#beneath alder creek

[che-bur-ashka]

simplicity in design is a virtue, you cretins

i'm rereading Avery Alder & Ben Rosenbaum's Dream Askew / Dream Apart in preparation to finally do some serious editing of my game of intimacy, liberation, and faggots at sea Beneath Pirate Flags. among the billion other small things i'm reconsidering as i go over the bob/ndnm fundamentals, i'm really struck by how simple both these games are — elegant in a way i think i really failed to capture in the first public versions of bpf.

i have a theory about this, and it has to do with why i think the sprawling "always another sourcebook" approach taken by a lot of dungeons & drasprawling, commercially successful ttrpgs is fundamentally weak design — but first, here's one of them fancy 'keep reading' buttons you can click on to keep this post from being six and a half miles long.

hey, welcome back. lets get into the details:

bpf makes a critical break from the original ndnm games in the way its environmental playbooks work. mine are things like "the fort" and "the map" (see images) — individual iterations of broader concepts, much like the character playbooks ("legend", "dandy", "monkey" etc) are iterations of common pirate types. there are, almost certainly, multiple "monkeys" in one world — much as there are almost certainly multiple forts.

this contrasts with Askew / Apart's setting books — things like "varied scarcities," "society intact," and "goyishe world." these are intentionally broad environmental pressures. although "society intact" may be encountered different times in different places — with different names and different faces — it is, fundamentally, the same force.

2. this isn't necessarily a thing i want to change (although there are tweaks i'll be making to just about all the playbooks) but it is real interesting to think about how bpf got here, from a design perspective. the story is simple: bpf didn't start from playing either dream. it started with me reading wanderhome, and this design is borrowed (nearly) directly from there.

wanderhome, like bpf, has players create new environmental elements again and again over the course of a campaign — from the smallest kith to the largest citadel, you might be doing generation multiple times in a single session. wanderhome handles this by simplifying, simplifying, simplifying — a trait has one picklist, a nature two, and so the process of generation is quick and nondisruptive, and you're quickly able to create a populated world without losing yourself in any particular moment of generation.

(che, i hear you shouting, you baited us in with an inflammatory claim about d&d's bad design. get to the point already. ok. i will)

one of the things i like most about possum creek games as a whole (ha, got you again) is the way they can become sprawling without ever overwhelming players. this has been talked about a lot in advance of the yazeba's release — but it's true for wanderhome, too.

where both dream askew and dream apart have just six setting elements, wanderhome has (even if you disregard the seasons and holidays) a whopping forty-eight traits and thirty-six natures. it is — despite seeming small in the shadow of yazeba's — a sprawling game, and it's only through a tremendous efficiency and elegance in design that the whole thing doesn't come bursting apart at the seams. some of that is thanks to the ndnm token economy as a whole and some of it is good writing specific to wanderhome, but none of it is possible without an ethic that prioritizes simplicity — cutting the building blocks into their smallest fundamentals, so they can fit into something huge and, more importantly, comprehensible.

this all stands in sharp contrast to what seems to be the tendency in dice- and percentage- based games (told you i'd get there eventually), who — out of a need for a bespoke, simulationist tool for every situation, maybe — have a tendency towards appendices, supplemental books, and a proliferation of minutiae. i am talking about d&d here, although i don't think it's the worst offender — i still have nightmares about the hand-to-hand system from top secret, a game my dad only recently admitted he was "basically only pretending to understand the rules of" when he ran it for my friends and i when we were kids. i'm not saying all crunchy game design is like this — honestly, i think crunchiness is a totally different spectrum from rules-complexity — but i do think that, sometimes, in an effort to feel sprawling and more importantly substantial, games become inefficient and more or less illegible. it is hard to play d&d. it is hard to hold all those rules in your head. by comparison, dream askew, dream apart, and wanderhome can held pretty easily in your head. you could probably even reconstruct some of the playbooks from the design fundamentals (act weak = gain token, act strong = spend token, evocative picklist). the most important thing about these games is that the rules are evocative and they let you stay in the fun part of play for as long as possible, interrupted as little as possible.

let me make this totally clear: the fun part of a game can absolutely be tallying numbers and consulting armor ratings, but i don't think that's the reason some of these games get so big. the real answer is: cutting shit is hard! eliminating systems is hard! saying "this is not helpful, let it go" is really tough, especially when you're left with a design document that was shorter (and by extension, whispers the awful voice in the back of your head, worth less) than you were expecting. still, it's important to remember: 'good system design' is not the same thing as 'filling as many pages as possible.', even if that's hard to accept in an industry that feels like it has to be prices and paid by the page.

how does all this affect beneath pirate flags? well, that's simple — pretty quickly in my recent playtesting, i realized that pausing mid-session to create new maps, forts, ships, and so on sucks ass. it's fun to brainstorm with friends, but the environmental generation throws off the pacing of sessions in a way the wanderhome kith stuff just doesn't. why? there's too much shit in my environmental playbooks! wanderhome has two picklists per nature and one per trait. askew & apart have just one per setting element — and you only have to do it once per campaign. beneath pirate flags has five. five! it sucks! and cutting out that unecessary shit — even if i do want to straddle the middleground between dream askew & dream apart's simplicity and wanderhome's sprawling growth — is going to be the hard first step on the long road to getting this game where it ought to be.

[teriwrites]

NaNoWriMo 2023: Beyond Alder Creek

Round 2 (AKA the second draft)

Genre | Fantasy POV | 3rd person limited, past tense Setting | A fictional turn-of-the-20th-century town and its counterpart, the fae realm of the Beyond Themes | Human nature, Folklore, Trust, Familial Bonds, Friendship

Synopsis

When Winnie Pewitt first heard about her brother, Bran's, abduction by the fae, she couldn't believe the acceptance of his fate by the townsfolk around her. But when she goes to investigate his last known whereabouts, and stumbles upon a strange man within a faerie ring offering to strike a deal, Winnie runs home without looking back. As the days pass, and Bran's funeral looms over the town, Winnie finds herself turning over the strange man's offer. With nothing more than an idea, a hatpin, and a book on all that's known of the fae realm, the Beyond, Winnie seeks out the faerie ring once more. But this time, she won't be caught unprepared.

Excerpt

Before Winnie, perfectly centered in the ring, stood a strange man. He seemed entirely carved out of gold - no, there was life in his features that even the greatest sculptor could’ve have imitated. It was more like the touch of Midas, a life captured beneath the shimmering hue. His face might’ve been fine, had he the look of a mortal man, but the effect was quite lost in his aureate complexion. “My dear, who might you be?” When the man spoke, his voice was high and rang like a bell. A wide smile revealed a row of gleaming, golden teeth. Had she let herself be caught in shock by the unearthly presentation before her, Winnie might’ve answered him. In fact, she began to, only managing to cut herself off after, “Well, I am - ” His smile stretched slightly wider, and the friendliness in his eyes gleamed suddenly with greed, snapping Winnie out of her reverie. “ - you may call me a friend.” Rather than annoyance, Winnie’s introduction was met with amusement. The golden man’s smile twitched for a moment into a smirk. “Tell me then, friend, what is it you seek?” he asked.

Tag List:

@akindofmagictoo @cecilsstorycorner @howdywrites @happyorogeny @avian-writes

Feel free to ask to be added or removed from the tag list!

[colorsunimaginable]

the spare // chapter fifty-seven // death eater ! tom hiddleston oc x plus size ofc - voldemort wins au

story summary: 

While on a mission to avenge the death of her best friend, Ilvermorny graduate Melisa Alder finds herself in the middle of the fight to defeat Voldemort. Upon capture after the Dark Lord's triumph, she's being sold at an auction with other muggle borns and blood traitors. Her only hope is also her only bidder - the tall, dark, and handsome Thomus Malfoy, Lucius Malfoy's younger half-brother. Is he just another Death Eater or is he hiding more than just his face beneath the mask? Will she realize her true potential to be one of the resistance's greatest weapons?

*a Voldemort Wins AU with Tom Hiddleston cast as an OC x a plus size protagonist* *takes place in The Auction universe by Lovesbitca8*

word count for this chapter: 2.5k warings for this chapter: none

CHAPTER MASTERLIST

Chapter Fifty-Seven:

The next time I wake my body is entirely too stiff. When I open my eyes, it’s barely morning, everything beyond the doorway of the dog house tinted blue.

I’m warm, though, really warm. I’m wrapped up in something, cocooned. Based on smell alone, I realize it’s Thomus’ cloak. He’s behind me, arm over my stomach, legs tucked tight behind mine. I can feel his deep even breathing, hear it next to my head on the throw pillow we’re somehow sharing.

Slowly, I lift his arm, scooching out of his embrace and the cloak without disturbing his sleep. I push up onto my hands and knees, crawling out onto the damp grass. Then I stand and stretch, thrusting my hands into the sky. I bend down to touch my toes and notice the golden choker discarded a few feet from the dog house, like it was tossed there without care. Good.

When I straighten, I’m shocked to see an owl perched on the back of a patio chair. It’s got a definitive circle around it’s white face and pitch black eyes the size of marbles. I freeze and we just stare at each other for a hot second before the owl’s hackles start to rise, it’s wings restless.

“Shh,” I coo softly at it, taking a step forward. The owl’s head twists to an almost unnatural angle as it shoves one foot forward while balancing on the other, and I realize it’s got a scroll tied to it.  

I glance back at Thomus to make sure he’s still passed out before rushing to the owl and taking the scroll. As soon as the scroll’s in my head, the owl departs. While my fingers fumble with opening the scroll, my eyes follow its flight path into the trees towards the creek. When it’s gone, my eyes scan the paper.

meet me at the creek – KG

K.G… Kyle... Goldman? It’s gotta be.

With the paper crumpled in my fist, I make my way through the damp grass to the path to the creek. I check over my shoulder every few seconds and don’t stop until the cottage is no longer visible beyond the trees.

Next to the creek I walk slower, my eyes scanning for movement, for anything out of place… for a disillusionment charm.

And there, on a fallen tree across the creek, the familiar shimmer catches my eye. I stop and stare at it, crossing my arms over my chest.

“What do you want?” I ask, hopefully loud enough to be heard over the bubbling water, but soft enough my voice won’t carry to the cottage.

Kyle chuckles as he sheds the disillusionment charm. “Well, good morning to you, too.”

“Thomus could wake up at any moment and will wonder where I am, so make this quick.”

He just stares, quietly assessing me without the humor from a moment ago. “I wanted an update on the magic suppression situation.”

I bite my lip. I don’t wanna lie, but I have a feeling he isn’t going to like the truth.

“It’s… fine.”

He raises his eyebrows. “Just… fine?”

“The ones you gave me, didn’t really affect me, especially the third one. The batch he was giving me was already stronger than what they were giving us at the start.”

“That’s what I’d given you. I’d managed to scrounge up some left over vials from a contact at the Ministry.” He leans forward, elbows on his knees. “How did the stronger batch affect you?”

I shift my feet, trying to adjust to where the rocks aren’t killing me. “Three days was the minimum, but it was easy to do magic than when I’d tried any other time.”

“Well, that’s great,” he says, clearly pleased. “Do you think you’ll be able to do it in less than three days?”

I take a deep breath. “I don’t know.”

The satisfied look on his face disappears as his eyes narrow and he frowns. But I go on.

“I don’t know because Malfoy had been… suspicious, and so he made it stronger.”

“Did you give him a reason to be suspicious?”

“Not really,” I shrug. “I think he’d believed I was using Occlumency.”

“How long is it taking you with the new batch?”

I shrug again. “Today’s the third day, so I don’t know yet. I’ve only taken the new batch once.”

He gives me an expectant look. “Try it right now, then.”

I hold out my hand, palm up. I stare at my palm, wordlessly trying to cast the illumination charm. The familiar ball of light doesn’t appear and I don’t bother trying to cast the spell verbally.

With his eyes on me, the anxiety in my chest is pounding in beat with my heart. I get down on one knee, touching my fingers to the damp ground.

“Electrovis,” I mutter, but the heat that usually pour from my fingers with the spell doesn’t come. I repeat the spell and wind up with the same effect. My fingers are even colder than they were before actually.

“Does it come out under pressure?” he asks. “Say if you were in a situation where you needed it, if your life was in danger.”

“It’s a mixed bag with that one,” I admit, standing and brushing the crud off my calf. “My magic doesn’t seem to care how much danger I think I’m in.”

“So, theoretically, let’s say Dementors attacked you, you don’t think that would be any sort of catalyst?”

When I straighten, it’s my turn to narrow my eyes at him. He’s looking at me calmly, without any sort of misgivings about what he said.

“Dementors?” I ask, my voice flat. Thomus had been sure it wasn’t Bellatrix, but he hadn’t been sure about Rodolphus. Meanwhile I think Rodolphus wouldn’t send a third party, at least not with me, at least not after what happened.

But Kyle?

“Did you send them?” I ask, point blank. “The Dementors?”

He releases a humorless laugh and breaks our eye contact. “I guess my question wasn’t subtle.”

“And I’m not an idiot.” I want to scream at him. How could he? “Why did you send them?” I demand angrily.

“It was just a test,” he says smoothly.

“A fucking dangerous one!” I hiss. “Thomus almost –“ I stop, breathing heavily through my nose to calm down. “It was fucking pointless. I already had my magic. Now that’s the reason he made the potion stronger.”

His head tilts, his tone is accusatory. “You exposed yourself.”

“I didn’t have a choice,” I bite. “Malfoy can’t produce a Patronus charm.”

“Most Death Eaters can’t from what I’ve heard,” he shrugs. “Too much dark magic.”

“So you knew there was a possibility we’d both die?”

“I was hoping you’d be able to perform under pressure,” he says casually. “The threat of rape didn’t seem to be a strong enough motivator.”

My jaw actually drops this time. “What the actual –“  

He ignores me. “As it happens, the test didn’t prove to be fruitless. There’d been a few things I hadn’t anticipated.”

“Like what?” I fume.

“Malfoy’s a liability,” he states. “You care for him and because of that, you’ll need to be separated.”

My mouth falls open again, but I quickly shut it, my mind whirling. “How is that the conclusion?”

“The attack proved that you will risk the entire operation by exposing yourself just to save him.”

The new perspective on the situation has me stunned and momentarily speechless.

“Severing ties with Malfoy will be the only way to get you close to Voldemort.”

I cross my arms over my chest. “There has to be another option besides his death.”

He starts shaking his head. “There is no –“

“If you want me to cooperate, then he stays alive. If you don’t know how to do that, figure it out.” As I glare at him, I hope then venom in my voice conveys my seriousness.

He stands, glaring right back. “This war has to end.”

“No shit Sherlock,” I snap. “Answer me this, do you know how I’m gonna get close to Voldemort?”

“The first step is severing –“

“Ties with Malfoy, yeah, okay, what’s after that? Do you know who’s going to buy me? Is it you?”

He scoffs, pinching the bridge between his nose. “I can’t believe this,” he mutters.

“Oh, so that’s something else you need to figure out.” I bring my hands together and give him a fake ass smile. “Great. So while you do that, I’ll work on my immunity to the suppression potion. You got that?”

