset of a nice intimate view I got of this wonderful wader. There were many Egyptian Geese around too I got some stunning views of these including the one in the tenth picture in this photoset. This was my bogey bird this year one I struggled to see quickly which I usually see without too much trouble due to not coming to Blashford we didn’t see any until Fishlake Meadows and then Petersfield Heath Pond in June seeing an extraordinary amount at the latter with Ruddy Shelduck too. Seeing them all here today it was as though we never needed to worry about seeing one this year. There were top views and more photo opportunities of another of my favourite birds with Great Crested Grebe, and I enjoyed seeing gulls including Lesser Black-backed Gulls well. Another pick of the bunch on Ibsley Water was a sweet little Common Sandpiper a key bird for this spot, a third seen this year by me which has been great after RSPB Lodmoor and Stour Vallye nature reserve in Dorset over two days in our April week off of day trips. The top bird moments were set nicely to dramatic scenes as a further showers moved in and their were touches of sun as well looking over the smashing Ibsley water and I was so glad to be back at Blashford. Its interesting sat in the tern hide on Ibsely Water an area overlooked by the further along Goosander hide and Lapwing hide too, I saw Common Tern some more as well as Lapwing and Goosander. With the Goosanders mostly in over winter any terns the spring and summer migrants you would not see them together so this must be the first time I saw all three in a day which I found very interesting. I took the eighth and ninth pictures in this photoset of the views here.

An always likely sight in the woodland hide at Blashford greeted us when home this evening when a Sparrowhawk flew up from the garden and over the other gardens, appearing to have had a kill with some feathers left in the garden. This was so exciting to see. I had seen probably this Sparrowhawk hovering over the area recently and with the noise and numbers from the Starlings coming in lately this was maybe only a matter of time. Its another glorious Sparrowhawk in the garden experience which I feel over the moon to have a little collection going for here and my Dad’s house where I grew up. I liked seeing some new pretty flowers the bright red chrysanthemums in the back garden too and alongside nice other bird and sky views at home today it was special to see some Goldfinches including a young bird on the balcony feeders once more. What a brilliant Saturday, I hope you all had a good one.

Wildlife Sightings Summary for Blashford Lakes: My first ever deraeocoris ruber and Treble-bar moth, three of my favourite birds the Great Spotted Woodpecker, Jay and Great Crested Grbee, one of my favourite dragonflies the Southern Hawker, Cormorant, Lesser Black-backed Gull, Herring Gull, Black-headed Gull, Common Tern, Coot, lots of Tufted Duck, Mallard, Goosander, lots of Mute Swans, Egyptian Goose, Lapwing, Common Sandpiper, Sand Martin, lots of Woodpigeons, Blue Tit, Great Tit, Coal Tit, Marsh Tit, Nuthatch, Robin, Dunnock, Chaffinch, Gatekeeper, Speckled Wood, Small White, cranefly just inside the window of ivy south hide and bee.

[takerfoxx]

Blood Island, Chapter Eight

Friend or Foe?

Peeling off her shirt, Nuriel held it up to regard with a critical eye.

It was a total loss. The back, shoulders, and sleeves had all been ripped to ribbons, and the front had a few large holes where the crocomonster’s teeth had gone through. Most of it was now brown with bloodstains. Shit, she must have been gushing.

Perhaps it could be repaired? But with what, though? Nuriel had no thread or needle, and while she knew her way around both due to the many voyages in which she was made to mend rips and tears in the clothing of whatever crew she happened to be sailing with, this was far beyond her modest skill.

Wrinkling her nose, Nuriel looked up at the towering cliff face and the rest of the island beyond. She didn’t care for the idea of walking around while being so…exposed. Not necessarily for modesty’s sake, as who would see her? But because she hated the thought of leaving herself vulnerable like that.

To whom?

Well, to no one, actually. Save perhaps for her mysterious, red-eyed friend. But even so! It was the principle that mattered!

Why?

Well, it just did!

Why?

Because they did! Because she shouldn’t allow herself to get complacent! Because she had to remain vigilant and not let anything slip, despite being all alone on an unknown island filled with monsters and spirits, and-

Then with a sigh, Nuriel balled the shredded shirt up and tossed it into the open hatch to the cargo hold. Oh, what did it matter? She wasn’t eking out a living in a crowded metropolis or shrouding her identity on a ship, she was marooned on a fantastical island full of monsters and mysteries. The rules were different now.

That decided, Nuriel turned her attention to the Carmilla’s Fancy itself. It didn’t seem to have taken much damage during the rain, if any at all. Which made sense, as it had probably weathered rainstorms before.

She walked around the deck, inspecting each and every hole, crack, and knot. If she had some sort of binding agent, something to plug them up with, she could probably fix those. It would mean she could store stuff in the cargo hold and not worry about it being ruined when it next rained.

Then she glanced over to the captain’s quarters. She probably ought to focus on fixing that up first. It was the place best suited for her to live, after all.

Thinking of settling in?

Nuriel winced. Though it existed only in the back of her mind, Father’s voice was quite loud.

Ought you not be planning how to escape? Or have you resigned yourself to being a prisoner of this island?

No of course not! she replied inside of her head. But finding a means of escape might take some time, and until then I need a home base, so until then…

The thought trailed off. Her face screwing up, Nuriel turned to stare out over the network of canals and tiny islands, out to sea.

Even if she were to escape, where would she go? She didn’t have a home, didn’t have a family, didn’t have any sort of trade beyond thieving, didn’t have anything. She didn’t even have any friends worth speaking of. Her life was one of a constant struggle to survive, fighting to keep herself fed and out of jail. And yes, it was fine, but how much longer would that last? She had been caught more than once, and this last time had nearly cost Nuriel her life. It was pure happenstance that she wasn’t a rotting skeleton at the bottom of the sea, her bones picked clean by fish.

Then Nuriel turned around, facing toward the island itself. Yes, it was in many ways just as dangerous as her previous life had been, perhaps even moreso. An angry man could be outrun, guards could be evaded, but these monsters were like nothing she had to face back in the world of people. She had nearly been torn to pieces by the birds alone. The birds!

No, wait, scratch that. there was no “nearly” about it. The birds had torn her to pieces, and it was only by the grace of her new red-eyed friend that she was even alive.

Then Nuriel frowned. She lifted her right arm and ran the fingers of her left hand up and down its length. Then she reached up over her shoulders to probe her upper back. Come to think of it, how exactly did the red-eyed one heal her? Did it have some strange demon medicine it had given her? Did it invoke hellish magics? She had never heard of the power of Hell being used to heal someone. Usually the stories had it going in the opposite direction.

Furthermore, she was reasonably certain that the green-eyed sea-creature was also involved. Did the two know each other? Were they friends?

Just the thought made Nuriel feel strange. Troubled, but in a way that was unfamiliar. Monsters…with friends? Could that even be a thing?

And here you are, said Papa’s voice. Wanting to make friends with them as well.

Gritting her teeth, Nuriel responded with, I do what I must to survive. What else would you have me do?

To this, there was no answer.

Nuriel shook her head and turned her attention back to the ship. Well, if it was to be her home for the time being, the first thing she ought to do is give it a careful inspection to see what needed fixing and judge what she even could fix. At the very least, it would keep her busy.

