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#i cannot comprehend its size

fauxbia · 4 months

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thoughts on iterators and divinity. disclaimer it is after midnight and I am copy pasting this directly from a crazed discord dm ramble, so . it probably has a lot of repeating myself and general incomprehensibility in there. I’ve got my tinfoil hat on and everything

anyway me when. me when . “Godlike in comparison.” me when iterators. manmade gods trapped in cages of their own flesh. so completely powerless that they cannot be divine. so unfathomably powerful that they cannot be anything less an iterator is not a god and yet they are the size of mountains, and yet they level the land and fundamentally transform the environments around them an iterator is not a god and yet they know and see and hear and do more than we can ever comprehend, every thought that we can ever have in our lifespans can be ruminated on at length by an iterator over the span of a week, at most. more likely a day an iterator is not a god and yet they have an avatar and yet they decide the life and death of every thing within its domain and yet the only thing that can kill one is another, and time. and both are an incomprehensible feat. (and yet their death is inevitable, for they are no more immune to time than us)

but they operate and exist solely within the bounds set for them but they have no power beyond their concrete, limited domains but they cannot move or see or live in any way that we can define but even the escape, the ascension they were created to provide is completely beyond them by design

an iterator is not a god!!! but!!! they were made to resemble gods and act as gods to the world below. they are Gifts to the World made to enlighten it and bring it to ascension. they are beyond mortal comprehension. if that is not divinity, then what is? yes there are forces greater than them. obviously. but even the most fallible, the most innocent, the most shortsighted and impotent of deities is still a deity

an iterator is not a god. we have caught a glimpse of what might be the “gods” of rain world and they all dwell below, far below the iterators’ domains. but they were made in the likeness of gods and a facsimile resembles what it was made after does a being (however artificial) made in the image of the divine not inherit divinity?

like the ancients didnt make them to ascend themselves. they had the void fluid and clearly that was good enough for them. the ancients made them to enlighten and ascend the entire world in their wake even if they failed and were always going to fail because by definition that is a fundamentally impossible task, is being created for such a purpose not grounds for divinity in its own right?

how ironic that they are incapable of ascension. how cruel.

#rain world #idk sure i feel like this is a good enough ramble to be maintagged?#maybe?#zzzzzz….. I’m so sleeepy #there are absolutely no guarantees that this is even slightly comprehensible #I’m sorry if it turns out I was just repeating myself over and over for . too many words #I am sleepy. honk shop

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adrift-in-thyme · 17 days

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@telemna-hyelle it took more than an hour (sorry about that) but here it is! The Four/Dot fluff I promised!

I hope it helps you end your day on a good note <33

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He isn’t ready for this.

Four moves along the wooded path as if in a trance. He knows every step of this place like the back of his hand. But usually, he is much more attentive than this. Usually, he keeps a watchful eye on the surrounding area, scouting for the stray chu or keese.

Today, however, he cannot seem to keep his mind on such things. The sunlight dappled earth beneath his feet, the scent of leaves and bark baked in the afternoon warmth, the breeze that caresses his cheeks, and the chittering of the many critters that scamper about within the foliage – they are all lost on him.

He feels Dot’s hand in his, her palm smooth and warm. He smells her perfume – light and sweet like the cotton candy they spin at the yearly festivals. He hears her laughter, bright and unrestrained and free as she tells a tale from her day. He sees her, radiant, hair like strands of gold and eyes the color of the joyful sky.

She looks at him, says something he can’t comprehend. He nods, conjures up a smile. With luck, it won’t be as strained as he feels that it is.

He has faced beasts one hundred times his size, navigated the pain and confusion of being split into four, saved the world twice. But by the golden three, he is not ready for this.

And yet, he is going through with it anyway. He can’t back down now. Not when his best friend is right here beside him, every moment of basking in her presence strengthening the love he feels for her.

Four squares his shoulders. Yes, this is the right thing to do. The hardest things often are.

The Minish have done a spectacular job preparing the clearing. That much is evident as soon as it comes into view. Everything is as they had planned. Every detail has been attended to with immaculate care.

Vines drape over tree limbs, their slim strands heavy with layered blossoms. Flower petals drift down in lazy pirouettes to join the coat of vibrant pink already lying on the forest floor. The sun glimmers through slightly parted branches. Not far off a fairy fountain casts its soothing glow. Soft notes of magic drift to Four’s ears as he leads Dot forward.

“Link,” she breathes, gazing upward and all around, eyes wide with adoration, “this is beautiful.”

“Yes, it is,” he agrees with a calm he in no way feels. “The Minish worked very hard on it.”

Dot turns to him now, head cocked in question. “The Minish? What do you…”

She trails off as he drops to one knee.

It feels as though he is kneeling on a bed of silk. But the sensation in his chest as he reaches into his pouch is about as pleasant as the Big Octorok sitting on him.

The ring is in his palm though, a delicate thing melted and shaped and fired by his own two hands. It had taken countless tries to get it right, to meld the corners into the perfect curve, to carve the designs in the way he imagined them to be. Making jewelry is not quite the same as crafting a sword. It requires a different sort of skill.

But he had found that skill within him. And he had created something beautiful. Something he will be proud to see upon her finger.

“Zelda,” he murmurs and curses the way his voice trembles a bit at the end, “Zelda, Princess of Hyrule, my dearest friend…” He raises his head, gazes into those big blue eyes. The ones that had shone with empathy when the pieces of himself had threatened to shatter him anew. The ones that had glowed with mirth and joy at the festivals, brightened when he told a joke, gone sharp with interest when he told a tale.

The eyes he has gotten lost in so many times before, and hopes to many more times in the future.

“Zelda, will you marry me?”

She stares at him for a long, agonizing moment, hand held to her mouth, emotion surging across her face. Then, she laughs. She laughs and the world sings with the noise. And she swoops down and lands a kiss right on his lips.

“Was…” he croaks when his surroundings have swung back into focus and the dizzying mixture of elation and trepidation have abated somewhat, “...was that a yes?”

“Oh, Link, of course, it was! Of course!” Her hands are on his face. The ring shines on one of her fingers, though he can’t remember placing it there. Everything is a haze, a haze of wonder and joy and fear.

It looks perfect there, though. Almost as though she was born to wear it.

“I’ll marry you, Link!” She cries, visage aglow. “I would like nothing more!”

A laugh bubbles from his lips now, smaller and more hesitant, but overjoyed nonetheless. He stands and suddenly, his arms are around her and hers around him and they are hugging like the world depends upon it. Like if they let go, this moment, this delicate, beautiful moment will solidify and shatter.

Perhaps, it will. But Four likes to think that it is stronger than that. Like they are.

He blinks away the tears and smiles.

As a sword is forged to endure the struggles of time, so is their friendship made to withstand the toughest of tribulations. And that makes moments like this one even more precious.

“I love you,” she says and her very soul is in the words.

Four holds her tighter and makes himself a promise that he will never let her go. He will never allow her to fall in harm’s way again, never leave her to face life alone. No, they will stand tall through it all. Together.

“I love you too,” he whispers. “I love you too.”

#another wild fluff fic appears #two in the span of two weeks??#idk what's happening to me XD #thanks for letting me write this for you tellie <333 #i hope you liked it #and i hope your day gets better #and that tomorrow is easier and brighter #linked universe #lu four #lu dot #zelink #fluff #trin writes

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thecreaturecodex · 4 months

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Scalescribe

Image © Paizo Publishing

[I quite like the scalescribe, as I always appreciate it when aberrations aren't just tentacled horrors. Sometimes they're funny little guys. The caster bond/transcribe scroll is a neat mechanical effect that's in the PF2e original, but it really works best if the spellcaster goes out adventuring while the scalescribe stays behind and reads and writes. Which I think suits the scalescribes just fine.]

Scalescribe CR 3 N Aberration This strange creature resembles a snake with eight spindly arms, each ending in a delicate, human-like hand. It has five eyes arranged in a cross on its face, a fleshy hood growing over its face. Its jaws are wide, but nearly toothless. Its body is decorated with scraps of text, some single letters, others entire paragraphs in a dense hand.

Scalescribes are strange magical creatures that are obsessed with words and language. They tend to live in libraries, temples to gods of knowledge, and other places where there are lots of books. The words on their bodies are extracts from what they have read, and shift over the weeks as they encounter new writings. Scalescribes may be sought out as sages, or by spellcasters who want to use their abilities to manipulate magic writing.

A scalescribe would rather not fight if it can help it, and their bodies are not much suited for combat. Their most powerful attack is the ability to charge a written character with magical force and fire it like an arrow. They cannot do this at will, however, and usually bolster these attacks with spells cast from scrolls or jabbing with the quills they always carry. Such jabs deal little damage, but carry a creeping stain of magical ink. If they are targeted with a spell they haven’t seen before, or one that the scalescribe thinks might be tactically useful, they will attempt to copy it onto a temporary scroll so they can use it themselves.

This ability to copy and reuse spells is what makes scalescribes so valuable to spellcasters. If the scalescribe chooses, it can allow another creature to cast that spell, even crossing spell lists in order to do so. A scalescribe is most likely to use this ability if it judges the other creature “clever”, which it determines by playing word games and quizzing vocabulary. A creature that can teach a scalescribe a word it doesn’t know is likely to make a fast friend.

Scalescribe CR 3 XP 800 N Tiny aberration Init +3; Senses darkvision 60 ft., Perception +11

Defense AC 17, touch 11, flat-footed 13 (+2 size, +3 Dex, +1 dodge, +1 natural) hp 27 (5d8+5) Fort +2, Ref +4, Will +8 Defensive Abilities lettered

Offense Speed 20 ft. Melee quill +8 (1d3-2/18-20 plus inkstain) Ranged morpheme glyph +8 (3d6 force) Space 2 ½ ft.; Reach 0 ft.

Spell-like Abilities CL 5th, concentration +6 At will—arcane mark, detect magic, read magic 3/day—comprehend languages (self only) 1/day—dispel magic, secret page

Statistics Str 6, Dex 17, Con 12, Int 19, Wis18, Cha 13 Base Atk +3; CMB +4; CMD 13 (cannot be tripped) Feats Dodge, Magical Aptitude, Scribe Scroll (B), Weapon Finesse Skills Climb +10,Craft (calligraphy) +8, Knowledge (arcana, history) +11, Linguistics +11, Perception +11, Sense Motive +11, Spellcraft +13, Stealth +18, Use Magic Device +7 Languages Aklo, Common, Draconic, 4 others SQ caster bond, intellectual, scroll use, transcribe spell

Ecology Environment urban Organization solitary or scriptorium (2-5) Treasure standard

Special Abilities Caster Bond (Su) A scalescribe can form a bond with any creature with spellcasting levels by performing a ritual that requires 1 hour of concentration, usually done while the other creature is preparing spells. A prepared caster can prepare the spell carried on that scalescribe’s transcribed scroll, and a spontaneous caster can treat that spell as if they knew it for that day. This can allow a caster to cast a spell that is not on their spell list, as long as it belongs to the same tradition of magic (arcane, divine or occult). This lasts for 24 hours, or until the scalescribe uses its transcribed scroll or transcribes a new scroll. If a prepared caster loses access to a spell in this way, the spell slots that had this spell become open. Inkstain (Su) A creature struck by a scalescribe’s quill takes 1d4 points of damage per round for the next 10 rounds. This can be removed by any healing spell with a successful DC 13 caster level check, or by any effect that removes or delays poison without a check. An erase spell removes the inkstain without a caster level check. This is a poison effect, and is an ability of the scalescribe, not the quill. Intellectual (Ex) A scalescribe treats all Knowledge checks and Linguistics as if they were class skills. Lettered (Ex) A scalescribe gains a +4 racial bonus on all saving throws against glyphs, symbol spells and spells and effects with the language descriptor. Morpheme Glyph (Su) As a standard action, a scalescribe can draw a magical syllable in the air and fire it at an opponent. Treat this as a ranged attack with a range of 40 feet and no range increment. A creature struck takes 3d6 points of force damage. A scalescribe can use this ability once every 1d4 rounds. Quill (Ex) A scalescribe treats any quill it carries as if it were a rapier it was proficient with. Scroll Use (Ex) A scalescribe can use spells from scrolls as if the spell was on its spell list. Transcribe Spell (Su) As an immediate action when targeted by a spell with verbal components, a scalescribe can attempt to copy down the spell into a variant scroll. The scalescribe must succeed a Spellcraft check (DC 15 + twice the spell’s level) to successfully copy the spell, and is still affected by the spell whether it succeeds or fails at this check. If it succeeds, the scalescribe creates a scroll of that spell that only it can use. A scalescribe can only have one transcribed scroll at a time.

#scalescribe #pathfinder 1e #pathfinder 2e #aberration

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cognacandlilac · 10 months

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To the Depths - Part Six - NSFW

(Pirate!Silco x F!Reader) Promises and Pomegranates

AO3 - Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3.1 - Part 3.2 - Part 4 - Part 5

Rating: Explicit/MDNI Chapter Summary: You come face to face against an impossible creature and it royally screws with your understanding of reality. Will Silco help you? Chapter Warnings/Tags: this chapter is SFW. Don't you worry, more smut is coming <3 A/N: Not beta'd because I'm trying to feed my momentum monster. She's starving and she's mean.

You stand in place, still staring up at the towering monster of living water. A part of your mind understands that it is about to snap at the ship like a wild animal but the thought is simply too impossible to comprehend.

“Torches!” Sevika shouts sharply enough to drag your attention back to the deck and crew. You are not the only one frozen with fear and disbelief. Most of the crew cannot seem to believe their eyes either.

“Torches!” Sevika snarls and shoves the nearest crewmember. This sends them scurrying off to illuminate the ship as much as possible. Your gaze drags back up the column of water to the beastly head and glowing eyes. Its neck reminds you somewhat of a snake, coiled to strike.

When its head darts forward toward the deck, you at least have the good sense to brace yourself. The beast thuds against the ship as though it is made of pure, solid matter. You are knocked clean off your feet, unable to stop yourself from colliding with the railing. Breath leaves your lungs in a sharp gust just in time for a rush of water to slam against your body.

Gasping, sputtering, and dazed, the only thing you can think to do is look for Silco but you don’t see him. An unexpected stab of pain blooms in your chest that has nothing to do with the physical blows your body just experienced.

He left you to fend for yourself.

