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whatandroidsdreamof · 7 months

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No Saints for Drowning

“I should’ve drowned. I should’ve died with him that night. I still drown every time someone touches me.”

“I don’t want you to drown.” She wanted him to live. To smile and call her pet names with that teasing curl of his lips. She wanted his fingers to braid her hair, skillet bread in the mornings, Kerch’s lawmakers at their mercy, and slavers put to the gallows by dinner. There was a future to their combined dreams.

“There are no Saints for drowning, Kaz, only for those who are lost at sea.” I’ll guide you to shore, she vowed, Saints protect him.

“I told you before, I have no need for your Saints, Inej.” “But you do have a need for me.”

Inej comes back from her first sea voyage, and they seize the opportunity to work through their issues together.

Read the first chapter here on AO3 or under the line.

1 Kaz

The Crows made a lot of enemies. Kaz made it his business to keep a step ahead of them. To learn their secrets in case one of them decided to move against them.

Of course, this only worked with enemies he knew he’d made, the people he’d crossed, never the pawns he put to the sidelines, never the nameless people of the lower ranks he decided to sacrifice. Knowing where he’d come from, born out of darkness, sickness, and drowning at nine years old; was it any wonder that someone else would grow up to become just as ruthless and cruel as him? Was it really so unlikely that another person would lull themselves to sleep each night with thoughts of vengeance on their mind and his name on their lips, the same way he’d done for all these years with Pekka Rollins name on his?

He didn’t remember the woman’s name. He didn’t remember her face. They’d met more than once, she claimed. Now she stood tall against the night. She had light hair and wore a simple black mask. Her clear blue eyes burned into what was left of his soul.

“Where is she?” Kaz growled, his breath hung in white puffs in the chill air. He’d run all the way up to this little jetty near the Sweet Reef. His sides ached, his cane was the only thing that kept his bad leg from trembling. The water in front of them was a dark scrying mirror. It had gone quiet. They were far from the bustle of Ketterdam. Far away from his people.

The woman held a lantern in front of her. The only source of light. Behind her on the jetty, a tall rectangular shape stood in relief against the moonlight.

Dirtyhands’ fingers itched for a gun, a throat to squeeze. He couldn’t kill her yet, needed answers first.

“Where is Inej?”

The woman’s mouth stretched crooked, and it took him a second to recognize it as a smile. Her eyes stayed cold.

“My husband told me if you want to destroy someone you have to go for the heart.”

He knew he’d heard these words before. His pulse was going too fast, his lungs smarted. He’d walked into her trap and Kaz needed his wits to make sure Inej and he walked out of it alive. He should’ve picked her up from the harbor the minute his spies had laid eyes on the Wraith. Damn his pride. Damn this insistent fear of losing her.

“I have to say it wasn’t easy to find the right place to cut. Imagine my surprise when I understood that the infamous Dirtyhands has a heart after all.”

Dread plummeted into his stomach like cold lead.

“I put your heart in a box, Mister Brekker. How fast can you swim?” and with that she pulled a lever behind her. The tall box splashed into the still sea – Tall as a coffin, he thought, heart skipping a beat.

He didn’t hear her laughter or her taunts. He threw aside his cane and plunged. The cold was enough to steal his breath.

No time for drowning, he thought, when icy dead hands started to reach for him.

Kaz kicked his legs. Felt the current the sinking coffin made and followed. Jordie embraced him around his shoulder from behind, clamped his hands around his neck.

No time for drowning. No time for the dead. Inej, he thought, Inej was sinking.

His joints ached under the cold. Pain seized his leg, shot all the way up to his spine. Brought him clarity enough to reach. Kaz’s hands found the metal casing of the box. He held on. Let it drag him down. How deep were the waters?

His lungs began to hurt. He should’ve started carrying around baleen years ago. Another mistake.

“Let go, little brother,” Jordie whispered into his ear. Kaz didn’t know if his eyes were open or closed. Jordie’s pale face loomed in front of him. Bloated features, with corpse-fluid strained lips.

“Let go. I’ve been waiting.”

Jordie’s fingers were colder than the water. They seemed to reach into his chest and twist something there.

The iron coffin jolted as it hit the seabed. A plume of debris rose up. Harbor dirt and seaweed, hands and legs of the dead brushing against him. Cold pruned flesh, soft with salt, rubbed against him. Closer and-

His clamped fingers vibrated.

Inej. She was throwing fists against the box. Kicking her legs.

There was a high pitch in Kaz’s ears. He couldn’t see. Blindly he reached for the iron coffin. There were bars on eye level. His index finger brushed against Inej’s cheek. Skin gave away under his gloved fingertip.

He recoiled. Air bubbled out of his mouth, precious and wasted. The noise of bursting bubbles rattled him, pulled him back enough to let him recall the lock picks inside his mouth.

Kaz clamped his legs against the side of the coffin, stuck his feet deep into mud, so he wouldn’t drift away. He rolled off his gloves. Let the dead have them. If Inej died tonight the dead could have him too, Kaz Rietveld, Kaz Brekker, Dirtyhands, the Bastard of the Barrel. None of them wanted to get up for air and live if it meant leaving her behind.

He almost lost his grip on his lock picks when he finally jammed them into the keyhole.

The rest was easy. The rest was hard.

He came through with Inej’s pounding fists against his sternum and a whispered mantra of: “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Kaz.”

Her cold wet fingers clamped his nose and chin. Her lips pressed against his opened mouth, cold and dead. Breathing for him.

A gust of body-temperature sea water burst from his mouth. He coughed and convulsed, scrambled away from her, feet unable to find purchase on the wet ground. His body spasmed. He puked up seawater and what little he had in his stomach. A gurgle was heard, before he could speak again: “Get away from me,” his voice was a croak.

She heard him. Without making a sound she got up. Kaz could feel the shift of air without having to look. He wouldn’t have seen her anyway. The jetty was dark, moon temporarily hidden behind clouds and the edges of his awareness twinned in night, in panic.

The roar inside his ears got louder. He pulled his hands to his head. Gasped and let them fall away when his own clammy fingers made contact with his skin.

“Jordie,” he couldn’t hear his own voice, only felt how his tongue formed the words against his teeth, “Leave me alone.”

For a while, Kaz’s world narrowed down to retching and trembling. His body knew what it had to do to starve off the cold, to prevent secondary drowning by expelling every last drop of seawater that had gotten into his lungs. Keep breathing. His mind on the other hand was back on the Reaper’s Barge. Floating, floating, sinking, drowning before he could ever reach Ketterdam.

Inej slapped him. Back of her hand against his cheekbone.

“Kaz, we need to get out of here.”

Had she called his name before?

It was hard to focus on her face. Her hair was plastered against her skin, like that of a corpse. He stared at her moving mouth without understanding another word. He tried to silence his heartbeat, the voice of his brother in his mind, and the high roar of panic. He was crashing, about to scrape the barrel of his adrenalin high. The analytical part of his brain was preparing for this by evening out his breathing and pulling his shoulders up.

He was a survivor.

“-catch an early death if we stay in our wet clothes. Can you get up?”

Inej held out his cane. It took him two tries to rise. His body was weak, felt far out of reach, like he was looking at himself from above. She didn’t try to help him up. Kaz didn’t know what he’d do to her if she were to touch him now.

