trading boats

Baby Sparrow

Summary: The reader is on the run from the police because she is the daughter of a pirate.  What happens when she hides on the Black Pearl.

Warnings: Mention of character death, and maybe some blood, and kidnapping, that’s it…..I think

A/n: AT the begging of the story you are 15 or 16 years old. Might make this into a series  

Word Count: 3,608 words



Redcoats were chasing after you for a very good reason.  You were the daughter of a pirate.  Your mother had a one night stand with some drunk at a bar, nine months later in the middle of the ocean you were born.  Recently your mother was caught and hung and you were crying internally, but you had to run to escape the same fate. 

You ran past coaches and climbed ladders but you couldn’t shake them.  Now salty air began to fill your nose.  ‘The Docks!’  Developing a plan to hide in a ship could either go amazing or get you in worse trouble.  It was that or swim out to see.  Ships it was.

As you ran on the wooden planks, your eyes scanned the area.  Mostly trade ships and military boats.  That's when a massive ship falls into your line of sight.  It was black as the night sky and no one was on deck. “BINGO!" 

Urging your legs to carry you faster caused you to bump into sailors, one of them caught your attention.  His black hair was in dreads, a red cloth tied above his forehead, at his side was a sword and a pistol, to top it of a hat of a captain.  'Pirate’ ran through your head as you realized why he dressed like that.  As you rushed past him, you kicked a table of spices over which sent powder into the air making a colorful cloud of exotic smells and colors.

The threat falling behind only edged you on.  As you approached the ship you leaped over objects and skipped onto the plank of wood that let you on.  Once on board, you hid in a bushel of barrels which smelled of rum.  Now you needed to wait.

An hour had passed before you dozed off.  You dreamt of adventures you had gone on with your mother.  Looting from trade ships, pillaging small towns, and one time robbing a governor.  Each left a smile on your face. Until you were awoken.  

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Guitars and Scarred Hearts 5/?

A CS Rockstar!Killian AU

Also on AO3 - check the new tag, loves

Super huge shoutout to @lenfaz​ for carrying my ass to the finish line. Tagging @teamhook​ and @galadriel26​, too. 


“Shit. Shit, shit, shit, shit!”  

Emma scrambled to get herself back to rights in order to help Henry. The sundress she’d stripped off was tossed five feet away and even in the dim light, she could see it was inside out. Killian was holding up one half of her bikini sideways, clearly trying to determine whether it was the top or bottom. As another heave and telltale splatter came from the rear of the boat, he all but threw them at her, quickly doing up the three bottom buttons on his shirt and stuffing the tails down into his boxers, jostling his hand a little to try and clean himself off. 

“Swan, I’ll go see to Henry.” He was already on his feet, moving away from her. “You take a moment.” 

“Killian you don’t have to-“ Cursing under her breath, Emma found the two halves of her bikini and made quick work of tying the bottoms back on, stretching to reach the last piece of discarded clothing as she heard him speak to Henry.

“Come on. We’ll hit the head and see if there’s anything left in that stomach.” 

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Sunday Respite - Going to Town

Those fabled, cobble streets and crooked alleyways hide secrets that even the sewer rats may not know. The leaded roof tiles and wiry thatch paint the urban horizon with the dour grey and off-yellow pallet seen upon the mournful faces of the weakened plague victims.

Adventurers in tabletop games are traditionally associated with dungeon exploration and travel, fathoms underground and stretches out of common sight. It was only a good decade into the maturity of the industry that players began to experience a wider plethora of locales to delve into. Those who once had remained chained by the ankle to cavernous castle hallways and howling passages of cyclopean stone now could roam free. Ancient, Elven glades, roaring, wild swathes of ocean brine, and - more importantly for today - all sorts of city-scapes.

Today, I implore you to follow me closely down the shadow-painted roads and gleaming, freshly-scrubbed marble pathways. I hope they inspire you in the future in all facet of creative art and design that you approach. Just keep an open ear, a sharp eye, and one hand on your purse and the other at your sword. We can never be too careful, not in these parts.

Nepulas, the Wounded City

Nepulas was once a gleaming democracy on the shore of a calm and tidy bay. Its ivory-white marble structures shone with not only the radiance of a equatorial sun, all year-round, but also with the ingenious pride of the hundreds upon hundreds of artists and architects who carved them out of the earth itself with chisel and hammer. Now, the bay lies in fragmented islands, following a disastrous mishap of unknown magics. The city was thrust hundreds of feet up and away from the water upon a raised stack of chalky rock with half of the township lost to the sea in collapsing debris. The survivors of the maelstrom found that they were now separated from the rest of the nation; severed off by the cruel blade of a wicked, eternally storm-ridden  sea that now swills around the base like a stirred cocktail. Every year, more neighbourhoods plummet away like slices of pie into the sea. Every year, the city becomes more cramped. The piers have been adapted into a docking bay with a heavy crane as its centerpiece. It reaches down to the sea below and lifts trade boats and travel ships up to the city or back down to the waters. Those who cannot afford to pay for their stay may find their boats dropped, unceremoniously, back to the depths beneath the dockmaster’s uncaring gaze.

