#reservoir fibers

[kaiyonohime]

For a summary of who Sherry Tenney is (currently using the name Giltay Sher-lee), here is a post about all the harm she has done, and continues to do, to the fiber arts industry.  Warnings for animal abuse and violence.

This is a warning that one of her known associates, Lindsey E Bucci of Reservoir Fibers, is going into fiber arts groups on FB and trying to encourage people to buy from Sherry.  Lindsey E Bucci has her own warnings about her because she is known to doxx people, and her customers, for no apparent reason in bizarre fits of rage directed at others (she has mental health issues that seem to be untreated, and unfortunately is causing harm to others).  So if you see her posting in any FB groups, please know that she is a known associate of Sherry Tenney, and is also someone to be avoided on her own.

Also, the judge has ruled that the case against Sherry Tenney is continuing forward.  Unfortunately Sherry Tenney has also been posting about how her sheep have not yet been sheared this year (she owes over $20,000 USD to one shearer, so no others will work with her).  So she’s abusing her animals once again.  Hopefully the Attorney General can get that stopped as well.

[in1-nutshell]

Hello!! I hope you're doing alright. I was wondering if I could request for cubertronian! Buddy whos a fox and has a sly personality, and wondering if you can make it as a one-shot in TfMtmte with drift, ratchet, and rodimus! Thankyou

I was slightly picturing The Pet wen I saw the fox alt mode.

Hope you enjoy!

Bot Buddy with a fox alt mode with Ratchet, Drift and Rodimus

SFW, Platonic, Cybertronain reader

MTMTE

To be fair, Rodimus did tell them that there was going to be running involved.

But he never told them how much running.

Earlier that day…

Rodimus had recruited Buddy to help prank Drift.

Why them?

Easy, because they could get out of the splash zone quicker than he could.

And he needed someone who would play bait for a couple of shanix.

Rodimus sets up the bucket of oil and rope.

“Rodimus, why are you doing this again?”--Buddy

“Drift bailed out on our hang out to go be with Ratchet. We had planned this hang out for cycles! He needs to know that there are consequences to his action.”--Rodimus

“Just putting that out there Captain, but aren’t there going to be consequence to your actions?”--Buddy

“Not if I run fast enough.”--Rodimus

“…Fair enough.”--Buddy

The plan was simple.

Lure Drift to the door, Rodimus would see him and let the giant bucket of oil land on his helm.

Get a few laughs out of it and maybe go to Swerve’s when this is done.

So far, the plan has been going smoothly.

Until someone new came into the mix.

Buddy walking with Drift in their alt mode in the hallway.

“Hey Drift, do you mind standing there for a second? I have a trick I want to show you. You’ll see it better from there.”--Buddy

“Okay.”--Drift

Drift happily stands in the splash zone as Buddy does some flips waiting for Rodimus to pull the rope.

Rodimus meanwhile had gotten distracted by the rope fibers.

Ratchet walks up to Drift.

“Move a bit, I have to get some equipment in the room.”

Drift smiles and moves to the side letting Ratchet get into the splash zone.

Buddy mid flip looking in horror.

“WAIT!”--Buddy

Rodimus flinches and pulls the rope letting the bucket fall down on Ratchet.

Drift tackles Ratchet down, and they both get covered in oil.

“…”--Everyone

Rodimus comes around the corner with a huge grin on his face.

“That’s what you get—oh.”—Rodimus

Rodimus takes a step back.

Buddy hightails it out of there.

“…Rodimus… did you do this…?”--Drift

“To be fair I had help from Bud—and their gone.”--Rodimus

“Drift if you catch him in the next 5 minutes I will take the next 2 cycle off.”--Ratchet

Drift already on his pedes ready to start sprinting.

“You don’t have to tell me twice.”--Drift

And that’s how Rodimus ended up taking a dip in the oil reservoirs and Buddy paying for the pair’s drinks for a full month.

And they still didn’t get their shanix!

What a rip off…

From now on, if anyone was going to ask them to be the bait, they were going to take payments first then the work.

[fantasy-anatomy-analyst]

Fellow crocheter! I heard you mention dragon scale gloves, do you have a pattern by chance?