The water that was dripping down from her body was the only sound Inej made as she kept pace with his stiff gait. It was like walking next to another harbor ghost.

“Sit down,” she said once they reached a dark alley.

He didn’t react. If he sat, he didn’t know if he’d be able to get up again without her help.

“I’ll be right back.”

Dirtyhands was still vacating the premises, and without him he was missing his resolve, but Kaz Brekker was coming back to himself in increments. The one that relied on her to do what was necessary when he could not. How easily he trusted her to get them out of here. Weak men let others do the thinking for them. Kaz found he was too exhausted to care.

He couldn’t tell how long he waited, ten minutes, an hour, half a lifetime. Jordie’s ghost felt close. If Kaz turned around he’d see him lean next to his shoulder against the cold alley wall.

Inej jumped down from the roof to his right. Always graceful, always strong. She came up and held out a bundle in front of him. So he took it. He produced the mask and cloak of the Gray Imp of the Komedie Brute.

“Put it on,” Inej said, and he followed suit.

“We’re close enough to the Lid to be recognized,” she explained as she pulled on her own mask. He glimpsed the deep frown between her brows before she pulled down the veil of the Lost Bride over her eyes. Kaz tried to take in their whereabouts, but the gray roofs and stones seemed interchangeable to every city he’d ever visited. Confronted with his own carelessness a remote unease trickled down his spine. Ketterdam was his home, his harbor, and his domain. Tonight, it had reverted back to nothing but his brother’s wet grave.

“We need to move.”

The walk into the nearest suitable East Stave tavern was a blur. Inej chose a den they wouldn’t normally frequent. Dingy and dirty but dingy and dirty enough to get them a room without being asked any questions about why two trembling tourists were dripping canal water onto the floor.

Inej told him to unmask. Told him to sit close to the fireplace, so he sat. He pushed off the blanket she put around his shoulders, couldn’t bear the weight and friction against his soaked back. Inej lit a fire, before she started walking around behind him.

Kaz concentrated on not-shivering, breathing, on not-drowning. The waves went higher, and he was tired to the bone. Let him lay among the stones and shipwrecks.

“You should get undressed. Your lips have turned blue.”

He jerked. When had he closed his eyes? Inej had pulled a blanket tight around her body like a towel. Her arms and shoulders were bare. The straps of her underthings could be seen. The rest of her clothes had been hung up behind them in the shoddy bathroom.

“Talk to me.”

“I want her dead. I’ll find out who she is, and I’ll kill everyone she ever cared about right in front of her eyes. I’ll make her believe she alone caused their demise. I’d feed her poison that summons their ghosts. I want to put her in a coffin and set her against the tides so her body can shipwreck against stones while she hallucinates hellscapes of her own mind’s invention.”

He was still shivering. He wanted to crawl into the fire, sleep among the coals. Maybe then he’d feel warm again. His wet clothes were glued to his body. If he stayed still enough his own limbs didn’t feel like that of a drowned man.

“I get that, and you will, but right now you need to get undressed, or you’ll die of lung fever before we can have our revenge.”

“Our revenge?”

“She got my saints.”

They shared a look and Kaz found his own hatred mirrored in her gaze. It frightened him to see so much of himself in her, it excited him too.

“We’ll get them back.”

“She hurt you.”

The Kaz of two hours ago would’ve denied any weakness, especially in front of her, he needed to appear infallible. He stared at his bare hands instead and let out a noncommittal hum.

“Your clothes,” Inej repeated, and when he didn’t move continued with: “I won’t look. You have your own blanket. It’s safe.”

“Nowhere in this Saint-forsaken city is safe,” Kaz said, surprised by his own vitriol.

Inej walked into the bathroom, shut the door behind her, and he was too tired to feel glad to be free of her gaze.

He knew she was right. Autumn had come early this year, with icy winds and dark gray skies. Peeling away his waistcoat, shirt, and undershirt was like peeling away the last layer of protection. Kaz avoided touching his own skin where he could and schooled his face into a blank façade.

Hobbling around to hang his clothes over furniture and in front of the fireplace helped bring back his circulation. It was routine. Didn’t require much thought. Only clad in his undergarments, he huddled into the ruddy blanket he had dismissed before. Stretched out his bad leg when he sat back down by the fire.

It took him a moment to realize that the prickle on his cheeks wasn’t drying seawater. It felt too hot for that even as he stared directly into the fireplace. He touched his fingertips against his face, shivered, let out a wet rattle of a breath. Tears.

When was the last time Dirtyhands had cried? And what for? His dead brother, his inability to function as a normal human being?

Inej came back into the room as Kaz wiped at his face with the corner of his blanket. She hovered a moment behind him before she sat down next to him on the floor in a heap.

“I didn’t think I’d get to you in time,” he confessed.

“I’m here.”

“I couldn’t see anything. There were-” but he couldn’t continue. There were hundreds of corpses pulling me under. His madness couldn’t be put into words. It was his and his alone.

“You found me, Kaz. The heart’s an arrow. Yours aimed and landed true.” Her dark eyes glinted like pools of tar against the fire. She was beautiful. Her hair in a tangle of seaweed. Bags under her eyes. With or without her silver saints she was radiant.

Sankta Inej, he thought, you’ve never been further away from me than in this room.

He hardened his heart. There had been a distance between him and the rest of the world since the day Jordie died. Tonight, the distance had grown larger.

“You’re back now. You’re okay,” she sounded scared. No that wasn’t right. She sounded afraid for him. How much of what Inej had said to him since she pulled him ashore had he missed? How many times had she called his name and not gotten a response?

Kaz’s jaw worked, ready to take aim and throw words at her like weapons. Damn her. She’d saved his life and unlike some mercher he’d repay his debts.

“I thought you had run out of air when I reached you. But I was wrong about that. I felt your body go limp when I touched you to pull you up.”

He had fainted, he realized, just like in that prisoner wagon that had taken them out to the Ice Court.

“I’ve never seen you look at me like that when you came through. Like you didn’t recognize me at all.”

“It’s not you, Inej,” he could feel himself blush, with shame, with anger. He didn’t know.

“I understand that,” she replied indignantly. Kaz didn’t discriminate in matters of physical intimacy. A stranger’s touch made him reel and flinch as much as a friend’s when it came without a warning.

Last autumn when she’d come back to him for the first time, with new laugh lines around her eyes and smelling like the open sea, they had tried. There had been some progress, though Kaz wasn’t inclined to call it that. On some mornings he’d come down the stairs of the Van Eck residence without gloves on to have breakfast with her, Jesper, and Wylan. Other times he’d discard them sitting at his desk to write in his ledgers, while Inej sat on his windowsill. Her patience with him had seemed infinite. He’d held her hand a few times without retching. Managed to curl his body around hers for a couple of short instances without making her disappear.

Right before she had gone back to hunt slavers for the season, he’d cupped her face in his hands and wished he were a different man, whose mind and body didn’t need walls to protect itself. Brick by brick, he had thought as he had pressed his lips against hers for an instance. Brick by brick, he had repeated to himself as he had watched her ship disappear, he would tear it all down for her.

Now he only tasted dirty harbor water on his tongue. Only smelled rot and mildew as their clothes dried.

“Will you be alright?”

He didn’t answer. Inej let out a small sigh. Not even knocking on Death’s door could stop her exasperation with him. On another day it would’ve made him smile.