He scowls with his hands on his hips, looking absolutely done with me. Well, the feeling’s fucking mutual.

“Got it,” he snaps.

“Great,” I repeat and turn my back to him, heading for the cottage. I hear rustling leaves and when I glance back, Kyle’s gone.

I get to the edge of the woods and pause, needing a moment to calm down. I’m too worked up for it being, what – barely 8 in the morning? Though I guess I have good reason to be worked up. From Rodolphus’ attack to being chained up while Bellatrix holds a knife to me seems like enough.

After calming a bit, I march up the back yard. Thomus isn’t in the dog house when I get to the patio. In fact, the dog house isn’t even there. All that remains is a square outline pressed in the grass from where it used to be. The chains and choker had been gathered up as well.

I wish this didn’t upset me. I know what happened last night, but seeing it in the morning hasn’t made anything better. I still feel… crushed.

I go inside and upstairs. I’m in need of a shower after sleeping outside in a wooden box.

Thomus has just finished his, as evidenced by the steamy bathroom. As I turn on the faucet and showerhead, I’m already mentally cursing him for potentially not leaving me any hot water.

“Enjoy your walk?” Thomus asks from the open door to his room. He walks into view, dressed in slim pants and an open belt, toweling off his hair. “The mornings are pretty here.”

I close the door to my room and walk over to his. “It was fine,” I reply without looking at him before closing and locking the door.

~*~

After my shower, I find Thomus downstairs with two mugs of steaming coffee already on the table. He’s gathering what looks like the makings of scrambled eggs. I don’t acknowledge him and shove two slices of bread into the toaster.

“Would you like me to make you an omelet?” he asks, his tone a little unsure.

“Nope,” I say, moving around him to pour cream and sugar into my coffee.

Normally, I’d probably sit and watch him try to make an omelet. As far as I know, he can’t cook, but I’m not in the mood.

“I see.” He sounds disappointed.

I grab a plate, butter, and a butter knife just before the toast pops up, and all without really looking at him.

Is this childish? Sure. Do I know what to do with how I feel? Not at all. Do I even know what I'm upset about? No sir-eee.

With my toast buttered and my coffee creamed, I head into the living room and settle on the couch to re-watch Ever After for the millionth time.

The blue titles have just faded in and out when Thomus emerges from the kitchen, hands in his pockets, leaning against the doorway. I only see him in my peripheral, preferring to keep my focus on the screen.

“Need something?” I ask after taking a sip of my coffee.

“There’s a dinner on Friday,” he says. “A… familial one, at the Lestrange estate.”

The one slice of toast I’d managed to consume in the last ten minutes turns to lead in my stomach. I grab the remote and pause the movie, finally looking at Thomus. “What do you mean familial?”

“My brother, nephew, Narcissa,” he trails off. “The in-laws.”

“Why?”

“It is… at the Dark Lord’s request.”

I scoff and roll my eyes. “Weird, but okay. Guess I’m serving again?”

He inhales sharply. “Bella expressed her desires for all our Lots to be in attendance. You, Granger, and Rabastan’s Lot.”

“Well, fan-fucking-tastic,” I deadpan. I bring my attention back to the TV and hover my finger over the play button. “Is that all?”

He takes a few steps into the room, his eyes bouncing from the TV to me. “What are you watching?”

"A movie.”

“Would you mind if I joined you?”

An instinctual heavy sigh releases from my chest. “Don’t you have any Death Eatering to be doing?”

Thomus stands straighter, hands coming out of his pockets. “What’s your problem?”

I hit play and the main orchestral theme blares from the speakers. “Nothing.”

I feel rather than see him scowl at me before promptly turning on his heel and storming into the office.

~*~

He stays in there all day, only leaving to use the bathroom. He asks – no, demands based on his tone – for me to make him a sandwich a little after noon. I sloppily slap something together that I guess one could call a sandwich and I don’t even bother knocking on the office door before barging in and slamming the plate down on his desk.

Around the time I normally make dinner, my depression has gotten so bad that the only thing I have for dinner is an early bed-time. So by 7 pm I’m in bed with the lights off, hugging a pillow to my chest.

I don’t know how long I lie there, pretending to sleep, but I know it’s not long enough when I hear Thomus calling my name from outside my door. He opens it and steps in, taking in the darkness of the room.

“Go away,” I say, pulling the comforter tighter to my chin.

“Are you feeling alright?” he asks. To my annoyance, he steps in further, and I hear the door close.

“I’m fine, just tired.”

He sits on the edge of the bed, putting a hand on my ankle. I pull it away.

“Why don’t you come stay in my room?” he asks gently.

My response is quick. “I don’t want to.”

“May I –“

“No, I don’t want you here either.” I turn away from him, hugging the pillow even tighter.

He’s silent for a while before speaking again. “I’m not going to feign ignorance as to why you’re upset, but I just – “

“I’m not upset,” I interrupt. “I’m just tired.”

“I didn’t fuck her.”

His words punctuate the silence that follows, so much conviction in his tone that for a moment I’m speechless. I’m absolutely stunned that he slammed the nail on the head when I couldn’t even do it myself. My chest is heavy and hollow at the same time with that all too familiar ache. Only I know now why it aches.

“I didn’t ask.”

I don’t know if he’s being truthful and I don’t know if I really even want the truth.

He slowly exhales, his voice soft. "Okay."

My lip quivers, but I manage to hold back any tears as he quietly makes his exit. 

[outofangband]

random HC for Aerin?

Here you are, anon! Other headcanon collections in Aerin’s tag

From this HC ask game!

I tried to give a combination of pre and post Nírnaeth Headcanons and ones that had a combination. I also wasn’t sure how dark you wanted it if at all so I kept it on the less dark side? But there is still some post Nírnaeth stuff so warning for that

-Aerin likes to skip rocks in one of the deeper pools of Nen Lalaith. Her record is five skips. She grew up playing in the creek, riding alongside it, swimming and bathing there. There is a small patch of grass and moss hidden beneath a few alders that she likes to sit after walks. She’s fallen asleep there a few times. It’s something I wish I could draw, I have the image very vividly in my mind 🍃

Post Nírnaeth her movements are so controlled that while she comes there occasionally for brief respite, she can never truly relax there again.

-Aerin is right handed but has a lot of dexterity in her left hand for physical activities.

-Four years after the beginning of the occupation, Aerin is allowed to help oversee a yearly sheering of sheep (I have another post about this but basically, this is more out of necessity than any kindness.) Many of these creatures she knows are stolen from her kin and the fruits of their labor will go very little towards dressing and warming either the laborers or the original owners. But she finds some comfort being able to care for them, especially loves caring for the babies, holding and feeding them. The occupying lords consider most of this work beneath them so she can find peace in the barns for short periods.

She can remember then when she spoke softly because she was gentle and not afraid

-Her health suffers from consistently not eating enough. She hates attending meals, having to sit beside Brodda and watch her enslaved kin trying to avoid anyone’s attention, feeling sickened by the fact that some of them feel that she is now apart from them and that she sometimes feels it herself. More often than not when she does attend these, she can’t bring herself to eat at all.

I know I often mention those feasts, I just think a lot about how traumatic they must have been. I’m working on a post now about the public nature of her suffering in the Narn versus private in BoLT. And I know Aerin was specifically mentioned to not be there for that feast, but I think all the time about the descriptions of Brodda’s feast in the book of lost tales version, and how absolutely dreadful they sound

[monster-bait]

Anzan the Drider Head Canons; ko-fi request

My patrons got to read these a few days ago, courtesy of @1wren79′s ko-fi request! 

Warning for driders, if you’re arachnophobic, this is your chance to keep scrolling!

.

.

.

.

(featured art by @ilustrariane)

Before finding his way to Ladybug, he’d not had the luxury of a stable home since his adolescence. Once they come of age, unmated males are turned out of their communities, like baby birds being pushed from the nest. The reason is two-fold: no self-respecting elder wants their own mates sniffing out the potent scent of a younger male’s sex pheromones, aka the olfactory equivalent of a lighted billboard advertising FREE YOUNG COCK, HELP YOURSELF. Potent, demanding...Ladybug literally goes cross-eyed from the smell of him! 😂 As those sorts of public advertisements of virility were less than appreciated by the community at large, the youngins have to go. The other angle of it: as Anzan tells Ladybug, marriages are a tightly brokered business. Securing a good match for one’s son or daughter requires both money and influence in an extremely competitive and harsh culture. Families begin working to secure these all-important, highly-coveted matches as soon as drider babies are born. To have a son reach mating age without having a secured marriage contract is a sign of poor standing, of limited resources, a family’s shame; shame they are eager to be rid of.

Anzan works in tech, as a network security specialist. Ladybug is *shocked* when she learns he has a lucrative career. Even though his rent was always paid on time, she never really considered where his money was coming from. (Like...did she think he was just in her attic lifting weights for six months?) ((to be fair, he was probably lifting weights part of the time...I mean, look at him!)) She feels rather foolish once they’re together as a couple—she took in a boarder to keep from losing her house, while said boarder could easily buy her house several times over. Despite his comfortable circumstances, he is very used to living on the fringes and going without.

Drider courting culture is all about gifts and tokens (even though matches are secured early, traditional courting customs are observed.) Drider culture is largely matriarchal, with the females at the top of the family. Daughters are prized, as bride prices can lift a family from one social stratum to another, and males are expected to show their worth through gifts during courting. Having someone to spoil is a *revelation.* Anzan has a hard time breaking out of the mindset that his role is to provide for Ladybug in every way—do the shopping, protect their home, procure anything she might need so that she does not have to leave the safety of their home (because again: mates are prized and jealously guarded.) He defers to her in almost everything. She thinks it’s because he feels insecure in their relationship and with living in the town, and that’s part of it, although it’s a much smaller part than she assumes. Deferring to the household female is simply the mindset with which he was raised, and having someone to buy gifts for makes him giddy. (As giddy as Anzan gets, which is still 😐.)

Conversely, the coven in which Ladybug was raised places more importance on acts of service. If you got my newsletter this past weekend, you know all about love languages! Ladybug is a bit bewildered by the gifts at first, again, because she has different assumptions about why he’s buying her things, but as their relationship progresses, their love languages begin to meld. His gifts become less material and *very* specific to her—a bouquet of wildflowers she’s not familiar with (she decides she doesn’t want to contemplate where he found them, and definitely doesn’t want to contemplate him trespassing at Applethorpe Manor in the middle of the night to pilfer their garden,) or a typically hard-to-find potion ingredient, and he begins to pick up on her desire for “acts of service”—taking on some of the restoration and repair work around the house, constructing her outdoor sabbath shelter and assisting in her ceremonies. She buys him a giant sampler of fancy coffees for their first Yule together, and he is tickled pink to be on the receiving end of a gift,  particularly one that he loves. (Tickled pink: 😐) His antics with the flowers are a Plot Point™ in an upcoming Monster Match revisit of Alder the ghillie dhu, which will be posting in the next week or so!)

He LOVES movies. Part of “living on the fringes” meant going without traditional entertainment, and now he can’t get enough. He’s always shocked by the twists and turns in thrillers, develops a passion for foreign vampire costume dramas, can’t get enough of human-nonhuman buddy comedies. He’s turned part of the cellar into a home theater, and Ladybug loves indulging him in snuggling at his side to watch True Crime Dramas and Lizardperson nature documentaries. Big giant drider boyfriend utterly spellbound by totally predictable romcoms? It's more likely than you think!

As you already know from the Wheel of the Year stories, he outwardly has a hard time showing his emotions, but it’s worth remembering that the series is from Ladybug’s POV. To him, humans are OVER THE TOP in their emotional displays, and he’s the normal one. His stoicism does tend to lead to communication breakdowns in their relationship, but it’s very much a two-way issue. In general, he’s getting better at letting Ladybug into his head, and under that stern countenance, there's a very wicked sense of humor hiding. He possesses a “the ends justify the means” streak a mile wide, and I think Ladybug would be horrified at the ease with which he was willing to commit petty crimes.

Driders are not readily accepted into mixed societies, as they’re thought of as being hyper aggressive, extremely calculating, and generally vicious...reputations that largely stem from the lengths families will go to in order to secure marriages for their offspring. As a result, those males who are turned out of their communities are set up for solitary lives as outsiders, with no expectations of ever being accepted anywhere. Cambric Creek is a very rare community for accepting driders within the city’s confines, and even then it’s only just. Anzan and Philomel are the only driders in Cambric Creek, and Anzan is the only one who lives in town. (Philomel lives on the outskirts of town, practically in the woods. As Lettie says in The Watchers: “she’s running from some man or her family.” Lettie’s not wrong.) The residents of Cambric Creek juuuuust barely tolerates their drider neighbors, and that’s with both driders keeping mostly to themselves. Anzan and Philomel are both rarely seen, they both work from home, and typically leave their homes only at night. Neither are nocturnal, but they’re not immune to the whispers and fear from their neighbors, and take pains to minimize contact with others.

I’ve tried to give Cambric Creek a glossy veneer: everyone talks about how inclusive and welcoming it is, the housing market is extrememly competitive, the schools are well-funded and well-regarded for inclusivity, everyone is crunchy granola impressed with themselves...but if you look beneath the surface, the residents have their fair share of prejudices and pre-conceived notions. Anzan and Ladybug appear in Parties, glimpsed by Tate during his very first visit to that made-up place Silva lives, Corduroy Falls (insert Silva’s eyeroll here), and his immediate reaction is CALL THE POLICE, THERE’S A DRIDER. They are *not* a common species to see out and about, so Anzan is very much a fish out of water in our story, and that impacts the way he lives, as his main concern is for Ladybug, how she’s perceived, and keeping her safe. Spirits save the fool who ever thinks to do her harm, for the assumption that driders are aggressive and violent is not completely unfounded.

The resident of Slade Manor only *thinks* she’s spying on the drider next door. From his vantage point in the attic, Anzan spies on her all day long 😂 He is stealthy and sneaky and snoopy, and knows more about the neighbors than any of them realize.

Thanks so much, @1wren79​, this was a lot of fun!

If you have a burning desire to know how Bodi the Lizardman shops for pants or how Tate takes his tea, all ko-fi contributions earn a headcanon for the character of your choosing! (Length/complexity based on ko-fi amount, ko-fi in header)

[poem-today]

A poem by David Mason

The Lost House

A neighbor girl went with me near the creek, entered the new house they were building there with studs half-covered. Alone in summer dark, we sat together on the plywood floor. The shy way I contrived it, my right hand slipped insinuatingly beneath her blouse in new maneuvers, further than I planned. I thought we floated in the almost-house. Afraid of what might happen, or just afraid, I stopped. She stood and brushed the sawdust off. Fifteen that summer, we knew we could have strayed. Now, if I saw it in a photograph, I couldn't tell you where that new house stood. One night the timbered hillside thundered down like a dozen freight trains, crashing in a flood that splintered walls and made the owners run. By then I had been married and divorced. The girl I reached for in unfinished walls had moved away as if by nature's course. The house was gone. Under quiet hills the creek had cut new banks, left silt in bars that sprouted alder scrub. No one would know, cruising the dead-end road beneath the stars, how we had trespassed there so long ago.