Eradith, the Allhouse

Many foreign journeymen and women are confused as to just why there are hundreds of busying farms out amongst the wilderness, seemingly with no destination for their produce. Eradith is a city that you could easily miss on your travels. Only three, ragged and dusty roads lead to the arrow-pocked city walls and towers, and the Allhouse itself is obscured between four different wheat fields of four different farmers, which each outsize the city itself by almost a third of its landmass. An approach to the city is a confusing one. A traveler may expect the distant structures on the horizon to grow in size as they near. Instead, the traveler finds that they themselves begin to slowly shrink and shrink until the wheat fields tower over them on either side. The city itself is a fully-functioning community built around the river that narrows like a bottleneck upon its breach of the city wall to a fraction of its original girth, but no less than its original momentum. The river feeds into a canal system of three branching rings, each hosting a different marketplace, before once again leaving Eradith and widening once more as if it had never changed. Those who choose to leave the city find that the reverse process is slightly nauseous, but not at all painful as an experience as they return to the norm of seeing over the endless barley fields once more.

Oldscope Tower

The city that preceded Oldscope Tower and her residents died long ago to an end that history didn’t deem worth remembering. Its skeletal foundations scarred the grasses like runic tattoos on a Minotaur’s grizzled forearm. Something about its demeanor inspired some maddened wizard to construct an impressive tower right in the centre of the scattered stonework and bricks. Its blue-tiled beacon brought homeless travelers and gypsies to settle under her shadow. Eventually, a community of regulars formed under the magician’s benevolence and the township of Oldscope formed, with the wizard taking the titles of mayor and court-wizard at once. His oversight brought business, health, trade, and all the benefits that his magic could afford to his people. He spend every last etch of his power into building a safe home for those below. His eventual death brought generations of court-wizard mayors to oversee the expansion from a dribbling of infrequent arrivals to a coursing vein of the nation’s trade and political wealth.


In the kingdom of Adol, criminals are treated with no mercy. The thieves, killers, cheats, and brutes all meet the same fate. They are shackled and stocked onto a rattling cart with all that they own by grim-faced guardsmen. The cart rumbles down the swampy paths and far from whatever land they may call home, and then beyond whatever borders they know. Within the feral wilderness is the moonlit city of Greaveston, plagued by crows and crime; for that is all there is. Every criminal is sent to this swarming chaos of traitors and left to live as they chose. The city was originally an enormous temple complex of a forgotten religion, complete with snaking tunnel ways and echoing church halls of worship. Now, thousands of every colour and creed bustle amongst the dark, fighting for survival and beyond out of the lawful citizen’s sight and beyond their care.


Olraven sits at the foot of a ruined manor house of a hundred bygone generations. It is a place of horror and despair, with terrible creatures of malformed construct meandering through the house grounds without goal other than the violent death of all intruders. The most recent heir of the estate died by her own doings, but her last willful act was to summon what distant and depraved family she had left in one final bid to reclaim their namesake; a  vast fortune beyond equal. The township below used to house the servants and staff of the family in question. The smithy lies empty, the tavern is boarded over at every window and door, and the church’s window panes lie shattered and spent across the pews in discoloured shards. However, one particularly morbid day finds Olraven welcoming several noblemen at her doorstep. The boots of the esteemed bring forth the greeding, nose-raised aristocrats that were sent for by letter all those months ago. With them, they have brought a smith to rekindle the forge, a priest to reignite the faith of men, and enough wine and brandy by the barrel to feast for months. Following them across the weed-strewn roads are mercenary folks of all sorts and styles, paid well to reclaim the treasures within Olraven manor. It will be a long campaign; a costly one, too. But they will endure. Rumour is that whatever wealth lies within is also the cause of the family’s collapse. A terrible power that just begs to be harnessed.


Pixie x


A Song of Ice and Fire: Arya Stark [ESFP]

UNOFFICIAL TYPING by littlebirdinthevaleofarryn

Extroverted Sensing (Se): Arya is very impulsive and has the bad habit of acting on emotion. She lives in the present and rarely stops to think of how her actions will later affect her and others, like making the butcher’s boy practice sword fighting with her or disobeying her father to run off from the camp, which is sometimes a problem even after she learns to be more cautious while working for Lord Bolton. She greatly enjoys physical activities like water dancing, chasing cats, horseback riding, picking flowers, and exploring the wild woods, being easily bored sitting still at lessons with the Septa. She’s very resourceful, thinks fast on her feet, and takes opportunities when they present themselves (why trade their valuable horses for an I.O.U when she could trade them for that boat she saw and get away!) and fights quickly before her enemies even know what hits them. She tends to judge people at face value (she dislikes Cersei just because she won’t let Arya’s dangerous animal into the wheelhouse, for example). She isn’t good at fitting into the status quo, nor does she find it interesting, and prefers playing with peasants and squires because they’re different and more fun to talk to.