“If you were Jesper I’d hug you. If you were Nina, I’d go downstairs and get us something hot to eat. But you’re Kaz Brekker and I don’t know what you need if you never tell me.”

“I don’t need anything from you, Inej,” he lied.

Inej leaned her back against the leg of his chair. Her side brushed up against his throbbing knee. Blanket against blanket. It was all he could do not to jump out of his seat.

“You said you needed me. You want me to stay in Ketterdam for the winter, with you,” she made it sound so factual, like another strategic secret she’d uncovered and was delaying to him, “Has that changed?”

“No, never.”

She turned around to face him.

“Then let me help you for once. I’ve never seen you like this.”

Kaz hung his head, flexed his jaw. Harden your heart. But he couldn’t. He was weak and exhausted and the weight of years he had shouldered alone was pressing down on him, heavier than ever before.

“I don’t know how,” he confessed, feeling like a boy, sounding like a drowning man gasping for air.

“That’s okay. That’s what you have people who care about you for. It’s our job to figure out how to help you, not yours.”

He had never thought of it that way. Friendship was an exchange of favors. All his friends worked for him, after all. Inej made it sound like she and the Crows would dole them out for free unasked. He had never considered that they would. Inej always found new ways to surprise him.

“So will you let me help you?”

“The deal is the deal,” he murmured.

She didn’t shake hands with him. He wouldn’t have been able to, but she pushed against his leg with her back almost imperceptibly.

“The deal is the deal,” she agreed.

#kanej #kanej fic #six of crows #crooked kingdom #grishaverse #the crows #shadow and bone #shadow and bone netflix #kaz brekker #inej ghafa #wylan van eck #jesper fahey #wesper

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miks-fantrolls · 2 months

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The Terror of the Twenty-Seven Seas

Part 2: Sentire

(Content warning: drowning, gore)

Part 1 // Google Docs

When you open your eyes, the harsh glare of the morning sun assaults your vision, forcing you to shield your eyes with a groan. Blinking away the remnants of sleep, you slowly acclimate to the blinding brightness, each blink accompanied by a fleeting sensation of disorientation, the world around you coming into focus like a hazy dream.

Gradually, the gritty texture of stone pressing against your skin

registers, and you realize you’re sprawled out on a weathered stone bench. The coolness of the stone provides a welcome relief from the oppressive heat of the sun beating down on your exposed skin. With aching muscles, you muster the strength to sit up, the stiffness of your joints a testament to the deep slumber that must have enveloped you.

Despite the sun's warmth, an inexplicable chill lingers at the back of your throat. The scent of salt and sea spray fills your nostrils, carried on a gentle breeze that rustles through the nearby palm trees. You inhale the strangely dry air, savoring the briny aroma.

Around you, the seaport bustles with the frenetic energy of a

typical summer morning. The air is alive with the raucous calls of seabirds, their cries mingling with the distant clang of shipyard bells. The rhythmic lapping of waves against the jetty provides a backdrop of white noise. Trolls bustle to and fro, their voices rising and falling in animated dialogue as they go about their daily tasks.

Amid the lively crowd, a familiar voice pierces through the clamor, drawing your attention like a beacon on the chaos.

“Yo, Appy!”

The call is unmistakable, and you turn to see the source—a young, scrappy-looking troll dressed in what may as well be rags waving at you with one arm, the other clutching a large rucksack slung over his shoulder. His clothes, a patchwork of fabrics stitched together with care, tell a story of resourcefulness and resilience. Worn-out and oversized boots against the cobblestone path as he moves with a confident swagger, every step a testament to his familiarity with the active port.

You catch glimpses of the countless adventures etched into his weather-beaten face with each movement. As he approaches, you can’t help but notice how his tousled hair frames his cheeks, a wild mane of unruly strands that adds to his rugged charm. His skin, freckled by the sun, bears the marks of a life lived on the world's edge, where every day brings new challenges and untold dangers. But it’s his eyes that draw you in—bright, lively blue orbs that seem to sparkle with a mischievous glint.

Your name is Aipalo Lovikk, and you are one of the many ship’s boys for the Tempest’s Fall. The realization floods back with startling clarity. How could you have forgotten?

The other troll draws nearer with an air of excitement, his grin widening as he revels in your momentary disorientation.

“Did ya sleep good?” he teases, his tone playful and infectious. Despite the haziness of your thoughts, a smile grows on your face, mirroring his own.

“Shut up. Did you get—” You hesitate, the memory of your task momentarily escaping you.

“Yep,” he answers without missing a beat, his confidence unwavering. “Got it all myself while you were lazin’ about on the bench.”

Before you can compose an answer, the other troll speaks again: "Race you to the ship!"

With a playful glance in your direction, he turns and bolts back towards the ship, his movements fluid and purposeful. Panic surges within you as you realize you’re in danger of losing sight of him amidst the sea of bodies. With a determined grit, you stumble off the bench and race after him, the coarse surface scraping against your skin as you push forward.

The maze of trolls grows denser as you navigate the chaotic port, their figures towering over you as you struggle to keep pace with your fleet-footed shipmate. You bump and weave through the crowd, each collision threatening to knock you off course. But you refuse to let yourself falter, driven by a fierce fortitude to keep your shipmate in sight.

He had always been a faster runner than you.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity of frantic pursuit, you manage to catch up, your chest heaving as you double over to catch your breath. Your companion smirks at your panting form, seemingly unfazed by the exertion of the chase. Inhaling deeply, you straighten up and puff out your chest, attempting to regain some semblance of composure. But your efforts are in vain as the other notices the tremor in your breath and the exhaustion etched on your face. With a hearty laugh, he slaps you on the back, his infectious energy pulsing through the air.

“Come on,” he urges, his voice filled with an undeniable sense of camaraderie. And with his reassuring presence by your side, you gather your strength and follow him.

As you follow your companion towards the Tempest’s Fall, the enormity of the vessel looms before you like a behemoth of the sea, its sturdy frame a testament to its seafaring prowess. Crew members scurry like ants, their movements purposeful and efficient as they load and unload cargo with practiced precision. Despite the chaos of activity, there is an unmistakable sense of solidarity among the sailors, a bond forged through shared experiences on the open sea.

With your companion leading the way, you climb the gangplank. His steps are sure and steady as he guides you, the wooden planks creaking beneath your feet as you ascend. The other sailors pay you no mind, their attention focused solely on their tasks, leaving you to navigate through the tangle of bodies. At times, you find yourself having to dodge and weave between the larger sailors, their imposing figures threatening to edge you off the side.

Once aboard the ship, the chaos of the port seems to melt away, replaced by the rhythmic pulse of life at sea. The air is alive with the sound of chatter and hollers, the clatter of bootsteps echoing across the wooden deck. You find yourself grabbing the back of your companion’s shirt, the throng of seamen swirling around you like a maelstrom and threatening to pull you under with each passing movement.

As the two of you make your way towards the heart of the ship, the harried atmosphere only intensifies. Eventually, you find yourselves within the ship’s interior, where the salty tang of sea air mingles with the tantalizing aroma of cooking meat. The ship’s cook bustles about the galley, orchestrating a symphony of culinary delights in preparation for the upcoming meal. The promise of a special feast, courtesy of the port’s bountiful offerings, hangs in the air, infusing the atmosphere with anticipation.