David Mason

[cecilsstorycorner]

Writerblr Indroduction - Actual Writer Version

Hallo! I’ve actually been on here for a couple weeks now, but never did an actual introduction of myself. Because I’m terrified of acknowledgement of the self beyond my work? Probably.

I’m Cecil, I make nonsense, and I’m here to make terrible puns and worse metaphors.

(I like and send asks from my main @dontdropthejam !)

Fun Facts (aka basic info):

they/them, gender is No

living in bc but very visably a german/english pale ass little shit whos still bitter they werent raised bilingual and with more traditions than just nikolaus and mahlzeit

ace as all hell, probably on the aro spectrum somewhere, still attempts to write romance subplots

i have two cats and that is VERY important information because my life revolves around them

their names are coco and pepita and they cause problems on purpose

My go to writing nonsense (aka the stuff I keep coming back to in every wip ever):

folklore babyyy! every single thing i write has SOMETHING folklore related/inspired, no matter the genre. mostly scottish, germanic, russian, and scandinavian as that’s what i had the most access to learning as a kiddo and find most personally interesting in the kind of stuff that shows up, but i dip into others sometimes!

love me some exploration of trauma. every single character of mine needs therapy and they are unaware they are mine

there are now multiple instances of tall nervous lad + short fighty lesbian duos across my stories so thats fun

apparently half my stories count as ‘urban fantasy’ but that just makes me think of uncomfortably hot werewolves, so a better description is ‘real world but with GHOSTS and CELTIC FOLKLORE and GAYS’. sometimes modern but i have a soft spot for the 1760’s ish uk for some reason

horror! but horror that will make you cry. my goal is to be the queer folklory mike flanagan

speaking of that, im the most character focused you can be. im the kind of person who cant watch most movies as they focus way too much on premise not character. unfortunately that means i can have trouble coming up with plots that work but ill get there

fav themes include: motherhood, grief, family, friendship, guilt, trauma, healing from said trauma

fav tropes and trope adjacent things: found family (duh), spooky towns with a Secret, magic but gone wrong, old journals, creeping horror

i dont stick to prose because im extra and pretentious. storytelling mediums i have attempted so far (with varying levels of success ) include: literal physical journal (every time ive used this its been for horror, no surprise there), webcomic/graphic novel, audio drama, item box ala mysterious package company, and yes, good old fashioned prose books

Current wips:

The Book of Broken Strings (main focus atm)

The Embassy of Peculiar Chronology

The Collectors

Current favourite wips/writers I’m following:

@teriwrites Beneath Alder Creek. Has that folklore fae element I love so much, as well as characters I would die for

@chayscribbles Andromeda Rogue. This cast owns my whole heart and Chay has done the impossible of making me genuinely invested in a scifi story which hasn’t happened since my middle school doctor who days so that’s a VERY good sign of how Top Quality this wip is

@ashen-crest’s The Stray Spirit. The whole concept of the story is just so fun and once again, the characters holy shit. Plus there’s LOTS of writing and art out for it so it’s super easy to get a handle on after a bit of blog lurking!

[everettlance]

ONE GOOD THING // SELF-PARA

The party was over. Or perhaps it wasn’t, perhaps it was still going and Everett had simply floated away. He stood in the kitchen on the second floor now, in the dark. The night had been full: his interview, drinking with Agatha, making some strange truce with Alder, a fucking party. The only person he felt like he hadn’t seen was Maverick. So it felt right that, as he took a sip from his glass of water, Maverick appeared around the corner.

He was wearing sweatpants and a sweatshirt, sneakers that looked like they’d hardly ever been worn. “Were you on a run?” Everett asked, raising his eyebrows, looking out at the still-dark city, though the peaks of the mountains had begun to bleed warmth, some sunlight attempting to come up beyond the heavy cloud cover.

“Yeah, it’s fucking cold,” Maverick said, opening a cabinet, getting himself water. His movements were frenetic, the energy about his body buzzing. Everett suddenly wanted to hug him, to wrap him against himself; it was something that they’d done as children all the time when they wanted to know what it felt like to touch someone in a way that was kind, for nothing more than the enjoyment of being with another. It wasn’t something either of them got much at home and certainly not at the academies where they each trained. Small touches the way kids do, though wrestling was more common, always was. It was best to speak with the words you knew best.

The touches had changed at some point and gone from innocent to something else. There was desire though neither could name it as such; at least, not Everett. He wondered when Maverick had realized there was a shift. He wondered what was wrong with him that he’d hardly noticed it at all. It was easy to allow life to move like that; to allow feeling to fill the container of your body, to allow yourself to touch someone else, to hug him or tackle him or mess with his hair in an attempt to screw with him.

How was he now supposed to find a way to speak to him with real words? The one kiss they’d shared, at the fence the morning of the Reaping that should have been Maverick’s but had instead sealed Everett’s own life sentence. That was the closest they’d ever gotten to expressing what they’d never been taught to express. Now, though, Mav seemed to have learned. He had Alder and said that he loved him. Everett didn’t know how the hell he could say such a thing; how could he create words for something true? How could he ever know what he was feeling?

He looked at him as he drank the water, his neck stretched, his adam’s apple bobbing. This is the person I’ve known the best. And he couldn’t even speak to him. He couldn’t think of a thing to say. This is the person I gave my life for. What did that mean? What did a sacrifice mean? Delta had died in his place. If she hadn’t, it would have been him, crossing the swollen creek first. Each moment he realized it, each moment he relived it, was a lighting bolt to his ribcage.

She had died so that he could kill. He had killed and then died. So she had died for nothing at all. He was just nothing at all.

But for Maverick. What Everett had died for. He had died so Maverick could learn how to love another fucking person. So he could go for runs. So he could get sneakers as a gift, a Hearth Day gift, from someone who cared about him. So he could train and paint and find a way to be happy. That was what it was about, Everett was pretty sure, having died now. Life couldn’t be about anything more or less than figuring out how to be happy. Would he ever get to do that? Or had he taken the dive so that Maverick could stay on the shore, stay dry? So that he could go on?

What does a sacrifice mean for the person who’s died? What does it mean to live after death? What to do when you find yourself in the water, you’ve drowned but you’re alive, you’re still beneath the surface? Maybe you can breathe for a moment, but you can do nothing but kick your legs at the water which wields to your touch and movements but doesn’t disappear. Eventually, you know, it will fill your lungs.

“You’re an idiot,” he said. These were the words that he came up with, the only ones he could say. In them he masked more. The tenor of his voice tried at emotions that sung quiet and loud inside of him. All of them silenced by the lightning bolt. “It’s like 5 degrees.”

“Couldn’t sleep.” Maverick looked at him then and it was like every moment they’d looked at each other before compressed into one. There had been many times that Everett had hated him. Many times he’d loved him. Many times in between. All of those things now between them. And Maverick looking at him from some other world, a world Everett didn’t think he’d ever get to know.

“I’ll be going soon,” Everett blurted. It was obvious. Easy to speak the obvious.

“You’ve still got an hour.” As if delay meant anything. An hour or a minute. It’d all end the same.

“Got any last minute tips?” His lip wobbled. The backs of his eyes stung hot.

Since coming back, he hadn’t cried. He wanted to fucking cry. But he couldn’t. Crying wasn’t safe, it wasn’t allowed. It’d push you from any protection you had and into a place where you might be seen and understood, and he couldn’t allow that.

But this was Maverick. And the knot in his chest knew it. It recognized him. The air of him.

“You’re going to be fine,” Maverick said, the words Everett wanted to hear but didn’t know if he deserved. “You have me, Orpheus, Cain, Trixie, all of us fighting for you. You got a training score right alongside the best of them, the Careers. All you have to do is… is fight.”

He could see something small in his eyes, a twitch of his jaw, and he knew that Maverick was trying to give him permission. To say that he could do what he had to do. That his survival was worth whatever it came to inside the Arena.

“It’s the Arena, Everett,” Maverick said, taking a step closer, and like a magnet, he pulled the tears from behind Everett’s eyes. He felt them wet on his cheeks. His eyelashes. His grip on his own glass tightened. “But you’ve done it before. You almost won. You came so close. You can do this.” He was so strong, his voice was so strong, his expression strong; he believed it. Everett knew he believed it.

“I didn’t do it,” he replied. “Almost gets you killed.” The unsaid could flood a river between them.

“This time, just don’t get killed,” Maverick said. His tone was firm. “Don’t make mistakes. You can make as many fucking mistakes as you want when you get out of there. But you need to watch your back. Avoid allies you can’t trust. Stick with Lionel, Seraphina, Jeannie. Avoid Agatha, Isabela. You need to be smart.”

Maverick swam in Everett’s vision. Everett wished for a selfish moment that he too had drowned; that he’d pulled his friend into the water with him when he’d jumped. But no: this was how other people looked when you were under the surface.

“I have my own advice, you know,” Everett said, wiping roughly at his cheeks with his free palm. “Don’t drive yourself crazy. Don’t feel guilty. Keep it together. Stay with fucking Alder if you want, he loves you. Be a good person. Okay? Be a good person, please, because I can’t anymore and. And I want you to.”

Maverick shook his head, just once, but he knew that it was true and he couldn’t argue, and so he didn’t try to. There was no point in wasting words.

“I didn’t volunteer for you so you could waste your life, okay? If I die you need to just move on. I mean, I know you already moved on.” The odd thing between them, Alder-shaped, hovered. “But I mean really, like, be best friends with fucking Abel Evans, run around without your stupid shoes on, paint your pictures, quit the Academy. Tell your parents to fuck themselves. I don’t know. I’m not a fucking life coach.”

There was a pause, an uncertain one. He had more to say, much more, but none of it fit itself into words. So instead he set down his glass, stepped forward, took him in his arms. Maverick welcomed the hug, the touch, as he always had, though this time it was different. Of course it was different. But Maverick held tight, he always had. He’d always hugged like he meant it, every time, even if what he meant now was different. It was no longer the I love you that spoke with urgency, that pushed toward more; it was the I love you that sat softly in the chest, didn’t need to be protected or spoken because it was a part of the ribcage. A part of the bones that protected the heart. An I love you for a true friend.

No matter whether Everett lived or not. No matter whether he deserved life or not. He had done this one good thing. He’d given a life to Maverick. And that was something he was allowed to be proud of.

[lastlivyatan]

random things

i remember the drive in my dad’s jeep renegade, four hours through the mountains with no heater and no phones, watching the road manifest out of the snowy dark. trying to keep my cd player warm and still in my sleeping bag so the batteries would last long enough for the ride across the lake (rammstein’s ‘mutter’ album on repeat, before i knew what any of the lyrics meant). in summer, imagining dragons (lol) running alongside the highway, battling dwarves and griffons at gypsum creek, closing my eyes when the cliffs beside us were too steep and the road was too narrow. 

the bittersweet mythological drama of that album sticks to all my memories of the matanuska glacier and the week-long canoe trip my dad and i planned but never got to go on. the taiga is a big, sad, yawning song that follows the foolhardy trails of snowmachines, carving high arcs for the thrill of their lives, because there’s nothing else to do out there sometimes but race death and waste gas. 

i miss wolverine lodge, where i met andy/andrea, whom everyone loved and supported (and quietly whispered, “s/he lost her wife last year and hasn’t really been the same since”). i miss andrea knowing exactly what i was before i did, way out there in the middle of nowhere, where tree farmer’s golden retriever was my best friend. i miss how they always kept a snickers bar aside for whenever my dad came in.

i think i should go back, because things are buried at his house i didn’t get to retrieve (literally buried, beneath “t.ryan’s mountain”, if i can find it now), and maybe it will help with closure. like god damn lol it’s been 17 years, by now i’ve lost a stepdad too, but it only compounds the old grief. tbh i dont think grieving ever stops, but learning how to do it well is developed over time, and unfortunately during further loss.

if i go back i will boat over the bay and pray in the four directions in the alder grove, because my dad told me it was a special place, where the caribou would cross through before passing into his property. i miss him all the time and i am so grateful i got to experience the best of what he was, before time and reality could sour him. i am grateful he won’t be turning 80 this year, because if he couldn't live out there the way he wanted, he wouldn't have wanted to live at all.

my dad and alaska will always be the same thing, i think. a wonderful dream from my childhood that’s been so embellished in my own mind there will never be a comparable altar. id never live there again tho because fuck those living expenses LOL

[wanderingtrails]

March 11, 2018 - Alder Flats via East Canyon Trail

Elevation gain: 200 meters Distance: 8 km round trip

We set off on an adventure to Alder Flats from the Gold Creek parking lot as a change. Within two minutes of hiking it was evident that the snow was quite deep but initially it was old snow. It lightly crunched beneath my feet, barely giving away as I walked. Over the course of the stretch, I built up the intuition of how to navigate along the older snow and not fall through. The real struggle began once we crossed the bridge and entered the dense forest. It was rather interesting to be on a bridge that I have so often seen from the viewpoint of the west canyon trail. We started post-holing the rest of the way, struggling up the incline and past the fork of the trail joining the west canyon trail. Eventually, it just became a bit too much, so slightly beyond the junction by the first bridge we turned around and went back.

At the intersection, we met with a group that had followed our tracks. Once they passed by we watched in amusement as they started to struggle to continue on the west canyon tail. 

Our lunch break was spent back at the bridge, on the banks of the river. After snapping a few photos, we packed up to make our return and stopped by Gold Creek Falls. Taking the gold creek falls trail back, we stopped on what usually would be a rocky beach next to the river to take some photos. Victor convinced me it would be a great idea to lie down on the cold snow for one of the photos. A few people got amusement out of observing my complaining self sprawled out on the snow.

[teriwrites]

BENEATH ALDER CREEK

a wip reintroduction

genre -> fantasy

status -> drafting (first draft)

pov -> 3rd person limited, past tense

setting -> fictional Welsh town of Bildenbey at the turn of the 20th century

themes -> trust, sacrifice, family, folklore, fae

synopsis

When Winnie Pewitt’s younger brother is taken by the fair folk, the entire town of Bildenbey accepts his fate as irreversible. But Winnie, determined, headstrong, and a little bit reckless, has never been one to take things idly by. Investigating the creek by which her brother, Bran, disappeared, Winnie discovers a faerie ring along the other bank, and inside it, a strange man who may know more about Bran’s abduction than he lets on.

excerpt

They were going to bury an empty casket at little Bran Pewitt’s funeral. There were few other options when a child was taken by the fair folk. Occasionally, something turned up by the faerie rings - a shoe, a handkerchief, a hat - but there wasn’t so much as a button to retrieve from where he’d disappeared. Whether or not those who left were actually dead was up for debate, but none had ever returned, and a funeral had to be arranged all the same.

It had been some time since any had been claimed by the fae, and the small, Welsh town of Bildenbey was abuzz with the news. The Pewitt family had done their best to contain the rumors spreading about their boy, so, of course, gossip had already reached even the least sociable of the area.

navigation

more excerpts, character intros, general tag

Tag List:

@booksnotbookies @cecilsstorycorner

Feel free to ask to be added/removed from the tag list!