…

All told, the condition of the Carmilla’s Fancy was…not good. It definitely would never be seaworthy again. And yet, it wasn’t that bad either.

The worst was the deck. Apparently the birds had tried and fortunately failed to claw through to get in even before Nuriel had taken up residence. It was solid for the most part, but there were still several cracks and holes to deal with.

As for the hull itself, it also was in a state of disrepair, including one particularly large cracked area where it had struck the trunk of one of the trees. But it didn’t look to be in danger of falling apart anytime soon.

But her main attention was with the captain’s cabin, which she wished to turn into her living quarters. For some reason the overpowering stench of bird had faded considerably, perhaps due to the red-eyed monster having cleaned out all trace of its nest, but also perhaps due to the heavy rain.

She walked around the empty space, kicking at the floor with the heels of her boots at times and rapping her knuckles against the wall at others. The beams seemed to be good. A little creaky in places, but they felt like they would hold. Whoever had constructed this ship had known what they were doing. Given the ornate trappings on the hull, it had been someone with money, so the materials were probably of very high quality. It did seem to be some rich wanker’s pleasure craft, but not the flimsy sort never intended to leave the sight of land. This craft had been built for the open sea.

Interesting.

Then she turned her attention to the window, which was smashed and crusted with gunk and mold. The glass was a loss, so she probably should smash out the rest of the way and cover the hole with something a little more substantial, something to keep the creatures out. She wasn’t sure what, but there had to be something on hand.

In the meantime, the interior could be dressed up a bit. The cot could be made more comfortable with grasses and tree fronds, and she supposed she could even make some furniture. Out of what, she still didn’t know, but she could learn. She was good at learning.

Nuriel looked around one more time and then put her hands on her hips with a satisfied nod. Yes, this should do nicely.

…

Now that she had an idea of what she wanted to do with the ship, it was time for Nuriel to assess the area surrounding it.

The Carmilla’s Fancy sat in a small grove of trees on a tiny island that was part of a network chain. To its back was a hill of solid rock topped with moss. And behind that, just across a small channel that wound around her island, was the main island itself, with a beach bordering the channel and the sheer cliff walls rising up beyond that.

Nuriel surveyed the area, doing calculations in her head. Okay, she could probably set up some kind of barrier to seal off the beach right in front of the grove on both ends. A fence, perhaps. Maybe even a wall, one with swinging doors.

As for the hill, its top wasn’t exactly flat. Still, if she could get some kind of platform up on there, it would be an ideal place for a watchtower.

A platform? A watchtower? Made from what? And made from with what labor?

Mine, came the response. It’s not like I don’t have the time.

And when have you ever built anything?

Nuriel shrugged. Good time to start.

The island that the Carmilla’s Fancy sat upon, which she was now thinking of as her island, lay nestled near the back of a large gulf, with the cliffs curving around it like a pincer. The other tiny islands and the canals that split them filled the rest of the space, with the last ones spread out just beyond the shore.

Nuriel looked out over the archipelago. She hadn’t encountered many of the local monsters out on the islands, chirpers aside. Still, she couldn’t afford to not be sure.

Nuriel looked out at the network chain, memorizing its layout the best she could. She ought to ask her new friend for some blank pieces of parchment. A map would be invaluable.

When she was sure that she had a fairly good idea, she climbed down from the ship to the beach. And she started to walk.

Exploring the archipelago turned up little of any value. Few things had made their nest in the islands themselves. Here and there were a few gulls pecking about, she found some pretty big crabs, as well as a few free-standing pools that many spiny and squishy bits of sealife had made their home, but little she could use.

Still, there was also little that could threaten her as well. That was good as well.

There were a few things of note, though. One island was large enough to have a few plants take root, which included a trio of coconut trees! That was good to know. And if there were a few out there, there were probably others.

In fact, now that she thought of it, if her new friend had been able to gather so many kinds of fruit, there was probably plenty of edible plants nearby. Another thing to ask about.

The gulf was large, and there were many islands sitting within, but not so many that Nuriel wasn’t about to get through all of them in under a couple hours, and before long, she was standing on the shore, again looking out to sea.

The surf was calmer during the day, and the tide lower. It sure seemed peaceful enough, and if Nuriel were anyplace else, she would think it a good place to lay down in the sand and take a nap. As it was, she just wanted to take stock of her surroundings.

There didn’t seem to be much out there immediately beyond the island, no seafaring monsters or anything of the sort. But further out there was something.

Nuriel pulled out her spyglass and took a look.

It was as she had thought. Several sharp and jagged spikes of rock were protruding just out of the water’s surface. There were quite a lot of them too, and from where she was, it seemed that they stretched far in either direction.

Nuriel shivered. They probably surrounded the whole island. No wonder it seemed that nobody had visited in a long time. If the tide were higher, the spikes would be hidden from the naked eye, and yet would still rip the hulls out of any approaching vessel, something to keep in mind should the opportunity to escape ever present itself.

Then Nuriel looked down the coast to her left, where she had fled. Her new friend had said that the birds hunted at night, but she wasn’t really interested in pushing her luck just yet.

Then she looked to her right.

Nuriel paused.

There was something there, further down the beach. Actually, there was a lot of somethings. And Nuriel had a pretty good idea what they were.

Swallowing, she cautiously made her way down the coast, keeping her eyes on the objects as they came nearer and nearer. It did not take long to confirm what she had thought upon her first look.

She had come across a graveyard for ships.

Littered all over the shoals and reefs were the decaying carcasses of watercraft, from brigs like her own to smaller schooners. They had been broken and smashed to pieces, some partially intact but clearly never to take sail again, while others had been shattered so thoroughly that it was impossible to tell what kind of boat they once had been. Splintered masts rose into the air like the headstones of an abandoned cemetery, noting to all that might come across them that this was where the dead were kept.

But most impressive was the devastated remains of a Navy frigate, or half of one anyway. It was thrust partially up on the beach itself, one entire side ripped off, exposing what remained of the crew quarters.

Nuriel felt a strange shiver looking out on the skeletal remains of all those ships. At least the Carmilla’s Fancy had been mostly intact. But it was harder to look deader than these things.

Or more haunted.

The smart thing to do would to be to turn around and head right back to her island. She had enough troubles with monsters and spirits of the night to risk disturbing the sleep of the dead. There had to be dozens, if not hundreds of corpses of sailors out in those shoals, their bones picked clean by gulls and sea creatures. That would make one restless enough without some foolish girl poking about their graves.

And yet…

She did have at least one creature of the night on her side, and her new friend had not warned her away from any wrecked ships. It was sort of odd that she would find that comforting.

Besides, with so many wrecks to choose from, there had to be plenty of useful items she could salvage.

Taking a deep breath, Nuriel started to walk toward the remains of the beached frigate. But as she rounded a splintered mast complete with a crow’s nest that was jutting out of the sand, she saw something that made her stop in her tracks.

There was something reclining across the beach, the tip of its tail dangling in the surf. Something alive.

All the stories Nuriel had heard of merfolk had painted them as ethereally beautiful creatures with the bodies and faces of human women and the tails of massive fish where their legs ought to be. They would swim around seafaring vessels or recline sensuously upon reefs and rocks, tempting sailors to their watery deaths with the sound of their songs and their enchanting beauty. Those tales had served as a warning, to not allow one’s heart to be beguiled no matter how lonely you might be, but Nuriel had often come away from those stories not fearful of the sirens of the deep, but envious of them. How much better her life would be if she had the tail of a great fish and could swim wherever she pleased! Hell, there were a few sailors of her acquaintance that she wouldn’t mind leading to their deaths.