Your companion engages in a brief exchange with the cook. Then, with one swift movement, he transfers the rucksack into your arms, the weight catching you off guard. You stagger under the burden, struggling to maintain your balance as you adjust to the added load.

“It’s your turn to carry this stuff,” the other troll declares, his tone firm and authoritative. He flexes his overworked shoulder with a practiced motion, a playful glint in his eye. “Chef says to take it to the storerooms.”

You hesitate momentarily, a pang of uncertainty creeping into your mind. “Aren’t you coming with me?” you ask, a hint of insecurity coloring your tone.

The other troll chuckles, his grin widening mischievously. “You really need a second person to help you with that?” Despite his teasing words, a warmth in his gaze reassures you.

As you stand there, feeling the weight of the supplies in your arms, you can’t help but feel strangely comforted by the presence of your shipmate. There’s something about him that makes you feel at ease, as though you’ve known him for far longer than you actually have. It’s a curious sensation, one that you can’t quite explain, but you find yourself drawn to him and his twinkling blue eyes all the same.

With a sense of determination, you fall into step beside him as he leads the way down towards the store rooms. The darkness of the lower deck seems to close in around you, the dim light casting eerie shadows that dance across the wooden walls as the vessel sways back and forth. The creaking of the ship’s timbers echo through the narrow passageways, a reminder of the ship’s age. The fins on either side of your head press down against your cheeks, and you walk closer to your companion.

You try to shake off the unease that creeps over you by focusing on the task at hand. No matter how hard you try to distract yourself, though, the sense of foreboding still lingers, a nagging presence at the back of your mind. It’s as if the ship itself is trying to warn you of some impending danger, but the message remains elusive, just out of reach.

The two of you enter the appropriate storeroom for the supplies you carry. It’s a cramped space, filled to the brim with crates and barrels, the air heavy with the scent of salt and damp wood. Were the two of you fully grown, you would have never fit inside. As you work together to unpack the supplies and stow them in their proper places, you distract yourself from your nerves by stealing glances at your shipmate, studying his features in the dim light. His face is illuminated by the soft glow of the lanterns, casting flickering shadows across his face.

You realize suddenly that you don’t even know his name, a fact that strikes you odd, considering how comfortable you feel in his presence. The realization weighs heavily on your mind, gnawing at your thoughts like a persistent itch you can’t scratch. Finally, unable to ignore it any longer, you gather the courage to speak up.

“Hey,” you begin tentatively, breaking the silence that hangs between you. “I just realized, I don’t think I caught your name earlier.”

He pauses in his work, turning to look at you with a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. “Forgot already, huh?”

His response catches you off guard, and your face flushes with embarrassment. You try to recall if you indeed had forgotten his name, but your memory feels like a jumbled mess, the details slipping through your grasp like grains of sand. A surge of panic threatens to overwhelm you as you struggle to piece together the fragments of your memory.

An alarming sense of disorientation washes over you like the ground shifting beneath your feet. For a moment, it feels as though you’re teetering over the edge of a precipice, on the brink of being consumed by the void. A presence at the back of your mind pulses darkly, its ominous whispers echoing through the recesses of your consciousness, and, just for a moment, you’re terrified that you’ll be swept from this reality.

All at once, the feeling passes, perplexed and shaken. You blink rapidly, trying to dispel the lingering sense of unease that clings to you like a shadow. Pushing aside your fear, you force yourself to focus on the task, immersing yourself in the mundane routine of shelving supplies. The rhythmic clatter of items being placed on shelves, punctuated by the occasional rustle of fabric and the soft shuffle of footsteps, eases your nerves.

Finally, you pause, unable to shake the nagging feeling of uncertainty that tugs at the edges of your consciousness. “Have I already asked for your name?” you venture, avoiding his gaze.

A laugh suddenly erupts from the other troll, surprising you into meeting his gaze. His eyes twinkle with amusement, and you find yourself drawn to the warmth of his expression. Despite your earlier apprehension, a reassuring sincerity in his laughter puts you at ease.

“Yeah, but I guess you napped so hard earlier you musta forgot.” He extends his calloused hand for a handshake. You match the gesture, noting how much warmer his rough palm is than yours. “The name’s ░░░░░░, nice to meet’cha.”

As he introduces himself, a wave of dizziness washes over you, causing the world to tilt and spin. You struggle to maintain your composure, your senses reeling from the sudden onslaught of disorientation. The edges of your vision blur and that striking terror is back all at once, and tendrils of darkness swim in the corners of your vision.

“Are you alright, Aipalo?” His voice cuts through the haze, concern evident in his tone. He reaches out a hand to steady you, his touch grounding you in reality.

You nod weakly, trying to push aside the unsettling sensation that grips your mind. “Say your name again?”

His lips move again, forming words that you struggle to comprehend. Your ears buzz with static, the sound drowning out his voice as if muffled by a thick fog. You strain to make sense of his words, but they slip away like elusive whispers in the wind.

“░░░░░░,” he repeats, his smile faltering slightly as he notices your confusion. He reaches up to touch his mouth, and you catch a glimpse of his missing canine, a gap in his smile that seems oddly out of place.

Was he missing that tooth before? You can’t quite remember. Your mind feels foggy, as if shrouded in a dense mist that obscures your thoughts. You blink, trying to clear away the haze, but it only seems to deepen, enveloping you in a suffocating embrace.

As his lips move, attempting to convey his name, the world around you warps. The once-familiar storeroom dissolves into a rotted nightmare. Shadows along the walls contort into grotesque shapes that seem to leer at you, almost becoming gargoyle-like in appearance.

The timber of the ship that surrounds you rots before your eyes, its once-sturdy frame now a decaying husk that threatens to collapse at any moment—the wood eaten away by unseen forces and the surface overtaken by a slimy film of algae. Fungi and mold grow unchecked, spreading like a disease throughout the room and emitting a foul odor that assaults your senses.

As you struggle to breathe in the stifling air, the stench of old, rotted food permeates the room, clawing its way down your throat and into your lungs like a suffocating fog. Each breath is a strain, the putrid air burning your lungs and making you gag as you fight to keep from retching.

Desperately, you focus on the other troll’s face, his features becoming your lifeline amidst the chaos. But even he is not immune to the unsettling transformation taking place before your eyes. His once-smiling visage twists and distorts, morphing into a grotesque caricature of itself. His eyes, once twinkling with warmth, now sink into his skull, becoming dark, unseeing pits that seem to bore into your soul. His smile grows decrepit, lips wrinkling like a grape in the sun, revealing rows of decayed teeth that crumble and fall apart with each passing moment, holes worming through the enamel until nothing is left but the drippings of loosened gum tissue.

The flesh of his cheeks sag and droop, exposing patches of rotting muscle and sinew beneath. Skin begins to peel away in ragged strips, revealing raw, oozing wounds that fester underneath. It’s as if the very fabric of his being unravels, the decay eating away at him from the inside out. Flesh melts away like wax in a scorching flame, leaving behind a trail of bubbling, fetid meat that sloughs off in chunks, revealing the stark whiteness of his skeletal frame beneath.

Rot fills the thick and cloying air as he’s consumed from within. Each exposed muscle twitches and writhes as if alive, pulsating with a sickening rhythm. With each passing moment, his form becomes more skeletal, the bones protruding from his decaying flesh like twisted branches of a dead tree.