You should not be surprised. Why would you expect anything different? So what if he danced with you and briefly participated in a conversation that didn’t consist of throwing insults at each other? That does not change the fact that you are a prisoner. Less than that, even. You’re a stolen commodity.

A lump rises in your throat and you tell yourself it’s because the pain in your right side is growing more intense by the moment. No other reason.

You know why you are here. You know where you stand.

The water creature lets out another shrill roar as its glowing eyes scan the deck. Your eyes follow the serpentine curve of its neck to where its body meets the deck and continues, rising over the railing, not unlike the way a snake’s body slides over a branch. Yet, as water pours off of its form, it never changes size.

It strikes again, aiming at Locke who manages to dive out of the way. Like before, the brace of its impact rocks the ship. This time, you are able to see the way water bursts from its body and rolls across the deck the way a rogue wave would roll across a calm sea.

What in the hell is it?

“Princess, you either need to get moving or get fighting. I don’t care which one you do. Just don’t get in the way.” Sevika brushes by you with a vicious look in her eyes as she attaches what looks to be some kind of miniature harpoon to the end of her mechanical arm.

You nod, though Sevika has already moved her attention back to the water creature.

“Bring its head down!” She barks at whoever is within earshot.

You try to make yourself move in any direction for any purpose but you simply can’t. Your mind is racing and grappling with the reality in front of you, leaving your body stuck in a state of awe and terror. It is only when a crewmate, the same one who nearly came to blows with Locke, crashes against the deck in front of you.

“Fuckin’ waterwyrms,” he grumbles as he scrambles to his feet just in time to avoid another wave rolling off the body of the beast.

A waterwyrm. An apt name that scratches along the outer edge of your frazzled memory. You cannot chase after it just now.

The clatter of metal pulls your attention and you realize a thick dagger has fallen from the belt of the swearing crewmate. You call out for him, realizing too late that you never learned his name. Not that it matters. You can’t see him anymore.

You reach for the dagger, figuring it’s better to arm yourself in one way or another while you decide what you’re going to do.

The storm the other day was frightening but familiar. You’d sailed through storms before. You knew what to do, to an extent and if you didn’t, the crew was there to set you right. But that isn’t the case now.

Only a handful of the crewmates crisscrossing the deck seem to know what they’re dealing with. The rest wear expressions you imagine are similar to the one on your face right now. You are not the only one out of your depth with this.

The dagger is heavier than you expected and, truth be told, you do not know how to wield it. The closest thing you’ve held to this is an engraved letter opener that you keep on your bedside table at home, just in case.

You struggle to decide whether or not to keep the dagger or discard it but you cannot remain rooted in place like this. You are completely unprotected. Once you find a bit of shelter, you can organize your thoughts, and pull yourself together.

A flickering instinct tugs at your mind. It whispers to you, urging you to find Captain Silco. He’s supposed to keep you from harm until you are returned safely to your father and fiance. That was the agreement.

A cruel stab of logic reminds you that not even Silco could offer absolute protection against a creature of myth and magic, especially not one that is determined to flood the ship with its watery form. Besides, Silco did not hesitate to abandon you once the waterwyrm rose from the black sea.

Another flash of hurt sears into your chest and you quickly replace the hurt with anger, unwilling to allow your ego to be bruised by that man more than it already has. Enough is enough. The familiar clarity of anger awakens the part of your mind that had gone hazy with shock at the sight of the waterwyrm.

You need to get to a safe place. Quickly. You flee, heading toward the stern, nearly tripping with every step as you do so. As much as you do not want to look at it, you keep your eyes fixed on the waterwyrm. Perhaps, if you were seeing it in a painting or sketch, you would find it beautiful but not here. Not when it’s real and dangerous and hell-bent on fracturing your reality. Things like this only exist in stories.

Then again, you thought Silco only existed in stories, and look how that has panned out for you.

With a soft groan, you keep moving forward. Even in the most dire of situations, the Captain still manages to snake his way to the forefront of your mind. The thought stokes your anger and you cling to it as you navigate around the scrambling crewmates and thrashing waterwyrm. It has slithered around to the port side of the ship, an equal distance from the bow and stern. This would be a good thing if you didn’t feel a spray of water coming from behind you. You look over your shoulder to see its watery, snake-like tail rising on the opposite side of the ship.

You’ve seen plenty of sketches of mythical krakens wrapping their tentacles around ships to squeeze them into splitters. Could a waterwyrm do such a thing?

The tail swings like a whip, heading right toward you. You dive forward, evading the tail but you’ve realized you’re now scrambling to find your footing right beside the great neck of the beast. You gaze up, tipping your face all the way back to look at its head. Its attention is drawn elsewhere, for the moment. Instead of moving away, you feel the weight of the dagger in your hand.

You look at the rippling, translucent body of the waterwyrm. Surely, if it is solid enough to perch on the deck as it wreaks havoc, it is solid enough to feel the pierce of a blade. Without thinking twice, you lift the dagger and stab it into the side of the waterwyrm. The dagger pieces its watery hide like a hot knife through butter.

It does…nothing.

No, that isn’t true. It’s done something. It’s gotten the beast's attention. The waterwyrm’s serpentine neck swivels and bends, bringing its head down until it is looking you right in the eye. Those blue orbs glow and shine like fire. It has no pupils but you know it’s looking right at you, into you.

With a low, gurgling hiss, it opens its mouth.

The anger that propelled you forward evaporates, leaving you with nothing but a cold, hollow sense of fear. You cannot move. You are vaguely aware that the dagger has slipped from your hand and has clattered onto the deck.

Every inch of your skin, every drop of blood, every bone screams at you to run but you can’t. You can’t look away from the waterwyrm’s eyes. Now you see the beauty of such a creature, though the notion is far from soothing.

You will be swallowed up by its hungry maw.

You wonder if it will kill you by drowning or if its teeth are more solid than they appear. You wonder which you’d prefer. Probably the latter. You’ve never seen someone drown, but enough of your father’s men have had close enough brushes with such a watery death that you know it’s unpleasant.

It occurs to you that this is the first time you’ve pondered your own death. It always seemed like such a faraway thing. An inevitable thing, like a candle blowing out. You would be here and then you would be gone. You never gave much thought to what happened in between. The act of dying itself.

A crack rings out and it doesn’t fully register with you that something has happened before the waterwyrm’s head reels back. It snarls and snaps, howling with rage. Something bright and sparkling falls in front of your face.

“Yes!” Jinx’s delighted laugh is out of place with everything happening around you as she appears by your side. She scoops up the bright, shining thing. With a slow blink, you realize it’s one of the waterwyrm’s eyes. She slips it into her pocket. Its glow is so intense it shines through the fabric of her pants.

“You should probably move,” Jinx says, putting a hand on your shoulder and tugging you back toward the weather deck. “I just made that thing really angry and I still need the other eye.”

She turns you a little and gives you a small shove in the direction of the weather deck. There, at the top of the steps, you see Silco with a rifle in hand. As always, he looks eerily still amongst the chaos. His ocean eye is bright and focused as he watches the waterwyrm.

You dart forward and start to climb the stairs, but your legs have gone wobbly. You stumble near the top, reaching out and catching yourself on his leg to keep yourself from sliding down the steep steps.

“You’re alright, treasure.” You feel a large, gentle hand on the back of your head. “Stay right there. This will be over and done with soon.”

Several words leap into your mouth but none of them make it past your tongue. You find that you can do nothing but cling to his leg and hope his words ring true.

“Line it up for me, minnow,” Silco orders. You see a flash of blue as Jinx scrambles up the nearest mast and begins to wave and shout at the waterwyrm. The half-blind beast whips its head around, teeth bared and snarling with fury. You close your eyes, not wanting to look upon it anymore but that is worse. The moment you close your eyes, all you see is the waterwyrm bearing down on you, ready to devour you. Your eyes snap back open just as the waterwyrm strikes at Jinx. Its head moves into the perfect position for Silco to take the shot, and he does. Another crack rings out, shooting right into your bones. The second glowing eye comes loose. This time, Jinx is able to catch it before it hits the deck.

And then, you aren’t fully sure what happens. The waterwyrm moans weakly, its head swaying as it struggles to keep itself upright. It begins to collapse, as though it’s been mortally wounded rather than blinded. You cling harder to Silco’s leg, bracing for an impact that could be severe enough to damage the ship. Just before the waterwyrm’s limp body hits the deck, it melts into water. Thick droplets of seawater smash into the surface of the deck like a vicious rain, but that’s all that happens.

Your brow furrows with confusion before you look up at Silco. He sets the rifle aside before reaching down to help you to your feet. Around you, the crew checks for damage to the ship. Some look exhausted and annoyed. Most look as confused as you feel. Sevika looks as though she’s just eaten a whole lemon. You briefly wonder what she must have seen in her life for something like the waterwyrm to be considered little more than an inconvenience.

“Those glowing stones gave life to the water,” Silco explains, his voice gentle and filled with patience that makes something hurt inside of your chest. “Remove the stones, remove the problem. The stones are very valuable as well, as you can probably imagine.”

You nod, though it’s a jerky, automatic response to his words. You hear them. You know what you saw. But your mind just refuses to accept that something like that can exist in your world.

“Are you hurt?” Silco keeps speaking to you in that low, gentle voice. You hate it. You don’t want to see that softness in him. You don’t want it to steady you or soothe you.

“I’m fine,” you manage, though you’re not certain that’s the truth. You feel like you are going to keel over at any second.

“You’re bleeding.” Jinx glides up to your side, ever the helpful little wraith, and lightly touches your arm. Sure enough, there is a gash stretching nearly from elbow to wrist on the underside of your forearm. You can’t even feel it, though you decide that’s a good thing for now.

“Get her down to the doctor, minnow.” Silco’s good eye fills with something you refuse to acknowledge as regret, possibly even worry, when he looks at the wound on your arm.

“So much for not allowing damage to your cargo,” you mutter as you let Jinx lead you below deck. She takes you to the bottom level of the ship. You pass dozens of hammocks strung up and layered over each other as well as an assortment of trunks and personal belongings.

“Do you sleep down here?” You ask her.

“I bunk on my own,” Jinx explains, but does not offer more details.

You pass three iron cells, each fitted with several pairs of shackles. They are all empty and, thankfully, look as though they’ve been empty for a while. You briefly wonder if you were meant to occupy one of the cells. Why did Silco insist on watching over you so closely when he could have thrown you down here and been done with it?

Just past the cells is a solid wall made from spare bits of wood. Though it looks sturdy enough, it’s quite slapdash. Gaps between planks allow you to see glimpses into the room beyond. The wood bulges and indents in strange ways. With a small start, you realize the wall is made of pieces of other ships. Perhaps, ships the Zaun’s Revenge attacked and scuttled while looking for goods.

There are two crude doors set into the makeshift wall.

“I sleep there.” Jinx points to one of the doors. Its placement against the wall implies that it’s the smaller of the two rooms. She points to the other door. “That leads to the laboratory. It’s best if you wait for me or the Captain to bring you down here if you ever have a need to see the doctor.”

“Oh?”

“He’s nice, usually,” Jinx shrugs. “But he gets very annoyed if his work is interrupted. He’ll always help you if you need it, though.”

Jinx raps her knuckles against the door. Through the gaps in the slats, you see warm candlelight but also some kind of glowing, purplish light you cannot envision a source for. There is no answer from inside the laboratory but that doesn’t stop Jinx from pushing in.

The room is small, though the curved hull of the ship that makes up one wall allows for a little extra space. All manner of indistinguishable items have been cleverly stored where the room comes together to form the underside of the bow.

Tucked against the curved wall is a desk cast in shadow by a tall, thin figure whose black coat seems to eat the light around him. Shelves fitted to the curve of the hull contain jar after jar of that strange purple powder. The jars glow faintly in the darkness of the room.

The man does not look up from his desk nor does he acknowledge the presence of two new people in the cramped space.

“This is where I work on projects.” Jinx taps a cluttered workbench stocked to the point of overflowing with metal bits and bobs, screws, nuts, bolts, and plenty more objects that you can’t identify. The walls around her workbench are covered in sketches and schematics, designs of a mechanical nature. You spot a page with the words ‘MAGNETIC CANNONBALL’ scrawled across the top in big, messy letters surrounded by complex equations you can’t ever hope to untangle. The sight makes you smile a little.

“Mr. Doctor, we are in need of your assistance,” Jinx chirps and taps on the bony shoulder of the man. He glances back at her with a foggy look that is somehow both dazed and focused. He wears a cloth tied around the lower half of his face in some kind of makeshift mask.

“Hm,” he grunts softly before turning around to face you fully. You bite the inside of your cheek so you do not react to the severe burns covering the previously hidden side of his face. His other eye is surrounded by scar tissue so thick he can barely open it, which doesn’t seem to matter since the eye itself is a pale, milky color. Despite that, you can still make out dark hollows under both of his eyes.

His functional eye quickly examines your body, spotting the laceration on your arm.

“What happened there?”

You open your mouth to explain, but you aren’t actually sure how you injured yourself. “I’m not sure. I fell a few times during the waterwyrm’s attack.”

The doctor’s nonexistent eyebrows shift upward. “Waterwyrm?”

“Yes, one just gave us a hell of a fight.” Jinx’s eyes spark with pride. “Nothing we couldn’t handle though. It looks like everything held up in here just fine.”

She looks toward the shelves and she’s right. Despite the viciousness of the waterwyrm’s attack, not even a single pen looks as if it’s rolled out of place.

“Good, good,” he nods, taking a step forward on spindly legs. “Come into the light, please.”

You do as you are asked, holding out your arm for him to examine. His long fingers wrap around your wrist and put the icy grip of the reaper to shame with their coldness.

“You truly did not notice that the ship was under attack Mr…Doctor?”

“I have learned how to maintain focus in even the most unlikely situations. Besides, the Captain and crew are more than capable of handling any dangers the sea flings at us.” He chuckles softly, the sound reminiscent of scraping bones, before speaking again. “Singed. Only the little one calls me Mr. Doctor.”

Singed. Surely, that is not his true name. You find yourself staring at the ruin of his face until you remember yourself and force your eyes down.

“It’s quite alright,” Singed says as he moves to one of the heavily stocked shelves and retrieves squares of pristine white cloth and two glass vials each the size of your thumb. “For all of my faults, vanity was never one of them.”