Oh man I wrote down the pattern so long ago I have it memorized lol. My notes say I originally found it from the Reservoir Fibers youtube channel, so it'd be this video here I think.

They use a pretty thin yarn held double and for some reason they show it with black yarn, which is a pretty bad visual aid. But you can look up "crocodile stitch fingerless gloves" and find other tutorials as well!

Basically it goes like this:

Start with a chain in a multiple of six, which determines the number of scales you will have per row (it will shrink slightly in size once you add the scales. My hand is roughly 7 scales around but I can squeeze into a 6 scale glove. Just make sure the starting chain fits comfortably around the base of your fingers) connect the chain with a slip stitch.

Two options for the foundation under the scales. Either do 2 double crochet (UK treble) in one chain, chain one, skip 2 chains and then do one double crochet in the third chain (and then reverse it, ch1, skip2, 2dc, repeat around) or you can do a V-stutch in place of the 2 doubles, which puts the chain 1 bit in between those 2 dc. Basically you just need a V shape alternating with a regular lone stitch and a chain space to keep things from getting too tight.

And then the tricky part is learning how to do the scales. 5dc around the vertical post of one side of a V, ch1, 5dc around the next post of the V, single crochet on the lone stitch in between the V stitches.

The tutorial recommends turning the glove inside out for every foundation row but this can be avoided by simply working it in the opposite direction from the scales.

Boy I hope I didn't just make that more confusing lol. When I make these gloves, I usually have 6 scale rows, then the thumb hole (which is made by skipping the last lone dc of the foundation and replacing it with 6 chains) and then 6 more scale rows to make it wrist length. To get the cuff a little more snug, just do 3dc in the middle of each scale and then 2dc between each scale to make it a multiple of 5 instead of 6.

If you need to, you can also add an extra scale right before the thumb row, and then shrink it back down after the thumb row, but that is a whole extra step that's usually not necessary!

I use sock weight yarn that's a blend of wool and nylon, but I have seen people make them out of much heavier thick acrylic before, if that's all you have access too. It just means the scales will be a lot thicker and the gloves will be heavier. If you're going to use cotton, make sure it's a soft kind and not the rough sort that's used for washcloths.

(Image description: me, wearing dark multicolored wrist length fingerless gloves with a scaly texture, and making a heart shape with my hands. End description)

[golden-forge]

Another MelJay Micro fic, fairytale/folktale and the word prompt “Cruel.”

Once, Jayce believed in magic.

He believed that their world had magic everywhere, in the air, in the woods, in their very blood. That communities formed a sort of communal magic when they decided to band together with common goals and take care of each other. He supposed, as he laid in the back of a wagon, his head pounding from being knocked out and coming to as the wheels ran over some rock or other, that the community was still taking care of each other.

Except now at the cost of one individual.

“Wait, where -?” He tried getting his thoughts in order so he could speak but his head was still pounding. He made to rub his temples but his hands were bound behind his back. “What?”

The cart stopped. He groaned as the cloth flap was pulled aside. Bright moonlight made him close his eyes. If only his head would stop pounding.

”Let’s go, Talis.”

He’s abruptly pulled out of the cart and to his feet. He started to fall but there’s two pairs of hands pulling him back up and dragging him along. He can hear the sand as they walk. There was only one area near the town that had this much sand. He felt the blood in his face drop down and into the ground.

”What’s happening? What are you doing?”

His voice is rough and full of panic that he can’t quite hide. It makes the men chuckle.

”Why, Talis. Instead of banishment you’ve been chosen.”

Jayce grunts as he’s pushed against a stake. “No, wait, there’s been a mistake -“

”Oh there’s no mistake,” the other man cackles as he ties him to the stake. Jayce tried fighting it but it’s hard with your hands already behind your back. “The crops have been dying, the reservoir dry. It’s very clear that you’ve angered the gods. So to the gods you’ll be sent to directly to rectify it.”

”Human sacrifice is an old, outdated -“

”It’s tradition, Talis. It’s what Piltover has done before. Not that you ever respect tradition.”

“This isn’t right! It’s barbaric! Does Heimerdinger know -”

The man in front of him tsks and wags his finger. “Oh of course the founder of our fine town knows, Talis. You forget, back in his day it’s considered an honor. Better than banishment so your dear mother can still show her face.”