A rush of seawater surges in through the rotted wood, carrying with it a sickly, briny odor that stings your nostrils with its foulness. The acrid scent clings to your skin alongside the freezing rapids like a foul miasma. You half-wonder if death would be easier than this sickening cocktail of odors—a nauseating blend of noxious fumes that threaten to overwhelm you.

The water itself is no better, a sickly shade of green that seems to throb with a malevolent energy. It’s thick and viscous, like oil mixed with sewage, and clings to you like a second skin, leaving a greasy residue in its wake. As it fills the room, the water becomes a swirling vortex of filth and decay, rising steadily as if eager to claim its victims. You feel it seeping into your clothes, numbing your skin with its icy touch.

Panic grips you as you realize the gravity of the situation, but as you try to move, you realize the skeletal hand of the other troll is closed around yours with an iron grasp. Bits and pieces of raisined skin and gristle cling to the bone, brushing against the flesh of your hand. You struggle against its grip, but it's like trying to break free from the grip of death itself.

With each futile attempt to pull away, you feel the skeleton’s fingers dig deeper into your flesh, the bony digits tightening like a vice around your wrist. You can almost feel the decay radiating from its bones, a rancid odor that fills your nostrils and makes bile rise in the back of your throat. The skeleton seems to grin at you, its empty eye sockets boring into you as if relishing your terror, feeding off your fear like a ravenous beast. You can’t help but feel a sense of revulsion, the visage of death staring back at you with mocking amusement.

Your heart pounds in your chest, the sound reverberating in your ears like a drumbeat of impending doom. You lose control of your breath, becoming light-headed as you push and pull air quickly. You try to keep your mouth above the flood as it rises, but every gasp you make earns you mouthfuls of the pungent brine. The taste of decay coats your tongue, a foul saltiness that makes you retch.

Desperation claws at your mind as you struggle to break free, your movements becoming frantic and erratic as you fight for survival. But with each passing moment, the water rises, its icy tendrils pulling you into the depths with a relentless force. You jerk your wrist, the rough bone of the skeleton’s hand rubbing your skin raw in the process, but it’s no use. The skeleton’s grip only tightens, its fingers digging into your flesh with an iron determination, and a white-hot agony shoots up through your arm.

As the last vestiges of air escape your lungs, you feel a primal instinct take hold, driving you to fight against the inevitable. You try to scream, but the watery sludge fills your mouth, muffling your cries and drowning out your voice. You thrash and struggle, clawing desperately at the water with your one free hand in a futile attempt to reach the surface.

Your vision blurs and the world around you begins to fade. Your eyes flutter shut.

#hi im tired of looking at this #mikart #mikwrites #aipalo lovikk #the necrosed #[blue eyes]

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jeweled-blue-eyes · 9 months

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Your Villainess!Jennette hc's?🥺

Villainess Jennette headcanons part 2

Jennette wants to create an utopia for Athy. Her final goal is to take over the mind of every human in Obelia, strip them of their free will and control them like dolls. After turning back time just to meet Athy and lose her in the most gruesome ways possible, she came to the conclusion that she's exhausted every other option and the only way to prevent Athy's death is by erasing the will of others and imposing her own will on them.

Later she does childish things like turning her fanfictions into reality by using humans as puppets to act out her fantasies when she is bored. She doesn't feel guilty at all. On the contrary she thinks it's beautiful when she makes two people who used to hate each other fall in love with each other and make them have a baby.

Jennette doesn't like any form of negativity as she is hyperempathic (unless she choses to turn her emotions off) and rapid shifts in a mood can irritate her. That's why she programs every citizen to be in a perpetual state of bliss. They are always smiling. It's very creepy.

once Jennette has complete control over the citizens of an area Athy gets to explore it with her. Jennette writes down some extra scenarios so the day will be eventful and fun for Athy. Otherwise the people would run around like sims left on autopilot.

instead of using her black magic unconsciously and turning it on and off again, she is now using it consciously 24/07 meaning she burns tons of mana. Anastacius build her to be energy-efficient, she needs less magic than a normal magician needs for a powerful spell but in this case Jennette is messing with fate itself and playing god. She's making the impossible possible. In an AU where Athy still has her mana Jennette is metaphorically and figuratively addicted to her. In an AU where Athy isn't her main energy source Jennette is pulling mana from everyone (humans and animals) and everything (plants) around her and shortening their life spans by a day or a week or a month or a year.

The more people she has under her thumb, the less mana is taken from each of them (the less they suffer from it and the less guilty Jennette has to feel about about any untimely deaths in the distant future) that's why Jennette strives to have as many people as she can under her control. At least that's what she's telling herself when in reality she does it because she is a mana junkie. It's also in her nature wanting to be loved and worshipped by everyone.

would create friends from black mana for Athy and then get jealous of them, alternatively she picks some noble girls to be friends with Athy and removes any undesireable traits from them. Athy is very confused why Jennette's friends change personalities every few weeks and why the girls who used to bully her are suddenly so nice. She sticks to Jennette since she doesn't trust the change. Jennette is satisfied with it.

she condemns Anastacius for his theft of mana yet she uses the same method when she forces stolen mana into LP Athy's body to restore her magic and make her immortal. All this happens without Athy's knowledge or consent. She's very nonchalant about it too. One day Athy notices "hey Jetty, why am I not aging?" and Jennette is like "Surprise! I have been feeding you foreign mana while you were asleep for 15 years. Now we can be immortal together. Give me a kiss. Praise me. 😊"

although Jennette is very possessive of Athy she understands from her own experience that isolating Athy in the Ruby palace with no human company but herself will do her no good. She doesn't like to stand in the way of love either since this would make her feel like the villanious rival in a second-rate romance novel. That's why Athy and Ijekiel are allowed to be together under the condition that Jennette has to know every single detail of what they are doing. If Ijekiel wants to move his relationship further than hand kisses he either has the choice between terrible threesomes or voyeuristic sex. Athykiel are experiencing the horrors of a couple that is friends with an rpf shipper who wants to smash them together like barbie dolls. I think sometimes Jennette would compel Ijekiel because she thinks he is shy and she is helping him by giving him a little push.

Jennette is a lesbian but Roger has fucked her up so bad she thinks she is in love with Ijekiel and continues to sleep with him to please the elders. In a way she feels entitled to him. Plus she thinks siblings are supposed to share everything.

Jennette has main character syndrome. If she isn't the center of attention she gets mad. If Athykiel make Jennette feel excluded (aka if they aren't constantly showering her in love and attention) she'll get very jealous. Visiting rights will be revoked for half a year and Jennette will get clingier and even more overbearing than she was before whenever she visits them separately.

Jennette leaves Snowy/Snow White (her black mana pet) to guard Athy when she has to leave to do her duties as Empress. Athy is never alone. She always has a piece of Jennette with her. Before that Ijekiel had been Athy's assigned guard but then Jennette got paranoid that they'd grow even closer than she is with Athy and that they would keep secrets from her.

one of Jennette's many talents is that she is an excellent tracker and hunteress. Should Athy run away she could chase her to the end of the world and she would treat it like a game of tag. She's also an animal whisperer and very good at beast taming. When she's freed of her work and isn't spending her time with her beloved, you can see her riding out at midnight into the woods to set a trap and catch another pet for Athy. She wants to cheer her up after Blackie disappeared.

her favourite color is blue, the color of Athy's eyes.

the sculptures of the Emperor's concubines in the garden of the Ruby Palace are replaced with gold statues of Athy. Every day is Athy simp day.