But now that she saw one in the flesh, she realized how wrong those descriptions had been, and yet how right.

The mermaid did in fact have a tail that she obviously used for swimming, but it was not the scaled tail of a cold-blooded fish, but a the long and sinuous tail, one that was finned, yes, but not with a split flipper at the end. Instead, it was more like the tail of a great serpent…no, not a serpent, as it had no scales. More like a giant eel, one with greenish-blue skin and stripes of a blue so dark that they were almost black.

As for the mermaid’s body, it was human…ish, and definitely feminine, but no one would mistake it for that of a human. The skin was the same greenish-blue as the tail, with no clear divide between the two parts like mermaids had been described having. Aside from the coloring, her torso was…mostly human in shape, trimmer in the middle and flaring out a bit where her hips extended down to her trail. She even had a navel, so she probably had not hatched from an egg. Her breasts were small, with two tiny, dark-blue nipples. Her arms, which were laid in the sand at her side, were long and slender, and her fingers, six of them on each hand, were likewise longer and more delicate-looking than they had any right to be, with a thin membrane stretching between her fingers. Short black claws protruded from the ends of her fingers.

The mermaid’s face was perhaps the most human-looking, with two eyes, a nose, and mouth all were it ought to be. Long, silky hair of a blue so dark that it was almost black flowed down her back as well. But the teeth in her mouth were obviously sharp and predatory, her eyes glowing a faint green even in the afternoon sun, and the lobe of each ear was a large, fin-like membrane, one that reminded Nuriel of the wings of a bat. Three horizontal black strips slashed their way across her nose.

There was no doubt about it. This was the green-eyed sea monster that Nuriel had seen on her first night on the island.

The mermaid was propped up on her elbows and looking out upon the wreckage all around her, the tip of her tail lazily flicking at the surf. And as Nuriel stared at her, she found herself realizing that while the mermaid clearly did not look like the fishy women from the sailors’ tales, she was still quite beautiful, and Nuriel could understand well the desire to leap in after her after a long and lonely voyage.

Though Nuriel didn’t make a sound, the mermaid must have sensed her anyway, as it suddenly jerked her head to one side and then flipped around onto her belly, hands splayed in the sand, eyes wide and watching warily. Nuriel stiffened.

Then the mermaid saw her. She blinked her green eyes once, head tilted in a manner that reminded Nuriel of that of a curious dog.

Or a wolf.

Then the mermaid seemed to relax. She rolled onto one side, propped up on her arm, and smiled warmly at Nuriel.

Then she raised one webbed hand and waved.

Nuriel was unsure of how to respond. She had spent her whole life fearing the unknown and the inhuman. She had shivered at tales of creatures that looked human but…weren’t, that preyed upon children, that drank blood and devoured souls. And ever since arriving on the island, she had been running from two monsters in particular, one with glowing red eyes that stalked the jungle and one with glowing green eyes that prowled the depths. She had been convinced that if either got their hands or claws on her, it would be all over for her.

But now one was leaving her notes and gifts while the other was waving to her in a friendly manner.

That was odd.

Nuriel waved back. What else could she do?

Satisfied with her response, the mermaid then beckoned at her, indicating for her to come closer.

Now this presented a conundrum. Did she acquiesce and trust that the inhuman creature of the deep, of which many terrifying tales had been told, truly did mean her no harm, or did she play it safe and keep her distance?

Seeing her hesitation, the mermaid sighed in exasperation and beckoned at her again, more insistently this time.

Well, if the mermaid did truly mean her harm, she could have done whatever she wanted to her after plucking her from the crocomonster’s grasp. And Nuriel truly could not see what the mermaid could possibly do now that they were on land.

Nuriel approached, walking through the sand until she was only a few feet away. Then she sat down on her haunches. There, that ought to be close enough.

The mermaid glanced her over, and as she did, Nuriel found herself staring fascinated at her face. Everything about the girl from the sea seemed more monster than woman, from the color of her eyes and skin to the length of her arms. And yet there definitely was a humanlike quality to her, not just because the shape of her body had a resemblance to a woman, but in how she moved, how she looked at Nuriel. As otherworldly as she was, there was a calm intelligence in her eyes, one that didn’t seem alien at all.

Then the mermaid’s brow furrowed. She lifted one webbed hand to her wing-like ear and let out a strange clicking sound.

Confused, Nuriel lifted a hand to her own ear, and found her fingers touching the ragged flesh of her lobe.

The mermaid made that clicking sound again, made a point of looking to the jungle, and then lunged her head forward, her sharp-teethed jaws biting at the air. Nuriel jumped a little, but it wasn’t a threat, it was a question.

What happened to your ear?

Right. Of course a maiden of the deep wouldn’t speak any human language. Actually, a speech made up of clicks and other similar vocalizations made perfect sense, given the environment. It was just bloody useless for Nuriel.

A girl who can’t speak and a girl who can only click, Nuriel thought despondently. This is going to make for a very trying conversation.

Still, at least the mermaid was making an effort to communicate. Nuriel touched her ear again, and then mimed biting onto something with her teeth, her neck twisting as she tore off an imaginary piece of flesh.

The mermaid blinked twice. And by that, it wasn’t that she shuttered her eyelids two times in a row, but that a thin, transparent membrane passed sideways over her eyes before her eyelids closed normally before opening again, with the membrane opening a second later.

And then her face contorted in anger.

The mermaid looked to the jungle again and pointed. She made another clicking sound, this one harsher sounding.

Nuriel stared blankly.

Hissing, the mermaid leaned over and rubbed her palm over a section of the sand, smoothing out an area. She lifted one hand, her index-finger extended.

The black claw at the end suddenly shot out, revealing itself to be long and needlelike.

Nuriel jerked a little. Oh. Retractable claws. Swell.

But the mermaid still didn’t mean her harm. Hunching over, she starting drawing in the sand with her claw.

Still apprehensive but now very curious, Nuriel leaned in to see what the mermaid was drawing. It was a very rough stick-figure of a long-haired woman wearing a dress. The jagged line that the mermaid used for the woman’s mouth indicated sharp teeth.

The mermaid again made a biting motion and indicated the jungle.

Then Nuriel understood. The mermaid wanted to know if the red-eyed monster had been the one to rip part of her ear off, and was angry about the possibility.

Interesting. So, the two did know each other, or at least of each other, but it seemed that they might not be on friendly terms.

Nuriel empathetically shook her head. Then she thought. All right, how could she explain this?

She entwined her thumbs and spread her fingers to imitated the wingspan of a bird. Then she fluttered it around before making her hand-bird dive at her own ear. Then she imitated the mermaid’s biting motion.

The anger cooled on the mermaid’s face, but she still looked horrified. She then pointed to the shoals, where a group of gulls were resting on a piece of railing.

Nuriel couldn’t help but chuckle at the thought. Honestly, she wouldn’t be surprised if gulls turned out to be that vicious on this island.

She shook her head again and did her best to use her rarely-employed voice imitate the hoarse, cackling cries of the deadly birds that had twice almost ended her life.