”You can’t be so selfish, Talis.”

The men chuckled.

”Please, don’t do this. My mother needs me. I-I’ll stop my studies all together!”

”We don’t need anything else from you other than this.”

“Come dawn, you’ll save us all, Jayce Talis.”

”Damn both of you!” Jayce struggled against his bonds. “Damn Heimerdinger and the cruelty of this damned town!”

”Did you hear that? He’s still trying to curse us.”

”That won’t do at all.”

Jayce was hit hard into unconsciousness.

***

The next things he was partially aware of, he couldn’t quite understand.

The sun must have been up for he felt the warmth. But then the ropes around his wrists sizzled and he could smell the burnt fibers - then he was lifted up somehow, no hands or arms were there - and he was in the air, looking down at the sands, his head aching doubly from getting hit twice and dizzy -

He blacked out.

There was a woman’s voice talking in a low tone. ”-blood in his hair, Elora.”

”Someone must have hit him, my goddess.”

There were fingers against the side of his face. The first voice was closer now.

”How cruel and then to tie him up at the edge of the desert.” He lightly groaned. “No, you need to rest,” her voice soothed, her fingers going over his eyelids to close them. “Your body needs it. Elora will look after you.”

He fell asleep.

***

I’ll update this once I add it to ao3. I hope to write more in this au.

[heisenberg-simp257]

Hello! Could you please write some headcanons for Lord Heisenberg and reader who is the fifth and youngest lord of the village? Reader lives in a small cabin in the woods and has the power of growing and controlling plants. With the other lords they developed quite friendly relationships but their friendship with Lord Heisenberg gradually turned into love. Reader hates mother Miranda with all their heart for everything she's done to them, to the four lords, to the entire village and now they are determined to join Heisenberg in his rebellion against Miranda's tyrrany. Thank you very much!

Sure! Tbh, a plant lord (besides Donna's usage of druggie plants) would've been AWESOME💖Hope you enjoy!

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Heisenberg with a Fifth Lord Who has Plant Powers Headcanons

-Like all the other lords, you were a product of Mother Miranda’s experiments. You were the youngest of the lords, last to be created. The Cadou was placed in your back, along your spinal cord. Similar to Lord Heisenberg’s control over metal, you had control over plants. You could grow them quickly and have them bend to your will.

-Dimitrescu has her castle, Heisenberg has his factory, Moreau has his reservoir, and Donna has her estate. You have your own domain as well. It’s a cabin that’s deep within the woods, not too far from the village. The high density of plants made it a powerful place for you.

-Your personality made it easy for you to befriend the four lords, even Heisenberg, and keep Mother Miranda in thinking you were here to serve her. But you hated her with every fiber of your being, which is what brought you closer to Heisenberg.

-While he was angry at what she did to him (you were angry for the same reason as well), you were also angry with how she manipulates the other lords and the villagers for that matter. She has corrupted this town. Why not join forces with the man who shares your ambitions to stop her?

-Heisenberg figures that with his power, his brain, and your flowers, that you guys will be unstoppable. He can see the path to victory, and all the steps it’ll take to get there. However, there is one thing that he doesn’t foresee in his grand plan to kill Miranda.

-Falling in love.

-Working and plotting with you has caused you to grow your own little garden in his wasteland of a heart, full of beauty and feelings that he never thought possible. He hates it and loves it at the same time, cursing how you had such an effect over him. This job just got a whole lot harder.

-But little did he know, you were having the same issue. You’ve always respected Lord Heisenberg but working so close to him has caused other feelings to emerge. It’s gotten to the point where you have trouble controlling your powers around him, such as flowers blooming when and where they are not supposed to.

-Confronting these feelings are the only way you guys are going to move forward. Of course, he’s going to deny it until you say something that makes him admit it. But after that whole struggle, you guys are even more unstoppable than before, and Mother Miranda is going to fall by her two “children” that she created.

-A whirlwind of plants and steel that was supposed to just be a rebellion turned into a life that you both never thought possible. I guess in the end, you had to be a bit grateful to the woman who destroyed your life. She brought you to Heisenberg after all.