Obelia becomes a culinary paradise. The most well paid professions are cooks and bakers because Jennette knows how much Athy loves to eat. Jennette spends more time practicing to make sweets than taking care of governmental affairs.

Athy gets a Siodonnian dancing teacher, Jennette hopes it will combat her depression and that reconnecting with her mother's culture will make it easier to forget about her father. Half of Athy's wardrobe consists of loose clothing from Siodonna. It's more comfortable to cuddle Athy if she isn't restricted by hoop skirts and layers upon layers of fabric, finds Jennette.

among Athy's gifts are never chokers or heavy bangles, because it reminds Jennette of the time when she was lead to the gallows restrained in iron shackles. Her blouses are never completely buttoned up. The maids are instructed to always leave the last buttons open. Jennette wants to see Athy's skin and feel her warmth to be assured that she is still alive.

she has a weird relationship to Claude. She hates him for what he did to Athy, but he has always been good to her. She was raised to love him and to her he was the closest thing she had to a father. After she had killed him, she ripped his body apart and scattered them to the four winds, but she kept his heart in a jar in her room. She still refers to him as her father and insists that Athy refers to her as a sister.

Upon Jennette's orders Penelope's remains were taken from the Judith crypt and transferred to the Imperial tomb. She was declared Empress posthumously. A memorial of the concubines who died during the slaughter of the Ruby Palace was comissioned as well and a recompensation for the families of their servants was paid.

The portrait of Penelope hangs above a desk in her office. Soon a new portrait of herself and Athy will follow.

#wmmap #who made me a princess #sbapod #suddenly became a princess one day #headcanons #athyette #athykiel #villainess jennette margarita #yandere jennette margarita

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emerald194 · 3 months

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What are the kinds of symptoms of various problems from traumas for the Superpower Six?

Canonically, the Superpower Six are criminals that were in prison. When a radioactive asteroid hits the prison, the radioactivity gives them all superpowers relating to their crimes.

Crusher- crimes include smashing bugs and running over cars in a stolen monster truck; gains super strength

Speeding Spike- stole fast cars and sped in a school zone; gains superspeed

CopyCat- pirated music; gained ability to duplicate herself

Betty Jetty- Stole a plane; gains ability to fly

Sir Rebral- the official source says he played "mind games" and tried to steal from royalty; gains telekinesis

Ratman- He "ratted on his friends"; gains ability to communicate and mind control rats

Although they lose their powers at the end of the island, there is a lot of speculation relating to:

Whether their powers return (and how strong)

Potential side effects from the powers

Side effects from the asteroid hit

I hope this answers your question. Thank you for the ask; I am always down to talk about Poptropica

#and as an example of speculation #there's an idea that ratman struggles with sensory overload #due to being so sensitive from all the mental messages he receives from the rats #poptropica #asks #the superpower six #superpower island

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notwiselybuttoowell · 11 months

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Once again, I'm absolutely staggered by all the possiblities of seaweed if handled correctly

For World Ocean Day, Gaia Vince finds out how the planet’s seas could help us to generate clean power, capture CO2 and feed the world. Gaia is joined in the studio by science journalist and marine biologist Olive Heffernan. She dives into the controversy regarding the potential of mining in deep oceans and discusses whether the seas could become the location for Industrial Revolution 2.0.

We’re used to seeing seaweed wrapped around our sushi rolls but it’s so much more than that. As well as being a tasty addition to what we eat, seaweed plays a vital role in absorbing CO2. Gaia speaks to Vincent Doumeizel, a senior adviser on oceans to the UN Global Compact; he’s also the food programme director at the UK-based charity Lloyd’s Register Foundation. He’s confident that seaweed could enable us to sustainably feed a growing global population in the coming decades.

Phytoplankton – microscopic species of algae that exist on the surface of the sea – also absorb huge amounts of carbon from the atmosphere. Sir David King, founder and chair of the Climate Crisis Advisory Group and former chief scientific adviser to the UK Government has the radical idea that artificial whale poo could boost phytoplankton growth, leading to an increase in fish stocks and, consequently, improved biodiversity in the oceans. He tells Gaia about his project and the potential it has for carbon capture.

When we think of energy generation from the oceans, we tend to think of offshore technology such as wind turbines. But what about generating electricity using the water itself? Gaia speaks to Eco Wave Power’s Inna Braverman who reveals how her project harnesses the power of the waves by attaching to existing coastal structures such as piers and jetties, to provide a source of clean, renewable energy.

#wish i had a transcript #may cull some of the statistics later #but using just 2% of the ocean we could grow enough seaweed to eliminate the demand for all the protein being raised in land #functionally it probably wouldn't end up that way #but theoretically that's amazing right?#on land*#oceans #environment #science

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mk-writes-stuff · 29 days

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Hey its your gf here to make you put in an obscene amount of backbreaking labour in the infodumping mines. All of the character questions from the seven stations ask game for Tatum because I’m obsessed with them and all your moots need to be obsessed too

All of them?

Well okay, if you insist :). I do love Tatum. I’m going to put it under a read more though so that I don’t clog up everyone’s dashes with a ten-mile-long post

(From my Seven Stations themed ask game here!)

For those of you unaware, Tatum is the quartermaster of the Drowned Gull, Captain Jetti’s ship. They’re going through it :)

Tatum is most frequently anxious about their health (whether they’re going to be able to do their job and manage their pain today) and about whether someone is going to hurt them

They have the strongest tie to Jetti, which they absolutely wish they could break but they can’t - she’s violently abusive towards them and has beaten them near death before but she’s the only source of the medication that keeps them alive. They also develop a very strong bond with Merry, which is a lot better for them

Tatum is haunted by the horrible things they’ve been forced to do. Jetti uses them to mete out punishments and sink ships and they blame themself for it

Honestly I think the only thing they’re proud of is their magic - they’re the most powerful tidemage in the world. They don’t like to be showy with it but Jetti makes them. They will use it to keep from getting rained on though :)

Tatum and their parents haven’t spoken in 20 years because their family was dismissive of their illness and the abuse they were suffering. They do learn they have a brother later in the story who’s dying of the same cancer that nearly killed them and they become fiercely protective of him

Honestly Tatum has immense disdain for themself. They hate themself and what they’ve done and they struggle to think of themself as anything but a monster

Tatum has complex opinions on authority. They’ve been frequently exploited by authority figures but they find it easier when someone is directing them, so while they like having an authority they’re picky about who it is

Tatum hasn’t had the passion to be fascinated by anything in years. Back when they did, they were fascinated by the pirate culture. It was so different from what they were used to

Honestly? They struggle with getting out of bed and other mobility issues. Tatum has debilitating chronic pain. People on the Drowned Gull are too scared of them to harass them, but some people do after they escape

Tatum honestly isn’t working on their goals very much. They feel too defeated, like there’s absolutely nothing they can do to help themself

They’re most well-known for being Jetti’s violent, impassive lackey who doesn’t care about anyone. It’s not true at all - Tatum is scared and goes along with Jetti even though it kills them inside because they would die if they didn’t - but they do give off that impression

At first, Tatum isn’t devoted to anything. When they meet their brother, Apatli, they develop a fierce devotion to him