[colorsunimaginable]

the spare // chapter forty-one // death eater ! tom hiddleston oc x plus size ofc - voldemort wins au

story summary:  While on a mission to avenge the death of her best friend, Ilvermorny graduate Melisa Alder finds herself in the middle of the fight to defeat Voldemort. Upon capture after the Dark Lord's triumph, she's being sold at an auction with other muggle borns and blood traitors. Her only hope is also her only bidder - the tall, dark, and handsome Thomus Malfoy, Lucius Malfoy's younger half-brother. Is he just another Death Eater or is he hiding more than just his face beneath the mask? Will she realize her true potential to be one of the resistance's greatest weapons?

*a Voldemort Wins AU with Tom Hiddleston cast as an OC x a plus size protagonist* *takes place in The Auction universe by Lovesbitca8*

words for this chapter: 3.6k warnings for this chapter: uhhhhh, assholery?

Notes: I highly encourage you to listen to this song bc it is a vibe with this fic. lmk if you agree.

CHAPTER MASTERLIST

Chapter Forty-One:

I cannot seem to wrap my mind around what the fuck just happened.

I’m settled on a loveseat across the room, my legs curled up under me. My hand is cradling my cheek, elbow perched on the armrest. Thomus’ back is to me, Cassie’s face comes in and out of view as she smothers him with her affection.

So I shift in my seat, putting my back to the armrest. I don’t want to see what’s going on and I’m far enough away that I can barely hear anyone talking, just occasional laughter. I sink into the couch, knees up, arms crossed over my stomach. My eyes close and I wish I’m somewhere else, anywhere else.

What’s Thomus trying to prove? This lie that he’s conjured up is so fucking weird. If he really doesn’t find me attractive, then how easy would it have been for him to just… not say he was? To not say that I begged him to fuck me? He could have said he just bought a servant he wouldn’t be tempted by? Why all of this back and forth? Wouldn’t it have been easier to just not lie at all?

Why did he buy me?

That question flutters around in my mind until I manage to shut it away in the mausoleum. It’s a question I hadn’t wanted to ask because I’m not sure I’ve ever wanted the answer. Thomus doesn’t treat me the same way that most Lots seem to be treated, and he doesn’t keep me locked away, secretly harboring feelings like I suspect Draco does for Hermione.

An uproar of laughter from behind has me burrowing deeper into my Occlumency, on a walk through my valley of memories. Where can I go that isn’t painful? I miss my family, I miss my friends. I miss… freedom. There’s a blue Volkswagen beetle I had to leave behind when I came here. I dive into a memory of my hands at the wheel, taking in the lush autumn scenery of Appalachia. Windows open. Hair billowing. Music on blast. The feeling of weightlessness as I weave around winding roads twisting through mountains, following creeks until they met rivers.

“Hey,” someone says, and my eyes snap open to see Will lowering himself on the other half of the loveseat. I quickly sit up to give him space, my legs pressed into the cushions. He sits facing me, one leg perched over the other.  

My face burns having to look him in the eye after what he just witnessed. “Hi.”

“Are you okay?” His eyes are on the group behind me. “That was…”

“Embarrassing?”

His gaze slides back to mine and his eyes crinkle as he gives an apologetic smile. “I was gonna say intense.”

“Yeah, that too,” I say. One of the girls behind us squeals and I press my lips together in a frown in an effort not to wince. I take a deep breath. “I’ll survive.”

There’s a familiar technological buzzing coming from his pants pocket. He smiles apologetically and pulls out his phone. It lights up and he thumbs away a message.

“How did you get into No-Maj tech?” I ask slowly.

He looks up at me, face illuminated by the white glow from the screen, and shrugs. “An old girlfriend of mine.” His eyes go beyond my shoulder again and without missing a beat, he asks, “Is there anyone you’re missing?”

My chest constricts itself and my pulse beats loudly in my ears. “What?”

His fingers move on the screen and he gently lays it down in his lap. When I look at it, he’s in a texting app, the draft of a new message open and empty, waiting for a phone number. My eyes jump back to his face to see he’s serious.

My mind instantly runs through names and numbers that I actually knew, but I couldn’t come up with anyone. I could text my parents, but what would I say?

But then… could this be genuine? Is this some cruel test to see if I’d try an escape attempt?

“Are you for real?” I ask.

His eyes flicker back to me briefly. “Of course.”

“What’s the catch?”

He smiles again, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “No catch. Just trying to help out a fellow Ilvermorny grad in a… difficult situation.”

I want to trust him, but I don’t see how I can. He’s virtually a stranger, even if he is nice to me.

After thinking about it for a few moments, I shake my head no.

He gives the slightest indication of surprise before controlling his features again. “I could get a message to someone myself if that would be easier.” I start to shake my head as he continues speaking. “Or maybe I could… offer some Galleons to Malfoy so we could –“ He stops mid-sentence seeing my appalled expression. “Not to – you know – just some time alone to – “ his voice drops to a whisper by this last word “ – escape.”

My eyes widen and then I blink rapidly, my mind trying to catch up with my mouth. “Um.”

He sits quietly, waiting for my response.

What would I do if I were to escape? Hunt an unknown amount of Horcruxes? After teaming up with Hermione, Harry, and Ron, I realized there’s no way I could find Horcruxes by myself. I got lucky that I just so happened to have been around when Umbridge bought the locket off of Mundungus Fletcher. Not to mention I absolutely hated being on the run. It’s a wonder any of us got any fucking sleep.

And Thomus is a tracker. I’m sure he’d hunt me down sooner than I could get to a Horcrux.

So what then? Go home? To what fucking life?

“Do you know how to get rid of the tattoos?” I ask.

Will frowns and shakes his head. “No.”

“Then there’s no point in trying.” I’d rather stay and be kind of sort of useful. Who else has direct access to meetings and George Weasley? I’d hope it’s not just me, but if I am… I’m not turning around to go home when Voldemort is still alive.

He’s surprised again. “Really? You don’t even want to try?”

“I’m… not done here,” I say slowly.

He looks back behind me again, but his eyes linger. His expression has turned serious and contemplative. Before I can ask him about it, my name is being called. Will jumps up, and I scowl as I get to my feet. Will’s right on my heels as we walk back to the group across the room.

“But Daddy, please?” Cassie whines. She’s still in Thomus’ lap, her torso twisted towards Parkinson.

“Kitten, if Malfoy says no, then he says no,” Parkinson huffs, irritated. The malnourished girl in his lap is nuzzled against the older man’s barrel chest.

Cassie let’s out a wordless whine and dives back into Thomus’ neck, lips clamping down on him. His head is tilted back against the couch and I can’t really read his expression in the low lighting. The disgusted curl of my mouth cannot be helped.

“Alder,” Astor says. He’s sitting by the fire with Yaxley, Mulciber, and Ted. “Bring everyone a round of whiskey from downstairs.”

Thank god, a break from this fucking hellhole. He doesn’t need to ask me twice before I’ve spun on my heel, bolting for the stairway to the kitchen.

The elves are in the middle of washing dishes from dinner. As I try to get their attention, my eyes wander to the exit doors. The closest one to me looks like it has some sort of faint misty sheen over it. We’re underground and the small windows towards the ceiling have it as well. Must be some sort of magical alarm.

“Miss?” one of the elves responds over their shoulder. Thank god it’s not Bernie or Ernie or whichever one that kept calling me mudblood.  

“Can I have a round of whiskey for upstairs, please?” I ask.

“One moment, Miss.”

I decide that while I wait, I should have enough time to use the bathroom. From the last time I was here I remember there’s one in a little hallway off the kitchen.

When I come out, I almost butt head first into Kyle, leaning against the wall outside the door.

“Oh, uh, sorry,” I say awkwardly, shoving myself towards the opposite side of the hallway, out of his way. I only make it a few steps towards the kitchen when he speaks.

“You’re a long way from home, aren’t you?” he says. I stop and turn. He hasn’t made a move for the bathroom. His gaze is oddly… penetrating and sharp.  

“So are you,” I say after a moment.

He takes his time responding and my eyes dart to the end of the hallway. We aren’t within eyesight of anyone.

“What’re you doing here?” he finally asks with a tilt of his head.

I give him a bored expression. “I had to pee.”

“No,” he says, turning so instead of his back to the wall, it’s his shoulder. “No, you know what I mean.”

“Do I?”

When he sees I’m not going to give him anything more, he tries a different angle. “You know you’re the only American caught up in all this?”

I shrug. “Am I? Haven’t noticed.”

He smirks dryly. “That article about you in the Daily Prophet was pretty scathing.” I snort and roll my eyes. “Which is interesting considering you used to work for them as a… photographer, I believe?”

“No,” I say quickly. “I wanted to be, but I was just an intern. A nobody.”

“Any of it true? The article?”

I press my lips together and study his expression. “Ah, yes, because Rita Skeeter’s known for her journalistic integrity.”

He laughs once, lips twitching into an almost smile. “What I found strange, about the article, is it didn’t mention your accolades.” His head tilts, and from his tone, it’s like he’s trying to trip me up on something. “I’d think that would be the most interesting thing about you and yet, no one here seems to know. Hell, Jake didn’t even realize who you were until I pointed it out to him.”

“What’s your point?”

He shrugs away from the wall and takes a step closer. “Don’t you want to be doing something more than just slipping potions into drinks and harmlessly hexing people? That was hilarious by the way.”

My eyes widen, but I manage to hold back my gasp. I shake my head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. They give all the Lots magical suppression potions.”

He chuckles and shake his head, but his voice is serious. “Look, I’m not going to ask how you’re pulling it off, because frankly, I don’t care.”

I take deep breaths, the shock in my expression turns to confusion, my eyebrows pinching together. “How is this relevant to your point?”

Kyle wanders around me, getting closer until I’m forced to press my back into the wall. He’s taller than me so I have to tilt my head up. He looks towards the kitchen before bringing his brown eyes back to me.

“I work for the International Confederation,” he says, his voice low. He puts his hand on my hip, but I don’t react.

“And yet you’re an aspiring Death Eater?” I say between my teeth.

“It’s the Confederations prerogative that the Dark Lord doesn’t endanger the Wizarding World any more than he already has.” His voice is calm, casual. Maybe almost flirtatious?

Suddenly what he said during the meeting makes more sense. “You’re concerned about exposure. The nuclear warzone, mass murders –“

“You were paying attention,” he murmurs. His other hand comes to rest on the crook of my shoulder and neck. “Good.”

I’m so used to Thomus saying ‘good girl’ that I half expected Kyle to say it, too. Thank god he didn’t because it would make me far more uncomfortable than I already am.

“So do you care about preventing the sex trafficking or was that just a lie? Because from the way you’re acting, it seems you’re plenty happy to take advantage of that.”

He tilts his head and mine pushes back against the wall. “I fully intend on seeing it through.” I shift on my feet, ready to fucking knee him in the dick, before he continues. “I think it’d be a great way to evacuate them, don’t you?”

My eyes widen and I still. “Does Astor know? Will? What about Thomus?”

“Jake doesn’t know the extent of it, and of course Will knows. He’s the one who made sure you weren’t only interested in a way out.”

I inhale sharply and the move brushes my chest against his. When did he get so close? “It was a test.”

He chuckles. “He was confident you’d want to leave, after everything that’s happened to you, but I wasn’t entirely convinced.”

His thumb starts to brush my cheek and I involuntarily swallow around a dry mouth. “And you’re convinced now?”

“Well, I think you could do a little bit better on evading difficult question, but I think you’ll suit my purposes just fine.” His eyes dart to the kitchen again.

I roll my eyes. “Don’t worry, I’ll work on that,” I say dryly. “Now’re you going to tell me –“

He cuts me off mid-sentence with his mouth. My hands shoot to his shoulders to push him away. Quickly his mouth covers mine completely and he presses in so forcefully I can’t even move my head. Next the asshole tries to stick his tongue in my mouth at the same fucking time. He’s so close to me I can’t even shove my knee into his dick like I’d planned.

“Goldman!” Thomus barks out and Kyle immediately pulls his mouth away from mine. Thomus’ boots are echoing as he stomps down the narrow hallway.

“Terribly sorry, Thomus,” Kyle gasps out. He’s breathing hard like we were just hard core making out. “Shouldn’t have kept her for so long.”

His eyes are on me and it doesn’t take me more than a second to understand why he’d gotten so close to me. It’s a fucking cover up.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck. It’s like a race against the clock to smother the memory of mine and Kyle’s conversation to replace it with one of us making out.

“I’m sorry,” I gasp out, my voice small. My face is flushed and I can’t even look him in the eyes right now. I keep my focus on his boots, his hands balled into fists at his side.

“Look at me,” he orders. I grip the sides of my dress before bringing my eyes up to his.

Instantly, he penetrates my mind, and I let him. If I give him any resistance he’ll know I have my magic. He dives in, bothering to only search that last few minutes, and he finds exactly what I want him to. A heavy-handed, desperate make-out session – and not a particularly good one at that. That part isn’t a lie. Where did the man learn to kiss?

I can feel Thomus’ rage, and strangely… betrayal? He pulls out of my head before I can discover anything more.

I’m clinging to the wall, my chest heaving, eyes lids fluttering away tears. Why the fuck am I crying?

Thomus turns his attention to Kyle and I slowly start slinking away towards the kitchen. I don’t know how calculated Kyle’s efforts were, if he’d prepared to get caught by Thomus anyway, and I’m not in the mood to see him get beat up.

“Jake is the only reason I’m not beating the living shit out of you,” Thomus hisses. “You have lost all of my respect, Goldman. Touch her again and I won’t be so lenient next time.”

I can hear Thomus turn to follow me.

“Hey hey hey,” Kyle quickly objects. “Don’t blame it all on me. She wanted it too.”

With my back to Thomus, I roll my eyes. That’s the best he’s got? Sure, put all the blame on the powerless girl.

I make a beeline for the stairwell, knowing Thomus is right on my heels. Half-way up, I hear his boots slow.

“So I’ve fucked you once, and now you’ve turned into an insatiable whore?” he grinds out, his voice still angry and gruff.

I stop and turn, my job dropped at the audacity. “Excuse me?”

He comes to a stop a few steps below me so we’re at eye level. “What part of that did you not understand? Every time I’ve taken you out of the house, I find you surrounded by Goldman and Hoffman. Are they your next victims?”

I hold up my left hand to the fluorescent lighting, flipping it front and back. “I’m sorry, is there an invisible ring on my finger? Last I checked, we’re not married. Last I checked, I didn’t make a commitment to be faithful. So I’m going to talk to whoever I fucking feel like.” My tone started out sarcastic, but by the end it’s full of fucking menace.

Thomus’ face is tinged pink with anger, his blue eyes sparkling. “Watch your fucking mouth or I’ll cut that tongue out.”

My face twists into a smile and throw on that sultry, flirtatious expression I had on this morning. I lower a step towards him, and he backs up until he’s against the hand rail. “Are you sure about that? It’s be such a waste for something you know is so talented.”

My eyes drop to follow my fingers as they trail down the buttons on his shirt. He grabs my wrist before it gets any further.