The mermaid’s brow rose in understanding. Her shoulder slumped and the gills in her neck fluttered in a manner that Nuriel took for a sigh.

Nuriel was struck then at the strangeness of it all. Here were two girls from completely different worlds and even completely different species, both incapable of human speech for their own reasons, still managing to have a conversation. Still, she couldn’t say that the experience was unpleasant.

The mermaid wiped away the sketch of the red-eyed monster from the sand. Then she began drawing again.

First she drew a wavy line. Then beneath it she drew another stick-figure, this one of a person falling backwards, limbs flailing. She pointed at the falling person, and then at Nuriel.

That part was easy enough to understand. It was a picture of Nuriel herself, after she had been thrown overboard into the sea.

Then the mermaid sketched out a person with a long tail instead of legs, clearly herself. She drew a line between herself and the depiction of Nuriel, and then drew a hump on top of the wavy line. This she connected to the sketches of herself and Nuriel with an arrow.

Nuriel slowly nodded in understanding. The mermaid was the reason she was still alive. She had found Nuriel drowning in the sea and brought her to the island. If so, then when she had first appeared to Nuriel on the beach, she had probably just been coming by to check up on her, which was much more

Then she nodded again and held her hands to her chest, as if clutching her heart. Thank you, she mouthed. She didn’t know if the mermaid could read lips or even understand English, but hopefully the sentiment would be conveyed.

The mermaid smiled, so at least some things were universal. And then her expression turned dour.

She wiped away the sketches in the sand. Then she drew the figure of the red-eyed monster again and jabbed a finger at it while shaking her head.

Nuriel frowned. What was the mermaid trying to communicate?

The mermaid again jabbed a claw at the stick-figure. Then she tilted her head to one side, exposing her neck. She tapped the side of her neck, pointed at the stick-figure, and made that biting motion again.

Nuriel still stared blankly at her. Did the mermaid want to eat the red-eyed monster? She really hoped that wasn’t the case. The last thing she needed was to be stuck in the middle of some kind-

And then she got it. The mermaid wasn’t saying that she wanted to eat the red-eyed monster, she was saying that the red-eyed monster had tried to eat her!

Seeing the look on Nuriel’s face, the mermaid nodded once, clicked her teeth together again, and pointed to the sketch of the red-eyed monster with an empathic shake of her head.

Nuriel cast a wary eye over to the jungle, where the red-eyed monster dwelled. Being stalked by inhuman creatures had been bad enough. She had not expected to be caught in the middle of a feud between two of them.

Then the mermaid suddenly stiffened. She looked up at the island, eyes flitting this way and that. Nuriel tilted her head and frowned, silently asking her what was wrong.

The mermaid glanced back at Nuriel, unease in her eyes. She pointed at the marooned girl and let out a low, repeating click. Though the gesture didn’t come with an illustration, Nuriel felt that she had caught the gist.

Be careful.

Moving with the smooth grace of a slithering snake, the mermaid turned herself around and slid back into the sea, her long tail swaying in the sand. A moment later she had disappeared among the flotsam and jetsam.

Nuriel stared after her, out over the partially sunken wreckage. All this time she had assumed that the monster that prowled the night and the monster that prowled the deep had been in cahoots, that there had been some kind of alliance between them. But now, just as she was starting to perhaps trust them both, she learned that such was not the case.

But they had both saved her life! Nuriel would be dead at least three times over if it weren’t for them. And they had both ample opportunity to do her harm had they wanted to.

There was something else going on.

…

The next morning, Nuriel found that her new “friend” had once again returned.

The note Nuriel had written thanking it was gone, and in its place was yet another long letter. There was also yet another basket of fruit and a basket of fish, along with a jug of clean water.

Nuriel ate cautiously, wishing that she could taste the food, if for no other reason than to tell if it had been tampered with. But when it failed to kill her, she turned her attention to her other gifts.

In addition to the note, several sheets of blank parchment had also been left. So her new friend intended to keep communicating from afar as well.

As for the note, Nuriel again had to work to decipher it, but it was shorter this time.

I am so glad! Now, I know this must be very (st…string…strange!) strange to you, so I shall keep my (dictan? No, distance!) distance for now. However, should you need or want anything, do not (oh damn, there was no way she was going to get this one. It started with a “He,” but the next was a jumble of letters) to ask.

And again she had signed her name. And again, Nuriel couldn’t read it.

Once she was done, Nuriel sat back to contemplate what she ought to do.

The red-eyed monster had basically told her to ask for anything, and Nuriel had no doubt that she could provide. But what she really wanted was information.

But should she ask it? Would doing so anger her new benefactor?

Well, only one way to find out.

Nuriel knelt down over a piece parchment, charcoal stick in one hand, the note that the red-eyed monster had left for her in the other.

Writing was not her strong suit. She read well enough to get by, and she could write a little bit, but mostly short phrases she had memorized in order to get by. Complex questions such as the one she wanted took some work.

Fortunately, while hurried, the red-eyed monster’s penmanship was neat and readable, so Nuriel was about to use it as something of a cross-reference to get the words right. Unfortunately, the two words she needed to use weren’t anywhere to be found. Damn it.

Then she sighed. Oh, who cared about spelling? The point would be made regardless.

Sticking the charcoal against the parchment, she carefully etched out the words, HU IS MURMAD?

Hopefully the red-eyed monster would glean her meaning, but just to be sure, Nuriel also took a page from the mermaid’s book and sketched out a person with a fish’s tail beneath her question.

That done, she picked up the hammer and nailed her question to the mast. Now all she had to do was wait. And pray.

[apothecarinomicon]

Spring week 4 part 3

After my hectic experience with the marshbloom, I decided to take a day for myself. Greenmoor isn’t anywhere near the ocean, but Meltwater Loch is big enough that I figured a day spent there could be considered a beach day. And after the couple of weeks I’d had, boy did I need a beach day.

But anyone who’s read this far ought to be familiar with my luck by now. There’s a lot to record, but I’ll try to get it down in order.

 ────⊱⁜⊰──── 

It was a beautiful day—clear blue sky, warm air, and (at least when I first arrived) no one around at Meltwater Loch. I spread out a towel on the beach and laid down for a good session of sunbathing. I’ve never been one for tanning, but  simply laying doing nothing while being warmed by the sun and cooled by the breeze felt absolutely decadent.

After a while of simply existing, I became aware of the sound of a bird calling above me. I cracked my eyes open and recognized the large forms of a pair of gull-drakes flying overhead. Gull-drakes are a strange hybrid, both reptilian and avian. Their torsos and wings are feathered, while their heads, tails, and talons are scaled. They do have beaks like gulls, but their tails are prehensile like their alleged draconic ancestors’. I say ‘alleged’ because no one knows how the hybrid gull-drake came into being. The sheer anatomy and scale discrepancy between the average seagull and the average dragon fossil (they were much larger in ancient times than the pocket-sized lizards we have today) seems to rule out any cross-breeding. Additionally, the typical combination of traits displayed by gull-drakes is too awkward and ungainly to be the result of natural selection. And yet, there have been records of the gull-drake’s existence for just about as long as there have been records—the third-oldest surviving written document, in fact, is a bestiary which includes them along dozens of other species, most of which are now extinct.

Nature is a strange thing.