Introverted Feeling (Fi): Arya is very emotional and feels intensely about many things. She cares very much what her father and half-brother Jon think of her, to the point that they’re the only ones she really listens to. She feels bad for failing to measure up to the noble lady image she assumes her mother has of her, even thinking Catelyn wouldn’t want her back when the Brotherhood Without Banners wants to ransom her. She holds herself to a certain set of morals nobody can sway her from, and takes it upon herself to avenge her family and punish people who wrong her, even people she just doesn’t like. Some of her false names are related to those she loved (Old Nan, Catelyn, and Nymeria). She has trouble seeing why Sansa pretended to not remember what happened at the Trident and needs Ned to explain why. She doesn’t forgive easily and holds grudges.

Extroverted Thinking (Te): Arya tries to have a game plan for anything that might happen. She easily takes on the role as “pack leader” and explains to Gendry, Hot Pie, and Lommy how it’s gonna work, and expects them to follow her lead. She’s stubborn and doesn’t hesitate to tell people bluntly what she thinks of them, even when it’s safer to hold her tongue. She isn’t afraid to say when an idea sounds dumb and doesn’t always have the patience for someone she sees as incompetent. Sometimes she’ll state the obvious, if she can’t find a better way around a problem.

Introverted Intuition (Ni): Arya is fixated on seeking revenge against the Lannisters, Freys, and Boltons for the downfall of her House, and lets nothing get in the way of this. Her mantras (“fear cuts deeper than swords”; the list of people she wants to kill, etc.) remind her of her goal.  She is determined to get home or at least find her brother Jon at the Wall. She loves the idealistic old songs of the warrior queen Nymeria, and naively hopes to be a warrior herself some day, not seeing the reality that women aren’t typically allowed to achieve such traditionally masculine feats. However, for the most part she doesn’t always have insight and tends to live in the present.

Note: This is a book typing.

The Pirate and The Diplomat - Chapter 8

Rating: Explicit
Pairing: Hardenshipping
Word count: 8,380 for this chapter
Contains: Mentions of death, violence, blood, eventual smut and romance, mentions of various headcanons, and a lot of rivalry mixed with sexual tension.

Summary: Maxie McDewitt is a diplomat on the way to Johto to make a trade deal when the boat he is on is captured by pirates. The captain of the ship, Archie Brimsey, decides to keep him prisoner with a promise of treasure. At first tensions between the two are high, however pirate life ends up influencing Maxie’s behaviour, and his feelings, in ways that neither man can begin to comprehend. 

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Author’s Note: Well hey there everyone. This chapter is unbeta’d as my girlfriend is currently asleep at the time of this coming out and I have no idea if I would have been able to post it tomorrow. Any issues with this fic, raise them with me and I’ll get to editing asap. 

Apart from that, this is a long one so enjoy! 

From below deck came the muffled shouts and orders of the crew, a constant reminder as to where Maxie was, though after awhile he found himself able to block out the sounds of the crew altogether. Once he did, he found the sound of the water hitting the hull comforting, after many voyages where the sound had kept him awake with dread. Somehow, he found himself dozing off, ignoring the hard wood that he sat on, letting his thoughts take over. The slow bob of the ship as it traversed the waves calmed his breathing, lulling him into a peaceful state of mind, one he hadn’t really been in for a long time. He wasn’t really sure how much time was passing outside either, eyes drooping every now and again as he tried to fight off the sleep, however he soon gave in, just about managing to keep himself sitting upright against the wall.

Unfortunately, sleep didn’t last very long, around half an hour at the most, before the door to his cell slammed open, causing him to jump, eyes snapping open in surprise, right towards the cell door. Matt stood there, the key to the cell in his hands, a stern look on his face.

“Get up, the captain wants you.”

Maxie opened his mouth to retort, but didn’t have time to before Matt roughly grabbed him, hauling him up to his feet. He staggered a little, his legs having fallen asleep, before scoffing and making a show of straightening his clothes.

“Could have added a please in there somewhere,” he muttered, ignoring the glare he got in return.

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A Shadow Seen: A Nuala/Cerridwen Fic

Maybe the taste of danger would make her feel something.

Thank you @sparkleywonderful for giving it a proof read!

Part I

Nuala was beginning to resent her sisters presence. The only constant in her life, it seemed. Her conscious was her own, thankfully. To an onlooker, it wouldn’t seem that way. Every movement she made was matched by Cerredwin. Cauldron damn her, they even wore the same Night Court attire. She felt as though she were becoming a shadow, seen by only those who dared to stare. 

Cerridwen seemed to have accepted this fate. Looked as though she was ready to reduce into nothing but information for the High Lord that ruled them. Nuala couldn’t fathom it. Her sister’s willingness to become nothing, just a whisper of a shadow between pillars and walls. 

No. Nuala wanted to be seen. Especially after recent events at the Night Court. After their new High Lady found her place in Lord Rhysand’s home. Had become Rhysand’s home. It had been beautifully heartbreaking to watch. It was no mystery to those who resided here that Feyre and Rhysand truly loved each other, a perfect paring by the Mother. And it was that love that broke her out of the dream like trance she had been in.

She wanted that. She wanted companionship that differed from sisterly love. A person to combat her darkness and shadows. Someone with a flame like touch and a smile bright enough to end the darkness forever. Because it seemed the shadows were getting to her more easily these days. No one was able to cut the endless fog that surrounded her. 

What are you thinking about, sister? You seem as though you are deep in thought.

She jolted slightly, once again thankful her mind could not be read. Well, at least not by Cerridwen. 