[enneadau]

False Light Spoilers:

As per usual, don't read if you don't want spoilers...

“Not all of us are here unwillingly.” The older woman smiled as she took a ladle of the soup like substance in the huge, hot bowl and tipped it into a waterskin, “We chose to join the game.”

--

“Why would you help me?”

“Why?” Honda felt like a small child, but he couldn’t help but be curious.

“Something I’m not sure the Tomb Keepers are aware of, is that the seal? It’s not whole anymore. There’s tears in it where people have either tried to access the power, or shove something into the darkness. Tears that have needed constant watching and rituals to avoid the Shadows escaping.”

“Shit…”

“Language.” She scolded good humoredly, “But I can understand the sentiment. I come from a village above one of the rifts, and well…”

“It went wrong?”

“Oh, far from it, at least when it was mine and my sister’s turn.”

“Your sister’s here too?”

“No, no.” The woman gave a sad smile as her hands lit up with a blue glow and she cupped the hot bag of liquid, “My sister lived a good while after our turn came up, but she was a part of why I’m here. Our ritual required twins, you see. One incredibly powerful soul, split into two people, not unlike the royal twins.”

Honda nodded, thinking about the way Yugi and Sakhmet considered themselves twins, and what they could be when working as one.

“To keep the rift sealed, I was raised to believe my duty was to die, while my sister’s duty was to end my life."

“You’re serious?” Shock was etched in every fiber of his being. “Why would she WANT to?”

“Now now, she hated it, hated that she was the younger, so she had to be the one to send me here, but we didn’t really have a choice.” She scolded as steam rose off the bag, suggesting it was rapidly cooling.

“You see, the duty of the elder was to come over to this side and hold the gate closed, while the younger, the Remaining, who got marked by the crimson butterfly, became whole and gained access to the power that had been divided. They were supposed to stay in the village and use that power to become a shield against the Shadows on that side, and my sister did that for a decade or two, but I can’t really blame her for falling in love. I met the boy when he got caught up in a Shadow Game and well, I’d have run away with him too. Plus, their granddaughter is an absolute sweetheart.”

She shrugged, but Honda was livid on her behalf. “She killed you, then ran away?”

“Don’t worry. I’ll get my freedom too, one day.” The woman grinned at him, “I held the doors as long as I could, and the last Maiden who was supposed to hold the doors closed decided to go back through the gate and destroy our home instead, because her sister refused to take her place in the ritual, so if my sister hadn’t run, she’d have ended up like the others.”

The lack of venom in the woman’s voice calmed Honda a little, “What happened to that rift?”

“It was drowned under a lake, along with the whole village and became a reservoir.” The woman shrugged, “I have to say, it’s been nice to get some fresh water occasionally, even if I worry about the amount that’s wasted every time some fool thinks they can escape that way, forgetting they need to breathe once they’re in the living world.”

Honda blinked, considered how much water was in a reservoir that they would have to swim through, and shuddered

“Besides, I just have to wait for the Final Sacrifice. The last act that will seal the doors forever. That’s not that far off now. After that, everyone will be free to leave and head into the afterlife, and I’m far from the first Maiden. I’ve not waited that long.”

“So, you joined the game to make sure you got to leave?”

“Well, the Final Sacrifice can’t happen if Anubis kills the younger twin, can it?”

Honda’s eyes widened.

“Not a word to the little Pharaoh though, or she’ll balk and it won’t happen.”

“But Sa…”

“Don’t. Say. Her. Name.” The friendly, polite tone turned sharp and angry as the woman cut him off, “Don’t say her name, don’t say the little one’s name, just keep your mouth closed. You’ll cost your friend the game and her life.”

“Sorry…”

“You couldn’t have known.” The tone changed again, back to the niceties of before, “But don’t worry, I said we get to go to the afterlife, didn’t I?”

Honda relaxed a little.

“Now,” She stood up and headed for the big tent Anubis had just left, gesturing in their direction, “Come and help me sort this out.”

[critterfloozy]

Vote on Suvi Yarn Base!

Help me choose the base for the Suvi Yarn!