Digressions aside, there was a reason this caught my attention. Gull-drakes are scavengers, and have been known to leave catches uneaten while they go out to hunt for more. It’s just an evolutionary quirk—they prefer to feast only once per day. This means that, as they leave their nests unattended, some other opportunistic creature could come by and steal their catch. 

It’s easy to identify a gull-drake nest, too—they tend to be very large, and are often positioned balanced atop large, pointy rocks. If a gull-drake catches you stealing, though, it’ll chase you and squawk at you and try to peck you until you drop the stolen goods and flee. They’re not too smart, though, so hiding in nearby foliage (say, a patch of large ferns) will fool them easily.

All of this to say, I managed to get myself a shock fish without a rod, all while only getting chased a little ways by a jealous, stupid bird.

 ────⊱⁜⊰──── 

As I returned to my towel, I heard an unusual sound—the put-put-put of a motor. Machinery of that kind is a fairly new invention, and unless you know how to make it, very expensive.

The woman driving the boat certainly looked like she knew how to make a motor. She was dwarven, with russet hair and a long beard, both held in thick braids. She was (as dwarves are) rather short—I'd estimate maybe one-and-a-fifth meters tall, and nearly as wide—with large hands and feet, and limbs thickly corded with muscle. She wore dark green coveralls and had a fairly heavy-duty fishing rod held in one hand so that it rested on her shoulder.

She shut the motor off as she neared and called out to me, asking if I was the village witch. I said that I was, and she told me that she was friends with my crocodilian patient. She thanked me for helping him, and said he would have been a goner without my potion-making skills. I demurred just a bit, saying I wasn't the only healer who helped him that day. She scoffed and dismissed my humility outright, saying that I might as well have been the only one—that without my care the village doctor wouldn't have been able to do anything.

She introduced herself as Janneth Hillhorn, and I told her my name in turn. She asked what I was doing out by Meltwater Loch and I told her I was taking a day off. She let me know that her cottage was just around the other side of the lake, near Glimmerwood Grove and right on the border of Blastfire Bog, and that I should feel free to stop in any time. I thanked her.

At this point, there was a tremor in the water. It couldn't have been an earthquake because the land wasn't shaking, but the water abruptly became much more active. Ocean-like waves crashed into the shore and Janneth held tight onto the sides of her boat, doing her best not to capsize. I would have been quite alarmed in her situation, but Janneth barely seemed preturbed. I asked something along the lines of "what the blight is going on?!" As the water settled, Janneth told me that this was a common occurence on Meltwater Loch, a quirk that—many said—was due to the emotions of its guardian sea-dragon, Bàs Bàta. I found this explanation rather silly, reminiscent of an old wives' tale. I'd never heard of a sea-dragon before, and given that the name ‘Bàs Bàta’ directly translated to "boat death," I figured it was just a local story told to frighten children and dismissed it out of hand.

Astute readers should be growing worried for me right about now.

Janneth offered to give me one of the fish she'd caught as a thanks for helping her friend. I initially refused, but she insisted. She looked through her basket and pulled out a dentist crab. The gel their claws produce is good for the mouth and plenty else besides, so I accepted and thanked her. She thanked me right back and said (perhaps jokingly?) not to run afoul of Bàs Bàta while I was out by the loch. I forced a laugh as she sped away.

Once she was out of sight, I collected some claw gel from the dentist crab and released it back into the water.

 ────⊱⁜⊰──── 

There was another rumbling as I made my way back to the beach, and as it abated I saw something bob up to the surface of the water close to the shore. It presented itself, et cetera et cetera, I waded in to see what it was.

I scooped it out of the water and found myself holding a glass bottle, like the kind that rum or sweet wine would come in, sealed with a cork and containing a rolled-up sheet of paper. Of course, I opened it immediately. I found that the sheet inside wasn’t quite *paper,* but something more slippery—maybe made of seaweed? It did have writing on it, though. As I unfurled it, a few things that looked like pebbles fell out. I barely managed to catch them before they hit the surface of the water. I put them in my pocket for safe keeping.

The writing on the note was as follows, with no spelling changes by me:

Let it be known that I fink this whole exercise is stupid. And pointless. And probly meant as some kind of sick, twisted punishment. No one but little kids believe in terrafolk, so I don’t know why the instructress is making us do this.

Even if anyfing could live above the water, there’s no way its advanced enough to read. How would it get all the minerals it needs wivout processing the water?

But anyway. I guess I ave to fulfill the prompt. 

Me name is Genoveva, I live in the I.S.A.C.S. (that's short for 'Isolated Sovereign Aquatic City-State, but we all just pronounce it like 'Isax") and I’m in the fifth year of me education. I hate me name. I wish I could ave somefing exotic like a John or a Steve or a Sarah, but I’m stuck wiv boring old Genoveva. If you’re somehow able to read this, that must mean you ave schools on the surface, too. Wat ar they like? Ar they as boring up there? We all ave to sit in a circle and listen to the instructress drone on and on and on.

I live wiv me merma and me perpa and me two baby brothers. Do you ave family? I've got loads of cousins too.

On the rubric it says I ave to include a small gift, so I'm putting some fossil fish scales in wiv this letter. I found em on me way to school this morning and there not of use to me, but I figure you probly don't ave fish on land so maybe scales ar valuable up there.

If you're inclined to write back (no pressure), you can just pop your note in the bottle and put it back into the water. It'll find its way to me—there's magic all around, don't you know.

Signed,

Genoveva Galbrait, 5th year

[An accessible version of this letter can be found here.]

The letter obviously has some pretty complex implications. An entire society under the surface of Meltwater Loch, entirely unaware of the world above the surface beyond fairy stories? What must life be like down there? What kind of society must they have? How do they supply food? Get rid of waste?

What resources might be available there that can't be found on the surface?

I decided that somehow I was going to find a way to visit ISACS, and learn everything I could about it. I bet that would impress the University of Arcbridge. I wasn't sure how I would breathe under the water for long enough, but I was determined to find a way.

Take your final guesses now what happened next.

That water-quaking started up again, this time stronger than before. Waves crashed against the beach where I stood, and I felt a great vibration in my chest and in my head. 

And then, it broke the surface of the water.

Giant and blue-green and serpentine, Bàs Bàta rose up before me. A blighting sea-dragon, it stood straight up in the air at least twice as tall as my cottage—and that was just the part of its body I could see. Its head was shaped like the tip of an arrow, with three great spikes sprouting out of the back (the outer two longer than the middle one). It let loose another deep roar, dousing me in spittle. It thrashed about, causing great waves to crash onto the shore, and through my shock I realized its movements might be less characteristic of anger than of pain.

My suspicions were confirmed when it roared again: one of the fangs right near the front of its mouth was missing a chip, and had a great crack running nearly all the way up to the root. That had to hurt. I'd never treated a non-humanoid  before—or, for that matter, a cracked tooth—but I realized even past the moral obligation to help, there was no way I could access the underwater city-state without calming Bàs Bàta down.

I found out later, after I'd scrambled away from the lake and sprinted back to the cottage, after wiping the saliva off of me and getting at least some of it in a bottle for potion use, that the saliva was actually a really useful ingredient in treating shattered teeth. As it turns out, it's a pretty strong painkiller. Unfortunately, I knew I'd need more than just that to make a cure, and with the sheer size of Bàs Bàta, I suspected I'd need to make more than one potion.