Nothing. She shot back, trying desperately to conceal its venom.

Good, because spymaster Azriel ordered us to gather intel on Her Lady Amren.

Yes, yes. 

From then until her duty had ceased, Nuala tried to shut out thoughts of forbidden love and lives lived in bliss. Lady Amren hadn’t done anything suspicious, and Nuala couldn’t help but feel annoyed at Spymaster Azriel. Had he not realized, after multiple centuries, that the woman would not do anything to risk her position in the Inner Circle? Typical Illyiran protectiveness, Nuala supposed. 

To be quite honest, her and her twin were lucky to be able to serve here. Typically, faeries aren’t the gifted sort. Thought it was by some stroke of luck that they inherited their mother’s abilities and their father’s immortality. Together, they could do most anything in a Court setting. For it was their abilities that allowed them to gather information easier than most could. Because of this, they were granted positions as spies for High Lord Rhysand. 

It had been difficult at times. Especially being under the mountain. The creatures down there had been the most gruesome she’d ever seen. Cerredwin, in her blind determination, had been the stronger of the two. Nuala wouldn’t have made it through the fifty years if it hadn’t been for her twin.

After hours of surveilling, Spymaster Azriel had given the twins the night off. They now entered their quarters at the far side of the Night Court. If anyone where to stumble on their room, they would’ve seen nothing but a vacant room. Two beds on either side of a melancholy room. Trunks sat in front of them, both filled with nothing but shear black Night Court attire. One window hiding behind wooden shudders, and a dead flower plant Nuala had failed to Nurture. Destruction, it seemed, sprung from her finger tips. 

Cerredwin took a place at the vanity and began to un-spool her intricately plaited hair. Cerredwin did little to conceal her narcissism. Every morning, she lined her eyes perfectly with kohl and put on earrings of luminous gold. She always told Nuala, a good spy must look as though she belongs. So Nuala held her tongue and allowed her twin to duplicate the look on herself. They were the same side of a coin. Looks were as far as the similarity went. Where Cerridwen was content with silence and stern looks, Nuala yearned for spaces filled with laughter. It was all she could do not to sit down at the dinner table among the Inner Circle. They had such fun. 

While Cerridwen readied for bed, Nuala laid down and feigned sleep. If was often that she slept in her Night Court garbs. After some time, Nuala heard sounds of sleep from her sister.

She gathered herself and left the room through the wall rather than the door, if only to avoid its clicking. The feeling of solid matter around her never seemed to become normal. Once bone met flesh and skin again, she walked through the gardens Lady Elain had planted. They were beautiful in the silver light of the moon. The feeling of grass beneath her feet and plants tickling her legs made the corners of her mouth turn up in a quiet smile.

“Nuala.” Spymaster Azriel’s voice came from behind her, and her body turned to face him. 

“Yes?” She cursed herself for addressing him with such a lack of respect. 

“Where are you going?” The steel in his voice had been something she had grown used to. 

“Just for a walk. Cerridwen is asleep.” 

“Ah, so she doesn’t know about your little walk.” The implication rattled her. What exactly did he think she was doing? Taking a lover? Nuala hadn’t had one in centuries.

“She never does. You know she would attempt to stop me.” This was true. It was far too dangerous in the eyes of Cerridwen. 

Understanding veiled his features, and she found herself resenting the pity on his face. She took this job willingly and knew what it meant. There were to be limited outside communications, as well as no relationships outside the confines of the Townhouse. 

These thoughts echoed through her mind as she left him behind her. Most nights, if there weren’t assignments to be completed, Nuala was free to roam Velaris. And it was among the fae and faerie strangers alike that she felt solace. For though they could not see her, she could feel their warmth. Their joy and laughter pulsed through Nuala’s very bones. 

The light of the lanterns allured her. The smattering of stars across the sky made her feel that she wasn’t so alone. It was their light that chased away the shadows, made her feel as less of a spy and more of a person. 

Azriel had lectured her before leaving on the dangers of mostly everything. Little did he know that Nuala dared the night to claim her, take her away for just a little while. Maybe the taste of danger would make her feel something. The thoughts of a madwoman, she scolded herself. She acknowledged her spymaster’s worry and left the house in a rush. Soon the sun would be coming up and her shadows would return, following her always. 

She passed shops and people of all sorts while walking the aged cobblestone street. The journey back would be more difficult if her burning thighs were any indication. But she liked not using her magic for once, not relying on the ability to float where she wished. It reminder her that she wasn’t her abilities only.

Usually, she stayed in the shadows surrounding bustling streets, content to be alone in her thoughts. But tonight, she ventured to a corner of Velaris that wasn’t easy to miss. Music called to her, and she went along with where it might take her. 

At the base of the narrow street lay a dance floor of sorts. Faerie lights were strung in between two shops. One of the two looked to be closed for the night, as if its workers were too joining in the festivities. And the other, emitting smells of delicious spices and meats, appeared to be a eatery. They were obviously taking advantage of the men and women gorging themselves on faerie wine. It was fascinating to her, the lives of these people. They were not afraid of the darkness. They were not afraid of the triumphant mountains at their backs. Velaris’s people basked in the starlight, looking as if they’d be content to stay that way forever.  Between the shops was empty air, filled with the view Velaris was known for. A sky full of stars met by a body of stagnant water, glistening in the starlight. As if it, too was used to the darkness. Even the boats, usually trading or moving about, stood still. Down the street a bridge stood, astride with people all looking skyward. It was a sight that healed her weary soul again and again. 