He holds up the first vial filled with clear liquid. “Clean your wound with this first and wait for the bleeding to stop.” He holds up the second vial, half filled with liquid the same vibrant purple as the powder. “This will encourage healing. I suggest you ask the Captain for assistance. It is most potent in its liquid form.”

“But what is it?” You ask softly, taking both of the vials as well as the scraps of clean cloth.

“Have you received advanced education in biology, chemistry, anatomy, pathology, and alchemy?”

Your eyes widen. “I have not.”

“Then all you need to know is that this is something that will help you.” There is a slightly condescending tone in the doctor’s voice but you don’t have the energy to let it pinch your pride.

“We call it shimmer,” Jinx says with a helpful smile.

“You call it shimmer,” Singed corrects, turning his attention back to his desk. “That is an inaccurate and purely cosmetic name.”

“It’s catching on with the crew so you should get used to it,” Jinx shrugs before ushering you out of the cramped laboratory.

“Thank you,” you call over your shoulder but Singed is already engrossed in his work once more. You follow Jinx above deck, staring at the little vial of glowing purple liquid. The crew has largely recovered from dealing with the waterwyrm. Considering the violence of the attack, it did little damage to the ship.

“Oh, rats!” Jinx groans softly, lightly placing her fingers over the glowing stones in her pocket. “I forgot to give these to Mr. Doctor.” She hurries back below deck, leaving you alone. You aren’t sure if you’re grateful for the solitude or not.

Your mind still feels caught, stretched thin over the gap between what you thought you knew and what you now know to be true. You move toward the Captain’s cabin without thinking about it.

There are stones that somehow bring water to life. You grew up listening to myths and legends from all corners of the world. While many were soaked in magic and impossibility, you also knew the ocean still held many secrets and mysteries. You just didn’t think the secrets would be so close to the myths.

Desperate for something to occupy your mind, you dig through your memories for scraps of any myth containing the waterwyrm. Nothing comes to mind. Frustrated, you push into the Captain’s cabin to find it empty. Both relief and disappointment settle like stones on your chest. You toss the stone of disappointment away and will yourself to be happy for a moment to tend to your wounds alone.

While the bed looks welcoming, you choose to perch on the desk instead. You briefly consider sitting in Silco’s chair but you can’t bring yourself to do it.

It’s…his. Somehow, sitting in that chair feels more intimate than sharing a bed.

You place the vials and the cloth on an empty part of the desk.

Heat rushes to your cheeks as the image of your hands intertwined with his, bent over the desk, as he took you from behind fills your mind. Something tugs low in your belly as the need for a distraction attempts to disguise itself as desire.

Your upper lip curls in forced disgust, but you cannot summon any anger behind the motion. You call your anger over and over, wishing to wrap yourself in it to shield yourself from the strange feelings fighting to form within you. It does not come.

With a slow, deep breath, you turn your attention to the clean cloth squares and the first vial of clear liquid. You open it and take a sniff. It’s nothing more than a simple disinfectant if your nose is to be trusted.

Singed instructed you to ask the Captain for help with the shimmer. Even if the idea of asking Silco for help was palatable, you aren’t sure you want to put shimmer anywhere near an open wound without a better understanding of what it is.

You soak one of the cloths in a small amount of disinfectant and brace yourself as you press it to your wound. The stinging pain rips through you, far worse than the pain of the injury itself.

Tears prick at the backs of your eyes and you go stone still, keeping the cloth pressed to your wound. The threat of tears has allowed a tiny spark of anger to rise. You clutch those sparks hard and throw them against the feeling your tears wish to bring forth. The sting grows until you can’t stand it anymore.

Just as you remove the cloth from your wound with a small sound of frustration and anguish, the cabin door opens.

“There you are.” Silco steps into the room and lets the door swing shut behind him. He locks it with mindless movements as his eye focuses on the sight of you sitting on the edge of his desk. Worry flickers behind his ocean eye. “What are you doing?”

“The kind doctor gave me something to patch myself up with.” You hold up the cloth as though it’s obvious. “The experience has been less than pleasant.”

“Have you ever had to tend to a wound like that before?” He asks, that horrible softness returning to his voice as he approaches you.

“I think you know the answer to that.” You try to put a little bite in your voice but fail to do so.

“Perhaps, but I’ve learned several times now that underestimating you is a foolish thing to do.” He takes the cloth from your hand without a word and frowns. “Did you dilute this at all?”

Your cheeks feel hot. “The doctor didn’t mention that I’d need to do so.”

Silco removes the seal on the water pitcher near the vanity and wets the cloth before adding a drop or two of the disinfectant. “This will get the job done and sting far, far less.”

You hold out your hand to take the cloth but he ignores it. He moves close once more and holds your injured arm in his free hand before gently cleaning the rest of the gash. The sting is still there, but its bite is far less vicious. You find that you are able to breathe with some normalcy again, though something heavy still sits on your chest.

“Ah,” Silco murmurs as he spots the vial of shimmer. “Excellent.”

“I don’t want…whatever that is,” you say quickly.

“It’s perfectly safe when administered correctly, I assure you.” He opens the vial and the cabin is soon filled with a sweet, medicinal scent that makes your nose tingle. “I use it every day.”

You tilt your head. “You do?”

He meets your gaze before bringing his fingertips to the scars around his ruined eye. “It is the only thing that keeps the infection from progressing. It dulls the pain as well. I wouldn’t be fit to man a rowboat let alone captain a vessel without it.”

“Oh.” Your gaze dips to the vial in his hand before falling silent.

Silco leans forward, bending down a little so his face is level with yours. “What, no quips? Surely, you can think of some remark to make about such a substance turning me inhuman.”

You say nothing.

“Not even a little jab at my charming personality and wonderful temperament?” There is a teasing lilt to his voice but that softness still remains.

You shake your head. You aren’t in the mood to trade barbed remarks, not that your mind would cooperate with you if you were.

Silco sighs softly and returns his attention to the shimmer vial. He moves away from you for a moment to fish something out of one of the desk drawers. You hear something clinking and glance over from the corner of your eye. He holds a small glass eyedropper, which he cleans thoroughly with the remaining disinfectant.

“This will make it easier,” he explains. “You really won’t need more than a drop or two.”

“Will…?” You start to ask but you swallow your question down, hoping he’ll be gracious enough to pretend you hadn’t spoken at all.

“Will what, treasure?” He finishes cleaning the eyedropper and dries it off before giving you an expectant look.

“Will it hurt?” The sting of the disinfectant nearly brought you to tears. Another strike of pain would be too much for you to fight through and you were not going to cry. Certainly, not in front of Silco.

“Yes, but it’s an unusual sort of pain,” he explains. “It’s intense, but it’s quick. A bit like someone flashing a bright light in your eyes unexpectedly. Your senses will feel scrambled but, like I said, it’s quick.”

He loads up the eyedropper with just two drops of the violent purple liquid and takes hold of your arm once more. He looks at you, waiting for permission. You nod.

A single shining drop falls from the end of the eyedropper onto your wound. You feel a tingling sensation for a fraction of a moment before something unlike anything you’ve ever felt before wracks through your body. Too much air is crammed into your lungs yet it also feels as though the wind has been knocked from your chest. Your veins feel as though they widening and narrowing, wriggling beneath your skin. It’s unbearable.

And then it’s gone.

You gasp hard and brace on the desk.

“Easy, treasure,” Silco’s voice tethers you to reality.

Your mind scrambles to right itself. You feel exposed, vulnerable. Your anger has failed you so you fight to call forth anything else that will shield you from the terrible weight on your chest and the tightness in your throat.

His quick hands wrap your forearm in soft, clean bandages before you have a chance to see what your wound looks like now. Already, you note the absence of physical pain.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” His hand comes to rest in the middle of your back. You feel the warmth of his skin through the fabric of your shirt. Tears spring forth but you quickly scoot off the desk to stand in the middle of the room, out of his reach.

“I’m rather tired.” You keep your back to him as you blink and blink and blink.

“I imagine so.” His boots thud against the wooden floor as he moves to stand behind you but he does not try to touch you again. “You’ve had quite a fright.”

Once again, you feel a tiny spark of your anger ignite but it’s not enough to catch fire and burn away the terrible feeling that creeps in around you. You are not yet in control of your emotions enough to speak, to deny his words.

“Most of the crew is in the same boat as you are, so to speak,” he says. “Waterwyrms are incredibly rare. I’ve only seen three, myself. Seeing something like that for the first time can be rattling.”

“I am not rattled,” you hiss. You clench your hands into fists to hide how much they shake as you move toward the bed. You sit down and fumble with the lacings of your boots until you’re able to shuck them off. “I’m tired.”

For a moment, Silco looks as though he’s going to press the matter. A small part of you, one that you’d like to squash beneath your heel, wishes he would.

He takes a half step back and nods. “Get some sleep, then. You’ve earned it.”

He takes a seat at his desk and goes through the motions of clipping and lighting a fresh cigar. The warm, spiced smell of it banishes the lingering scent of disinfectant and shimmer from the cabin. Something in your chest loosens, but you’re not sure if it’s a good thing.

You slip out of your breeches and crawl under the covers, pressing yourself as close to the wall as you can with your back to Silco. The only sounds in the room are the faint scratching of his pen across parchment and his soft exhales whenever he takes a puff of his cigar. It’s not enough to hold your focus.

Your mind begins to spin again. Your heart slams against your ribs but you tell yourself it’s nothing more than your body responding to the shimmer.

You are not rattled. You are not frightened. You can handle this. You have handled everything life has flung cruelly into your path and you will continue to do so. You will remain in control, just as you always have.

But you know that’s not true. The words float through your mind like a lullaby despite the threat they pose to your quickly fracturing resolve. It’s never been true.

It becomes harder to keep your breathing slow and even. That horrible feeling continues to tighten its grip around your throat, growing stronger and stronger until you fear you won’t be able to break loose. You won’t be able to keep it at bay. You’ll have to feel it and know the truth of it.

You are not rattled. You are not frightened.

You’re terrified.

And the moment you let yourself feel that terror, you’ll be lost.

Fear claws at your throat and sits on your chest, prepared to suffocate you. Already, you can feel it seeping through your skin and stealing your breath.

Fear has come for you before, but you fought it off. It pounced on you the day your mother died but you evaded it, letting grief shield you. It tried to ambush you again the day your father abandoned you at the family estate but your anger was so great and so fierce that fear could not touch you.

Now, your grief was a quiet, content creature resting near your heart alongside the memory of your mother. And your anger…where was it? How could it have abandoned you and left you so vulnerable?

There had to be something you could do. Fear would not reach you this time. It never had and it never will.

Not true. Not true. Not true. The words skitter across your brain, less gentle than they were before.

You fight the urge to scream, choosing to bite the inside of your cheek instead. It's no use. The truth has started to seep through the cracks of your mind and you have nowhere left to run. No place to hide.

How close will you allow yourself to come to madness for the sake of clinging to such a fragile illusion?

You only believed yourself to be capable because you had never faced a true challenge. Now that you had, now that you stared the waterwyrm in the eyes and saw death, you can no longer hide from what you are. A small, scared, stupid girl who doesn’t know a single thing about the world.

You do not have the strength or skills to survive on your own without your father’s money and protection. If you fled your engagement, you might as well forfeit your life. If you allowed yourself to be caged within the gilded bars of marriage and societal expectations, you would never feel alive again.

One way or another, death surrounds you. It does not matter if it’s a death of your body or a death of your spirit. Both are equally devastating in your eyes. There is no escape.

You bite the inside of your cheek hard enough to taste blood as you keep fighting the cold sense of fear that tries to wrap you in its embrace. You can’t give in to it. You can’t allow yourself to feel it. You’d never be able to pull yourself out if you did. You don’t bother trying to call on your anger to help you keep fear at bay. You realize now that it did not abandon you. You’ve simply burned it all up.

Only the faintest scrap of pride allows you to hold yourself together. If you are going to fall apart, it will not be on this damn ship surrounded by these damn pirates.

You are so caught up in your own mind that you do not realize Silco has moved until you feel the bed shift beside you. You stay still, pretending to be asleep, not that it matters. Aside from your failed attempt to bring yourself some relief last night, Silco keeps his distance from you in bed.

He shifts and rolls a bit before he seems to settle. Thinking he has fallen asleep, you allow your mind to resume its heavy task of stopping your fears from consuming you.

A hand presses against your back. Your breath catches in your throat and it takes every bit of your frayed self-control to keep up the act of pretending to sleep.

“Brave girl,” comes Silco’s soft whisper, so quiet you are unsure if you were meant to hear those words or not.

Warmth spreads across your back, radiating from his palm. If you focus, you can feel the shape of every long, thin finger. It may be exhaustion, the shimmer, or the fact that you had your toe over the line of madness just a moment ago but you swear you feel him pressing against your back with every breath you take. His movements, if he’s moving at all, are slow and faint. When you feel him press, you extend your exhale. When he lightens the pressure, you inhale. Over and over until your breathing slows and your heart calms.

The urge to check if he’s awake or say his name gently pulls at you, but you let it pass. The peace of this moment is a fragile, hard-won thing that you aren’t ready to give up. Besides, if he actually is asleep and this is all in your head, you’d rather keep that to yourself. You continue to breathe slowly, focused on the way his hand feels against your back, and eventually allow sleep to take you.

********

When you wake, you roll over to find an empty bed. You open your eyes, expecting to see Silco sitting at his desk like he usually does but he isn’t there. A small amount of relief fills you. You’re spared from confronting him after…whatever that was last night.

Maybe you sent yourself into such a deep state of distress that you imagined it. But then that means that you imagined him for comfort, which might be worse.

Your mind still feels clouded and sluggish as you dress and leave the cabin. Above deck, the air is still and there is not a cloud in the sky. The Zaun’s Revenge bobs gently on a calm sea. To the west, you spot a strip of land but no distinguishing landmarks that might tell you where you are. Your eyes scan the deck for Silco, but you do not see him. There does not seem to be any work to be done so you head below deck to the galley.

Arlo has already started preparing for the evening meal, causing you to realize just how late you’ve slept in. You offer to help, he accepts. Soon, you are chopping onions. Your eyes burn and your mincing skills leave much to be desired, but your mind is occupied. Plus, you are learning something new. That always makes you feel better, more in control of yourself.

“You seem a bit out of sorts,” Arlo says. “Something on your mind?”

“That waterwyrm has rudely forced me to reexamine my understanding of the world and my place in it,” you answer. “It’s been horribly inconvenient.” “Oh, I see. That happened to me the first time I saw something like that. It wasn’t a waterwyrm, though. The carcass of an ushkya floated to the surface. I couldn’t believe my eyes.”