No matter what, I'm planning to use these two pieces mini batts - the one on the left is random animal fiber, the one on the right is recycled sari silk (it's not obvious in the picture, but there's some little bits of red in there, for childhood thematic reasons). It'll be about 1.5 ounces together. For reference, both of those together will be about the same as either the brown or the silver in Eursulon's yarn.

Pictures under the cut:

Neighborhood Fiber Arts can be found here! All of them are 75% Bluefaced Leicester, 25% Silk, because Suvi should be a silk blend

316 Dye Studio can be found here! This is a Merino/Alpaca/Camel/SIlk blend - fancy (and not that dissimilar to what Eursulon's yarn is made out of.

Honeygold Acres can be found here! They're merino and targhee, respectively.

[rockatanskette]

Okay, but if humans are space orcs, then humans in their teens and twenties are whatever the supercharged version of an orc is and that's actually super interesting. Like, a milestone of our development is doing dumb shit to impress our friends and caring way too much about our appearances and rebelling against our caregivers (not that these ever truly vanish, but they do tend to be more pronounced by age group). Sure, little kids have their own share of space orcish tendencies, but to become a teenager is to fully embrace the orcish experience—we recognize becoming brash, rebellious, courageous idiots (i speak as one) as a key stage in becoming a healthy adult.

I especially like the idea of aliens being askance at the small rebellions or explorations, because I was a very timid, approval-seeking teenager and even I pushed my boundaries. Like sure, humans like to breathe nitrous oxide and then jump off of buildings into reservoirs of water, that's standard human behavior. But even the docile ones change themselves if you look close enough! You know Diplomat Ivanov's child? You can't tell with the naked eye because their visual color spectrum is different than ours, but she actually used an ammonia agent and a solution of pigment to change the color of her hair!—those are the fibers that grow from their heads. She risked breathing in ammonia just for aesthetics! And I thought she was one of the sensible ones.

[handspunyarns]

You Were Marked: Day One point Five.

pairing: din djarin x fem!O/C word count: 3.4k summary: Din Djarin eats bread. warnings: Mando'a and English cursing, gluten

You Were Marked: Masterlist

<- You Were Marked: Previous Chapter

As Din stepped into Marathel’s home, he took the opportunity to examine the structure while her back was turned.  It wasn’t so much a house as it was a raised platform with an open framework of posts and long slim beams supporting a flat roof.  The roof was heavily thatched with layers of braided leaves and flat grasses.   One corner was supported by a large tree, which had branches that reached under the roof.  Under this tree was a tall wooden upright frame that was heavily laced with string and fiber – some kind of loom, he supposed.  There was a long table with benches.  Opposite the loom was a sleeping pad that was partially surrounded by panels of hanging fabric.  Another corner of the structure was built out over a stream that partially flowed underneath the platform, and there was a simple pulley system for Marathel to collect water.  The back of the structure was dominated by a large clay box that was constructed around a fire, which contained a large metal grate that held cooking pots.  On either side of the fireplace were long counters with shelves, tightly packed with a variety of baskets.  Din’s eyes grazed along the top of the counter, littered with open jars and small clay pots, and there, next to the dry sink, lay a large round loaf of crusty bread.  

Bread.  Osik, bread.  Bread was hard to come by when criss-crossing the galaxy, eating travel rations on the run.  Bread that he had managed to get a hold of was hard and dry or too mealy to enjoy.  Never, ever had he had bread right out of an oven, and proper bread was so rare to him that he could count on one hand how many times he had eaten any.  Food at the covert was institutional and practical. Food was for strength, for energy.  Since becoming an adult, Din had discovered that that was not always precisely so.  His helmet only allowed the slightest of aromas to get through, but the hints of herbs that he could get were tantalizing.  

Marathel had dished up a bowl of the stew that stood on the hob, and she mashed the contents into a puree with a spoon.  She then picked up the loaf of bread, tore off a hunk, exposing the fluffy center that made Din’s mouth water.  She spread a soft cheese on the bread, deftly tore it into child-sized chunks, and placed the food on the table.  “Sit,” she said.  Din sat. Grogu immediately reached for the bowl, but Din moved it into a better position, set Grogu on his thigh, and began spoon-feeding the stew into the ungrateful maw. Marathel had her back turned again, putting herbs into mugs and filling the mugs with hot water from the reservoir, and Din briefly wondered if he’d have enough time to slip a bit of bread under his helmet before she turned around again.  Before he could, though, Marathel sat opposite him, sliding a steaming mug over to him.  “Does he approve?”  