Her thoughts were interrupted by a pair of strong hands cupping her mouth and pulling her back into a solid force. She had forgotten the alleyway behind her and the peculiar feeling she got from it. 

“Try to get away, and i’ll let your blood stain the streets.” The voice was hissy, as if not used to speaking in a long while. 

Someone from the Court of Nightmares, then. So far they had done well in the transition, as if worried their High Lord would punish them individually for any misstep. They should be worried. 

Nuala was not panicked. She could easily materialize into shadow and escape. Yet, for some reason she remained in the hands of this scoundrel, daring him to make the cut. Daring him to condemn himself to death at the hands of her High Lord. More likely, her High Lady. Nuala was the only one who could get her hair the way she liked it. If her blood spilled, it wouldn’t be in vain. 

“Look at these fancy clothes,” he whispered. “From the Night Court, are we?” His voice was echoed by the laughs of what seemed like two other men. Her spine tingled with the thrill of danger. 

“Tell me, lady. Why are you walking these streets alone?”

He foolishly loosened his hold on her mouth, as if he truly wanted the answer.

“Because I was under the impression that I could walk about my city and feel safe, you oaf.” Her voice was a sensual purr made to alarm any threats.

He bristled at the insult. “I should kill you for that.” 

Do it. End this miserable life. 

The man angled his dagger towards her neck, only to be stopped by a deep growl coming from down the alleyway. Whoever- whatever it was, was cloaked in the darkness. 

The men were smart enough to look alarmed. One even called out in a shaky voice, “Who- who’s there?” It was echoed by a devious laugh from the creature, now seeming to be man. 

Looks were exchanged between the three, as if questioning their lives worth over a wealthy Night Court dweller. When the outline of a hulking a muscle bodied figure materialized, they chose to flee. 

Nuala remained where she stood, if only to prove her rescuer that she had some semblance of bravery. When the beast of a man came closer, she didn’t falter. 

“I didn’t need help!” she shouted towards the figure, now approaching at a quicker pace. Her voice shook, despite efforts to appear formidable. 

“Is that right?” His voice took a playful tone, stark against its gravelly bite. Though Nuala couldn’t see him, she knew he was smirking.  

“You arrogant beast. I had it under control.” She was surprised at the shear honesty in her voice. Rarely did she emit her her true feelings.  

A booming laugh skidded across her skin. “Was it the knife at your throat you had under control? Because it looked to me like your guts were about to be scattered about the street.”

His features were now distinguishable against the darkness of the alley. A strong jaw offset by eyes of the richest blue. His body, encased in muscles, looked to have been honed over centuries. A lean waist and strong broad shoulders that probably charmed many women over the years. He was bred for perfection, and that worried her the most. Men of that appearance were usually used as weapons. After all, it was easy to trust a face meant for charming. A face that was now split with a impish smirk.

“I know. Gorgeous, right?” His smirk widened into a grin, and it took all of her efforts not to swoon. Had she not been trained in the art of a stone face, she would have.

“That was some growl. Part animal, maybe?” 

“Only in the bedroom, sweetheart.” 

Unable to generate a response, Nuala scoffed and began to walk away. 

The beautiful man guffawed, and began to catch up to her. “Wait. Stop.” His face had become slightly serious and infinitely less boyish. It’s severity halted her steps. 

“Whats is your name, lady in the alleyway?” 

She wanted to smile, and that realization made her still.

“Well, my name is Hyram.”


  • He’s not a small guy to begin with, but Crocodile is significantly heavier than he looks. However, his weight also varies more than his appearance does. Depending on the sand composition of wherever he’s been traveling, he’ll weigh somewhere between 400 and 430 lbs.


  • The island he grew up on didn’t have any strong central religion, but ideas like karma, souls, and destiny were common folk belief. A lot of folklore was a mixture of fable and outlandish tales from faraway seas, so as Crocodile traveled he was surprised to learn that there was a lot of truth to the stories. When he was young, he put more faith in what he could learn from books rather than oral histories.Though he’s curious at heart, Crocodile hasn’t pursued the bigger questions of the universe, since he considers them irrelevant to his plans and aspirations.


  • Since he received the scar across his face, Crocodile has suffered a number of mild complications. At first, the severed muscle made it difficult to eat or speak, and impossible for him to smile. As healing progressed, he suffered frequent nosebleeds. As the scar tissue set, he had occasional breathing problems while he slept, and his snoring got worse.On the rare occasion that he catches a cold, he also gets terrible headaches.


  • It didn’t take long for Crocodile to grow tired of books and seek adventure in the outside world. At first, he’d stow away on fishing and trading boats, but the population of his small island quickly caught on to his tricks. His enthusiasm undimmed, he spent the next few years working odd jobs and working on his own entrepreneurial schemes.