That will have to be a longer term project, then, because the events of my relaxation day have worn me out. I've got to get to bed. We'll see what tomorrow brings.

⇦●〇●⇨

[ambarto]

Finwean Ladies Week Day Two: Lalwen

Headcanons again today, and this time I’d like to talk about my headcanons for Lalwen, which I think I have mentioned a little in the past but what better occasion than @finweanladiesweek to ramble about all my thoughts. I can tell you Lalwen is definitely one of my favorite characters to think about.

Lalwen was what we could call a biologist. She was fascinated with animals, and in particular with all the kinds of bugs, spiders, and various little creatures that crawl on the ground. She liked other animals too, although still of the small kind, and usually animals most people don’t overly like (think lizards, snakes, that kind of stuff). She maintained that those small and often unseen parts of the ecosystem were much more fascinating than the macroscopic world of large mammals and birds. She described many species, and while animals were her favorite field of study, she was also the first in Valinor to posit that mushrooms were not plants, which was a rather controversial statement at the time.

Out of all her siblings, she was the one who got along the best with Feanor. She was quick to brush off any unkind words he might say, and had a sharp enough tongue to put him back in his place. She actually rather enjoyed talking with him, as he was also a scholar, and could keep up with her discussions of the efficiency of spiderwebs even if it wasn’t really his field of study.

Regarding her other siblings, Lalwen’s favorite was Fingolfin. They argued a lot, but it was usually the kind of sibling spats that got forgotten quickly. He was always the most willing to engage with Lalwen’s interests, and to go with her on rides exploring Valinor. Findis and Finarfin, on the other hand, both had a fairly different temperament than Lalwen, and different interests too. While all four siblings loved each other, usually Findis and Finarfin stuck in one corner talking about one thing, while Fingolfin and Lalwen sat in another talking about something else.

Despite being a Princess, Lalwen’s presence in the politics of Valinor was almost non-existent. She learnt early on that all the occurrences of court didn’t interest her, and if she could avoid being present at any given occasion she did. Findis used to scold her sister much for this, calling her irresponsible, as she thought as members of the royal house it was their duty to engage with politics. Fingolfin, on the other hand, usually enabled his younger sister, thinking that there was no need for her to be as involved as the rest of their family.

Lalwen was always, and especially in her youth, a very restless spirit. Already as a child she was the kind of kid who was always outside and running around, and would hate having to be in the house for an entire day. Growing, she became that sort of girl who her parents almost never saw, so much she spent with her friends, and partying, and going on trips. And since she was old enough to travel on her own, she would so often take her horse and leave Tirion for days or weeks, or sometimes months too, to explore all there was to see in Valinor. It was because of this restlessness that she followed Fingolfin out of Valinor - the idea of an entire other continent she had never seen before was too big a temptation for her to stay behind, no matter how much her mother begged.

In Beleriand, she never had a land to rule over, because she never had any interest in ruling. Not only the various details and politics involved were things she had no interest into, but governing would also mean that she’d have to spend most of her time still in one place. For the most part, she made herself a home in Fingolfin’s lands, but would often travel around. It actually made her brother worry himself sick, as Lalwen had the tendency of leaving whenever and without sending letters or word of where she was, until six months later she would write him saying that she was staying in Himring for a while and also did Fingolfin know about this cool worm she had found?

She survived the Dagor Bragollach, but not easily. She was wounded on the field, and was carried out unconscious as Fingolfin’s forces retreated. She lost her hearing in one ear, and one of her legs was wounded in a way that left her with a heavy limp. The impaired mobility in particular wasn’t easy for her to deal with, as it made traveling so much harder. Not that she had much wish to entertain herself, not right after her brother had been killed. She remained in Fingon’s lands until the Nirnaeth Arnoediad, at which point she instead moved to the Falas with Cirdan, and later followed him to Balar. While she couldn’t fight on a battlefield, she had developed a great knowledge of poisons thanks to her studies on various venomous animals, and she helped develop cures for many of the poisons Morgoth used in his weapons.

After the War of Wrath, Lalwen decided she wouldn’t stay in Lindon under Gil-Galad. Part of the reason was that by then she had seen so many of her loved ones die that it brought her genuine pain to be around Gil-Galad and remember that he was almost all the family she had left, let alone have people call her ‘Princess’, as if the title meant anything by then. There was a loneliness in Lindon that could only be cured by being more alone, or at least, not with people who would constantly remind her of everything she had lost. But also, Lalwen’s desire to explore had never really stopped, and by then she had learnt how to deal with her disability, so she took a horse, and left.

Eventually, after much traveling, she realized that she was turning into an old lady, as Men said. She had traveled through all of Middle Earth, much of Harad, and had even decided to go look if she could Cuivienen a couple times, and she was growing tired of always being moving around. When she was a girl, that would have been the ideal, but after many thousands of years Lalwen found herself wishing to find a place to settle in. Not to mean that she would never travel again, just that she would have liked to have a nice house to go back to and rest, and know that there were people she knew waiting for her there. That being said, she also still wanted nothing to do with politics, not to mention that everyone else seemed to be handling things well, and she didn’t feel the need to upset any political balance with her reappearance. In the end, she decided to settle in Greenwood at some point during the Third Age. She did come clear to Thranduil about who she was, and he allowed her to stay so long as she did not cause trouble, which was alright by her. Other than him, very few people knew or suspected who the eccentric Noldo with a cane and a lot of opinions about taxonomical classifications was.

Lalwen had had through her life many romantic stories and affairs, and definitely more than many would deem appropriate for a Princess. With some Elven ladies, occasionally she’d fell in the bed of a mortal, and maybe once or twice in that of a Dwarf. The longer she lived the more she found old Valinorean ideas on marriage and courtship and so on rather stuffy. That being said, she had never really ruled out a wedding altogether, and the day she realized a Silvan hunter of Greenwood was starting to mean a lot to her, she decided maybe she was old enough to leave her amorous adventures behind and get herself a wife. Fortunately, her lady didn’t mind finding out that Lalwen was a mostly forgotten Noldor Princess, and Lalwen’s proposal was accepted with enthusiasm.

Eventually, Lalwen sailed back to the West with the Last Ship, together with Cirdan and Celeborn. She had seen as much of Middle Earth as there was to see, and while she did love the land, she had long since started thinking back about her homeland. Her wife, while not Eldar, had also started to get weary of a land that was more and more mortal and less and less suited for Elves, and decided that like many others of her people she also would have liked to follow the gulls.

Now, Findis, firstborn of Finwe and Indis, Princess of the Noldor, sister to the High King Arafinwe, known poet and debater, was as a general rule against violence, but when she saw her sister hop off a ship after six thousands years of no contact with a wife and apparently uncaring of having basically disappeared, her fist might have just happened to collide with Lalwen’s nose.

[goldenponcho]

A Cruise Fit for a King Chapter 4

I’m going to preface this chapter with a hot take:

Scarlemagne is absolutely a Karen.

Previous | Chapter 1 | Next

The erratic slapping of Hugo’s hand against the water as he attempted to paddle for shore, in hindsight, had most likely been ineffective. But in the moment, in his still stir-crazy mind, it felt like it was making him go faster. He tired himself out long before he would make it, however. The horizon, he soon realized, was much further away than he had once thought.