“He does.”  

“Good.” She sipped her tea.  “He is a charming creature.”  

“He does have that effect on people.”  Din was about to let Grogu sip from the mug of tea when Marathel said, “Oh no, the tea is for you.  The tea is … a …. digestive?  Good for stomachs.  Too strong for little ones, unless they are ill.”  

Din slid the mug out of reach.  “Grogu needs no help in that department.”  

Marathel chuckled.  “I understand.  I helped with the little ones at the Hold.”  

“The Hold?”  

She gestured vaguely.  “Up there, where the others are.”  

“Why is it that you’re down here, all alone?”  

Marathel hid her face for a moment in her mug.  “The Dahlrhddwhyrs – the Dahls – of course.”  

“Why are they so important?”  

She shrugged and kept her eyes on the tabletop. “I don’t know.  Status, maybe?  The Ancient Ones had use for them, but I don't know what that was.  There are things known in the Oldtalk, but girls don’t learn those things.  The men and the boys who have changed learn that in the Round Building.  The girls only learn what Oldtalk and Newtalk is needed from the Diwhyns.” 

“Diwhyns?” 

“The … older women.  The mothers.  I’m sorry, you speak Newtalk …I will try to keep up.”  Marathel took another long sip of her tea. “But you were asking about the Dahls.  The Elders want them, but you can’t just take a Dahl.  You have to care for them while still in the egg.  When they hatch, you have to be there … that way …” She scowled, looking for the right words.  “They become yours, you become theirs?” 

“They bond?” 

“Yes!  Bond.  That is the word. I take them the eggs each season, but they will not bond with The Elders.”  Marathel slipped her hands into her sleeves and swallowed while she stared at the tabletop. She finally lifted her eyes to look at Din’s helmet. It was then that she noticed that he was not looking at her but seemed to be focused on something just behind her.  She glanced over her shoulder and her eyes fell on the bread.  “You are hungry, then?” 

“No.  I will eat later.” 

“If you want bread, you may have bread.  Or stew.  I have plenty.”  She got up and pulled another bowl from the shelf.   

“I cannot.” 

“You cannot?” 

“I may not eat before others.” 

Marathel’s brow furrowed.  “I don’t understand.” 

“I may not remove my helmet before any other living thing.” 

She contemplated this for a moment.  “You require … privacy, then?”  Din did not answer.  “This is easily fixed.”  She pulled out another one of her ubiquitous baskets and removed a stack of folded dark-colored fabric. 

Din stood.  “I do not wish you any trouble.” 

“It is no trouble.  You are hungry but may not eat before me.  I understand.  Let me fix something.  In the meantime, I expect Grogu will need the necessary?” 

“The necessary?” 

“Babies fill, babies must empty, yes?”  Marathel pointed towards the corner just past her sleeping pad.  “Hop down there and go about ten meters around that rock outcrop.  Look to your left, you will find it.  Go on, then.” 

Grogu was indeed squirming, so Din followed her directions and found a latrine just as she said.  It was little more than a wooden box with a hole in it, but the rock outcrop gave some privacy, along with a weatherproof curtain that was tied to an adjacent tree.  There was even a covered bucket of clean cloths.  All the comforts of home.  Din took care of Grogu, took a constitutional himself, and then headed back to Marathels’ hut.  On the way, he washed his hands and Grogu’s in the cold stream that flowed under the platform.  Upon climbing back up into her home, he saw that Marathel had constructed a fabric cubicle opposite her sleeping pad.  The fabric seemed opaque enough to serve the purpose.  Marathel was standing on her loom stool, stretched tall to clip the panel at the top, when she overreached and began to lose her balance.  Din quickly crossed the platform and put a hand on her waist to balance her, but Marathel yelped with surprise and overcorrected, causing Din to wrap his arm around her waist to keep her from falling.  She looked down at him with wide eyes, eyes that Din finally saw were the same liquid silver color as her hair, framed by pale lashes.  Marathel jumped down and smoothed her tunic where he had touched her.  Gesturing to the curtained area, she said, “This will work?” 