  • With a few exceptions, Crocodile isn’t one to hold grudges. He can separate his feelings of like or dislike from a person’s role as his ally or enemy. Personal dislike won’t prevent him from working with someone to further his goals, and his fondness for someone won’t stop him from acting against them if they’re standing in his way. 

[not taking any more for this meme, thank you!!]

Düsseldorf on the Rhein river is the capital of Nordrhein-Westfalen in Northwestern Germany. It’s one of Germany’s economic centers in the densely populated Rhein-Ruhr region. The city is famous for its nightlife, carnival, shopping, and for fashion & trade fairs like the Boot Messe (one of the world’s best trade fairs for boats & watersports) and Igedo (world leader in fashion). Every year, more than 4 million people visit the Kirmes fun fair which runs for 9 days between the 2nd and 3rd weekend of July on the banks of Rhein, featuring roller coasters, a Ferris wheel, a flying jinny, beer gardens and food stands. “Pink Monday” is the day of lesbians and gays at the fair, Friday features firework displays. Düsseldorf’s Kö shopping district is internationally recognized for its high fashion stores, and is sometimes referred to as the “Champs-Élysées of Germany”. There is a large Japanese community here.

At the moment, Düsseldorf is also hosting the Tour De France.

Let’s college AU

Cuz why the hell not. And @annieisyourfavourite ‘s Beetle art inspired me (US based, hence the “college” not uni, cuz im american & too lazy to figure out my own school system let alone other countries)

  • Septimus is in his first year training to be a pilot and takes as many science courses as he can. He is especially interested in astrophysics and aeronautics and, ironically, chemistry.
  • Jenna is in her first year but has enough credits to be in her second year. She’s studying political science. She’s aiming for governor but, of course, her big dream would be to be president one day. Or maybe just a congresswoman, who knows.
  • Beetle is in his last year & finishing his degree in English with an emphasis in Literature. He hopes to get into grad school to get his Library Science degree and become a librarian at the public level.
  • Marwick is in natural sciences. He wants to become a national or state park ranger. He loves the outdoors and wants to spend every working hour outside, teaching others.
  • Sep and Marwick have known each other since kindergarten, they got stuck in time out with each other.
  • Beetle and Jenna met in a general statistics class. Beetle put it off because he despises math. Jenna took it immediately to get it out of the way. It took them almost a year to start dating tho, Beetle felt weird about dating someone so much younger than him (18 to 21 is a big jump) and Jenna was convinced she only saw him as a friend for a while. The pair meets for coffee before class every Tuesday and Thursday. They’re that couple that is always together but don’t make you sick to look at. Everyone assumed they were dating much earlier than they were just because they were around each other so much.
  • Marcia is the head of the flight program at the university. She takes a special liking to Septimus as he tends to involve himself in EVERYTHING, head of social media, in with the competition planning, picking up random jobs at the airport, at every fundraiser helping out. You name it, he’s there.
  • (Alther is dean of the college the aviation program is apart of? Or he’s the old head of the aviation program & just comes around to fly planes once in a while.)
  • Sep TA’d for prof. Marcellus’s chem class & loved it.
  • Miss Marcia Overstrand is in a dead end relationship with a local shop owner, Milo Banda. They know each other from their own time in college and Marcia convinced herself he was going to propose when they graduated. Well it’s been a few years (try 10) and there’s still no ring on her finger and that chemistry professor on south campus is looking mighty fine.
  • Septimus invites Jenna to an aviation banquet as his date, because when in doubt, ask your siblings. Milo is there as Marcia’s date and he can’t help but think Jenna’s eyes look a lot like an ex girlfriends of his who died in childbirth. But the kid was a stillborn, right?
  • The gang hangs out at Beetle’s apartment (he’s the only one with a private room & is relativly close to campus. Plus he owns a TV!)
  • Sep and Beetle met when they ran into each other in the library. Sep was lost looking for a research book and Beetle helped him before asking about the Zelda shirt Sep wore. Beetle owns a switch and Sep hadn’t had time to even touch a controller since he got to college. Beetle invited him over to play Breath of the Wild and they became good friends after. It just so happened Jenna was Sep’s sister.
  • Mar smokes weed/makes edibles on the weekends but he does it SMARTLY so he wouldn’t get kicked out. He ain’t no dumbass. Sep tried it once, decided it wasn’t for him. (He takes a hit off of Marwick’s blunt when he’s feeling super stressed about stuff)
  • Simon is working as a chemist for a local pharmaceutical company. His and Sep’s fight came from 10 the normal dichotomy of oldest kid vs youngest. But 2) Sep got accepted to a better college than Simon ever had the opportunity to attend. Simon is over it now but he avoided coming home for a good few months when he heard. “He’s petty as hell” Jenna declared one night at dinner. No one disagreed
  • Sam is part of the states local fishing and wildlife board. Marwick walked in one day (when he was done with college) asking about a job application. Sam handed it to him with his phone number on the back.
  • Jojo still lives at home and works at the local Hot Topic and/or Spencer’s.
  • Idk what the twins do they have too little personality. They do go to fucking furry cons and you and I both know it.
  • Nicko went to trade school for boat repair and is loving every single minute of it. Hey, small world! He happens to work with his sister-in-law’s brother!
  • The Heaps ended up adopting Jenna through a roundabout way. Silas & Sarah were accidentally given the wrong baby in the hospital, never mind the darker skin & the fact that she was a girl while their baby was a boy. Silas notified a nurse & when they got Septimus back they asked to meet the mother of that charming baby girl. When they heard her mom had passed and her dad was out of the picture, they felt an immediate concern for the baby. After some serious deliberation, and a bit of prompting from the boys about wanting a sister, they decided to adopt her.