“Is it really a talent if it’s what you were born for?” he says, glaring at me.

I just sigh heavily and roll my eyes in response. “Yes, Malfoy – “

“Malfoy - ?”

“- that’s exactly what that means.” I try to pull my wrist out of his grasp, but it only tightens, the tension in my arm drawing me closer to him.

“Maybe if I didn’t have to watch you get your shit rocked by Cassie, then maybe I wouldn’t be feeling so jealous, and need to seek attention elsewhere.” Holy fuck, did I just admit that?

The anger in his face dissipates slightly and his tone turns mocking. “Aw, has the poor Mudblood forgotten her place?” He holds my wrist up to eye level and yanks my sleeve down, revealing the tattoo. “This means you belong to me, and only me. I get to decide who and when you get fucked, but don’t get too wet over that fact because rest assured I won’t be giving you the satisfaction.”

I yank my wrist out of his grasp and this time he lets me go. I put distance between us, going up a step. “You might be able to emotionally manipulate me, trot me around on a fucking leash, and make me humiliate myself in front of who-fucking-ever, but do not ever make the mistake of thinking you fucking own me. Your name on my body means nothing to me. You might as well have carved it in like your beloved married girlfriend did for all it fucking means to me.”

I take another step back, the opposite hand rail digging into my lower back with how hard I’m pressing against it. My voice had risen with my anger, but this time I keep it softer, controlled. “This whole fucking regime you have going on is gonna fucking fall. There’s no way it can last forever, so I’m just biding my time. I might play along with this stupid game, but I’m just doing it to survive and I always have been. I’m begging for the day this nightmare’s over and I can see my parents again… my filthy, No-Maj parents.”

I force my mouth shut, but I’m still clearly panting through my nose. It’s the only sound echoing through the stairwell. My heart is doing laps, making the pulse in my ears near deafening. I think I’m finally done. The question that I've locked away in the mausoleum is fluttering madly, like a bird trapped in a cage.

Thomus is just… staring at me. His intense blue gaze is sliding from my angry face to the tattoo still exposed on my arm. His breathing isn’t as out of control as mine.

My head tilts and my eyes narrow at him, my tone dripping with sarcasm. “Got nothing to say to that, pretty boy?”

Just as he opens his mouth to speak, he whips around, facing toward the kitchen. Kyle is standing at the corner looking up at us.

“Come to gawk, Goldman?” Thomus barks.

Kyle holds his hands up, slowly starting to ascend. “No, no, can’t see up her skirt form this angle.”

“If you touch her again –“

“Without payment, I know, you’ll beat the living shit out of me.” Kyle pauses in between us, digging through his pocket. He pulls out a small pouch of what sounds like coins and tosses it to Thomus. “That should cover tonight and maybe the next time we’re caught.” He goes up a few steps more, pauses, and turns back, not bothering to hide a suggestive wink in my direction.

Unexpectedly, Thomus whips the pouch at Kyle. It thuds sharply against his chest, but he catches it.

Thomus growls. “Get the fuck out of my sight.”

Kyle disappears up the stairs without another word.

My mind catches up to me, and now I dread having to go back up to that stupid party. I start going back down the stairs.

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” Thomus hisses, grabbing my exposed wrist.

I sigh. “I forgot the fucking whiskey.”

“Forget it. We’re going home.”

[creativitytoexplore]

A Body Swinging Like the Clapper of a Bell by Robert Kinerk https://ift.tt/31pKSDn Robert Kinerk tells the morbidly humorous story of three Alaskan ambulance attendants: Casey, Jason and Cranmore.

It's a rainy night in the panhandle part of Alaska, 1966. We're three men on an ambulance crew and we've hauled our gurney up a flight of narrow stairs. A woman's lying across a bed. She's on her back with her bra and panties on. Her head hangs off the mattress, her face completely bloody. Even her hair is soaked. Blood stretches out its strings, falling - drip, drip, drip. The bleeding woman's boyfriend, in his baggy underpants, is standing by the window with a steak knife. "We were just having fun," he says. His girlfriend croaks the same thing. She says she doesn't want to go to the hospital. What she means is she doesn't want her boyfriend to have to answer for the stab. The cops would ask a lot of questions. Jail time. Drip. Drip. "If you're not okay," I tell the bleeding woman, "the hospital's the place to be. If you are okay, they'll let you go. A quick cab-ride, you're home." Upshot is, we get her to the hospital. The doctor takes a look. It turns out she is okay, and two days later she's behind the counter at a new café where I treat Jason to lunch. Jason is the rookie on our crew. He eyeballs the bandage the woman wears on her throat. It's so scrunched up and dirty it looks like chewing gum. Over my soggy chicken croquettes, whispering because what would be the point of embarrassing our waitress, I tell Jason what happened in the steak-knife room. The panties and the bra. The dripping blood. The dumbbell in his underpants. "You gotta feel sorry." Words of wisdom from a waif. Jason has stuffed his mouth full of greasy hamburger, but that doesn't stop him from sharing his thought. "No one has to feel sorry, Jason." Ours is not a feel-sorry field of service. There are chaplains begging for those jobs. When drunks with steak knives start playing games, that's when we spring into action. Our job is staunching the flow of blood. Metaphysicians need not apply. Jason hadn't exactly appeared on the firehouse stoop in a basket with a note, Take care of my baby, but in his infancy, a few years earlier, he might have made that appearance. He had drifted west from Minnesota and then followed the coast of British Columbia to the new state of Alaska, washing up on the island of Boon. I had taken this poor waif beneath my scrawny wing. I am Casey, the ambulance-crew veteran and its spiritual adviser. Jason's inaugural call comes. It's early morning, way out the road. We hadn't been given an address. We're told to look for a certain location - like, "After you take this bend and pass a house that has a donkey engine in its yard, look on your left for a big cedar tree. You'll see a guy who'll show you where to go." Cranmore and I take Jason. When we reach a woodsy wilderness we see a young guy waiting - dark haired, maybe twenty-two. He's standing by a cedar tree and waving. "Come this way!" We haul the gurney out and follow him into the woods. "Appendicitis," he yells across his shoulder. Thank you, doctor. This guy is wearing black jeans and a halibut jacket, which is the rough, grey work coat common in this part of Alaska. He has spiky wisps of something in his hair, as if he slept in straw. We hike down a trail barely visible, a skinny path, squishy underfoot because this is the southeastern part of the state. What isn't rocks is muskeg with salmonberry bushes. After maybe a minute and a half of huffing, we come to a creek five-feet wide. On the other side we see a shack, and what have these people made it of? They've made it out of road signs. They'd trotted off with the Construction Area - Keep Out signs, and signs that say Detour, and signs that say Road Closed. They had felled three alder trees across the creek to make a bridge, but alder trees are not that thick. The walking distance, bank to bank, is seven feet approximately, five feet directly over water. Still, no one on our crew is wearing boots. Ours is a volunteer ambulance service, part of a largely volunteer fire department, and we answer calls in what we have on at the time, which for me, this time, means street shoes. I have Jason help me carry the gurney across the slimy, skinny bridge. "Careful," I tell him, as if parental advice is necessary. Inside the shack, no light but what the open door lets in. Almost blocking the door is one big double bed. On the bed lies a young woman, apparently blind. She's stretched out on her back, moaning, with an infant clinging to her chest. The dark-haired young man who flagged us down guesses we're thinking the moaning woman must be who we'd come for. "No, no," he says. "It's him. He's over there." He points to a darker corner, but Jason's heart is with the sightless mother and her baby. He looks stricken by the sorry spectacle. Had it been in his waif power he might have gathered up the blind madonna and her scabby child and spirited them to whatever succor a kind heart might nose out. Cranmore and I turn toward the dark. We see, emerging out of dimness, another adult, a gray-haired crone, the witch or mother of the family. She has gummed-up features. She wears a filthy skirt and men's construction boots. She's pointing to a guy lying on the floor squeezed up in the fetal position. This guy tops out, I'd say, at three-hundred pounds. We set the gurney down beside the moose. I ask him to unbend a little. We're going to have to strap him to the gurney and pack him out of there. Much moaning and groaning. Much squawking from the crone. From the bed the same groans as before. The only guy not groaning is straw-hair. He has smoked himself off - zip. He fears he might be put to work packing the sick guy out. That's what my guess is. The three of us take our positions; Cranmore - fortunately husky - at the heavy, shoulder end, with me and Jason as the leg men. Jason staggers just lifting the load we share. And the monster groans. His mother - if that's the relationship - pours out curses. The blind woman on the bed adds to the wailing. Her groans set off more squeals from the baby. Just reaching the door is a battle. Then, when we get to the creek, we see another problem. Are we going to wade through the water with this three-hundred-pound burden; are we going to risk the alder-tree bridge; or are we going to tell the guy, 'Screw it. You have to walk.' We choose the third option, although we don't announce it in exactly the words I've suggested. Turns out the guy is okay with it. He understands the risk of getting dumped in the cold creek. His mother, though, comes screaming. She's followed us out of the cabin. She screeches while we set down the gurney and unstrap Moose. The guy has enough sense to ignore his mom. He wobbles to his feet. He eyeballs the alder trunks. He probably wishes he hadn't been so lazy and had chopped down a thick hemlock instead, but he makes no mention of that. He stretches his arms out for balance. He takes dainty, girlish steps, but once he's started he doesn't hesitate until he's safely on the other side. We are, of course, relieved. We follow with the gurney. We tell him to lie down on it so we can strap him in. Meanwhile his mother, the hag, has never stopped screaming. She's trying to cross the creek herself but her foot slips and - splash - she's in the icy water over her construction boots, hollering her head off. No one pays attention except Jason. He stands staring like he's in a moral quandary about whether he should go and help her flounder out. He hesitates about lifting the loaded gurney, torn between his duty to the fire department and his sympathetic feeling for the crone, who, I'm sure, given the opportunity, would have carved his heart out and sliced it up for stir fry. It is Jason's nature, I was to learn, to extend his sympathy to the suffering masses, and at that moment, in those woods, the crone in the creek represents suffering humanity - the war- weary, the disease-stricken, the prisoners in fetid jails, and the battered, bleeding foes of tyrants. The current is washing her filthy skirt tight against her scrawny legs. Her cursing is concert-hall quality. And she's somebody's mother. She's the mother of a human being who is half the size of a baby elephant and whose appendix may have burst. She couldn't have been more representative of suffering if she'd been elected to the post. And Jason feels sorry for the hag. "Look sharp," I shout. That breaks the spell. We three lift. We struggle up the muskeg path and reach the ambulance. There we find Mr. Twenty-Something standing sheepishly by the cedar tree. Under his arm, a lunch box. It turns out he works in town, at the spruce mill. Twenty-something asks if we can give him a ride. "Fuck off," I tell him. Cranmore says much the same, although not in language as delicate as mine. Only poor Jason resists the chance to be obscene. He hesitates at his passenger door. His milk-of-human-kindness jug is filled up to the brim. "Get in the god-damn ambulance," I yell. Cranmore, more pithy, says, "Shit." Our next call comes on a Sunday about 5am. "Heart attack," the dispatcher says. Seven of us lived at that time in rooms on the fire hall's second floor. When calls came in at night it was the upstairs bachelors who responded. On this call, three of us - the man- mountain Cranmore, Jason and me - drive out the road and find an L-shaped one-story at a bend in the road. A semi-hysterical woman in a man's plaid bathrobe lets us in. She says her husband is dead and she wants him out of there. She doesn't want her kids to wake up and see their father rigor-mortised. We wonder why she hadn't noticed him before he stiffened up, but an ambulance crew isn't paid to speculate about conjugal relations. We're paid to do our job, so we follow the semi- hysterical woman down a dim hall to the bedroom where her dead husband lies curled up on their bed. The guy's in his Jockey shorts. You find out a lot about what people wear to bed when you work on an ambulance. We aren't supposed to take dead people in the ambulance. If a person's dead the rules say to call the coroner. Let the coroner call an undertaker, and let the undertaker handle it from there. We try to explain this to the semi-hysterical lady. We say her husband certainly looks dead but we aren't authorized to say he's dead. She has to get an authority on corpses for that. This woman has abundant brown hair that probably would have been gorgeous under other circumstances. I guess her kids would be nine or ten years old. She isn't old enough to have teenagers. And her husband, the deceased, still has a full head of dark hair. He isn't exactly trim but he isn't terribly out of shape either. I guess he'd be between thirty and thirty-five. "If you aren't authorized to say he's dead, how do you know he isn't?" the lady hisses. Where's a coroner when you need one? She has a point, of course, and the upshot is we agree to strap her late spouse to the gurney and haul him out of there. We have to strap him carefully. He's curled in a way to overlap the gurney cushion, and he could fall off if we're sloppy. It's worse once we get him in the ambulance because the gurney locks to the wall on the driver's side. The dead guy's back presses against the wall and forces his knees and his head and part of his shoulders out to the air on the opposite side. His head is so far out, as a matter of fact, that on the whole trip back to town somebody has to sit in the jump seat holding it in his hands. "It's a great honor," I say to Jason, who shows a little squeamishness about cradling the head of the deceased. Jason is so soft we could probably have bruised him with spit. Not that we go around spitting on new fire department recruits. He has a boneless look is what I should say. A look of no muscles, but like his body is simply this paste-colored bag with maybe suet in it. His neck sprouts up from it, an ordinary neck, and then the blossom of his head with its liquid eyes and homely ears and lackluster, shoe-polish hair. I mean hair that clings to his skull so close it looks like wax from a Shinola can. We put Jason in the jump seat. He doesn't like it but he's the rookie, and we say he has to be the holder of the dead guy's head. Meanwhile Cranmore regales us with details about his sexual exploits of the evening before. He'd been after this one girl, a little slip of a blonde, for a long time, and he finally seduced her in the back seat of a Volkswagen bug. Now, the girl may have been just a slip of a thing but Cranmore is six-feet-four and weighs two-eighty. He had been all-state in high school basketball, not because he was particularly good but because he was so big smaller guys tended not to challenge him under the backboard. He has an elaborate explanation for how a person his size can have sex in the backseat of a Volkswagen, and much of his explanation is droll. In Jason's boneless hands, the dead man's head will not stay still. We're driving over ripples in a road of hard-packed dirt. The dead man's head bobs like he's laughing about sex enjoyed under confining conditions. Jason, staring at the bobbing head, grows more and more pale. It's a metaphysical pale as well as a nauseous pale. The difference is this: With nauseous you puke; if it's metaphysical your faith is challenged. Especially if your faith is of the conventional kind, the kind that starts with Jesus loves me and proceeds through church suppers and fellowship meetings and pastors named Jim or Bob and brings you at the end to a Hallmark heaven where grace abounds and those whom God has chosen walk on streets of gold. "What is it with you Minnesota people?" I say. Jason gags. "Don't get sick!" Jason gags again. "Stop!" I yell to Cranmore. Before Jason can puke, Cranmore pulls over. Jason shoots out the back door. He retches and vomits by the side of the road. When he comes trembling back he finds me in his place in the jump seat. I am not immune to noble gestures. The bouncing head put our rookie in Barfville. He hadn't mastered, yet, the indifference required of caregivers when corpses bob their heads as if hysterical at jokes being told about back-seat sex in Volkswagens involving ultra-tiny women and men the size of national parks. Guys lived in the fire hall to save money, not because we liked to get up in the middle of the night and answer fire calls. When fire calls came, a fire horn summoned other volunteers from their homes. The horn, on the roof of our two-story fire hall, weighed more than a hundred pounds. Its blare woke up hermits on distant islands and scattered bears on far-away hills. It was particularly loud in our living quarters, especially in the bedroom right under its place on the roof, which, as it happened, was the bedroom we'd assigned poor Jason. All our rooms were alike, basically cubicles without even a closet, although each had a floor to ceiling wooden wardrobe with cupboard-like doors on its front. Jason took that room never having heard the horn. But maybe it wouldn't have made any difference if he had. The horn is terrifying even to a person hearing it for the hundredth time. The first night the horn goes off, Jason is deep in sleep. It sounds to him like nuclear warfare. He shoots out of bed. His eyes bug. Zing - he jumps in his wardrobe. He hunkers down among his scanty articles of clothing and slams the door, crouching with his eyes squeezed shut for further protection from the whomping noise he hears. It was the most perfectly child-like thing a person could do, short of hiding under his bed.