Din nodded.  “Yes.  It will suffice.” 

“Good.  Wash your hands, I will fix you a plate.” 

Din again followed her directions; it seemed that she would brook no quarter if he protested that he ate with his gloves on. He turned his shoulders away from her to remove his gloves, and he began to pour out warm water from the reservoir when she slid an open jar towards him.  “Soap,” she said simply while she filled a larger bowl with the stew and slathered an enormous hunk of bread with the soft cheese.   She placed the food on the stool and carried it into the fabric cubicle.  Din quickly washed both his hands and Grogu’s for good measure.  Marathel turned to him and said, “Please eat.  If it pleases you, I could take Grogu out with me.  We will leave you alone, but we will stay in the yard, so you can see us.  He could help me gather.” 

“That is fine.” 

 Grogu was already reaching for her, so she plucked him out of Din’s arms with a smile and settled him on her hip with practiced ease.  She grabbed a large woven bag and walked down the steps of the platform.  “Come Grogu, you are a strapping lad!  Let’s see what we can find.” 

Din entered the curtained space.  The fabric seemed opaque enough, but he could still see both Marathel and Grogu in the sunlit yard.  He picked up the food and sat on the stool.  He lifted the helmet from his head, closing his eyes, breathing in the clean air of this planet.  All at once he was pleasantly assaulted with smells: the aroma of the meat stew, the cleanliness of the fabric panels, the herbs in the cheese.  Taking a bit of the stew, the meat melted in his mouth, the vegetables were flavorful.  Din had intended to eat all the stew before biting into the bread, but he couldn’t wait anymore.  His teeth bit through the crunchy, flaky crust into the soft center that had the perfect texture of porgsdown, and the sharpness of the cheese and the headiness of the herbs made him wonder what in blue fuck he had been eating his entire life if he had to travel beyond the edge of nowhere and meet possibly the strangest person in his life in order to find this, and as he chewed all these marvelous things together he believed that he would gladly face off against a Krayt Dragon armed with nothing but his middle finger if he could be eating this bread while he did so.  He opened his eyes, breathing deeply though his nose, and the wind brought a fragrance that was sea salt and the wildflowers that blossomed in this woman’s yard.  She kept her back to him – as she promised – as she knelt with Grogu in front of a bunch of berry bushes, showing him what to pick.  He happily started pulling berries off for her and placing them carefully in her sack.  He ate a few, of course, but spit them out.  Din heard her laugh as she said, “Yes, dream berries taste bad to children, which is a good thing.  Show me how many you can pick!”  Grogu did pick for a while, but then he was distracted by a flying insect, which he chased around the yard.  Marathel continued with her picking but kept Grogu in her sights at all times.  As Grogu contemplated some sort of crawly critter on the ground, she came over and they both poked at it for a while until it rolled up and rolled away.  Laughing, they began to play some sort of chasing game, while Din ate the best bread he had ever tasted, and – though he would never admit it — quietly laughed too as he watched the tall woman and the tiny green creature gambol about the yard. 

The shadows in the yard were beginning to deepen by the time Din actually finished his meal. He had chewed each morsel of bread until they were liquified, and he had even picked up crumbs from the floor and ate them too, before he would admit that he was actually finished eating. By this time the running game had ended between Marathel and Grogu, and they sat on the steps with a bowl between them. Marathel was snapping beans into pieces and tossing them into the bowl; Grogu snapped the beans with much less skill and was preferring to chew on the pieces instead of putting them in the bowl. “Stop it, Grogu,” said Marathel, with a mock-stern look on her face. Noticing that Din had moved outside the cubicle, she smiled and asked, “All done?” 

“Yes. Thank you.” 

“It is no bother.” She stood and collected the bowl and plate from him, moving back to the kitchen to place them in the dry sink. Din moved off the steps and began to strap the jet pack back onto his back. Marathel came forward to the top of the steps, directly above him. “Are you leaving?”  