The Roshar Project


Thaylenah is an island kingdom of Roshar South of the Frostlands and Kharbranth. It is separated from the mainland by the Longbrow’s Straits.  Thaylen merchants travel with wagon caravans to trade items throughout Roshar. Master merchants are legally fathers, or babsks, to their apprentice merchants.

Perfect Date Ideas #3

- Go to a used book store. You each get to pick one book (that you have never read). Go somewhere nice. You have to read the other person’s book out loud to them. Either take turns reading chapters, or if you are in a long term relationship, pick one book to read first. 

- Go to a candy store that lets you buy assorted candy in bulk, like pick n mix or whatever. custom make a bag of candy for your date. 

- Find a globe. Spin it. put your finger down to stop it. You have to eat at a restaurant with food from the place your finger landed. 

- Go to an antique or thrift store. Give yourselves a budget, like $5. Pick out a weird gift for the other person. BONUS: Whoever finds the weirder or creepier thing “wins” and gets to get kissed. Maybe wherever they want to be kissed, maybe not. Asexual/aromantic option” winner gets to pick dessert. 

- Go somewhere with sticks and trees and stuff. maybe a park. or a nice neighborhood. collect sticks and leaves. Make a wreath together. Figure out how to make a wreath. 

- Rainy day. Gutter River. Garbage boat race. 

- Trade shirts. or underwear. or socks. for the whole date. 

- Go to an arcade. Many pizza places have small arcades. Play games and eat breadsticks. 

- Go to the humane society and ask to see the kitties because you “want to adopt one” like you are a couple ready for that next step. Just fuckin play with the kitties. WARNING: if you are weak willed, you will end up going home with a kitty. Make sure your date understands the dangers. 

- Sheet of paper. Draw a grid. A bingo grid. fill in the squares with whatever and have a bingo-type-scavenger hunt. like if you are going to a bar, fill the squares with people or things you might see at a bar, or if you are going to dinner, fill it with restaurant things. whoever gets bingo first wins and has to bring a gift for the loser on your next date. Chocolate or cookies or flowers or a mix tape. 

- Go to a tea shop. Try some leaf water. 

- Go to a bakery. a small one. eat baked goods. Share a piece of cake. Forget your diet, indulge, it’s a date, right?

- Look up nature walks or classes. Usually the parks and rec department of your city will put these on. Go to one together. learn about local plants and animals. 

- Instead of Netflix and chill, try Nova and chill. Science is fascinating. And terrifying. If you watch one that gives you an existential crisis, it also gives you a good reason to cuddle for emotional support. 

- Make Christmas cookies or candy together. I don’t care what time of year it is, or if you even celebrate Christmas. cut out some tree shapes and spread on some cheap icing. In fact, this is better when it’s NOT the holiday. 

- Find a photo or picture of some type of two people that aren’t you and you don’t know. maybe in a magazine advertisement or in an old frame at an estate sale. Make up a backstory for these people. Develop their characters. Spend the rest of the day pretending to be these people instead. Get in an argument like these people. 

- Visit a hospital. Bring art you made ahead of time to decorate people’s rooms with. This works very well with hand turkeys around Thanksgiving. Just talk to those who are awake, and give them some art, and wish them a happy day. Also works great for senior centers. 

- Buy a homeless person dinner. or a night at a hotel. or a haircut. or a coat. Something they need and you can afford. Maybe do this instead of your regularly planned date. Once in a while it is sweet to show your love for your partner by showing kindness to a stranger. If you are in love with someone, there should be extra goodness inside you, right?

- Try a new fruit or vegetable together. The fuck is kohlrabi, amirite?


Sunset viewed out the window of the observation deck at 1 world trade center. Magnificent.

Why Coffee People Should Not Scoff at the Pumpkin Spice Latte

This time of year, we baristas are beset by those desiring Pumpkin Spice Lattes. The annual advent of the drink at the largest coffee chain in the U.S. is reason for national news. It’s a fever. A craze. Baristas this time of year get ready to either 1. make people lots of Pumpkin Spice Lattes or 2. explain to lots of people why they don’t have Pumpkin Spice Lattes on the menu. Either way, it’s a topic, and some coffee people wind up scorning the PSL as a kind of non-coffee or anti-coffee drink, a stain on the tradition of pure coffee flavor and enjoyment.

What these people miss is that we might owe the very existence of coffee in the world to the Pumpkin Spice Latte.

First, to clarify: as baristas quickly learn, the Pumpkin Spice Latte contains no pumpkin. It is named after the spices we usually use to flavor pumpkin pie, which are: nutmeg, clove, mace, cinnamon, and ginger. When put together, these five spices make up the pentaverate of pumpkin spice, recognizable to everyone as bringing pumpkin spice-ness to whatever it flavors, including coffee drinks.

