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The Northern Lights by Ian Vickers
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Hey, yo!

I’m doing my senior project on paranormal investigation/ghost hunting and I want to ask people about what they’ve experienced? So, if you have had any, shoot me a message? or like this so i can message you? If not, could you please reblog to get the message around?

synne-tove  asked:

Five word Prompts: " just don’t fuck it up.”

“You know, there’s a myth around these parts…” The Coyote’s sly baritone piped up over the sound of lapping waves against rocks. “Of a creature that lives out in the deep sea, lurking beneath the ocean blue….A cephlapod feared by men, and a doom to voyageurs roaming across the Rhotano and more…They call it the Gigant Octopus, and it has a reputation of sinking mighty vessels, sending hapless sailors to a murky abyss beneath the waves.” He drew a finger across his neck, slowly.

The tale had captured Synne’s attention, and her eyes, hazy with inebriation, and sparkling with the reflection of the celestial plane above, rolled heavily at the male’s theatrics. A bottle drifted towards her lips, where she drunk heavily from the carbonated contents. It was a tradition between the pair, to stargaze and indulge heavily in fizzy wine. Ric’s place of choosing this night had been Western La Noscea, on a rocky outcropping beneath the face of a large cliff. It was their locale that had sparked the Coyote’s grim story. 

A faint smirk had touched plush lips. “Is that so, Charming?” He nodded, reaching for the bottle once she’d had her fill. “It is. A Legendary beast, known all across Hydaelyn, apparently. Do you know what the symbolism is, for an octopus sinking a ship?” He inquired in rhetoric, though his answer soon followed factually, a hint of wistfulness to his tone. “Power.” 

Synne hummed thoughtfully, contemplating this new information before offering a few facts of her own. “Do you know the symbolism for an octopus in general? Complexity, mystery, variability….illusion…”  Feminine lips twitched upwards further, for she knew that particular factoid would further capture the male’s interest. “I’ve been considering getting a tattoo of one for a while now…” Ric’s brow drew skyward, and his eyes sparked with characteristic, canine mischief as attention focused anew on the midlander. 

The bottle they shared had been passed back and forth enough that the contents were near gone. The duo had found, in their initial tasting of that particular beverage, that it tended to hit much harder than even some of the top shelf whiskeys that Ric was privy to drinking. The reasons behind why, while not entirely known, were not heavily questioned. It did the trick, and already, the former soldier’s inhibitions towards recklessness had been increased ten fold. “Let’s do it, then.” Synne seemed surprised at the suggestion, and it took a moment for her brain to catch up with his words. “Let’s…you mean us?”  

“Yup. Right now.” 

It was how the pair found themselves, three hours and a few hundred gil later, shirtless beneath the needle of an older looking half-elf and her cohort in a run down and questionable looking tattoo parlor. The half-elf woman was riddled with piercings and ink, standing over Synne’s chest and continuously dabbing the utensil into pale flesh while her partner paid similar treatment to Ric’s shoulder and back. 

“Whatever you do…jus’…don’t fuck it up.” The little bombshell was all talk under the influence, a habit Ric was well accustomed to. “Relax, Sinner. I’m sure it’ll be fine.” His words, along with the capturing of a much smaller hand, had Synne doing just that and she shot him a sheepish glance. She was fairly content just to interlock fingers during the arduous process and a tender squeeze of digits was made against the Coyote’s own.

At some point, Ric drifted off staring at the black flag, pirate paraphernalia hung up on the wall. Something about the faint pain and constant buzzing of the tools used seemed to work as a subtle catharsis that relaxed him. He didn’t remember very much after that, save awaking next to Synne within a rented room of the Mizzenmast. The dull sting of his shoulder was what first alerted him, along with a tired groan that sang from the midlander’s throat. “Oh…ffffuuuck….” She was looking down, slowly peeling bandages from her chest and Ric soon saw the reason for such an expletive. 

Her torso had become the canvas for the pirate tattoo artist’s design. If any doubt had existed of that former swashbuckler’s background, it was dismissed with the view of such intricate art. A life at sea, and the eyes to have seen it all were the only ways that a vision such as this creature could be recreated, taken from ocean and placed upon skin. 

The miqo’te consort that had taken Ric’s session, had opted for a more tribal approach and it showed in the design that had been imprinted on the hyur’s back. A faint note of pleasure touched Cael’s lips before he turned to Synne, who still seemed both miserable and in awe to the new image upon her chest. “It’s beautiful…but it hurts…Never again.” She complained, pouting at Ric. He couldn’t deny the artistry, but what he remembered of their chosen place did not leave him with the best outlook. “Yeah….definitely not our…safest decision. We’ll hit Vie up sometime soon and make sure we don’t spark an infection. At the very least, let’s grab some chow and catch the next boat ride to Ul’dah. The fresh air will likely do us some good, yeah?”

She didn’t argue, and he helped Synne dress, careful to re-wrap the newly blemished skin to protect it from the elements. It wasn’t wholly pleasant, but the continuous ache served as good reminder to the highlander, of time he’d spent with her. If this was Synne’s mark, he was glad to have it. 

Ask: ][@synne-tove][

Mention of: ][@mischiefs-mistress][

“Me amarro em gente que quando sente minha falta, me procura, me liga, que sempre da um jeito pra me ver, sem desculpas.”
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