Cranmore says as much on the call the horn summons us to. Cranmore regales me with panicked-Jason details while I am trying to assure the homemaker who called in the alarm it is no problem at all to be shocked out of bed at three in the morning because somebody put beets on to boil and went to sleep forgetting them. The homeowner, sheepish about the beet alarm, offers us grapefruit juice. He is a slug- shaped man with a bald head whose nasal voice is familiar. I hear it on the radio. He recites the local news - who has gotten married, who has died, who's appeared in district court on a charge of drunk and disorderly. He's poured grapefruit juice, which he keeps refrigerated, into half-sized Dixie cups. While we open windows, he shuffles in our wake from room to room, his grapefruit-juice refreshments on a tray, and I am touched by his cordiality. He represents the claims put on the human heart by cordiality. Grapefruit juice! Grapefruit juice. What can a person say of cordial grapefruit juice? Not that grapefruit juice converts us to kindness. By us I mean the firehouse crew. Merciless teasing commences, once we're bunking down again, and Jason is the butt. Cranmore goes WHOMP right in Jason's ear, imitating the sound the fire horn made. Later he asks the boy if he's out of the closet yet, Cranmore betraying by his bray how original he thinks his joke is. We have a long, narrow kitchen in our second-floor living quarters, and when I come in a week later for Cheerios and milk, Jason's already there, making egg salad for a sandwich. I have to do a sideways step to slip past him to the fridge. He doesn't turn. I hadn't planned on saying WHOMP, but the occasion seems so ripe I do. Jason swings around and hits me in the face. I can't say for sure I feel his punch. It's too great a surprise. My thought is, 'Did he really do that? Did he throw a punch? Did he hit me in the face?' "Am I bleeding, Jason?" "I shouldn't have hit you." He looks about to cry. "But you shouldn't have made fun of me, Casey." "Jesus, Jason. You punched me? Jesus H. Fucking Christ." Spiritual advisers don't usually curse, but blood is dripping from my nose and making a red, Hitler moustache on my upper lip. Jason, penitent I guess, hands me a paper towel. I rush away to our communal bathroom, where cold water does its staunching trick. When I return, hors de fucking combat, to the kitchen, Jason has dodged away. He's left behind his not quite completely mashed egg salad, which I stand over, poking my finger into my nose until blood drops splash into his bowl. This, I think, will teach you, Jason, in whom the sap of human kindness flows and in whom it does not. Two days later, on an early morning ambulance call, Cranmore and Jason and I drive to a house in the west end where homes cling to the side of a hill. The address we'd been given brings us to a path across a field so big they could have fought the Second Battle of Manassas there. We set off through knee-high grass. At the end of the path, a flight of stairs climbs, switchback style, to a gingerbread-style house perched overlooking the meadow. A man had died at the kitchen table enjoying his nightcap of red wine. Thin hair slicked back; a lean, aristocratic face; a slender body - everything combines to make him look like someone suave. His tumbler with wine in it sits on the table. Ditto the green bottle. He'd put on a silk, paisley bathrobe for this nighttime ritual and he's sitting in a kitchen chair pulled up close to the table. He died resting his chin on his left hand. His right hand still reaches to touch his glass, as if he'd been in pleasant contemplation of another sip when whatever mechanism moves the heart stopped working. He is so well balanced, with his belly to the table and his head resting on his hand, that he hasn't tumbled over. He sits in his happy position, and all through the night no one knew he was dead until his nephew found him in the morning. Here is a situation much like the situation of the dead husband weeks before. That had been poor Jason's rookie run, the one on which he'd barfed. We get the same argument about Mr. Silk Bathrobe that we'd heard at that earlier call - Silk's nephew says he doesn't want his kids to see the corpse. We agree to be the transporters of someone we'll claim not to know is dead. The difference this time is those tricky, switchback stairs. Cranmore says if we're to get the bent corpse down the stairs, he and I will have to carry it in a blanket. We tell Jason to precede us with the gurney, which the waif obediently collapses and tucks beneath his arm. Out the door he goes. When Cranmore and I assigned Jason to carry the gurney, we meant for him to set it up and wait for us at the bottom step, but the subtlety of that instruction escapes our rookie. Stepping off the bottom stair, he shambles across the field, still carrying the gurney. A few steps down the path, he starts to whistle. Cranmore and I trot to catch up. The body in the blanket falls into the rhythm of our run - swinging like the clapper of a bell. The sky is blue, with clouds like balls of cotton. In the green grass, dots of flowers show, the color of ketchup and mustard. Birds sing from hiding places in the trees. This is a perfect day to sing. And what I sing to our whistling waif is this: "Jason, I'm sorry about your egg salad." It's the ketchup-colored blossoms, not much bigger than the heads of pins that make me say it. I'm not sorry. Jason knows that. He's not sorry for punching me either. But Cranmore starts to sing, "Ding-dong... Ding-dong," because the corpse, in its blanket between two galloping ambulance attendants, is swinging like a bell. Cranmore is not sorry for singing his cartoon song. No one is sorry for anything. Everyone is singing. Technically, Jason is only whistling, but I am including his contribution in the catch-all 'singing' category because it was a grand day for swinging a corpse in a blanket. It was a day beyond any miserable day of soggy croquettes. Beyond Band-Aids fingered till they look like chewing gum. Beyond shacks made out of road signs and people hiding in their wardrobes when the fire siren screams. I sing of grapefruit juice cordially presented, and flowers the color of condiments. Jason is whistling. I don't know what his tune is. And Cranmore - goofy Cranmore - sings, "Ding-dong... Ding-dong." The body, which we carry at a trot, the body swings and swings. We are ambulance attendants running with a body swinging like the clapper of a bell, and the song that rises from our throats to the cotton-candy clouds is, "Ding-dong... Ding-dong... Ding-dong."

[kamchatkasalmon]

The Biological Development of Salmon Is Ancient

October 1, 2019 (Tokyo, Japan) - This is a super article published by Science Magazine on salmon in Alaska related to what causes these sockeye salmon after 2 to 5 years living in the ocean to return to the same place where they were spawned to mate and die. The point here is that farmed salmon will not be capable of developing a fully capable otolith located just behind their brain. It’s like we are witnessing the intentional destruction of salmon with Alaska being one of the last locations wild salmon have been forced to live. As you can see from this article, salmon don’t stand a chance against the parasitical creature called “man.”

________

Source: Science Magazine

How a salmon scientist got hooked into a battle over the world’s largest gold mine

By Warren Cornwall | Sep. 26, 2019 

Sockeye salmon wait to spawn in Alaska’s Lake Iliamna, which helps produce about 20% of Bristol Bay’s salmon. The Pebble Mine would sit in the lake’s headwaters.

It's hard to think small in Alaska. The largest of the United States is home to North America's highest mountain range. It's a place where undammed rivers run more than 1000 kilometers, glaciers collapse into the ocean, and polar bears roam.

Daniel Schindler, however, is here hunting for something the size of a grain of rice. Crouching in tiny Allah Creek, hemmed in by alders and smeared in blood, he grasps a rotting sockeye salmon carcass and nearly decapitates the fish with a stroke of a carving knife. With tweezers, he delves into a cavity of creamy goo tucked behind the brain and plucks out a sliver of what looks like bone. It is an otolith, a bit of calcium carbonate that sits within the inner ear and acts like an internal gyroscope, helping the fish orient its movements.

Schindler, an aquatic ecologist at the University of Washington in Seattle, holds the white fleck up to the sunlight. "For some reason, picking otoliths is a very therapeutic activity," he says, as a cluster of scarlet-sided sockeye thrashes by in the shin-deep water, frantically searching for their spawning grounds.

Chemical isotopes trapped in the otolith, which forms layers like tree rings as it grows, tell the story of the salmon's birthplace and life. Between 2 and 5 years ago, the sockeye hatched in this creek, a tiny corner of the sprawling network of freshwater lakes and streams along Alaska's Bristol Bay. The fish headed out to sea and finally returned to its birthplace to spawn and die.

Over the past 2 decades, Schindler and colleagues have used otoliths and other data sources to illuminate how Bristol Bay consistently sees tens of millions of returning fish, year after year, making it one of the world's most productive and lucrative salmon fisheries. The work has become a classic among ecologists, earning more than 1000 citations. Now, it has thrust Schindler into one of the biggest environmental battles of the early 21st century. A mining company wants to extract copper and gold from a massive ore deposit beneath headwaters of two of Bristol Bay's main salmon rivers. The Pebble Mine could become one of the world's biggest mineral producers, with an open pit nearly as deep as the Grand Canyon and vast infrastructure and waste piles that would stretch for kilometers.

Opponents of the project, including Native Alaskan, fishing, and environmental groups, have long argued that the mine's short-term economic benefits would pale in comparison with the long-term risks to Bristol Bay's salmon runs, including toxic runoff and habitat destruction. Critics have seized on Schindler's science to help make their case, and in 2014 the findings helped persuade then-President Barack Obama's administration to move to block the mine. But this year, President Donald Trump's administration signaled it might allow the project as part of its efforts to encourage development.

Please go to Science Magazine to read the entire article.

________

Related:

Chemical tags in ear bones track Alaska’s Bristol Bay salmon

[tribesoflandandsky]

Claimed Names

 -Same Exact Full Name cannot be used twice ever

-(Training Names) cannot be repeated in the same tribe but has happened in a different tribe before

-[Base Names] cannot have repeats within the same tribe unless the older of the two has already earned their Full Name and are not given the same Training Name.

- If a name is missing the Base Name / Training Names, it meas they are deceased and those are open again.

Mountain:

Wings of Flying Dove (Flying Dove) [Dove]

Claws of Hunting Bear (Hunting Bear) [Bear]

Pool Under Night Sky (Night Pool) [Pool]

Wolf That Cried in the Night (Crying Wolf) [Wolf]

Lion That Hunts at Night (Hunting Lion) [Lion]

Tiger Lurking in Shadows (Tiger Shadow) [Tiger]

Frost in Cliffside Pool (Frost Cliff) [Frost]

Dawn Over Mountain Peak (Dawn Peak) [Dawn]

Otter That Chases the Wind (Otter Chase) [Otter]

Flight of Large Hawk (Hawk Flight) [Hawk]

Night of Empty Skies (Night Sky) [Night]

Shadow That Hides the Sky (Sky Shadow) [Sky]

Flight of Scared Squirrel (Squirrel Flight) [Squirrel]

Flight of Watchful Kestrel (Kestrel Flight) [Kestrel]

(Alder Leaf) [Alder]

(Spider Berry) [Spider]

[Weasel]

(Bat Storm) [Bat]

Mouse with Crooked Tail (Crooked Mouse)

Path of Many Stones (Stone Path)

Tooth of Large Beaver (Beaver Tooth)

Muddy Banks of Mountain Stream (Mud Stream)

Small Ears of Swift Weasel (Weasel Ear)

Cliff Shading Large Rock (Cliff Rock)

Tiger in Dark Cave (Dark Tiger)

Sky During Setting Sun (Setting Sun)

Breeze Under Lark Wings (Larks Wings)

Dusk With Warm Breeze (Dusk Breeze)

Frost on Dark Berry (Dark Berry)

Spider in Silky Web (Spider Silk)

Leaf in Ivy Bush (Ivy Bush)

Babble of Cold Creek (Cold Creek)

Fang of Swift Beaver (Swift Beaver)

Song in Night Breeze (Breeze Song)

Cloud Drifting at Night (Cloud Drift)

Dawn on Calm Pool (Dawn Pool)

Fern in Blowing Wind (Fern Wind)

Claws of Dark Bear (Dark Bear)

Cry of the Tall Moose (Moose Cry)

Fang of the Dark Fox (Fox Fang)

Branch on Tallest Tree (Tall Tree)

Ice on Cold Pool (Cold Pool)

Hoof of Tall Moose (Moose Hoof)

Raven in Frozen Skies (Frozen Raven)

(Frost Shade)

Water:

Sharp Bite of Ice (Sharp Ice) [Ice]

Venom of Evening Spider (Evening Spider) [Evening]

Claw of Mighty Cougar (Cougar Claw) [Cougar]

Frost that Chills the Water (Frost Water) [Frost]

Moon that Glows Through Tree Leaves (Moon Glow) [Moon]

Wind of Large Horned Deer (Deer Horn) [Deer]

Fang of Mighty Tiger (Tiger Fang) [Tiger]

Ivy Growing in Sunlight (Ivy Light) [Ivy]

Pale Stone in Suns Light (Sun Stone) [Sun]

Badger Hidden in Snow (Snow Badger) [Badger]

Curling Whisps of Fog (Fog Whips) [Fog]

Frost on Softpetal Leaves (Soft Frost) [Softpetal]

Raven with White Feathers (Raven Feathers) [Raven]

Silver Stars on Clear Night (Silver Night) [Silver]

Fox That Strikes From the Bush (Fox Strike) [Fox]

Berries of the Yes (Yew Berry) [Yew]

Rat on Hidden Path (Rat Path) [Rat]

(Wolf Fang) [Wolf]

(Moose Wave)  [Moose]

[Bear]

Feathers from Flying Quail 

Shells on Morning Shore (Morning Shell)

Fangs of Big Beaver (Beaver Fang)

Teasel in Strong Breeze (Teasel Breeze)

Ember Light Across Froze Water (Ember Water)

Cloud Shadow on Frozen Pool (Cloud Pool)

Pale Feather that Floats on Water (Pale Feather)

Moth Dances Beneath the Moon (Moth Dance)

Dew in Crumpled Leaf (Dew Leaf)

Carp in Calm River (Carp River)

Dove with Pale Feathers (Pale Dove)

Pool of Morning Light (Light Pool)

Rook Flying Over River (River Rook)

Faint Glow of Distant Day (Faint Glow)

Mist That Shrouds the Lillies (Lily Mist)

Snarling of the Bear Stone (Stone Bear)