“A what?” You hope you won’t regret asking.

“An ushkya. Merfolk use them similar to the way humans use horses. They’re actually quite gentle by nature. I’ve seen a few wild ones before. Their fangs make them look scarier than they are. I’d go as far as to say they’re more docile than horses.”

Your mouth drops open. You regret asking. “I am not in a position to take in that information.”

“Fair. How are you getting along with those onions?”

“Badly, I’m afraid.” You dab at your onion tears with the back of your hand. “I hope you like a bit of a rough chop.”

“It’ll do just fine. You aren’t cooking for the Council,” he chuckles and rests an affirming hand on your shoulder. “Keep at it. I have plenty of work for you when you’re done.”

Time ticks by in the kitchen as you and Arlo take turns teaching each other things. It will be a while before he can read properly, but he knows how certain words look written down, which is an excellent start. The two of you make a plan to redo all of the labels in the scullery. Having a plan like that makes you smile. It’ll keep you occupied during the days and will hopefully make your imprisonment pass quicker.

“Ah, so is this where I can expect to find you when you vanish from the cabin?” At the sound of Silco’s voice, you are flooded with memories of his hand on your back. You can feel the pressure between your shoulders as you turn around to face him.

“If I say yes, does that mean the longboats will be left unattended?” You fire back.

“Glad to see the stress of last night has not dulled your wit. You’re going to need it.”

“Why?”

“We’re going ashore. I have to meet with an associate of mine and I know better than to leave you to your own devices.” A small smirk twitches in the corner of his mouth but it is not accompanied by the usual mean glint in his eye.

“Scared I’ll ambush you with another oar attack, pirate?” You say, moving out of the kitchen with an indifferent look though you are glad to be back in the familiar territory of banter and quick remarks.

“If I remember correctly, I was the one who snuck up on you,” he says.

“But my first instinct was still to give you a good whack,” you point out, earning a quiet chuckle from him.

“True.”

Silco starts to lead you out of the galley but you pause and look over your shoulder.

“Will you get on without me, Arlo?” you ask.

“I’ll be fine. We can start our labeling project when you return if you’re up for it.” Arlo’s gaze darts to Silco and his face pales a little bit. “With the Captain’s permission, of course.”

You turn your head and look up at Silco, arching a brow.

“Hm,” he mutters before ushering you above deck. He lowers his head so his mouth is close to your ear. “Should I be concerned by how well you are ingratiating yourself with my crew?”

“Probably,” you shrug. “Do I need to put on that beloved harlot costume again?”

“Beloved indeed,” he chuckles lowly. “But no. Port Squawkfeather is not quite as…colorful as Port Fairna. You are perfectly fine as you are. Unless, of course, you secretly liked playing the harlot and wish to do so again.”

“Hold your breath and find out.” You smile sweetly before turning your attention to the port in question.

“Ever the charmer.” Silco stands by your side as the Zaun’s Revenge docks and the gangplank is lowered.

Despite its unusual name, Port Squawkfeather looks orderly and clean for a pirate haven. From what you can see, there is some form of authority patrolling the docks and the shore. They bear a discreet insignia that looks strikingly similar to a waterwyrm.

The small port town is clustered on a spit of land between a narrow, pebbly beach and sandstone rock formations that vary in height. A few structures stand on plateaus scattered across the cliff faces, but most of the buildings appear to be concentrated around the mouth of the port.

“What business do you have here?” You ask, glancing at Silco from the corner of your eye. You don’t expect an answer but you can’t help but ask. Silco is certainly making quite a few stops for someone with a valuable hostage underfoot.

“I’m sure you recall the blue stones that served as the waterwyrm’s eyes. I plan to sell them. They are extremely valuable,” he replies. “Even more valuable than you.”

“I am worth less than a pair of glowing rocks?” You scoff.

“These are not just rocks. The power they contain is unlike anything else in the world. Those stones contain pure arcane energy.”

“And you would sell them to the highest bidder?” You arch a brow.

“Of course. I do not have the resources to harness their power myself so I may as well make a profit from them.”

He offers his arm, which you take, and the two of you disembark.

“Are you going to make me sit in your lap in a dingy tavern again?” You ask.

“No,” he replies. “You aren’t wearing a skirt. I won’t be able to have any fun.”

His words bring a hot blush to your cheeks. You fix your gaze straight ahead and hope he does not notice. Once more, you feel the ghost of his hand on your back, guiding you through your breaths.

The entrance of the docks feeds into a well-maintained dirt road that leads right to a lively market. Instead of walking down that road, Silco cuts to the left and walks along the shore for a time.

“I hope you can handle a small climb, treasure,” he says before turning off the path onto a thin trail that snakes up the side of a sandstone formation. “I won’t carry you if you feel faint.”

“I’d rather be left in the dust than rely on you to carry me,” you reply, though a touch of worry reaches your heart. You nibbled on a few things while assisting Arlo, but you haven’t had a proper meal since last night’s dinner.

The trail isn’t steep but it snakes back and forth along the side of the cliff, carrying you higher and higher with each twist. The trail dips into a valley dotted with scraggly bushes before traveling up the side of another sandstone formation.

Sweat breaks out across your forehead and your throat feels scratchy and dry, but you don’t say anything. Silco doesn’t seem to be any worse for wear. It’s unlikely he has anything on his person that can relieve your discomfort so there is no point in opening yourself up to ridicule, especially after he saw you in such a vulnerable state last night.

It is a hot day and the air is dry. Your legs ache from walking at an incline for so long. As much as you want to ask Silco for a moment to stop and catch your breath, you push onward.

Each step gives you a frail sense of reassurance.

You aren’t weak. You aren’t helpless. You’re capable.

Even as your lungs burn and sparks tease the corners of your vision, you take comfort in your ability to keep pushing.

You are resilient.

The panic brought on by the waterwyrm was a fluke. A perfectly reasonable lapse in judgment, all things considered.

You are fine. You have always been fine. You will continue to be fine.

Is there not something better than fine? That wicked little voice whispers to you but you shut it out. Now is not the time. You must focus all of your energy on not collapsing on this forsaken trail.

“Steady now, treasure. Our destination is atop the plateau, just there.” Silco seems a little out of breath himself when he gestures to where the path curves just up ahead.

“I’m perfectly fine,” you reply, ignoring the slight wheeze in your voice as you speak. If Silco noticed, he has enough grace to refrain from commenting on it.

You round the bend and the land flattens. Straight ahead, the path extends into a flat stretch that overlooks the port below and the ocean beyond. To the left, there is a small, slapdash house that looks to be made of driftwood, thatch, and other salvaged materials but that isn’t what captures your attention. The trees surrounding the home are filled with brilliant-colored parrots. Their feathers are a deep ruby shade that almost seems unnatural. They chitter and squawk as you and Silco approach. They fix you in their beady gazes but do nothing.

Now you know how Port Squawkfeather got its name.

“Who, exactly, are we meeting?” You ask, moving a little closer to Silco.

“An old associate of mine,” Silco says.

Just before he knocks on the door, another parrot flutters over and perches on a specially-made stand near the door. Unlike the others, this parrot is a deep azure, blue as the sea.

“Oooh, visitors!” It screeches as it flaps its wings. “Get your ass out here, ya drunk!”

“Good heavens,” you chuckle softly at the bird. “I wonder where he learned to say such a thing.”

“You’re about to find out, treasure.”

The door to the driftwood cabin flings open and in the doorway stands the oddest man you have ever seen. Spindly legs support a bloated belly that leads to narrow shoulders and skinny arms. He wears a shirt of bold coral splashed with an assortment of random, vibrant colors that resemble tropical blooms. A hat of woven straw sits atop his head, blocking the sun from a leathery face and brilliant blue eyes that are almost white. He also wears trousers shorn choppily to knee-length. On his feet are sandals that look to be made of the same material as his hat.

“Captain Jimmy,” Silco says with a sense of familiarity and a warm smile. “You haven’t aged a day.”

“Damn right, I haven’t!” The man cackles. When Silco extends his hand for a shake, Captain Jimmy pulls him into a tight hug. “Glad to see you aren’t dead, my lad!”

You bite back a laugh at the display. Silco looks like a cat that has just been doused with cold water.

“I could say the same to you.” His discomfort is palpable and you see no reason to intervene. The azure parrot makes a squawking noise that sounds like a human chuckle. You glance at the bird with a fond smile. It gazes back at you as if it can read your thoughts. Its gaze is so intense that you find yourself looking away.

Silco has managed to extract himself from the eccentric man’s embrace. “I’m not here on a social call, I’m afraid. I have something for you.”

“Oh?” Captain Jimmy raises a bushy grey brow before sliding his gaze over to you. “Well, she’s pretty but I don’t deal in that sort of trade. You know that.”

“Oh! No,” Silco shakes his head and stammers. “Not her. She’s a different sort of investment.”

You huff with indignation at his choice of words but say nothing.

“I’d prefer to discuss this inside,” Silco presses.

“Shady deal! Shady deal!” The azure parrot screeches.

“Hush now, Barnaby!” Captain Jimmy snaps. “I know damn well Captain Silco brings me nothing but shady deals. You needn’t insult me by stating the obvious.”

The parrot looks abashed. You did not know a parrot could convey such an expression.

“Come in,” Captain Jimmy steps to the side and ushers you and Silco into his home.

The inside of the small home reminds you of Silco’s cabin. It is crammed to the gills with interesting baubles, trinkets, and artifacts.

You try to hide your surprise when Captain Jimmy waits for the blue parrot, Barnaby, to fly into the sitting room. The parrot settles on a perch in the corner of the room.

“You look thirsty, lass,” Captain Jimmy says to you. “May I offer you a refreshment?”

“That would be lovely, thank you,” you say, summoning your most charming smile. Once Captain Jimmy has moved out of sight, you turn to Silco. “You should take notes in regards to manners.”

“Oh, I think I’ve been more than generous with you, treasure,” he murmurs with a glimmer in his eye. “At least, that’s the impression I got when you screamed my name-”

“Hush!” You snap just before Captain Jimmy returns carrying two hollowed-out coconuts.

“One for you and one for me, lass,” he grins, showing off several missing teeth.

“You’re too kind,” you say as you take in the fruity fragrances of the drink he offered. You take a sip and can’t help but sigh at the sensation of sweet flavors exploding on your tongue. “Oh, this is lovely! What is it?”

“A carefully curated and blended assortment of fruit juices from the surrounding land. Though it looks rather barren, this place is a treasure trove of natural wonder.” “Oh, I’m sure,” you nod as you take another deep sip of the delicious juice. “I can’t imagine those parrots would stick around otherwise.” Through the window, you can see clusters of ruby-red parrots chirping at each other and fluttering their striking wings.

“True enough!” Captain Jimmy cackles. “Shame I can’t get rid of this one.” He jerks a thumb toward Barnaby, who fluffs up his feathers as though he’s heard every word.

“Old bastard,” Barnaby croaks.

“Waste of poultry,” Captain Jimmy fires back.

Before you can comment on the odd exchange, Silco speaks up.

“As much as I’d like to chat, I am here for a reason.” He reaches into his coat pocket and produces a pouch. You recognize the faint blue glow bleeding through the fabric. “What sort of trouble have you brought me now?” Captain Jimmy grumbles as he sets down his hollow coconut. You sip at your drink while Silco spills the two glowing blue stones into his palm.

“We ran into a waterwyrm and got these for our trouble,” he says. “Any chance you can give me gold in exchange for them?”

Captain Jimmy thinks for a moment before shaking his head. “No gold but I have a decent trade, I believe. Let me see.” He gets to his feet and walks toward an empty wall before pulling down a sheet of canvas covered in writing. There is so much information and you struggle to understand what you read.

You see a list of creatures listed out in a neat collum, the waterwyrm among them. When it is all laid out in front of you, you understand. The night in the tavern at Port Fairna, you believed Silco and his associates to be speaking in code. Now, you realize you were mistaken. Every mythical creature you heard mentioned that night is plastered on the canvas in front of you. If the waterwyrm is real, you cannot deny that the others must be real, too.

So, what does that make Silco? Is he a pirate? Does he poach creatures of myth for money? Is he more than that? Is he less than that?

“They’re all real?” You murmur softly, more to yourself than either of the men as you take another refreshing sip of the sweet juice.

“All these?” Captain Jimmy responds, rapping his bony knuckles against the canvas sheet. “Of course!” He shoots Silco a withering look. “Have you taught her nothing?”

“She has a talent for learning things on her own,” Silco replies.

You are too caught up in reading the list of creatures to throw a verbal barb back at Silco. At first, you’re pleased that you recognize most of the creatures listed from studying various mythologies but you quickly withdraw your enthusiasm.

After witnessing the waterwyrm, nothing should give you much of a shock but seeing just how many fairytales are actually true makes you feel uneasy. That horrible feeling of uncertainty and imbalance squeezes at your throat again. Your breath comes a little quicker but you hide it by taking quick sips of your drink. You feel lightheaded but you are determined to breathe through it.

“Would you like another drink, lass?” Captain Jimmy offers.

“Yes, thank you,” you say. “It is quite a trek to get to your hidden abode.”

Captain Jimmy takes your hollow coconut to refill it. When he’s out of sight, Silco places his hand over yours.

“Are you alright?” He asks.

“Just tired. Out of breath. I’m not used to walking over such challenging terrain,” you say. Silco’s good eye narrows just a touch and you can tell he doesn’t fully believe you. Before he can press the matter, Captain Jimmy returns.

“Here you are, lass. Careful now,” he cautions. “Few can handle more than three servings of my juice.”

“Why is that?” You ask before taking a long sip, allowing the sweetness to settle your nerves.

“Well, I mix it with the most potent rum found west of Ionia,” he replies. “It’s not for the faint of heart nor drink.”

You swallow your last swig and summon a smile. “Is that so? I can’t taste anything other than fruit juice.”

“That’s the trick of it,” Captain Jimmy lets out a wheezing laugh. “It sneaks up on you.”

“May we return to business, please?” Silco cuts in, a soft snarl in his voice. You fall silent, more than happy to let the attention move away from you.

Barnaby flutters over, his wings creating small gusts that send your loose hair flying.

“Drink up, pretty one,” he chitters. “Drink up!”

“You are a very clever bird,” you murmur to him. “Do you like to be pet?”