It was a good four hours before his strange little craft got anywhere close to perceiving much of anything about the island, but when he did, his hopes rose. The island was massive, for all he knew, an entire continent. He could make out a scattering of small architecture, nothing like the massive high-rises of Skyscraper Ridge, but it still promised some manner of life. Hugo was so mesmerized, it nearly gave him palpitations when something hit his vehicle with a thud.

“‘Ay!! No floaters in the reef, land-crawler!!”

“Huh?” Hugo leaned to see who was speaking to him, only to be shocked into silence. Below him was a bustling rainbow of colors and shapes. There were hundreds…thousand of all sorts of marine mutes weaving in and out of a labyrinth of radiant coral. The water was so crystal clear, he could see straight down for what must have been at least thirty feet, and he quickly sat back down in the passenger seat, as actually seeing how deep the water was was much more unnerving than just knowing it in the back of his mind, no matter how much infinitely deeper the actual ocean was.

There was another thud and a squeeeek! as another mute raked the side of the car.

“Hey! You don’t belong here! Get out of our shoals!!”

Hugo, more cautiously this time, craned his head to address the second irritated mute, a porpoise with a fanny pack strapped to her pudgy neck.

“Apologies, madame! I just need to get to shore so I can-”

“Officer! Arrest this baboon!”

Hugo bristled with an affected gasp, “I am NOT a baboon; I’m a MANDRILL! And I’ll kindly thank you not to-”

“Alright, King Kong! Outta the water! Beat it!!” The black and white “officer” fish berated him and blew a shrill whistle.

Before Hugo could begin to reply, his craft was rocked to the point of nearly capsizing as a mega octopus surfaced, and began flailing its massive tentacles to send his vehicle careening toward shore. He could hear angered jeering aimed toward him, and he gripped the door and the seat beneath him as his craft skidded through the surf and onto the shore.

His car came to a nearly instant halt in the sand, and his nose pressed painfully into the windshield before he was tossed back into his seat. Hugo rubbed his aching snout, groaning as he sat up from the slouched position he had been forced into. He quickly saw that he had been lucky enough to stop just short of a substantial piece of driftwood.

“Thanks for the ride, gents!” He leapt to balance himself on the edge of the driver’s side door, holding onto the windshield frame for support as he cupped the other hand to project his voice, “This is exactly where I wanted to go! I’M MUCH ABLIGED!!”

He was barely through with his taunting when a nasally, monotone voice interrupted him, “Sir, I’m gonna have to ask you to move your car, or I’ll have no choice but to tow it.”

Hugo looked through the windshield to see a seagull mute wearing a crooked baseball cap and a heavily stained navy jumpsuit.

“I beg your pardon, but I was most unceremoniously surfed here completely outside of my own control,” he stepped back onto the seat behind him and opened his door to release a stream of seawater before stepping down to the beach with a haughty strut, “AND if you could see beyond that BEAK of yours, you would notice that this vehicle has no wheels to speak of.”

“I’m sorry, sir, but I couldn’t be less emotionally invested if I wanted to… Tough break, I guess.”

With a wave of the gull’s feather wing, Hugo heard loud flapping and turned in time to watch a mega pelican with two heads that would have dwarfed even his own personal flamingo several times over thud to the sand on the other side of the car. The creature lowered one of its heads and opened its beak to reveal a whole pile of mostly metal flotsam and jetsam. Hugo was left uncharacteristically speechless as the beak latched onto his car and engulfed it completely before the bird waddled with heavy steps away from the beach and further inland. It stopped in front of what looked to be a large wall made of garbage that spanned the entire length of the shore as far as Hugo could see both ways, then practically vomited his precious luxury car onto the top of the wall along with the pile of scrap metal.

“Are-you-JOKING?!!” he resisted the urge to stomp his foot, “That convertible is my ONLY mode of transportation!”

The seagull didn’t look up from his clipboard to gave a wide eyed, tight beaked stare at nothing, “Well, you should have thought about that before you bought a car with no wheels.”

Hugo’s eye twitched, and his fur bristled as he clenched his fists in front of him with barred teeth. Before he could retort, the rude mute had ripped the the sheet of paper he had been writing on and held it in front of  Hugo’s nose. “If you want it back, sign this and take it to Maggie at the kiosk. Have a nice day.”

Hugo glared daggers at who was now his least favorite mute in the world, raising a hand slowly, then violently snatching the paper from him. “Thank. You.” The words were punctuated in a way which insinuated that in spirit, he was saying something much less kind. He huffed as the bird left to torment some other poor soul and glanced to scan the form he had been handed.

He glared at the entry for “year” where the gull had written “old”. “Old?! That car was a classic, fully restored, in mint condition!” He slapped the back of his hand against the form, “At least it was.”

His eyes scanned over the total for the pickup fee to see scribbled there “five small shells, three medium shells, or one large shell”. That was all? He looked to his feet where there was nothing but a mixture of seashells and sand, and he gave a shrug before scooping up a handful. He sorted through the gritty mixture with a finger to study its contents. There was one shell. Two. Three, four…and five! He dusted the rest off on his coat, taking extra care to make sure none of the sand stuck there, then made his way to the kiosk next to the wall.

Hugo approached the large crab mute behind the counter and tossed the form and the shells in front of her. “I’d like my automobile back, ma’am. The fuchsia convertible with the silver hood ornament of my very own likeness,” he gave a “get going” motion with his hand. “Please and thank you.”

“What the hell are these?” The crab’s voice grated as she put a cigarette out on the counter, but she didn’t budge from her spot, arms crossed and leaned back against her own massive shell.

“Five small shells?” Hugo jabbed a finger to the form, “I believe this is sufficient payment for you to release back to me my vehicle that your DELIGHTFUL little mom and pop operation took right from under my nose.”

“You ain’t from around here, are ya, monkeyshines? These measly little suckers ain’t worth squat. You need a few o’ these bad boys!” She gave the shell behind her a slap, “We’re talkin’ ‘bout conchs, whelks, cones…even a pitiful little nerite  would be better than this. How ya ‘spect the young’uns ta keep their keisters covered with a couple’a little, cracked surf clams?” She moved to open the curtained bar flap next to her which revealed a tiny horde of baby hermit crabs, all of different sizes, one skittering out of site with a squeak at being caught mid shell exchange.

“Listen!” Hugo howled, pointing an assertive finger, “THAT car has been with me for a LONG time! If you think I’m about to let it become a BRICK in your wall of RABBLE, YOU ARE SORELY MISTAKEN!!!”

Hugo breathed loudly and rapidly, now hunched forward on his knuckles, but the hermit crab wasn’t at all threatened.

“You ain’t got SHELLS, monkeyshines, then you ain’t got a CAR!!” And with that, she slammed the rolling counter door above them shut, nearly catching the tip of Hugo’s nose on the way down.

He inhaled before releasing something between a snarl and a scream through clenched teeth, then shuddered with a growl before almost immediately composing himself with a proper, upright posture and a stiff, manic smile, “I…HATE it here.”

[the-awkward-outlaw]

Holà ! Could you write an imagine / headcanon about Arthur meeting a mermaid ( maybe in Guarma ) and falling for her ? And you can choose the ending ( but not too sad please he deserved better )

Ah, I’m so sorry Anon this has taken me so long! My life is weirdly busy right now even though none of the reasons it’s busy are important. This turned out really long and doesn’t neccessarily have a happy ending, but it sort of does at the same time. Anyways, I hope it’s at least semi-satisfactory. 