Heart of Mighty Lion (Lion Heart) 

Leaf:

Rat With Steady Gaze (Rat Gaze) [Rat]

Aster Petals in Moonlit Pool (Aster Petal) [Aster]

Pool in Muddy Marsh (Mud Pool) [Mud]

Claw of Tricky Weasel (Weasel Claw) [Weasel]

Robin Soaring Through Sky (Robin Sky) [Robin]

Twig Where Magnolia Blooms (Magnolia Bloom) [Magnolia]

Screech of Night Owls Hunt (Night Screech) [Night]

Sunlight on Burning Leaves (Sun Leaf) [Sun]

Hawthorn Petals in the Morning (Hawthorn Petal) [Hawthorn]

Stream Where Salmon Jump (Salmon Stream) [Salmon]

Wind That Shakes the Barley (Barley Wind) [Barley]

Song of Fallen Leaves (Leaf Song) [Leaf]

Cry of Young Bird (Young Bird) [Bird]

Unseen Tail of Snake (Snake Tail)[Snake]

(Cloud Petal) [Cloud]

(Climbing Mist) [Mist]

(Mouse Bite) [Mouse]

(Elk Heart) [Elk]

[Feather]

[Dusk]

[Sparrow]

Owl Hunting In Darkness (Dark Owl)

Steps of Heavy Bison (Bison Step)

Mist Sitting in Dawn Sky (Dawn Mist)

Antler of Large Deer (Large Deer)

Sparrow Flying Over Valley (Flying Sparrow)

Twig Where Little Leaf Grows (Little Leaf)

Swift Flame Breaking at Dawn (Swift Dawn)

Sun that Warms Soft Sands (Sun Sand)

Maple Leaf of Forest Song (Maple Song)

Stars in Evening Sky (Sky Star)

Bark of Berry Bush (Berry Bark)

Sun on Warm Stones Face (Warm Stone)

Bite of Angry Vole (Vole Bite)

Mouse Leaping Over Reeds (Mouse Reed)

Walk of Singing Elk (Singing Elk)

Feathers Dancing in the Wind (Feather Dance)

Step of Horned Deer (Deer Horn)

Pebble Shore in the Night (Pebble Shore)

Morning Over Cool Lake (Cool Lake)

Curl of Young Leaf (Leaf Curl)

Nightingale Singing in the Sun (Gale Song)

Hummingbird Dancing in the Sun (Sun Bird) 

 Shell That Sits in Breeze (Shell Breeze) [Shell]

Blossom Falling From Singing Tree (Blossom Fall) [Blossom]

Crevice Where Small Willow Grows (Small Willow) [Willow]

(Berry Twig) [Berry]

(Mist Leaf)

(Rain Song)

(Wasp Bite)

(Echo Wing)

[salty-dracon]

SA Hunters- What Lurks Beneath

(Random mid-adventure with Lumi and May I guess? There’s probably going to be a beach day in SECRET Agents anyway so let’s have some fun with the overly attached fish man. He isn’t mentioned by name in this piece, but he’s a newer character named Thaumas.)

“Remember, class,” some teacher I didn’t know reminded us, “this is for a grade.”

No one listened to her. 

Five yellow buses were lined up in front of Diamond Scale High School. I boarded the fifth one ten minutes ago, along with Brid and her friend group, Sam, and May. They were all chattering excitedly. 

“I can’t believe we’re going all the way to Salty Shore Beach.“ Sam exclaimed. “It’s the best stretch of beach in the Northeast. And we’re all together!“

Allie pulled out her holophone and began to play a happy song. 

I glanced at the sky outside and sighed with relief. There was no known way a vampire could spend a day at the beach without their cover being blown. The sun could burn their skin, and they wouldn’t be good with the salty sea breeze. In other words, I could relax for the day. 

Suddenly, an unfamiliar girl sat next to me. She had wavy brown hair that faded to green at the tips, matching her eyes. She glanced up at me with one eyebrow raised. 

“Uh... hi. Do you go here?“ I asked.

“No.“

A woman of few words... “Why are you-”

“Friend invitation form. I’m from Alder Creek. Jake invited me to come with you guys.”

I glanced at Jake, who was trying to convince Val to take his headphones off. “Uh... what’s your-”

“Katerina.”

“Oh.”

A moment of awkward silence passed before I said “I’m Lumi. Nice to meet you.”

“You’re cute.“ 

“Uh, thanks.” My eyes widened. “Um... you’re... cute... too.“ She wasn’t wearing anything cute, just a tank top and shorts, making no effort to hide enormous muscles. 

Katerina raised one eyebrow and laughed. 

The bus started up and everyone sat down, still talking. 

“Hey, Lu.” Sam’s head popped up from the seat in front of me. “Who’s she?“

“Her name’s Katerina, and she’s from Alder Creek Academy.“ I pointed to the girl next to me, who seemed inattentive. 

“Sam.“ Sam held his hand out. “So, is it love at first sight, or will I have to pass by again?“

Katerina glanced at his hand, glanced at him, and then twisted his wrist and put him in a headlock. My face, I imagine, was one of shock, but Katerina’s expression was the same as it was two seconds ago. Like she did this kind of thing everyday. Sam struggled to right himself. 

“Oh no!“ From a few seats behind me, I heard Brid call out in shock. “Kat, put him down!“

“Sorry.“ Kat released Sam, who looked completely beat from being put in a headlock. 

I didn’t talk to Kat for the rest of the ride. She was too scary.

----

With a series of cheers, the final bus unloaded. My classmates, some carrying pool party equipment, stormed out onto the beach. 

The science teacher I didn’t know tried to get us to listen to her. “Remember, the project is to take pictures of as many biological phenomena as you can and explain them with the things you’ve learned all year.“

No one listened. 

Half an hour later, everyone had pitched their umbrellas, and were just chatting with one another. Kat, for some reason, chose my blanket. She was wearing a green striped bikini and crocs. She was fast asleep with her head on the mini-cooler.

“There you are.“ Brid ran over and shook her arm. 

Kat opened her eyes. “Oh, hey, Brid. God damn, it’s hot out.“

“Um, we aren’t allowed to wear bathing suits.“ Brid pointed to her T-shirt and shorts. 

“Didn’t stop them.“ Kat pointed to a group of my classmates playing in the water, wearing swimsuits. 

“Just make sure you change before we get back on the bus, OK?“

“No problem.“ Kat yawned and went back to sleep.

“Hey, Lumi, I’m gonna start looking for stuff we can use for the bio project.“ From her sling bag, Brid pulled out a sheet of paper. “She said we needed three examples of stuff we learned in class.” She pointed to some place in the distance. ”I see a grass field over there I can use for part one, so I’m gonna run over there, okay?“

“No problem.“ I sighed and leaned back. “I’ll be resting here if you need me.“

“Okay.“ Brid walked through the sand, dodging other blankets and people on her way to the field.

Next to me, Kat fell asleep again.

----

A man set out a polka-dotted blanket on a rock bed bordering the ocean. After a few button presses, he managed to turn a tall pole into an umbrella. Meanwhile, a young boy, only about three years old, ran around the area. He ran to the edge of the water and reached down to touch it.

As he touched the ocean water below, another hand, this one larger and with green fingernails, thrust itself up. The kid’s arm flied back before the hand could grab it. The hand sunk back into the ocean. The kid ran, screaming, back to his father, yelling something about a monster.

Under the water, a long, dark, silhouette disappeared with a flick of its tail.

----

“Woah!“ I was woken up by a boy’s voice. I opened my eyes. “Holy crap, who’s your girlfriend?!“

“Girlfriend?!“ My eyes flew open. A couple of my male classmates (Noah, Zeke, and Conrad, Guitar 1, Drums, and Guitar 2 respectively in Sam’s band), were staring at me and Kat. 

“Oh! Um... “ I blushed. I actually hoped they were referring to Brid. “Kat’s... um... we’re not dating.“

Kat’s eyes slowly opened. She yawned and stretched, much to the amusement of the boys. 

“Hey, beautiful.“ Conrad knelt down near Kat. “Give me your number sometime, okay? We’ll be near the picnic tables.“

Kat, promptly, without even looking, grabbed Conrad’s face and shoved it into the towel between us. The other guys, in shock, ran away.

“Jesus Christ, Kat!“ I exclaimed. “That’s the second time today! Let him go!“

Kat allowed Conrad to stand up. He looked dizzy from being thrown over her shoulder and slammed in the ground with one hand. He stumbled off.

“Wish they’d get the message.“ Kat stretched again and went back to sleep. “I’m not interested in guys.“

“Oh.“

“E’m a lesbian... “ Kat murmured before she went back to sleep. 

This girl had no shame, but I couldn’t help but feel strangely attracted to her. 

“Hey, Lu.“ Allie plopped down next to me. “Hey, Kat. What’s up?“

“We’re both just relaxing.“ I picked up my novel. “We might hop into the water later for our project.“

“Oh, that’s cool. Have you seen Brid anywhere?“

“No.“ Kat muttered.

“She was trying to find stuff for our project, remember?“ I reminded Kat.

“Right.“ Kat yawned. 

“Brid’s never around,” Allie said, “because she’s always doing some form of schoolwork or another. How do I tell her that I just want her to loosen up and have some fun for a change? Is that so hard?“

“No,“ I said.

“All right. Well, I’ve got an underwater camera, so May and I are going to jump into the water and get some pictures. Wanna come with?“

“Nah.“ I flipped my book open. “I’m gonna relax until Brid gets back.“

----

The young boy dipped his hand into the water again. A group of fingers, all tipped with green fingernails, wrapped around his hand. 

“Dad! Dad!“ the boy called. “Look!“

The kid’s father ran over. As he did, the hand with the green fingernails disappeared. 

“Nothing there.“ His father ran back to his beach setup. “Come on, let’s run to the beach.“

“But it was a hand.“ The boy pointed to the water below. “It was a hand, and it stuck out of the water.“

“You’re just making things up.“ The father pressed a button on his umbrella pole, making it fold back in.

“I’m not!“ The boy blushed with anger, but ran back to his father.

----

I was probably only a few pages into my book when I fell asleep again. I woke up to my phone vibrating next to me. I picked it up and read the message- “Discussing the Reveal of Bucky 2 w/ the Writers”. 

Dammit, an assignment from MOSAIC on my day off?! I sighed and clicked the link. The code at the end of the article deciphered itself into “May and friend attacked by unidentified monster near your location, rescue them and eliminate monster”. 

“Be right back,“ I said to Kat before standing up and reading the rest of the email. Attached was a map of Salty Shore Beach, with a ping near the northern end. I called Sam as I ran there, but I was only met by the answering machine. I glanced out to the ocean. Sam was playing with his friends. I waved to him, but he didn’t notice me. 

Shoot, guess I’m on my own, I thought, as I ran to the end of the beach. 

The ping was coming from some sort of rock face. Whereas the sand of the regular beach was made of rock and shell ground down into near powder, this part of the beach appeared to be bare rock. A good place to hang out if the beach got too crowded. I looked around for any sign of May and friend (probably Allie), but there was none. I didn’t see any security cameras either. 

“Lumi!“ I heard a loud whisper behind me. I turned around. May was standing a distance away, in the forest. She motioned for me to be quiet, and then mouthed, “Walk quietly”. I obeyed and walked to her. 

“The monster’s a merman.“ May pointed to the water. “We were trying to get pictures of the seaweed under there when he appeared and pulled Allie under the water.“

“Is Allie okay?!“ I started running towards the water, but May stopped me. 

“He can hear your footsteps.” She whispered in my ear. “He’s got Allie with him. He said that he could take care of a human, so she must have air.”

“So for now, she’s alive.” I breathed a sigh of relief.

“We should figure out how to dive into the water without alerting his attention. Any suggestions?”

I leaned over the water. “Let’s get one of us to be a distraction. I’ll distract him, and you see if you can follow him down to the cave. Once you know where I am, just call for backup.” I pulled out my phone, dipping my feet in the water. “Come on, let’s link locations-” I stopped. There was a pair of hands examining one of my feet. A few seconds later, a head popped out of the water. 

It was a young man with blonde hair fading to blue and pale skin. Floating behind him was a string of pearls attaching his ears from around the back of his head. His blue eyes looked up at us with curiosity. 

“Hi.“ I tried to act shocked. 

“The sea tells me many things.“ He pushed his top half out of the water and touched my face. There were shining blue scales reaching up his lower back. “The sea tells me that you are a lonely woman who searches for her love.“ He laughed and tried to kiss me. 

“I’m still a minor.“ I pushed the merman away. 

“Where’s Allie?“ May asked, dipping her legs in the water. 

“I sense your desire to kill me if I do not return her,“ the merman said. “I’m sorry. She is my bride now, and she will bear me children. I will not return her.“

“What the hell did you do to her?!“ I grabbed the merman’s hair. 

He cried out in pain and tried to pull my hands off. After a short struggle, he screamed, “Nothing! Nothing yet! Please don’t kill me!“

“Tell us where she is!“ May stood up.

“You won’t be able to find her if I don’t tell you.“ The merman backed away from us, and then dove into the water. 

“Hey!“ I stood up and dove in after him. Under the water, I saw a body with a fish tail disappearing into the deep and darting towards the rock we were standing on from below. I pulled my head back up. “May, I know where Allie is. She’s right under the rock we’re standing on. I saw the merman swim towards it.“

“We’re gonna need some backup if we’re gonna get under there.“ May called a number on her phone. 

I glanced back under. “I’ll go. It doesn’t look that far down, I think I can do it.“

“Lumi, are you crazy? It’ll just be easier to use you as a decoy and then jump in after him.“

“I attacked him once. He might see me as a threat and leave me to drown. Hence why I should just swim there.“

“You don’t have any scuba gear, though.“

“Then how do I get some?“ I asked, climbing out of the water. 

“I’ll ask MOSAIC if we can get a set of scuba gear and something to kill a merman with. If I remember correctly, they’re weak to bronze.“ May began to speak on the phone. “Hi, this is May Meredith... Lumi is with me... not Sam. We need one set of scuba gear, to fit Lumi... it’s a merman. So it’s bronze, right?... thanks.“ May hung up. “They’ll be airdropping it in a few minutes.“

“Let me see if I can draw him back up.“ I dipped my legs in the water again. “We could drag him on land if we’re quick about it.“

“And how does that get us to Allie?“ May asked.

“Good point.“ I laid back against the rock and waited. A few minutes would feel like an eternity. I’m proactive and quick, or at least I’d like to think I am, so patience wasn’t exactly my strong suit. 

A few minutes later, a small plastic bag floated out of the sky on a purple parachute. I picked it up and removed the contents. The package contained a diving suit and glass globe helmet, flippers, a pair of oxygen tanks, a bronze dagger, a set of twelve bronze bolts, and a searchlight. I pulled the diving suit on, with May making sure no one saw me. After pulling all of the gear on and pulling the mask over my face, I dove into the water. 

“Good luck,“ May said. “Let me know if you need anything.“

I said “Yep” and threw myself into the deep. (AN: This is the future, so people can actually talk with diving gear on!)

The water didn’t feel as cold like this. Plus, with the searchlight, I could actually see. 