They don’t have a ton of hobbies. They like reading and I imagine they pick up some old Sun Empire handcrafts when they start trying to reconnect with their heritage

I’m not sure what legacy they’ll leave behind, probably the stories of the person who could sink ships with a glare. They’re okay with a quiet life but I think they’d be a bit sad if people feared them after their death

Tatum doesn’t care about winning competitions. There isn’t a competitive bone left in their body

Tatum is motivated first and foremost by wanting to stay alive. Once that’s no longer a daily fight, they’re quite lost and end up searching for purpose, which they eventually find in caring for their brother and working on the Sea Star

They’re very bad at being caring towards people, so people who are struggling usually find them cold and unsympathetic. They care a lot and will try to help (like how they tried to shield Merry on the Drowned Gull), but they’re very bad at showing it

Working for Jetti is a circumstance Tatum doesn’t want to be in, but they’re forced to. They do as they’re told, even though it eats at their soul

They needed to step up when they learned they had a brother who was dying of cancer, and again when they learned he was being abused. They weren’t perfect at it, but they managed

Tatum doesn’t laugh much. Most of what they find funny is blunt honesty and clever wordplay

Tatum’s type in a partner is someone who’s kind and gentle and loves them even though they know their past. Their type in a friend is realistically anyone who’ll have them - Tatum is super lonely. Their type in enemies… well, they try not to make enemies, but manipulative types tend to see them as easy to exploit

There have been a lot of big changes in Tatum’s life. Probably running away from the Sun Empire and the angel incident were the two big ones. The Sun Empire escape went pretty well, all things considered (those things being that they’re a traitor now). The angel incident (which involved them being kidnapped by a stranger who attempted to transform them into an angel - it’s a whole other story I won’t go into on this post, but I’m happy to elaborate if people want to hear) got people pretty worried because they vanished and then came back with vestigial wings needing emergency surgery. The people who weren’t immediately there, though, mostly just wondered why they were taller now

In the Sun Empire, Tatum’s desertion would be highly disapproved of. Among the pirates, the disapproval mostly comes from the fact that they worked for Jetti who… uh… isn’t popular

Tatum used to have principles about right and wrong and spent ten years with a woman who cruelly broke them down. They’re trying to find principles to live by that don’t drown them in guilt for what they’ve done

The biggest sacrifice Tatum has made was giving up their morals to keep themself alive. They regret it every day. They’d do it again if they had to

I hope y’all enjoyed this seven-mile post. Apologies for not writing out the questions, I wanted it to be a readable length (maybe). If you have any questions, lmk!

#writeblr #ask game #the pirates’ roost #child abuse mention

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mariacallous · 2 months

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Fewer than a fifth of the projects approved by Michael Gove to improve towns across England have been completed, the government has admitted, in the latest sign of the problems facing his levelling up agenda.

Responses from Gove’s department to freedom of information requests show that fewer than 20% of the projects sanctioned under the £3.6bn towns fund were on track to be finished by the end of February. Fewer than half will have been completed by the next election, even if it is held in November, the figures show.

The data is the latest example of how difficult the Conservatives have found it to meet the promises the party made at the last election to use post-Brexit freedoms to reduce regional inequality in England.

The Guardian revealed last year that councils were having to scale back or freeze levelling up projects because of soaring costs and that Gove’s department was handing back nearly £2bn of housing money after struggling to find projects to spend it on.

Jack Shaw, a local government expert who uncovered the figures, said: “Given this was a flagship policy priority at the last general election, the expectations on the government to deliver new infrastructure in places that have historically been ignored were high.

“Inflation and interest rates have prevented some projects from making progress, but the government has also failed to respond to those changes and has instead asked places to reduce their ambition. Come the election, current evidence suggests the government will have failed its pledge to ‘level up’ communities.”

The towns fund was announced immediately after the last election, with Gove promising it would give “underinvested towns the much-needed funding and support to get going on their long-term plans”.

The fund was a key plank in his levelling up plan to improve infrastructure outside London and major cities. Projects include a new investment zone around Blackpool airport, an industrial centre in Grimsby and the regeneration of Bedford’s train station.

Since then, however, high inflation has eaten into large parts of Gove’s budget and made it increasingly difficult to complete building projects. The Guardian reported last year that at least £500m had been lost from levelling up projects because of rising costs, with leisure buildings, high streets, museums and public spaces all being hit.

Many councils have stalled or reduced their plans as a result of higher costs, and some say they have found it a lengthy and bureaucratic process to get Whitehall officials to approve their alterations to the original plans.

A report by Thurrock council last November showed the authority struggling under the pressures of higher inflation.

The council was due to spend £22.8m on improving Tilbury town centre, including a new community hub, a youth centre, new cycle paths and a new jetty. In November local officials warned there had been “significant cost price inflation” since the plans were submitted, forcing them to review the entire scheme to make sure the council did not overspend.

The report added: “There has been a significant delay in the confirmation of the business cases due to the need for further reassurance and assessment work on governance by [the levelling up department] and the commissioners.”

The figures unearthed by Shaw show that out of 973 towns fund projects, only 154 are due to have been completed by the end of February. By the end of November, that figure rises to 385, just 40% of the total.

More than 170 projects are due to finish in March 2026, the official deadline given by Gove for spending all the towns fund money. A few are scheduled for completion after that date, but officials indicated this could be because they were relying on other sources of funding to finish the projects.

The Department for Levelling Up, Housing and Communities said: “All of the money which was allocated from the towns fund is on track to be spent by March 2026 as planned, with more than 100 projects already completed. The rate at which projects are being completed is entirely consistent with the delivery timeframes we have set out.”

Labour said the problems were a further indication of the issues with ministers in Westminster trying to dictate how local authorities across the country spend their money.

Justin Madders, the shadow levelling up minister, said: “The Tories’ begging-bowl approach to levelling up forces leaders to spend time, effort and taxpayers’ money bidding for uncertain and tightly ringfenced pots of money. This sticking-plaster approach won’t give local leaders the tools they need to drive growth in their local area and live up to their best potential.”

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workersolidarity · 7 months

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Photo: AP News

🇲🇻 OPPOSITION CANDIDATE, MOHAMED MUIZZU, WINS MALDIVES PRESIDENTIAL RUN-OFF

Maldives: The Opposition candidate, Mohamed Muizzu of the People's National Congress Party, won a Presidential Run-off Election in the Maldives on Saturday with 54% of the vote, defeating the incumbent, Ibrahim Solih who received 46%.

Solih conceded his defeat after Muizzu's lead became unassailable.

“Congratulations to the winner of the presidential election @MMuizzu. Thank you for the beautiful democratic example shown by the people in the elections. Thank you to the MDP and AP members who worked together and to all the people who voted for me,” outgoing President Ibrahim Solih wrote on X.

President Ibrahim Solih spent his Presidential term building up relations between the Maldives and India. Muizzu's Party, on the other hand, wants to forge closer ties with China, with Muizzu's People's National Congress Party launching an "India out" campaign during the election season.

Formerly an Engineer, Mohamed Muizzu served as the Minister of Housing and Environment, later renamed the Ministry of Housing and Infrastructure from 2012 to 2018 where Muizzu gained a following for his involvement in a multitude of major joint infrastructure projects between the Maldives and China, including the iconic Sinamalé Bridge linking the Maldives capital city Malé with the Velana International Airport in Hulhulé and extending into the new planned city of Hulhumalé.