“Pretty lady pet pretty bird.”

“Oh, I see,” you chuckle softly and run a fingertip over Barnaby’s sapphire head. He rumbles softly as you lavish affection upon him.

“I don’t have enough gold to buy a mermaid’s wish, but I can arrange a trade.”

At the word mermaid, you return your attention to the conversation between Captain Jimmy and Silco. Silco’s upper lip twitches as he shakes his head.

“I need gold, Jimmy. I can’t go through the trouble of trade after trade,” he says.

Captain Jimmy frowns. “Then I can’t help you today, old friend. I can check up on some old contacts but you know that will take time.”

Silco goes silent for a moment. He looks at his hands as he appears to be lost in thought. After a while, he looks up. “No trades, but I will leave one wish with you and see if I can’t put the other to use.”

“Wish?” You blurt without thinking.

Silco turns to you with an expression of annoyance. “I’ll explain it later, treasure. Finish your drink. There is no reason to linger here.”

“Are you sure?” Captain Jimmy says. “You look like you could use a drink, Silco.”

“You aren’t wrong, but now that you’ve given my companion two servings of your special juice, I need to ensure she gets back to the ship safely.”

“I’m fine!” You protest with a frown.

“Oh? Stand up for me,” Silco challenges.

With a haughty sigh, you do as he asks. The moment you are standing tall, the world spins. You wobble and make several futile attempts to right yourself before Silco reaches out to steady you.

You are thoroughly drunk. That damn juice was more deceptive than your captor.

“What is it with pirates and their inability to offer any drinks that aren’t spiked with something or other?” You grumble as you finish off the last of your drink. You’re already sauced. There is no sense in letting it go to waste. You do not wish to be a rude guest.

“Why do you keep drinking things without checking to see what’s in them? That seems like the better question from where I stand,” Silco says.

“I never had to think about that until now,” you huff.

“She’s a bit of a mess, isn’t she?” Barnaby asks, looking at Captain Jimmy with an almost human level of intelligence.

“What did that bird just say?” you whisper to Silco. The rum obviously had more of an effect on you than you realized.

“You’re a mess,” the blue parrot repeats.

“Now, see here-”

“Treasure, you do realize you’re about to argue with a parrot, right?” Silco gently takes hold of your chin and redirects your gaze so you are looking into his eyes.

“Right,” you stammer, giving your head a little shake. “You’re right. I apologize.”

“You’re fine, lass. The rum is strong and Barnaby likes to provoke,” Captain Jimmy says before turning to Silco. “I’ll contact you if I get any gold for your mermaid’s wish. Don’t hold your breath, though. Very few have that kind of gold.”

“You know me, Jimmy. I always have to try,” Silco says. “Besides, I still have the other one. I can make something of this.”

“If anyone can, it’s you. Heading out, I suppose?”

“I should get this one to a place where she can’t get into trouble,” Silco says, giving you a gentle nudge.

“Let the pretty mess stay,” Barnaby squawks before landing close to you. You reach out and gently pet his head. He blinks slowly and leans into your touch.

“We have to catch the tide,” Silco says. “I’ll be in touch, Captain.”

“Of course!”

Captain Jimmy waves you off with a flourish as Silco helps you down the trail leading away from the slapdash homestead.

“Is it just me or is something off about that parrot?” You whisper as you lean on Silco, allowing him to guide you.

He looks over his shoulder and takes a few more steps before whispering back to you, “just between you and me, I think Barnaby is a man trapped in a parrot’s body.”

You look up at him with wide eyes. “You’re joking, surely.”

“He’s always been more vocal than the other parrots and he doesn’t seem to mimic phrases. Captain Jimmy specializes in trading rare goods. A parrot with the intelligence of a man would fall into that category.”

“Oh, that makes me uneasy.”

The sandstone landscape pitches and you cling to Silco to keep yourself upright. “Why didn’t you warn me about the juice?”

“Honestly? I figured you needed a drink after your ordeal last night. I didn’t think you’d gulp it down and asked for seconds. That’s not very heiress-like of you.”

“I was parched after the trek up here!” You protest. “Of course, I was thirsty.”

Silco chuckles and shakes his head. “You’re right. I miscalculated. I should have said something. But how do you feel?”

You go still and pay attention to your body. Your limbs feel loose and your mind is pleasantly fuzzy. You know there are many things you should feel stressed about but you can’t bring yourself to care.

“This is a nice respite from coherent thought, I won’t lie,” you admit.

It is later in the day that you initially realized. The late afternoon sun has broken through a thin patch of clouds and now shines on the ocean, turning the water into liquid gold. You move toward the light, forcing Silco to follow you. You do not even notice the edge of the plateau until he prevents you from moving forward and pulls you closer to him.

“I would prefer it if you didn’t fall to your death, treasure,” he says, his voice low and velvety.

“How gallant,” you murmur back. Your gaze settles on the dark silhouette of the Zaun’s Revenge, bobbing peacefully against the dock. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“Are you sure? Last time I brought up this particular subject I’m certain you envisioned all the ways you could end my life.”

“Now you’ve made me truly curious. Out with it.”

What you thought was a confident question evaporates on your tongue and you’re left scrambling for words through a fruity rum haze.

“The life you’ve given Jinx is a life I would kill to have. You, and those serving on your ship, have the freedom that so many dream of. Why would you work against that in search of what you think is a real home?”

Silco stiffens at your words and you worry you’ve pinched a nerve but he eventually lets out a long sigh.

“Why do you think we are free?” He asks.

“I spent many years at sea with my father. During those years, I felt the most free. I felt like my true self.”

“But during those years, did you not have an estate you could return to whenever you pleased?”

“Well, yes,” you answer. “But I do not like the family estate.”

“Whether you like it or not is irrelevant.” A sharp edge sneaks into his voice. “When you played at being a seafarer, there was always a safe option. You could return to a plush home filled with luxuries.”

“But I didn’t want to,” you reiterate.

“But you were also never in real danger,” Silco points out. “Jinx has no other home. She has nowhere to flee if things become too dangerous. If something happens to me, no one will go out of their way to make sure she’s okay. We need to have a place away from the ship, away from everything we do. I need to give her a home that can never be taken from her, even if something happens to me.”

A horrible sense of guilt fills you. Shame colors your cheeks as you watch the golden water dance.

“I didn’t think of it that way. I’m sorry,” you say. When Silco says nothing for a long while, a horrible feeling makes your stomach twist up in knots. “It’s good of you to want Jinx to have a safe haven to flee to. Will my ransom go toward that?”

Your question seems to catch him off guard.

“In a way,” he answers. “There are some debts to be paid and some investments to be made, but yes. Your ransom will put us closer to a safe home.”

“And the stone eye from the waterwyrm? What will that do for you?” You ask.

“Eventually, Captain Jimmy will find someone prepared to pay its worth in gold. I expect that will take months, even years. But those profits will go towards making a safe haven for me and mine.”

“But there are two stones. What will you do with the other one?”

Silco looks down at you with a faint smile. “I think you’ve had a little bit too much rum to worry about my trade. We need to head back to the ship. We already docked far later in the day than I would have liked.”

“You’re avoiding my question.”

“Yes, I am,” he grins as he guides you back down the trail. He keeps you close as you navigate the winding path, hugging the sandstone formation. You wobble and trip over your own feet often but he never gives you grief for it. At most, he chuckles and tucks you under his arm more securely.

“Why did you call those glowing stones mermaid’s wishes?” You ask.

“Just focus on putting one foot in front of the other, treasure,” Silco urges. “I can’t have you tumbling down a canyon. It’s bad enough you were injured when the waterwyrm made its appearance.”

“Oh, do you care about me, pirate?” You taunt.

“If I have to trek through a valley to find you when you fall victim to your carelessness, I’ll have to carry you back to the ship. If I have to do that, I’ll miss the opportunity to scope the market. That’s bad for business. I dislike practices that are bad for business.”

“Lucky for you, I enjoy exploring markets more than I enjoy falling into valleys,” you say, though you need his constant support as you navigate the thin trail toward Port Squawkfeather.

The sun is just barely kissing the horizon when you and Silco reach the market. He browses silently with a look of deep concentration nestled between his furrowed brows. You stay quiet, not wishing to interrupt him as you take in your surroundings.

As you pass a table filled with exotic fruits, Silco stops. He picks up a pomegranate and inspects it as though he were assessing a diamond.

“One crate, please,” he says to the shopkeeper, who looks both shocked and delighted at such a request. They quickly set about packaging an entire crate of pomegranates while you stare at the one Silco holds in his hand.

Pomegranates are your favorite. Your rum-addled mind can’t conjure a more enticing prize.

“Here, treasure.” Silco tosses the pomegranate to you and you manage to catch it. You bring it to your chest like some greedy little scavenger as he gives the vendor the information they need.

You marvel at the color of the fruit like it’s some kind of precious jewel. You are so absorbed in your examination that your mind barely registers the flash of pink in the corner of your eye.

You go still. You lift your gaze. You turn your head slowly until you spot someone familiar.

Violet. Captain Vander’s first mate. You recognize her hair and her steely demeanor. She does not face you directly, but she is clearly searching the market for signs of you. She must have seen the Zaun’s Revenge docked and idle.

Beside her is a slender young woman with a shiny sheet of deep blue hair. She clutches a pristine rifle in her hands as she scans the market with sharp eyes.

For a split second, you prepare to call out to them. They can take you back to Vander, back to your father. But the words get stuck in your throat.

You look at Silco as he arranges for the crate of pomegranates to be delivered to his ship. You hear his words about wanting a safe place for Jinx echo through your mind. Your ransom will help with that.

“Captain,” you murmur softly. Your tongue feels like lead as you tug on his sleeve.

“Treasure?” He looks at you, arching a brow.

“I…feel ill from that juice. I’d like to return to the ship, please.”

His ocean eye fills with sympathy before he gives you a quick nod. He gives instructions to the fruit seller before tucking you under his arm and guiding you back toward the docks.

“I shouldn’t have let you have that second drink,” he says quietly.

“I’m sure I’ll be fine,” you say. “Perhaps Arlo can funnel some solid food into my system and give me some water.”

“I’m sure he can,” Silco nods.

You are returned to the ship and quickly disappear below deck. You flee to the galley under the guise of helping Arlo, as you promised. You do just that, but as you work on making new labels for everything in the scullery, you can’t help but wonder if you made a mistake not seizing your chance to escape. Worse than that, you wonder why you didn’t want to seize such a chance in the first place.

#silco #arcane #silco x reader #arcane silco #silco arcane #silco fanfic #pirate!silco #silco fic #to the depths #silco smut

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bracketsoffear · 10 months

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Moby Dick (Moby Dick) "Okay, look--let's get this out of the way. I know that the whale is big. That is not an insignificant thing about whales in general and this whale in particular. It's not even an insignificant factor in nominating him today. Except, it's not the size that matters--it's what Herman Melville does with it*.

*(Sorry, the dick joke was obligatory. It should be the only one unless my love of bad puns runs away from me.)

There's a post floating out there on tumblr calling Moby Dick the OG eldritch terror. Unfortunately, we all know how the hellsite's search "function" is (exasperated but affectionate), so I'm not going to be able to link it. What I can do is pull out a few rusty tools of literary analysis to show that at his Vast heart, Moby Dick represents the terrifying insignificance of humanity in the face of the grandness and terror of the sea.

First, it's crucial to point out that the book opens with quotes about whales, including several Bible verses, some Pliny, something purported to be copied down by a ninth-century king, Shakespeare, and so on. Right out of the gate, the book connects the Whale with the idea of the mythological Leviathan. By quoting Genesis in particular, Melville creates the idea of the Whale as a beast that has existed alongside humanity since its inception. Just as the fears are ancient and have tormented humanity since prehistory, the Whale/Leviathan has represented a "dragon of the sea" that mankind cannot conquer.

Sailors who make their living killing the whales are aware that " all the other things, whether beast or vessel, that enter into the dreadful gulf of this monster’s (whale’s) mouth, are immediately lost and swallowed up" and that "[t]he great Leviathan […] maketh the seas to seethe like boiling pan." They can't escape, though, because as the extracts also make clear, the booming economy of the nineteenth century depends on whale oil for everything from healing bruises to heating rooms in the dead of winter. The sailors are therefore helpless in the face of the dangers that the Whale's sheer size escapes, but also the vast and impersonal economic machinery that reduces them to commodities to be sacrificed to the Whale's wrath, Ahab's vengeance, and the Industrial Revolution's greed. Simon Fairchild probably had a field day with this one.

I realize I'm nearly 400 words in, so in the interest of sparing people's eyes, I'll wrap up by pointing out: --There is a whole chapter devoted to the crew standing knee-deep in whale fat while they dissect a smaller whale. --There is another chapter where Ishmael rhapsodizes about the size of a whale's skeleton. --Then he goes on for another chapter about whale fossils. --And then chapter 3 in this trilogy (which began in chapter 103, btw), asks outright in the title. "Does the whale's magnitude diminish?" --Ishmael sees the sea, and by extension, the Whale, as an irresistible, almost compelling force that terrifies and awes him. This is similar to noted Vast victim Robert Kelly, who also feels a draw to the Vast. --The book closes with Ishmael as the only survivor of the Pequod, having barely escaped the whale's vortex that pulled the ship and all her crew into the depths of the ocean, floating alone on his subtextual lover's coffin for a day and night before finally being picked up by another ship."

Joy Wang/Jobu Tupaki (Everything Everywhere All At Once) "Jobu is able to comprehend the entire scale of humanity in every corner of the multiverse, and it's all… Meaningless. You see when you put literally everything on a bagel when you're bored one day - every report card, every breed of dog, every ad on Craigslist, every grain of salt or seed - it collapses in on itself and you realize… We are all so small and insignificant that nothing we do matters. And when nothing matters, all of the pain and guilt you feel at your life going nowhere just goes away. It's sucked into a bagel.

A cult is formed around this bagel - all the other people that Jobu has shown the truth to - but what she really wants is her mother to understand how empty she really feels."