And see I did. 

There was a large school of silver fish near the ocean floor. I swam straight into them, sending them scurrying away. They reconvened a few seconds later, in a large mass nearby. Some darted out of the seaweed near the ground to join their brothers and sisters. No flowers, as far as I could see, and no coral either. 

It was cool.

May radioed in while I was observing the barnacles and clams sticking to the rock face. “Hey, are you still on task?”

I muttered a quick “sorry” before swimming back up around the rock face. I tried to look for a hole, or a cave, or any giveaway as to where the merman was keeping Allie. 

Suddenly, I felt a shove into the rock face. I shouted, letting up a stream of oxygen before shoving my mask back into place. I saw a hand with thin, green fingernails press my hand against the wall. The merman!

“Stay away from us.“ He grabbed my head and slammed it against the rock wall, letting another stream of bubbles escape and turning my searchlight off. With his other hand, he pushed my body into the wall.

Shoot, I thought. I’m not gonna die to this guy, am I? Thinking fast, I twisted my body around and tried to kick him, but ended up pushing myself farther into the wall and/or completely missing him. He seemed confused by my motion, giving me enough time to actually kick him. It was kind of weak (what did I expect, I’m in the middle of the ocean), but it was enough to make him loosen his grip. I swam as fast as I could out of his reach and down to the ocean floor. He started to follow me, but then stopped and swam upwards. He disappeared at one spot near the rock face, one less densely covered with general sea detritus than the rest of the rock. 

I sighed. He certainly wasn’t clever.

“What’s wrong?“ May asked.

“He just led me right to the entrance.“ I sighed. “I thought he would have led me on, but nope, he just chased me away and swam straight back home.“

“Ooooh, yikes. Well, at least now you know, right?“

“Yeah.“ I swam up to the spot with a little bit of effort. It turned out that the spot we had seen was a cave, leading to some dark place. I turned my searchlight back on and swam in.

The tunnel was long and narrow, big enough for five people to fit through if their personal space bubbles were really small. I swam through slowly and carefully, making sure I didn’t accidentally poke anything with my flippers. Vampire lairs were predictable, with lots of winding mazes instead of traps, but I had never been in the lair of a merperson. 

I saw light up ahead. I popped my head up above water and wiped my mask off.

The air was surprisingly dry and cool. A series of canals about as wide as the tunnel ran like a maze all over a cold marble floor. The ceiling was high, higher than I expected. It was almost like an undersea ballroom with a serious leaky pipe problem. Perfect for a merman who wanted to keep a human wife. 

A grand doorway marked the entrance to the house itself. I swam under the door and continued to look around. There were now three sets of double doors, each with one door supported by a stream of water. It felt like one of those puzzle things, where you had to pick the right door.

I removed my globe helmet and listened carefully, trying to figure out where Allie could be. Hopefully, she could talk, or call for help.

Nothing.

Suddenly, I heard another voice. The merman’s. 

“Wake up. Wake up.“ 

It was coming from the door to my left.

I pulled my helmet back on and swam under the door. When I popped my head up on the other side, I saw the merman staring at me in surprise. He was sitting on a bed covered in white silk. Allie laid in the middle, with her eyes closed. The merman was next to her, stroking her hair.

“You... found me... “ he whispered when he saw me. “See, I didn’t do anything... “

“Give her up.“ I ripped my helmet back off, loaded my crossbow with bronze bullets, and pointed it at the merman.

“But she is my wife, and we’ll be happy together.“ He pulled Allie’s body towards himself and pulled a knife from under the pillow. “I will defend my bride, even if it costs me my life.“

I sighed and fired the crossbow. It missed his head by about a foot, but he still dropped the knife and screamed “Please, don’t kill me!” I pity him, I really do, I thought. I pulled myself out of the water as he jumped straight in to a canal on the other side of the bed, carrying Allie with him. 

“Hey!“ I waddled over to his location, pulled my helmet back on, and jumped back in. As I followed the splashes of his tail, I radioed May. “May, I’ve got him. He’s spooked easily, but he’s not giving Allie up. I’m gonna need support.“

“Roger!“ May hung up.

I focused on following him. He appeared to be swimming deeper into his lair. 

“Computer, set up Labyrinth Yarn.“

A voice responded from my helmet. “Labyrinth Yarn setup complete.” 

Good, I thought. Now I’ll be able to get back to the entrance. 

I heard another splash as he exited the water. I tried to swim as fast as I could to follow him. When I quietly popped my head above water, I saw him doing something unexpected.

“Can you breathe?“ He had his head against Allie’s back, listening to her breathe. “I hope you didn’t breathe in any water while you were down there. I’m sorry about the shock.“

I pointed my crossbow again and fired. The bolt barely missed the merman’s head. He jumped back and screamed, and then quickly checked on Allie before carrying her back into the canal system and swimming elsewhere. I followed him, wishing desperately that he would stop. Once again he swam into another room to check on Allie, once again I attacked, once again he jumped back into the water. It was going to be a cycle unless I got him to leave somehow.

Leave somehow... 

“May!“ I radioed. “You need to cause a ruckus up there. Make him think his cave’s about to collapse. Then I’ll get Allie away from him, and take him out.“

“What do I do it with?“

“Light a bomb! I don’t know!“

“B-Bomb?!“

“This search is going to last forever unless you can scare him out.“

“Okay. I’ll call MOSAIC and see if I can get something airdropped to me.“

I nodded and kept swimming after him. 

It was my job to keep him distracted, but my legs were beginning to get tired. I paused for a moment and let my legs stop burning. Once the pain was bearable, I started swimming again, but stopped when I realized that the merman was nowhere to be found. 

Where did he go? I poked my head above water. 

I was in another bedroom, this one with a much larger bed. To its side was a large pool. I pulled myself out of the water and stood up.

“Allie!“

Allie was lying on the bed, still asleep. I scrambled over to her and picked her up. “Allie! Allie! Where’s the merman?”

Allie, of course, did not respond. 

Suddenly, something wrapped around my legs and pulled me into the water! 

A pair of hands with green fingernails ripped my helmet off from behind. A blue tail snaked itself around my body like a cobra, and squeezed. 

“I’ve been alone for too long to give her back.“ The merman’s voice rang clearly in my ear. “I need a human to love. Please. Just one human.“

“No,” I muttered, releasing a small bubble of air. 

“I don’t want to kill you. Because then more monster hunters will come and-“

“Let me go.“ Another bubble. 

“Then let me love you too. Stay here with me-“

“No!“ I ripped my diving glove off and squeezed my fingernails into the mermaid’s tail. He screeched with pain and released me. I quickly pulled myself up to the edge of the pool and caught another gulp of air before he pulled me down again.

BOOM.

The merman released me. We both glanced upwards in shock.

“What’s going on?!“ Quick as a flash, the merman leapt clear out of the water, grabbed Allie, and jumped back in. He bolted through a canal. 

BOOM.

“Allie!“ I pulled my helmet back on and started to follow him. “Labyrinth Yarn Program, show me the path out!“

The computer spoke. “Sure thing. Turn left here.“

I followed its instructions as it led me out of the undersea cave. Turn left, turn right, keep going straight, stuff like that. 

“The destination is on your-“ 

“’Kay, gotcha.“ I turned the computer off and threw myself out the entrance. I caught sight of the mermaid. He was swimming upwards, still covering Allie’s nose and mouth. I followed them. “May, I see him. He’s near the surface.“

“Roger.“ May said.

A few seconds later, the merman was dodging bullets being shot into the water. I took this opportunity to wrestle with him for Allie. I swam upwards (I think I had the hang of it) and tried to pry his arms open. He shouted and pulled back, kicking hard with his tail. My diving flippers didn’t do anything to stop him. I pulled the bronze dagger out of my diving belt and slashed at his skin. He kept dodging my blade, until I managed to pull him close to me and slide the blade in between him and Allie. He shouted and released her. I grabbed Allie’s body, covered her nose and mouth, and swam for the surface. 

We both broke the surface. May quickly pulled Allie onto the shore. I hopped up a couple of seconds later and removed my diving helmet. 

“Allie? Allie?” May pressed her head against Allie’s back. “I feel a heartbeat. I think she’s doing all right.“

Allie’s eyes fluttered open a few seconds later. May wrapped her in a towel. “I’ll handle her. Don’t worry. You need to deal with the merman.”

“On it.“ I pulled the diving gear off so as not to reveal my identity to Allie, and stuck my head back into the water. 

“Lumi, make sure to look around on land too.“ May dried Allie’s arm off. “Merfolk have the ability to transform their tails into legs when they need to go on land for some reason. And he’s probably expecting us back to finish the job.“

----

The merman pulled himself out of the water. As he dragged himself onto the sand, his tail became smaller and turned a different shade of blue. Eventually it separated into two legs, clothed by a pair of jeans. He stood up, stumbled, and then continued to walk towards the forest, glancing back at the location of the two girls who had attacked his home. They were still there, in the distance, caring for the one he had kidnapped. The one that had fired bullets was wrapping her body in a towel, and the one that had chased him underwater was not wearing any diving gear, but was sticking her face into the ocean.

The one with the long, straight hair... so beautiful... I wish she understood...

He stumbled into the sand again.

It’s been so long since I’ve walked upon the humans’ land... so dry and harsh...

Eventually he reached the forest. The sea knew many things about the humans. The sea instructed him to collect green slips of thinly woven cotton- they could be exchanged for services and things from the humans. The sea told him to be wary of the humans, especially the girl who dove after him. She was not cruel, but would execute him for making any wrong move.

Perhaps I could ask her for forgiveness? he asked the sea. No, the sea replied. She will kill you all the same. The merman sighed at this. It was only a matter of time until she hunted him down.

The sun beat down on his skin, drying it out. He wandered into the shade and decided to rest there. A few seconds after finding a good spot, he collapsed out of exhaustion.

----

“Is he... dead?“ 

May and I looked over the body of the merman. After a bit of searching in the water and on the land, I found him lying in the middle of the forest, apparently unconscious or asleep. I placed my hand on his forehead. It was burning up.

“He has a very high fever,“ I said. “Come on, we should bring him to the water.”

“But Lu, we’re supposed to kill him. If he gets into the water, then he’ll-”

I glanced down at his body. His face seemed to be one of discomfort- his features had not yet relaxed, and his skin was boiling. He looked, to me, to be in complete agony. That’s what I would be, if I were a creature living in the sea that had just discovered the beach. We could just as easily leave him to die... but did I really want that? Was it even right to do so?

“Let’s find a shallow pool somewhere. We need him to cool off. I don’t want to kill him like this.“

“Okay.“ May picked up his feet while I picked up his head. We carried him down the coast, away from his home and away from any people. 

“There.“ May pointed to a shallow pool a few feet away. We carried him over and placed his body in the water. I splashed water over his face, trying to cool off his forehead.

His eyes slowly opened. We each held an arm as he regained motion throughout his entire body. I already knew his arms were weak, and with the shallow nature of the water we were in, it would be impossible for him to escape. He tried to struggle away, but after a while, found it impossible. 

“Who rescued me?” he asked, his voice weak. “Please release me, I just want to run away... “

“It’s me,“ I said. “I’m the hunter that went after Allie.“

“The pretty brunette... I remember... “ The merman tried to struggle out of our grip again. “Please, please don’t kill me!“ I could already see several ways in which he could escape us. It was a good thing he had no creativity and only relied on his weak arm strength. 

“We can’t let you live,“ May said. “But... Lu wanted to make sure you could talk before we killed you.“

“No!“ The merman tried to struggle out of our grip again. 

“Don’t phrase it like that!“ I said. “What she meant was that you were in agony on land, and I couldn’t bear to kill you in that state. It didn’t feel right. So, we brought you to the ocean, so you could be at least somewhat comfortable.“

The merman stopped struggling. “The sea told me you would kill me no matter what.”

“That much is true,“ I said. I pointed the bronze-tipped dagger at his heart. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t care about my victims. Yes, you’re despicable, you kidnapped a girl and tried to make her your wife. But you didn’t try to harm her at all.“ I smiled. “That’s... nice of you. From the bottom of my heart, thank you so much.“

The merman began to cry. May stroked his shoulders while I pushed the dagger against his chest. 

“I... only... wanted... love... “ he choked out.

“The truth is, that’s what I want, too.“ I sighed and pulled my hand back, getting in position for the kill. “But it is my duty to never let a monster live.“

The merman gave one final cry before I shoved the dagger into his heart. He trembled as blue blood poured out of his chest, then let go of his last breath. May and I backed away as his body frothed down into seafoam and receded into the ocean. 

“That was my first time meeting a merperson,“ I said. “Are they all like this?“

“Kinda,“ May said. “From what I know, they’re supposed to be social, but this one was living all alone. He was probably going mad from his solitude and kidnapped Allie so he would have a family.“

“Don’t most crave human flesh?“ I asked as we turned back to the beach.

“No, that’s sirens. This one was a merperson. You could tell by the shape of his teeth.“

“Gotcha.“

“Hey, Lumi?“

“Yeah?“

“Do you believe he’s innocent? That it was wrong to kill him?“

“We killed him for kidnapping someone.“ I took a deep breath. “I know I’m a monster hunter, but... it felt cruel. We could have just as easily relocated him somewhere with a community of merpeople. I would have loved to see him happy, without needing to kidnap one of my classmates.“ I stared back out at the pile of seafoam drifting toward the horizon. “Sometimes I question what I do. I really do.“

May sighed. “Sometimes I feel the same way.”

----

The ride back home was relatively quiet. No one talked at all, except the teachers. But we were silent for different reasons. Most of my classmates were tired from the trip. Kat was just silent like she always was. Some were listening to music and had no interest in talking anyway. I wondered if I was the only one questioning my decisions.

Why did I join MOSAIC, anyway?

Because I wanted to feel like I had kept people safe. Like I made a difference somewhere. I had kept someone safe. 

Because I loved, and still love, my family, my friends, and my city. 

But there had to be other ways. Ways to protect the things I loved without my crossbow, and my weapons, and my tools of the trade. 

.

.

.

.

.

.

(AN: Yeah, that entire thing sucked. And maybe had a plot hole or two. I’m really sorry, I haven’t been able to write anything coherent or exciting lately. To be frank, I’m kind of stuck. I’m starting the final arc of SAHunters on Google Docs, and I know I haven’t posted the chapter with Arthur yet, and I’m excited for you guys to see what he’s like.) 

(Anyway, more about Thaumas. He is a merman, and generally very lonely, but forms emotional attachment quickly. It’s kind of his own fault for isolating himself from everyone else. He has a slight craving for human flesh, but mostly craves love. I didn’t include his magic powers here- in this SAHunters chapter, he’s just a man with a fish tail. Whether I decide to make him a villain in SAFuture or a guardian in TMX, his powers will be the same- he will have hydrokinesis, but not like Lapis from SU: he’ll use it to create a watery mist around his body, and if anything touches the mist, it freezes instantly, which is useful for stopping bullets and protecting himself when necessary. If he ends up in SAFuture, he will be a human with robot legs that can transform into a fish tail, who works alongside the main villain.)