When Arthur found himself stranded on the beach after the boat wrecked, he was horrible disorientated. A mixture of exhaustion, heat stroke, dehydration, and a horrible burning in his lungs didn’t make anything better. The ground was white hot and he could barely see when he opened his eyes. Once they’d adjusted, he realized he was standing on sand with islands of grass and bushes. 

Hot. That’s the only sense his mind can process. unbearable heat. The sand burns his feet, the sun burns his face and eyes. The air is thick and soupy. Gulls cry happily as they soar above him. How can any living thing be happy in this place? Hell itself could not be worse. 

As he stumbles around the beach, he sees something sparkling on a large rock poking from the waves near the shore. He thinks it must be some water collected in the fissures of the rock, or perhaps some strange birds. He’s heard of sea turtles, maybe it’s coming from them. As he approaches, though, he sees a little better and it’s obvious that none of his previous impressions were correct. He’s looking at what looks like a woman. Or what looks partially like a woman from the waist up anyways. Where her legs should have been was instead a long, shimmering tail, the flukes trailing back and forth slowly. Her head was tipped back as though enjoying the rays of the sun, her long brown hair trailing over her chest and back. 

Arthur blinks multiple times. His condition must be making him go insane. She can’t possibly be real. He’s heard legends of course. He heard some drunken sailors at the saloon in Saint Denis discussing their sightings of mermaids, but ten minutes later they were black out drunk. Yet here she was, visible proof that perhaps they weren’t mistaken.

Arthur lifts his hand. “Y-you!” he calls, his voice weak. 

The woman looked to him, unafraid. She was very familiar with the land folk, her people called them. She was unimpressed with him. Sure, he was a large specimen, broad shouldered and barrel chested, but most men she’d seen wandering shores or atop their strange, massive floating carved trees were. Luckily for him, she wasn’t feeling particularly hungry. Land folk were regarding by her kind as a delicacy, but she had never grown to like the taste. There was just something about land meat she never craved. She preferred her usual game of fish and the other creatures that dwell in the ocean with her. 

She flashed him a smile though. Her pod would definitely appreciate her bringing in an offering of land folk. They were becoming harder to come by as their carved trees became more advanced. Faster and sturdier. A land folk who had been ship wrecked was the perfect target. 

“You there!” he yelled again, slightly stronger. 

“Arthur!” another land folk approaches him. Taller yet thinner in build with disheveled black hair and mustache. Three more men followed him and she knew it wasn’t safe. Luckily none of them saw her and she slipped quickly back into the water. Her sun bathing would have to continue later. 

Over the next few days, she saw the man again and again in the same spot as the first time. It was like he was looking for her. The boulder he’d seen her from happened to be her favorite sun bathing spot as it was easy to access and surrounded by deep water which made hiding easy. She knew the island was heavily populated despite its small size, making her vulnerable. 

The man seemed harmless enough, but he was clearly wary of her. She allowed him to spot her a handful of times, both in and out of the water. Despite how little she liked the taste of land folk, she was very good at hunting them. Something the matriarch of her pod was befuddled by. 

The third time the man came calling, she slid right to the edge of the water, allowing him to get the closest he’d ever been. She found herself growing curious about him. He wasn’t like other land folk she’d stalked and killed. He wasn’t frightened nor did he try and kiss her like some misguided sailors had. He was simply intrigued and she was too. 

Mayani, as was her name, soon learned the land folk’s name was Arthur Morgan. She learned, like all merfolk do, his native tongue along with the languages of other land folks. It was part of learning the hunt. She spoke with Arthur for many hours that first day and he told her many things about where he came from. He described the hot deserts, seas made of grass, mountains taller than the highest waves capped in snow. It was intriguing. In turn, Mayani , or Maya as she preferred, told him the secrets of the ocean. Listening to the haunting songs of whales, hunting giant squid, outrunning sharks, the colorful and vibrant corals and how to tell which kinds were safe to eat and which kinds were not. 

Arthur found himself longing to join Maya in her watery kingdom after a week had passed. Dutch was still working with Hercule in order to get off this god-forsaken island, and he felt envious of Maya and the freedom she had to come and go from it as she pleased. She told him that she was breaking her matriarch’s boundaries though. Last year, three of her pod members had been killed on the shores of this island by those who occupied it and the matriarch forbade the rest of the pod from returning. Maya still found the warm, shallow waters worth the risk, plus it offered some of the best foraging corals and hunting grounds. The temptation was too great. 

Arthur made her laugh easily. When he asked her if it was true that a mermaid’s kiss could give a sailor the ability to breathe underwater, she found it hysterical. A kiss could not change one’s abilities, she said. Nothing could do that. She learned that his kind were called humans. As they divulged more secrets of their lives to one another, they found that their species were not so different. Merfolk possessed their own cultures, though the females were the leaders and not the men. The females were also the only ones allowed to do hunting. The idea was that since they were the only ones to give life, they should be the only ones to take lives. The males spent their time foraging and helping raise the offspring. 

Arthur quickly became interested in the mermaid. She was beautiful, sure, but he found himself more attracted to her spirit than anything else. She was in a very similar position as he was in his own gang, the third highest ranking member of her pod but she enjoyed wandering the ocean on her own, though her loyalty was unwaverable. Arthur wished there was a way they could be together, but he knew that was impossible. She could not survive on land for more than a few hours, her tail and even skin was heavily dependent on the salt water. Without it, she would quickly dehydrate and die. He of course could not exist in the water. 

The time finally came when only one thing was left to do before he and the others could return to the mainland. Arthur approached his and Maya’s meeting spot with a somber expression. She was miserable too as someone in her pod had spotted her “fraternizing” (as her matriarch had put it) with a land folk on a forbidden island. This was the last time she’d be able to see him. They told each other how things were standing for themselves. Arthur didn’t want to leave her with nothing, but having no object to give, he kissed Maya gently. 

“Thank you,” he said. Maya smiled, but something about the way his lips tasted was off. She knew immediately he was sick. She told him to wait and then dived down and foraged for a rather rare coral that she knew grew around the island. It luckily didn’t take her long before she found the tiny organism and she gave it to him. 

“You’re very sick, Arthur,” she explained. “Your kind carry many sicknesses. If we didn’t learn to identify them, we’d get sick too. When we’ve eaten sick humans, we eat this coral and it cures us. You should do the same.” 

Arthur did not question. His lungs had been burning more than ever before and he’d developed quite a cough, so he studied the strange, bumpy coral. It was only the size of a quarter but the texture was awful. Squeezing his eyes, he swallowed the coral as quickly as he could, for Maya said cooking it would destroy its healing properties. She smiled at him when he had swallowed it and he kissed her one last time. 

“I promise,” he said. “I will never forget you.”

“I wish our paths could cross again,” she said. 

The sun was beginning to set and in the distance they heard Dutch calling Arthur’s name. He sighed heavily and brushed her cheek. “Thank you,” he said. He got up and walked away towards the voice. Maya watched him for a moment and then dipped into the water. She tried to imagine how things could have been between them in another world, but her matriarch had told her time and time again that wanting what could never be was the most fruitless venture of all.