Here is the amazing thing. All five “pumpkin” spices have in their history a tiny clutch of islands in the Indonesian archipelago called the Moluccas (Muluku in Indonesian). In antiquity, these were known as the “Spice Islands” because they were the source of spices. I mean the source. Cloves are indigenous to only two islands, the twin volcanic cones of Ternate and Tidore, in the north of the Moluccas.

Nutmeg and mace are from the Banda islands, 10 small volcanoes in the center of the Moluccas. Cinnamon from Sri Lanka and Ginger from China were brought to the Moluccas thousands of years ago, making the legendary Spice Islands the point of origin for the world-transforming Spice Trade which began in antiquity and was one of the first ways ancient civilizations began to trade with each other. Though always a multicultural effort, the early masters of the spice trade were the Arabs, who brought spices from the far East through the Red Sea and into the Levant, North Africa and Europe. This route passed through Yemen and the port of Mocha, where coffee was first grown commercially, and coffee naturally started to be traded right alongside spices from the Spice Islands, carried in the same boats, and traded by the same people.

The first people, therefore, to introduce coffee to Europe were the spice traders, like Mocenigo of Venice (below), who some claim was the very first to sell coffee in Europe. People thought of coffee as itself a kind of spice, and, just as the ancients had flavored wine with spices from the far east, the earliest coffee drinkers mixed coffee and spice together, grinding it in the very same spice-grinders.

Meanwhile, the Dutch, seeking to gain power over the spice trade, established the Dutch East Indies Trading Company, competing against everyone to monopolize the trade of spices. Later, as the high-value low-volume spice trade began to lose steam, the Dutch diversified by planting coffee on the island of Java, just to the south of the spice islands, and became the largest coffee producer in the world.

In short, the spices of the spice islands were the reason Europe found out about coffee in the first place, and the reason coffee growing spread from the Red Sea to the rest of the tropics. Coffee piggybacked on the spice trade to become a globally traded commodity, and the first coffee traders were really pumpkin spice traders. Coffee has been mixed with the spices cinnamon, clove, nutmeg, mace and ginger since the very beginning. The Pumpkin Spice Latte- or at least coffee mixed with clove, cinnamon, ginger, nutmeg, mace, and milk- was certainly first enjoyed years before the first Thanksgiving, years before the first pumpkin pie,  and hundreds of years before the advent of Starbucks or the Specialty Coffee movement.

The only weird or new thing about pumpkin spice is that we associate the spices with pumpkins, which of course come from the Americas anyway. We should really call it a Maluku Spice Latte, if we wanted to be accurate, but we’re not that pedantic, are we?

Instead of shunning or scorning the Pumpkin Spice Latte, therefore, we should pay tribute to the spices that gave us coffee in the first place, perhaps dedicating an entire season to their celebration and enjoyment. Oh wait, I guess we have that already. Carry on, then!


Explore Old Dubai: the side of Dubai you never knew about

If New Dubai is a glamorous, glitzy party girl then Old Dubai is her mature, mellowed out sister. And thank goodness. Because no matter how fun it is to strut your stuff on Sheikh Zayed Road everyone needs to get back to their roots once in a while, and Old Dubai is the root of this magnifi-cent city.

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bad news (1/5)

summary: If Adam Parrish had known that Gansey and Ronan Lynch were a package deal, he might have re-considered befriending Gansey.

College AU in which Adam is a double major poli sci/philosophy and owns a lot of plants and Ronan is struggling to find a coping mechanism that is not Joseph Kavinsky.  Read it on ao3 here.

Part 1/5

Adam Parrish would not have normally stopped. He had just finished his last final of the semester and the freedom of the summer would be short-lived as it was, considering he that started a full-time gig as clerk at a local firm the next day.  It’s not like he had felt like he needed to assist every stranded motorist in the tri-state area. He especially hadn’t felt like he needed to help every stranded orange Camaro in the tri-state area. In fact, he had maybe even actively avoid helping stranded orange Camaros in the past. But this particular Camaro, thin lines of smoke rising lazily from the engine and the worried slope of its driver’s shoulders had tugged at Adam until he had turned his own car around and pulled up behind it.

His little shitbox of a car had looked especially glum next to the furiously orange Camaro and Adam tried not to lose his nerve as he had folded himself out of the car. He was a little too tall to comfortably get in and out of the Civic, but it was all he could afford after tuition and rent so he had gotten used to ducking.

The driver of the Camaro had turned to greet him, tucking a sleek phone in his pocket and waving at Adam. Adam had forced himself to wave back and not shove his hands in his pockets. When he stepped around the front end of the Camaro, he’d squinted at the driver who looked familiar enough for Adam to recognize him as a fellow student, but not familiar enough to know why he knew that. The driver clearly recognized him as well and gave him an appraising look.

“It’s Adam, right?” he had asked and his voice had a rolling Southern lilt that had reminded Adam vaguely of home. It was a hard voice to forget. Adam remembered him suddenly as the boy who sat in front of him in his freshman seminar. A history major who all the professors fawned over.

That was how Adam found himself bent over the Camaro three days later.

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