#vast poll #the magnus archives #the vast #poll #moby dick #everything everywhere all at once #eeaao

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gatheringbones · 1 year

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[“But we do think white people in America tend to suffer an anxiety (and many have written of this): they know that they are white but they must not know what they know. They know that they are white, but they cannot know that such a thing has social meaning; they know that they are white, but they must not know that their whiteness accrues power. They must not call it whiteness for to do so would be to acknowledge its force. They must instead feel themselves to be individuals upon whom nothing has acted. That’s the injury, that their whiteness has veiled from them their own power to wound, has cut down their sympathy to a smaller size, has persuaded them that their imagination is uninflected, uninfiltrated. It has made them unknowing. Which is one reason why white people take recourse to innocence: I did not mean to do any harm. Or: I wanted to imagine you—isn’t that good of me, haven’t others said that was good for me to try? Or: If I cared about politics, I would write a manifesto—what I’m trying to do is make art. Or: I have a right to imagine whatever I want, and it traduces or dirties art to limit the imagination. Or: I don’t see color. Or: we’re all human beings.

Part of the mistake the white writer makes is that she confounds the invitation to witness her inevitable racial subjectivity with a stigmatizing charge of racism that must be rebutted at all costs. The white writer, in the moment of crisis, typically cannot tell the difference. What a white person could know instead is this: her whiteness limits her imagination—not her reader’s after the fact. A deep awareness of this knowledge could indeed expand the limits—not transcend them, but expand them, make more room for the imagination. A good thing.

For one source of creativity lies in the fact that each individual is essentially strange. There is a deep strangeness, an alterity, in the individual human mind, a portion of ourselves that we never fully comprehend—and this is what writing taps, or is at least one of writing’s sources, one of its engines. This might explain the enigma of writing for so many of us, that the writing so often seems to know more than we do, that we are ‘behind’ the writing (“behind it” in that we make it, but also “behind it” in the sense that we can’t catch up with what it knows and reveals, that it is out ahead of us driven by energies in our possession but not entirely in our deliberate control). This essential strangeness, this unknowability, is a creative resource, perhaps the creative resource, the wellspring of art that shows us things we did not know but that are somehow inevitable and true—true to a reality or a knowledge we don’t yet possess, yet find in the moment of encounter possible, something we accept the fundamental being of even if its nature shocks or startles or repulses or unsettles us (Barthelme’s strange object covered in fur can only break your heart if you have accepted, in the instant of encounter, its essential being, even if you have not yet comprehended its strangeness, its otherness).

But while it might be mystifying how creative impulses and decisions emerge from somewhere within, that doesn’t mean we must make a fetish of that mysteriousness. For that unknowable portion of the human mind is also a domain of culture—a place crossed up by culture and history, where the conditions into which we were born have had their effect. Part of what is unknowable within us, at least until we investigate it, is the structuring of our very feelings and thoughts by what preceded us and is not our “own,” yet conditions our experience nonetheless. So the location of a writer’s strangeness is also the seat of history. A writer’s imagination is also the place where a racial imaginary—conceived before she came into being yet deeply lodged in her own mind—takes up its residence. And the disentangling and harnessing of these things is the writer’s endless and unfinishable but not fruitless task. Another way of saying this: the writer’s essential strangeness is her greatest resource, yet she must also be in skeptical tension with her own inclinations. Because those inclinations are in part an inheritance from a racial imaginary that both is and is not hers.”]

#brainspace #terra preta

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ruiimellowww · 7 months

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Okay HI hello 👋👋

I saw ur art about Sun & Moon through a reblog and I am such a simp for those two omg so here's a rant :33

(Also if you're not comfy with this pls ignore this rant then, and I am so sry if that is the case!! Will stop immediately if you tell me to /srs)

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CAN I JUST SAY I am sosososososo in love with your desgin for the dca cuz holy shit I have never seen anything hotter. O.O LIKEEE THE HUMANOID VERSION??!?!!?? UGH soooo goooodd 🥵🥵 I love the designs and the- the little EARRINGS as well?!??! Omg sooooo cutee aaaaaa 💞💞

and-and omigosh UR ART IS SO GOOD AS WELL!?!? I straight up just wanna munch it. I am eating ur art fr. In LOVE with ur artstyle it's so yummy 😍

Anywhoooo I also scrolled through your dca tag aND *GASP* ECLIPSE?????? 😍😍AND I?? WANNA??? BE ENVELOPED????? BY HIMM??? (I feel like mans would give THE BEST cuddles on the planet!!!)

HOLLLYYYY SHITTTT thE SIZEEEEEEE

Big tall omigoshhhhhhHHH M- my brain- my heart my- mY EVERYThIng is mELTING! ! ! ! ! Literally his size just does something to me I cannot comprehend why omigosh

(*lays in a puddle on the floor*)

I can imagine sosososo many different scenarios where that height could be used aaaaa >~< <333 ;P

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Omg if you have any HCs (and *wanna* share, ofc.) about him (Or about Sun & Moon) I'd love to listen to you ramble about them??? <333

So curious about ur HCs & would absolutely love any crumbs about the dca ksskksskkdkdjdks ❤️😂

Uhm uhm first off, thank you so much I can't rlly put into words how sweet this is and I totally don't mind the rambles because me too. And also because its been YEARS since I last used Tumblr or did anything answering Ask is a bit tough for me.. MmMM

Although I don't have many HC at the moment.. I can however give you a little insight I have regarding my Human DCA :]

Moondrop (Moon) and Sundrop

- when I first designed Moon (after the game came out) he had a much wilder look to him, especially the face because I was really into the idea of him being simply insane hence the red.

- later when i got back to his design and adding colours I thought that it would be fun to make it Blue and white themed, which I actually didn't see a lot back then

- he wasn't supposed to look human even as a Humanoid, I liked to think that Sun & Moon simply had a renovated body. They are just as much Animatronics as they had always been, robotic parts and everything but with a bit of twist

- So then onto Sun.. the thing is its sad to say but I never explored much with Sun's design back then as much as I did with Moon, so I can't provide a good reference

- although I had a rough idea of how sun would look like I never quite liked the way I drew him, so he's always somewhat been stuck in this unfinished stage

- Then there was eclipse, who was my absolute FAVORITE at that time, I don't think I loved a character MORE THAN ECLIPSE EVER when I was drawing him out

- yes!! It was very much inspired by the 3D render shown here as the ref, though I did make some changes of my own to the design as well

- I had a lot in my head when I was drawing him, but the one thing that I loved most about this design still to thisq day is rhe face. The way I him to look back then was sort of a mix between my Sun and Moon designs, only leaning more towards Sun in colours and Moon in appearance with the crazed look in his eyes

The height was just a funny little thing I thought of, cuz imagine this giant fkn ahh robot just comes in here and picks you up 💀 god I would piss myself

Cough..

So in regards to the new design, I did kind of get rid of the animatronic feel to him that I had done with the DCA and his old design, all of them now look a whole lot more Human which is what I intended for

Eclipse has a few scars around his body; right forearm, left side of his torso that leads all the way up to his chest. Plus a bit of his face that is burnt which you can't exactly see because of the Black spots

Overall I like my newer designs quite a lot and has also changed a lot, this is probably the most insight you'll get out of me abt my art 😭😭 cuz I don't usually ramble this much otherwise

I might come up with some head canons at a later date, but they'll be fun thats for sure ;)

#rants n rambles #ruiis art #digital art #fnaf security breach #humanoid #moondrop #sundrop #eclipse #eclipse fnaf #fnaf daycare attendant #DCA

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darubyprincx · 2 months

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i have normal amounts of metal guys. completely regular sized chest too. does anyone want to come over to my normal server and have a tour of my normal base because its soooooooo regular you cannot even comprehend how fucking ordinary it is

#ray's tag #modded minecraft adventures with the keys #described #i have been told that this is terrifying by several system members but its FINE guys its NORMAL im NORMAL #<- has modded minecraft autism

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luna-baby01 · 1 year

Note

Luna Gets Even Bigger, Part II

A month later and the results are in: You're pregnant again for the third time. You're simply over the moon, your brain melting into a puddle of hormones that drive you wild. Thoughts of how enormous you're going to get beyond all reasonable limits strain your mind to capacity. You're lucky that you're not permanently reduced to a drooling mess of a woman. And of course, over the past month, the physical changes your body has been going through would be enough to floor any lesser woman.

Your belly, even under all of the fat that you've put on that made you almost four times the weight you were on your wedding day, is sticking out noticeably farther after only a month in. You've been waddling ever since you gave birth the last time because you're just so fat that there's no not waddling at that point, but now your waddle has become even more pronounced and is starting to resemble that of a pregnant woman rather than an enormously fat woman. Your appetite somehow increased even more than prior pregnancies, and boy does it show. Everything on your body is fatter and heavier. Just waddling around without being pregnant at this point makes your floorboards creak like there's no tomorrow, but now they're even LOUDER. If all of this is happening at only a month in, how many babies did your husband actually put inside of you? You're about to find out, and it's a real shocker, even for you.

Your doctor is beside himself. He told you not to get pregnant again, but you did anyway. He didn't even think you possibly COULD get pregnant again. You've gotten so pregnant so many times at such high weights over such a short period of time that he has trouble comprehending it and is starting to become convinced that there is something supernatural involved. There's just simply no way that you could get that pregnant that many times with that much fat on your body in such short notice by yourself. But it's true. You did that on your own, not an ounce of magic needed. Or rather, your husband did that to you. That could be magical enough, I guess.

The moment of truth has arrived, and even you have a hard time believing it. The doctor counts twenty embryos in your womb. You are having vigintuplets. If your doctor thought you were enormous now, he's not going to know what hit him in eight months time. There is no way you're going to be able to waddle for much longer. Anticipating this, he put you on bed rest effective immediately. He also put you on a diet so that you would lose weight while pregnant, which doesn't make sense due to the painfully obvious fact that you're ludicrously pregnant, gorging yourself on everything in sight nonstop, and ordering you to be sedentary. Of course, this advice was promptly ignored. There's no way it could be followed.

You're stuck now. If your doctor was right about anything, putting you on bed rest this early in your ridiculously large, unheard-of pregnancy was that. You just cannot move anymore, and you've only been pregnant for a month, those twenty(!) fetuses growing fatter and heavier than even you have trouble comprehending. Your appetite and your weight spiral ever upwards, you just simply cannot help yourself around all the food your husband has made for you.

The end of the first trimester has your belly at the size it was when you gave birth the first time, though you had considerably less fat on you even then. Truly a testament to both your natural and maternal gluttony. There's no way you can even reach around all of yourself you're just that bloated and rotund. All of that gestating and eating is working its wonders on you. Your mind is constantly in delirium. You're in constant amazement at just how massive you are, and how massive you're going to become. If you're THIS big already, you have no idea what's coming.

(continued in Part III)

Holy fucking shit this is insane🥵🥵🥵It just keeps getting better!!

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asma-al-husna · 5 months

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Allah calls Himself Al-Waasi’— The All-Encompassing, The All-Sufficient, The Bountiless— on nine occasions in the Quran. Al-Waasi’ is beyond any limits in essence and has boundless capacities. He encompasses the whole of creation with His blessings, care, and kindness. He is the Self-Sufficient and is sufficient for all. Nothing is beyond Him, and there are no limits to any of His attributes; the mind simply can’t grasp His essence and power!

The All-Sufficient, Bountiful, and All-Pervading

Waasi’ comes from the root waw-seen-ayn, which carries three main meanings. The first meaning is that of being vast, sufficient in capacity or size, and spacious. The second main meaning of this root is to be plentiful and bountiful. The third is to embrace, comprehend, and pervade.

This root appears 32 times in the Quran in six derived forms. Examples of these forms are wasi’a (encompasses), wus’ahaa (its capacity), and waasi’atun (spacious).

The concept of waasi’ in the Arabic language points out to something that has no limits; it’s something too vast to imagine. This attribute of Allah is in itself limitless, just like His other attributes, such as His Giving, Seeing, Hearing, and Knowing.

Al-Waasi’ Himself says: . . . But if they separate [divorce] Allah will enrich each, from His abundance. And ever is Allah Encompassing and Wise [Quran, 4:130] … That is the favor of Allah; He bestows it upon whom He wills. And Allah is all-Encompassing and Knowing [Quran, 5:54] … Indeed, your Lord is vast in forgiveness [Quran, 53:32]

A Formula for Success

Al-Waasi’ inspires to a beautiful supplication with an amazing, encompassing answer stating His attribute of wasi’a. He says: And ordain for us good in this world’s life and in the life hereafter, for surely we turn to you. He said: (As for) my chastisement, I will afflict with it whomsoever I please, and my mercy encompasses all things; so I will ordain it (especially) for those who guard (themselves against evil) and pay the zakat and those who believe in our signs. [Quran, 7:156]

This is your formula for success: in your heart, have fear, as Al-Waasi’ is the Only One who can punish whomever he wishes to punish. Have hope, because His mercy encompasses everything. In your actions stay away from evil, purify yourself and your wealth, and believe in the signs explained to you in the Quran and in the universe.

How Can We Live By This Name?

1. Increase in praising Al-Waasi’. He is the One whose attributes are immense. Everything connected to Him is immense and perfect. Al-Waasi’ is as He praised Himself. We cannot praise Him as He deserves but we can try to remember and praise Him as much as we can. Are we really saying subhanAllah, alhamdulillah and Allahu akbar all through the day, whenever we have a spare moment? Do we really keep our tongue moist with the remembrance of Allah? Remind yourself of this great attribute of vastness and increase your daily dhikr!

2. Contemplate His kingdom. His Kingdom encompasses everything we can see and not see. To appreciate the limitlessness of Al-Waasi’, look at His creations. Look at the sky and the galaxy, the balance, the perfection and the spaces in the universe that are still unknown to us. Al-Waasi’ says: and the heavens we raised high with power, and most surely we make things ample. [Quran, 51:4]  3. Ask Al-Waasi’. His power encompasses everything and there’s nothing Al-Waasi’ can’t do. ‪He’s never distracted by anything in his infinite sphere of activities and knowledge. He has sufficient means to respond to each single request in His tremendous dominion. So ask Him for every need you have and turn to Him with every worry you feel.

4. Be an ambassador of good. His dominion is incredible and vast. Al-Waasi’ placed you on this world and watches your every move. All you did, do, and will do is embraced by His knowledge. Your only God is Allah; there is no god but He; He comprehends all things in (His) knowledge [Quran, 20:98]. Take your role on this earth seriously and be an ambassador of Islam by showing good manners and calling others to Al-Waasi’.