During Muizzu's term as Minister of Housing and Infrastructure, many important infrastructure projects were completed, including the construction of a multitude of harbors, parks, jetties, mosques, public buildings, roads and sporting facilities.

Muizzu was later elected Mayor of the Maldives capital, Malé in 2021.

Muizzu is also known for modernizing the Maldives infrastructure techniques, such as the introduction of modern asphalt and the implementation of modern building and maintenance codes.

During his time as Minister of Housing and Infrastructure, Muizzu and his party forged closer ties with China as the economic juggernaut helped the Maldives fund important infrastructure projects. Today, Muizzu and his opposition party have been labeled "Pro-China" by Western observers, politicians and journalists.

Mohamed Muizzu has also said he would remove Indian troops from the independent archipelago, and says he will balance trade, which today leans heavily in favor of India.

Muizzu has also said he supports the release of former President of the Maldives, Abdulla Yameen, from prison. Yameen was convicted of corruption charges in 2019 after a massive money laundering scandal which saw the former President sentenced to 11 years in Prison.

“Today is a very happy day,” Muizzu told supporters.

“I would like to express my sincere gratitude to all the Maldivian people. This outcome today is a huge encouragement for us in our pursuit to build a better future for our country, and to ensure the sovereignty of our nation.”

Yameen, the leader of the PPM, must be released, Muizzu said.

“The president has the power to transfer [Yameen] home imprisonment. And doing so, I believe, is the best action that can be taken in our nation’s interests,” he added.

#source

#source2

#source3

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o5-the-daughter · 9 months

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It Ends in Blood, pt. 2

Warnings: christian themes, repetition as a stylistic device, implied self-harm, graphic murder through decapitation

Word count: 1.300

[Not visible to anons or muses.]

The water is freezing cold and almost black in color, reminiscent of an uneasy baptism on the morning of a storm. He has grown perfectly used to this sensation over the span of many, many years, this feeling of waking oneself from the drawn out slumber of the night that he would, rather dramatically, refer to as a 'cleansing of the mind', one he appreciates and welcomes during the time he spends floating on his old back, eyes closed, cold water welcoming him like the gentle embrace of an even older lady whose hand he would kiss upon every meeting of theirs.

The sun stands fairly high in the sky already by now, though he is too far up in the north for it to be a source of warmth rather than simply one of light, another fact he had come to appreciate sooner rather than later. Lifting up one hand, he uses it to shield his eyes from the bright light above, the light dripping of water that barely misses his face going mostly unnoticed. It's later than he had been aware of, and he will have to return back home soon to avoid causing a mess by being gone for longer than expected, an experience he was also, though this time unwantedly, familiar with.

He turns his head, slightly just to avoid losing his shade, and glances at the jagged, high rocks framing the shore, right where the wooden jetty is peaking through, a speck of warm color that looks wrong in this cold, grey environment he found himself in summer after summer, a voluntary prison of monochromatic routine. As a shade passes over his face, briefly blocking out the bit of sun still shining through his thick, calloused fingers, he turns his attention back upwards, spotting - with some squinting - a single, black bird circling overhead, maybe a crow or a raven, the thought of both bringing with it a warm feeling of familiarity with an old friend.

Taking his fair share of time to appreciate the bird far above him, he only decides to move his sleepy limbs from their resting position when the bird, too, takes off once more, flying in the vague direction of the jetty and its rough companions of stone, and he follows it with quick, strong strokes through the dark water. When he finds himself close enough, he dives down, closing the last bit of distance underwater, and only barely missing a bright flash of white disappearing behind one of the rocky spikes as he does so.

Diving back up right where he knows the edge of the wood to be, his hands easily find the planks a bit above the water even while the lake's water still runs down his face, rendering his vision blurry and near-blind. Even through the blur, though, he notices the smell of blood, the pale color of flesh right infront of him, the dark, emerald eyes staring right back into his, and before he has the chance to blink even once to try and get the water out of his eyes, the sight ahead is joined by the abrupt feeling of cold metal pressed against his throat, the sides of his neck - all around.

The boy doesn't act quickly, though, he knows he has time, having caught the old man in such a position that he knows he cannot move without losing his balance, and in such a position where he knows that losing his balance would be deadly. Instead, he simply stares, silent and with an expression so empty and cold that it fits the landscape all around after all, staring down at the man whose vision has finally cleared a little bit by now and who looks right back at him.

The warm red metal of the short-handed sickles resting firmly in his hands shines in the cold sunlight, which makes it look almost like copper, though the faint smell of blood lingering in the air and the matching color already clinging to his hands proves any such assumption wrong quicker than they can arise. They are bent wide enough to capture the old man's head securely in place, even with the manner in which their handler holds them crossed at the throat, his dark eyes remaining firmly focused on those infront of him even as the metal carefully reshapes itself, changing its form but not its sharpness as it shifts and bends to fit the exact shape of the neck they rest against.

This tightening prison doesn't stop the old man from turning his head, and neither does the far tighter pressure of the fear threatening to crush his chest from the inside as his heart beats faster, faster, as if doing so will help his mind find an escape from this any easier. He doesn't move any further as the boy's eyes move downwards a bit, towards his throat that he had turned left, towards where he can now feel damp, red blood running over his skin, a painfully self-sustained injury on top of it all.

Still, he has found at least a bit of what he wants, the sight of another person, standing further back and leaning heavily against one of the rocks, their hair tightly braided backwards and the sleeve of their plain, white gown drenched in a half-dried red that matches that coating the boy's slender hands all-too well. There is a certain kind of irony in this sight, one that eases his mind towards the thought of what he has come to realize is inevitable by now; he had always known that bringing them, any of them, together on the same side would be his eventual death, and, after all, he was proven right in that at least.

Turning back towards the man right infront of him, he finds his glance being met once again, and he grins, wide and wolfish in a manner entirely mismatched to the position he has undeniably found himself in, in a manner that would much rather match his empty-faced executioner-to-be, who shows, to his mild surprise, no irritation or anger at this. He only feels the blades tighten around his neck a little more, the only sign of the man's vague unease with the situation. He had always been too hesitant in that regard, showing too much softness towards a father-figure that would deny any such title until the very end in spite of it.

"Ты вернулся.", he mutters, his tone low and calm, though bearing a certain kind of amusement that even he hadn't quite expected from himself; he doesn't know who exactly his words are directed at, towards one or the other or maybe both, no matter his claims of expecting a reunion that hadn't looked quite this way in his imagination. He knows the man's hands tighten around the weapons as he speaks, and the beating of his heart reaches his ears, rendering deaf and still half-blind from the water running down his face, into his now-unblinking eyes.

"Да."

The man's voice is rough and low and devoid of the burning emotions both of them would have expected from such a situation, and it's the last sound the old man finds himself hearing in this life, bright emerald eyes staring into his as an even brighter, burning pain shoots through his flesh, down his spine and out of his severed arteries in an unhalted rush that tints the man's innocently white shirt red, together with the wood and the water below.

The body falls back, unhalted, into the cold water that welcomes him like the gentle embrace of an old lady whose hand he would never have to kiss again.

#It Ends in Blood #swords and spears #tw christianity #tw repetition #tw self harm #tw murder #tw decapitation

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