5. Never despair in any characteristic of Allah. Despairing in any capacity of Al-Waasi’ means you are putting a limit on the One whose abilities are beyond any limit; may Allah protect us from this thinking! If you think that He can’t forgive you because you’re too evil, you’re denying this attribute because His mercy is limitless! So never despair in any of His roles, whether The Provider, The Judge, The Answerer of Prayers; be firm in faith that all His capacities cannot be limited by anything or anyone.

6. Be aware of your actions. Al-Waasi’ says: And to Allah belongs the east and the west. So wherever you turn, there is the Face of Allah. Indeed, Allah is all-Encompassing and Knowing [Quran, 2:115] Even though this ayah was revealed regarding the direction of the prayer (qibla), you can also let it inspire you to be aware in your actions of the all-encompassing knowledge, hearing, mercy and might of Al-Waasi’!

7. Embrace others with your kindness. Include all servants of Al-Waasi’ in your kindness and good treatment at all times and be gracious to people and be attentive to the requests of those who ask you.

Wallahu ta’alaa ‘alem.  O Allah, Al-Waasi’, we know that You are the One who encompasses everything and everyone. Make us of the dhaakireen— those who constantly remember Your vastness and perfection and whose actions reflect this awareness. Inspire us to contemplate Your endless dominion and make us turn to You for every request. Guide us in being good, kind, and just ambassadors of Your religion on this earth, and enable us in our faith to never doubt any of Your characteristics. Ameen!

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lapetiteceinturesworld · 7 months

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Hi folks! I come today with a long, emotional and painful scene. ❤️

There was no emotion on Tommy's face. He didn't even have to bother pretending to be impassive. It was not isolation and not detachment. It was what it looked like: he had torn off the feelings as if they had never existed. As if he were not a human being. As if he knew himself not to be, that he could never be fully that again, and now he was showing it to her. He wanted her to see him through his transformation, Grace realised in disbelief. To make her disgust by it.

"The Germans. Soldiers just like me. The same toys on the blackboard, the size of which can never be comprehended by reason. Among them was the boy with the green eyes. They found their way out of the tunnels, through the mud, through the filth, took me back into the darkness, no matter how I fought with them. I looked down at my hand. It was covered in blood." His eyelids fluttered as if he wanted to look down at his hands resting palms up. Finally his gaze stayed where it was. By then the nihil of destruction had reached him. Everything was happening in his eyes. "I thought: whose hand is this? It cannot be mine. I can’t exist in a reality, where these hands belong to me just as any other parts of my body. A terrible, burning wave of pain washed over me from my shoulder. I was shot. I thought: finally. Finally I can lie down on the ground and die. All it need was a little bit more. But that little suddenly become too much." Hollowed-out, frozen dread, and burning fright like the fire that heats the blast furnaces of factories. "I opened my eyes, I was there again. Just me, Danny and Freddie. We fight for our lives like rats for the last piece of raw meat. I was writhing on the ground, in my nose a mixture of ammonia, gunpowder and some sludgy, sticky, disgusting mass, crawling to the ladder. Danny screamed, Freddie… I had no idea what had happened to him. I couldn’t make out anything in the darkness, not the shapes of people or the walls of the tunnels, I could only hear the voices and smell the smells. It was as if I had become blind. I begged with the last shreds of my faith for someone to gouge out my eyes, to save me from the ability to see this… I kept crawling and crawling, after a while I began to think that my legs were torn off, that I had no body anymore, but even then I didn’t give up. I clung to the pain, digging my nails into it through the darkness to stay conscious. Ever since Greta’s death, I’ve had this tainted, bile-tasting smell of sickness and death with me. "He shuddered, his face contorted in disgust. "I wanted to vomit. I think I did. I opened my mouth and then some hideous, unnamable taste filled my throat. I couldn’t breath he gasped. My shoulder was on fire. I wanted to die. All my prayers were for a German soldier to plunge his bayonet into me and bring me death. I wanted to give up, yet I dragging myself forward, because somewhere nearby was a ladder. If I could take my hand on it, I could climb to the surface and get out. In the end I never reached it" he breath out the last words.

Before Grace was aware of what she was doing, she was already observing that she had started a determined protest.

"Yes, you did! You left the tunnel behind. It feel’s like you still there, like you’re being swallowed up by the darkness, but you’re already here with me, in this actual, concrete reality." Both her hands were on Tommy's cheekbone, causing Tommy to blink rapidly. "Can you feel that? Because I feel you." Resisting the demand in her blood to put Tommy's face on a level with her own, to give him no choice but to look into her eyes. The words rolled from Grace's lips with a wild freedom. "You are warm and alive. The pain is gone. The bullet wound is here without looking," she traced with her fingers the bruised skin behind his shoulder, its jagged unevenness reminding them both of its origins. Tommy sucked in air, his chest rising. Grace's palm found its way back to his face. "This is real, Tommy. The tunnels, the suffering, the heat, the taste in your mouth, the green-eyes soldier boy can’t touch you. Those things can’t hurt you anymore, because I’m here. You and me, this place is real, safe and constant. We made it that way. You can touch it, you can feel it," she said urgently. "Everything else is in the past. Memories and fears."

Tommy squeezed his eyes shut, shook his head. "They'll come for me again. I know they will," he repeated, his voice hushed. The shaking of his head stopped, his eyelashes fluttered open. "Whenever I close my eyes, they are already there."

"And I am here!" Tommy stared at her in bewilderment, and as she glanced into the irises surrounding the dilated pupils, Grace took the opportunity. She locked their eyes commandingly, blocking the chance of looking away from her, he couldn't even try. Her hold tightened on Tommy's cheek. She leaned toward him with a blazing glare. "In front of you, in your arms. If they want you, they'll have to ended me first! I will not give you without a fight!"

Tommy stared at her in a dazed stupor. "Would you fight them for me?"

Any other time the question would have left his lips with a hint of mocking, making it clear that the irony was as much his own as Grace's. But now it sounded as if it freed in him genuine hope, yearning, trust and fear. He didn't believe anyone would fight for him, Grace understood that early on. He knew that there was no one in the world who would dare to go with him to the field littered with the dead. Until now.

I'd fight the whole world for you, Grace thought. She managed a smile.

"No one's scarier than me when I'm in a rage."

The sound Tommy made was the equivalent of a snort and a sniffle. "My personal experience compels me to confirm this." A brilliant light flickered in his eye. His gaze warmed, but Grace kept her belligerent expression. She replied in an undertone of intimidation.

"Anyone irresponsible enough to hurt someone I'm trying to look after will learn very quickly, at the cost of a hard lesson, why that would be a terrible idea."

A shadow of a smile appeared on Tommy's lips to match his sparkling eyes. Grace relaxed against her will. The convulsive force of gripping Tommy's face in the palm of her hand was no longer tense in the joints between her fingers. Released from the grip of tension, she was still a little afraid that her gratification was premature. Caressing the skin of Tommy's cheekbone, her hesitation disguised as self-control.

"Do I enjoy your protection?" Tommy questioned. Curiosity accompanied the enquiry.

"I am your captain." The sentence followed the announcement included a raised eyebrow. "Do you dare question your superior officer, Sergeant Major?"

Without real devotion, Tommy smiled faintly. He stopped his rising hand in the air between their faces. He eyed Grace with reservations, concerns. Whatever he saw in her, and Grace really couldn't tell what it might be, she supplemented with a nod of agreement.

Tommy ran the back of his hand over her chin. On her cheek, he continued the endearing strokes inspired by kindness, affection and gratitude.

"I wouldn't do that. It is forbidden by military protocol. However, allow me to make an observation. Since you hold the rank of captain, shouldn't it be the other way around? The differences between our ranks dictate that my duty and purpose in life is your service and protection."

Grace had a more flexible view than that.

"No one in my jurisdiction can lay a hand on my people. Unconventional leadership is combined by peculiar principles." She lowered her voice and, tilting her head to one side, motioned toward the other side of the room. "Come back to bad!"

Tommy paused between stroking motions. "You say that like a commander to a member of her team?" There was something about the way he handled the words. It was as if he was testing the limits of this new formation, with which he had made friends at first sight.

Grace projected a seriousness worthy of it.

"I ask you as a woman who wishes to embrace her lover." Then, after a moment's thought, with half-lidded eyes, she approached Tommy. Her hand trailed down the side of his neck, evaded his mouth, touched her lips to his ear. "I miss your warmth," she murmured softly, invitingly.

Tommy's eyes closed. His resigned sigh had an amused theatricality that made them chuckle quietly.

#peaky blinder fanfic #grace burgess #writing #grace x tommy #fanfiction #tommy shelby #tommy and grace #peaky blinders #grace x tommy fanfic #thomas shelby #emotional scene #great war #tunneler

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celia-witch · 8 months

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Uhhhh posts this before I have a change of heart--anyways a little bit of a personal project I've been working on recently! I basically wrote these scenes to try and figure out some characters here as I see if I can build something around them... Anyways have... this?

--------------------------------------------- Dolls. False bodies. Wood, metal, plastic, and sinew.

To fight a demon requires something false, since you can’t fight truth with more truth. To break the truth, something akin to a lie must be used.

Wood, scraped and carved and shaped… Do you remember the form you used to take?

Metal, chipped and melted and purified… Do you remember that you came from the earth?

Plastic, burnt and melded—so fundamentally altered at its core… Do you remember what you were?

Sinew, cut and tied and braided… Do you remember that you once had flesh?

Simple lies, told through changes in shape, can fight the truth that exists at the core of demons. They can break their foundations and weaken them until only fear is left. Yet, they cannot kill them. They can only fight them.

A bigger lie is needed, something so deeply false that something so true cannot comprehend it. So at the core, the center of a doll must exist that lie… so that they may kill the Truth.

At their center, we placed…

An angel.

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

She lifted her hand. It was a desperate attempt—something so clearly the movements of someone who knew her fate… I couldn’t help but stare at her palm, Oak’s grain had always been beautiful.

“Aya, please.”

I lowered my cannon, she didn’t deserve this.

Ah, it hurt.

My arm… the wood was splintered. Its metal sheathing was dented, a hole about the size of one of my thumbs punched through it—a thin trickle of black and blue ichor staining splinters and metal edges. It had passed cleanly through and through, though ‘clean’ felt wrong. Right now, calling anything about me ‘clean’ was wrong.

As I stood, I felt the mud slick off me, dirt and acrid water mixed with the black stains on my body. My wood and metal all hurt so much! No, no don’t feel it, ignore the pain.

“Come on—augh!—Come… on!” I forced my limbs into position.

My rapier lifted with my arm, the thin metal still somehow shining. I gripped my cannon in my other hand; the heft of its Truth trying to hold me to the earth as I rose. The new hole in my arm, my creaking joints, they all screamed at me. Every movement was a strain as I tried to take in my surroundings.

The trees surrounded us. I would have said it was night, but even here the sun’s light faintly scattered through the canopy. Only a few yards ahead of me it stood. Well… to say something like that, a quivering mass of darkness and color, stood without a discernible limb wouldn’t have been right.

My tools of Truth clutched in my hands, I faced the demon. I faced a lie.

Its writhing body, a rainbow of color and sound and feeling, fought every sense I had been given. I fought back with focus knowing I had been built for a single purpose; to pin it down, and kill it with my Truth.

“I can’t let you get away. I can’t afford it…”

“Weave their doom. The rapier puts you at a disadvantage with range,” my teacher had said. Her stern face betrayed no emotion as she pushed my arm up.

I held steady, and slowly inched closer. Holding its shape in my eyes I watched every surge, every shift in the mass of its body.

“You cannot feel pain. You are made of wood, metal. You are dead things.” She had said, tossing the disconnected arm atop my prone body. “Now, go get that reattached.”

Sound itself writhed as my black eyes stared the thing down. My enemy. The lie. I needed to lift my damaged arm. I could keep the rapier steady, but my cannon… its weight pulled me, its Truth. Its gravity was desperately pulling me to the earth as I approached my target.

It doesn’t hurt. At least that’s what I told myself, even as I felt the splinters, the fragments of the arm… my arm, shifting as I moved. Shivering, surging, sharp. I felt every twinge as I shifted forward with a gentle, but ceaseless motion. Ignoring the useless arm hanging at my left, the weight of my truth held so firmly in the earths grasp. I pushed forward nonetheless.

I could stand. I could move. No matter what, I wouldn’t stop.

I felt the glass of my eye shatter as the spear drove into it. I held my scream.

“Remember, this is the price of failure.” My teacher said, kicking my struggling body to the ground.

I was glad I couldn’t see the grin painted on her face as I hit the ground.

A single step, then another. The Demon sprung back, its shifting colors a blur as it darted back into the forest. I followed it, as it dodged and darted between trees. My boots pounded through the mud after the shifting rainbow of its body, as it blazed through the undergrowth. A dizzying array of color spilled from the browns of mud and bark, the greens of leaves and sprouts. My steps traced its motions—mirroring its every slip between bushes and trees. The chase was familiar. After all Demons always run.

I knew I would have to bring the cannon to bear soon enough. There would be no way to actually kill the Demon otherwise, the plain rapier would do little but slow it down. I had to wield my Truth to actually hurt the thing. Even if my arm still raged against the effort as I lifted it.

With the silvered length of its barrel leveled at the Demon and desperately clung to my focus. I just needed to avoid thinking about the ichor dripping from the hole in my arm, or the way my Truth’s weight pulled me in such an unfamiliar way. I just… needed… to…

“Fire!”

The blue spark drew a line through the empty space it had occupied as the Demon flung itself to cover— it had reacted before the flame could even touch it! I launched myself after it, between trees, through the underbrush. More! Faster! Branches tore past me as I followed it deeper into the woods. Its rainbow sheen skirted just out of my view, as even the faint sunbeams were lost to the canopy.

Chase it. Corner it. Destroy it.

I was a hunter. It was what I was made to do, and I felt the purpose winding through my body as tree after tree whipped past me. A blur of darkness, green and black, consumed my form. I felt leaves, and branches against the dark trousers I wore. I felt no pain as they struck my wooden skin.

Again I dragged it up, leveling my cannon at the Demons fleeing form.

“Fire!” She yelled, slamming her spear into the ground.

I did. The blue flame whipped high this time striking nothing—nothing but bark.

Somehow I stopped myself from screaming.

The pursuit continued. I could catch it, I was fast enough, even damaged as I was. It wouldn’t escape me, I couldn’t let it. Too many stains on the record at this point. Just catch it. Just kill it. Straight ahead I saw that it was fleeing, in a straight line directly ahead—

Quickly I gathered myself, tension building in my legs. My sinew bunched, and I leapt! As my body flew forward I saw it, and all it’s dancing lights.

My rapier arced forward as I threw it!

The steel vibrated as it pierced both beast and bark.

The demon struggled against the rapier, and my body tumbled as I landed. Once again I found myself rising from mud, staring down my target. It’s black form, a panicked mass of color as I approached. “Only leave fear.” At least I was good at that—with my endless pursuits and chilling gaze. I didn’t even need my lantern here. Raising my cannon again I braced myself.

This time I won’t…

I Won’t—“Fire!” She pointed the spear at my chest, as I held the cannon steady. “If you can’t handle this then I’ll have you scrapped!”

The Demon squirmed in my trap. Its hues shifted desperately underneath the dark oily surface. The way it shifted, the light beneath it seemed to twist and turn with every step. Keeping my cannon raised I kept inching closer.

I heard—something, what was it doing?

My limbs locked in place as the Demon shifted and moved. Light, color, it all shone beneath the oil slick sheen that made up a majority of the beings body. Then the light slowed, as the sound around me… shifted?

“What...?”

I tightened my grip on my cannon, the weight of it increasing by the second as I tried to hold it still. Why was it—what was the Demon doing?

The vaguest sound at the edge of my hearing; words, or even the shapes of them bumped against my consciousness. Shapes, memories, feelings, it all rushed forward

“W—who?” I couldn’t resist the weight; I couldn’t lift the cannon anymore. “Wait, are—?!”

The demon lashed out. I was too close.

I fired. I missed.

Black tendrils sprang from its body. Sharp and desperate, they stabbed into my shoulder, chest, and stomach. My body was flung backwards, only stopped by my back slamming into firm bark. If I had lungs, I wouldn’t have been standing after that. Even without them all I could do was watch as the demon tore free from my rapier, fleeing into the darkness.

My eyes followed the fleeting colors, then to the hole blasted in the tree below where its body had been. The faint blue fire flickering as it’s color shifted, the color of my truth. It was bleeding into a new shade. As the Demon, so familiar… fled into the forest.

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

The forest’s form shrunk behind me. I saw her first, as I approached the overgrown chapel. Birch had always stood taller than the rest of us. The deacons constant comments on her performance, as they said that she was among the best of the Dolls. Her fair wood was a grain so fine you could barely even see it as she shone in the sunlight. As the sun’s glare faded the toothy smirk on her face shone through.

“Looking worse for wear, Rosewood.” Her lilting voice flung me back to training again, like an itch behind my eye. “Nothing to show, huh?”

Walking forward I bowed. Better to get this done with quickly. She approached as I stood, looming with the whole ten centimeters she had on my height.

“That bastard really messed you up, can you even move that arm?” She said, prodding the hole in my left arm with her spear. “Well you know what happens next. Follow me and get ready for inspection.”

I felt the hole in my chest, as we walked behind the decrepit building. I stared up at the wall, and it’s ivy sheathed form. Stone and mortar being claimed by green life moment by moment. Arm, shoulder, chest, and stomach. If I left them open, left these holes in my body, would something grow out of them? Would I feel that green wreath take me if I lasted long enough? Could I become something... alive?

Thoughts fled as we rounded the corner, passing from sunlight into the building's long shadow. A pit, cold and frozen, opened in my stomach as I felt the wind brushing past those wounds.

“Come on Rosewood, you let another one get away.” Birch tapped her spear against the ground, impatient and familiar. “You know we don’t like that.”

Just get it over with—I knew she hated prolonging this. The trouble was she knew I hated it too. I kneeled upon the soft grass surrounding the church with a sigh. Making sure to use my right arm I placed my rapier on the ground next to me. Then followed my cannon—from its holster to the grass on my left. It was within reach, but would my arm be able to grasp it? It was a gamble…

Circling me, Birch prodded, poked, all with the butt of her spear. She barely glanced at me as she settled her estimation of my damage all by touch.

She stopped directly in front of me, the butt of her spear against my chest.

“What’s that, Rosewood…?” She turned, a sickening grin spread across her fair wooden lips... She hadn’t painted them today. “Vest, Shirt. Both of them off, now.”

Shit… she’d seen it. Maybe I could distract her.

“I’ll be damned, and I heard you only slept with humans.” Ah… too much. It slipped out of my mouth before I could stop myself.

A sharp crack echoed across the overgrown graveyard as the butt of her spear slammed into my chin. I picked myself up from the grass. Green joined the black stains already decorating the loose flowing shirt I wore.

“Now, Rosewood.”

The bladed end of the spear rested against my eye. It was familiar—that blade pressed against the slight discolored scar where they had filled in the wood she had damaged. Guess she wouldn’t leave me a choice now... I quickly removed the leather vest that protected my chest, revealing the three tell tale holes in it and my shirt which quickly followed.

It was plain what she was thinking as she glared at the metal plate that made up my left breast, and the black stained hole that decorated it.

“Oh Rosewood…” I didn’t have to see the leer on her face, all I needed was to hear how it dripped from her voice. “Don’t tell me you got your lantern damaged!”

Slowly I unclasped the plate, my chest, revealing the caged heart it covered. A small lantern rested within; its silvered exterior still had drops of black ichor decorating it, and I couldn’t help but stare at them as I rested it on the flattened grass in front of me. The lantern… a thin, hairline crack ran along the backside of the lantern's glass. I kept still, as impassive as I could as I latched my breast back into place.

Birch tutted loudly as she whipped the lantern up, suspending it in front of her as she eyed the small blue flame contained within.

“Hmm…” Birch murmured words I couldn’t hear as she focused on the lantern.

I managed to twitch my left arm, forcing my unwilling fingers around the cannon’s grip. Birch was still consumed by the lantern; her glass eyes searching the blue flame in its little silver cage. Meanwhile, my eyes still firmly locked onto the crack decorating the glass. I felt the sinew in my legs bunch as my eyes turned to Birch, and my other hand wrapped around my rapier’s hilt.

Then we both saw it. The way my flame, my Truth, flickered with a faint tinge of rainbow.

Birch cackled as her eyes went wide.

“Fuck.” There was no going back now.

Before she could react I felt the tension I was building in my legs whip my body forward. Birch barely had time to curse as my knees slammed the shaft of her spear against her chest. My rapier whipped past her, as we both crashed into the grass.

I managed to hold my place on top of her as we both hit the ground—Birch grunting with the impact. It only took an instant for me to hook my leg around her other arm squeezing her into lock as she thrashed against my weight.

“Rosewood! You piece of shit!” Birch spat, her knee slamming into my back. “You think you’ll walk away from this?! You can’t even swing that shitty toothpick right!”

“Yeah, screw you too Birch.” I didn’t give her time to react as I slammed my cannon’s barrel into her shoulder and pulled the trigger. The glass encasing my Truth exploded as I channeled it’s flame through my cannon.

I hadn’t expected the rainbow of flame that erupted from it with a guttural thunder—

Moisture–a fine mist of red and black ichor, spattered across my face as Birch’s arm, severed at the shoulder, spun past both of us. I heard it thunk off some anonymous grave as she screamed. The black and red sinew left of her joint writhed in the grass as I stood— stumbling back and off her, my lantern still skewered upon my shaking rapier.

“Birch–Fuck.” She’d done worse to me before. Focus, focus Aya! “Y-you can deal that.”

Quickly, I grabbed the lantern off the blade. The silver structure was still there, burnt and ragged but still whole. My eyes took in the glass scattered over Birch, the grass surrounding us, and me. What a pretty little cage it had been.

With a grunt, the silver casing bent—then broke in my fist.

When I opened my hand the tiny flame danced in my hand. Its blue flickered, shifting into completely new hues. With a quick action I sheathed my rapier. My eyes still locked to the light shivering in my hand. It was dazzling… my blue little flame… it shone with so many different colors. My truth was warping, finally free from its cage!

Birch tried to stand from the ground and shook as she leaned heavily onto her spear. I barely noticed as I opened my chest again. The compartment was meant to fit my cage, but perhaps it could fit a heart?

It fit perfectly, the smallest flame sitting in my breast as I latched it in place.

I stood for a moment, feeling the heat.

“What did you do, Aya?” The horror seemed fixed on Birch’s face, as one of her legs gave out–dropping her to her knees.

I looked at her, something… indescribable blooming within me. It was warm, so warm. I felt the wind flowing over me, the grass brushed against my legs, even her ichor drying on my face. I stood within the feeling while the warmth tinged my body.

“Ay—Rosewood.” Birch tried to stand again, quickly collapsing with a knee to the ground. “They’ll kill you for this.”

Her bite was gone, I knew she was right. Let her be right, and let them come. I’d broken it after all—the cage they’d held me in was gone, and I wouldn’t let them put me in a new one. Though there was no way the Church would let me live if they actually did catch me. No more cage, no more hunt, no more control. Just… me, just Aya.

“You know Birch, you really should think of a real name.” It was good enough, the only words I could think to leave with her.

I grasped my blouse and vest off the ground, and turned; leaving her and everything else behind.

#celia rants #my writing -#also a HUGE thank you to the editors on this... you know who you are!

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thecreaturecodex · 13 days

Text

Sartan

Still from Return of Ultraman accessed at the Ultraman Wiki here

[I am coming to the Ultra franchise pretty much cold, and am watching it in isolation from its fandom except for my girlfriend @abominationimperatrix. One of the things that I gather from her is that the monsters that stand out to me from these series are rarely fandom favorites. Like, I'm not planning on statting up Black King or Gudon or Twintail from Return of Ultraman... but this ratty anthro Snuffleupagus was immediately on my list. Part of that is how grody and gross he looks. Part of it is he has an interesting power set, one that led to my conception of the flavor text. It seems that Tsubaraya Studios thought the idea of a ninja elephant was worth exploring long before it was a joke on RPG.net about D&D 3.0's skill system]

Sartan CR 17 CE Monstrous Humanoid This creature is as tall as a building. Its features are lumpy and misshapen, with bulging eyes and sparse, bristly hair growing from its head. It has a long, elephant-like trunk, clawed hands, and a short tail.

A sartan is an interplanetary thrill killer. They travel from world to world, using their powers of invisibility to spy on people and learn who their heroes are. They then seek these heroes out and kill them for no reason other than to challenge their abilities and to cause other people emotional suffering. Sartans are cruel and enjoy collateral damage in these assassination attempts. Some powerful entities attempt to hire sartans to work for them as assassins, but sartans care little for money. Only if a target interests them, or if the employer resorts to charm spells, will they take on one of these jobs.

A sartan usually only enters combat if it suits them, whether because they have found their target, they want to lure that target into the open, or if they just feel like committing some cruelty for fun. Their supernatural abilities are mostly defensive—a sartan is invisible unless it chooses to appear, or is actively locked in combat. They can become incorporeal, which they often do in order to have mundane weapons pass right through them. When it comes to actual violence, however, sartans do it the old-fashioned way, by getting their claws bloody or grabbing a foe with their trunks and squeezing it to death. Sartans value their own hides too strongly to fight to the death. They will usually attempt to flee a losing battle, but may come back for a rematch on their own terms.

Sartan CR 17 XP 102,400 CE Colossal monstrous humanoid Init +13; Senses darkvision 120 ft., Perception +24, scent, see invisibility

Defense AC 32, touch 12, flat-footed 32 (-8 size, +9 Dex, +1 dodge, +20 natural) hp 261 (18d10+162) Fort +15, Ref +20, Will +14 DR 15/magic; Resist electricity 20, fire 20 Defensive Abilities evasion, ghost form, natural invisibility, uncanny dodge

Offense Speed 60 ft. Melee 2 claws +23 (2d8+13/19-20), slam +23 (4d6+13 plus grab) Space 30 ft.; Reach 30 ft. Special Attacks constrict (4d6+19), leap attack, strangle, studied target (+4, swift action, up to 4 targets) Spell-like Abilities CL 18th, concentration +22 Constant—comprehend languages, see invisibility 1/day—find the path

Statistics Str 36, Dex 28, Con 29, Int 11, Wis 17, Cha 18 Base Atk +18; CMB +39 (+43 grapple and sunder); CMD 59 (61 vs. sunder) Feats Dodge, Greater Sunder, Improved Critical (claw), Improved Initiative, Improved Sunder, Mobility, Power Attack, Skill Focus (Stealth), Spring Attack Skills Acrobatics +27 (+39 when jumping), Perception +24, Stealth +28, Survival +24; Racial Modifiers +8 Stealth Languages Aklo SQ meteoric starflight

Ecology Environment any land Organization solitary Treasure standard

Special Abilities Ghost Form (Su) A sartan can become incorporeal as a swift action. In this form, it loses its natural armor but gains a deflection bonus to Armor Class and CMD equal to its Charisma modifier. It cannot make attacks in this form, but does gain a fly speed equal to twice its land speed with perfect maneuverability. It can resume corporeality as a free action. A sartan can remain incorporeal for a number of minutes up to its Hit Dice in a day. Leap Attack (Su) As a full round action, a sartan can launch itself an impossible distance, traveling up to 1000 feet in a single bound. This movement can be vertical or horizontal, and the sartan lands on its feet unharmed regardless of the height it travels. It can make a single melee attack against an opponent in its reach during any part of this movement. A sartan can use this ability once every 1d4 rounds. Meteoric Starflight (Su) Over the course of 1 minute, a sartan can turn itself into a Medium sized hovering rock-like object, then blast itself into space. In this meteoric form, it has hardness 8, can make no attacks, and requires no food, water or air. In this form, it can fly at a speed of 300 ft. with perfect maneuverability, and can survive in the void of outer space and fly with incredible speed. Although exact travel times vary, a trip within a single solar system should take 3d20 hours, while a trip beyond should take 3d20 days (or more, at the GM’s discretion)—provided the sartan knows the way to its destination. Natural Invisibility (Su) A sartan can become invisible or visible as a move action. Its invisibility is broken when it attacks. Strangle (Ex) Due to its enormous size, a sartan can only strangle when it is grappling an opponent of Huge or larger size. Studied Target (Ex) A sartan gains the studied target ability of a slayer with a level equal to its Hit Dice. It does not gain other slayer class abilities, such as sneak attack or slayer talents, unless it takes levels in the slayer class.

#sartan #ultraman #return of ultraman #kaiju #pathfinder 1e #monstrous humanoid #ninja #elephant #ninja elephant

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