“Yes. We are thankful for your hospitality.” 

Marathel looked dismayed. “But …. why leave?” 

Din clicked the strap that held his blaster. “We are here for a bounty, and it would appear … we are not here at the right time. The bounty calls for you to deliver eggs. I take it there are no eggs at the moment?” 

 Marathel nodded, her eyes downcast. She slid her hands back into her sleeves. “It is not quite the season. But it is soon.” 

“How long?” 

Marathel's hands were so deep into her sleeves that they were almost rubbing her shoulders. Biting her lip, she walked back to her loom and pulled out a long chain of yarn through which she had woven short lengths of colored yarn in a complicated pattern. She counted out sections of patterns, and then looked out over the landscape for a long while. Her mouth moved silently for a moment, and then she moved back to the yard, looking into the sky. The moon was rising. She contemplated the moon. Finally, she moved closer to Din, with her eyes still downcast. Her hands went back into her sleeves – some sort of nervous gesture, he thought – and she finally said, “There will be eggs in four or five days. You will not have long to wait, Bounty Hunter.” 

Din nodded. “Four or five days.” 

Marathel shrugged. “Perhaps a bit more, perhaps a bit less.”  

Din went back to replacing his vambraces. “Come, Grogu, we will return to the ship.” 

Marathel quickly turned away to grab the bowl off the step. “Or you could stay here.” 

Din looked up. “Here?” 

Still back-to, Marathel gestured to the curtains she had hung. “You will have privacy. You will have meals. Would that not …. be all right?” 

Din tilted his head and considered her spine. She obviously was not a flight risk, which was why he contemplated just staying on the ship for the next few days. It would cost him too much in fuel to leave and come back. He was concerned about trying to take the bounty without contacting this Bishop person, whoever he was, but Din was also concerned that The Bishop and the Hold would continue to be closed off to him. This was all a mystery, a puzzle, an enigma …. an enigma wrapped in a mystery who kept her hands covered and her head down and her back to him while she held a bowl of beans. Din looked down to see Grogu wrap his arms around her ankle and look back at him with his huge eyes, pleading. Din took a breath and softly muttered, “Haar’chak.” Louder, he said, “If we will not be trouble, we will stay.” 

Marathel turned, Grogu still wrapped around her ankle, with a look that was somehow both relief and dread. “There is no trouble.” She tried to move back to the kitchen, but Grogu hampered her. She looked down at her ankle and chuckled. “I appear to have grown a Grogu. Let go, child, let’s get you and your father settled.” She pulled out yet another basket and unfurled another sleeping pad and collected blankets. She then lightly kicked the empty basket towards Din. “For your weapons. You may keep them in there. You may not wear them in my house. But you may keep the basket where you will sleep.” Marathel then set up the sleeping pad with blankets with her usual efficiency. Din removed his weapons again, placing them in the large basket, wondering what in Dha'tra he was getting himself into. She crossed the room and pulled the curtains around her sleeping pad so they were also closed. She turned back to Din. “My space, your space, yes? Privacy for both.” Din nodded. She clasped her hands together. “Very good. Now I will make us more tea, we will sit, and I will tell Grogu the story of Luad Dycwnigen.” 

Within minutes, Din found himself sitting on Marathel’s front steps, a mug of tea at his hip. She knew he obviously wasn’t going to drink any in front of her, which was why she had graciously placed a saucer on top of the mug to keep it warm. Meanwhile, she was pointing at the moon, which now had fully risen, telling Grogu how the Luad Dycwingen had left the ground to live in the sky, where the Dahlrhddwhyrs could not catch him. Unfortunately, he had to live on the moon upside down because he had jumped too far. Din gazed at the moon as well, and asked, “What am I supposed to be seeing?” 

“His shape. It’s that long, dark section there.” 

“It would help if I knew what a Luad Dycwingen was.” 

Marathel's brow furrowed. “He was a small, furry animal. Long strong legs, fluffy tail. Long ears that stand up and are almost transparent.” 

“That sounds like a rabbit.” 

Marathel shrugged. “Could be.” 

Din considered the moon again. “I guess. If I squint.” 

Marathel chuckled. “If your rabbits are the same as my dycwingens, they are good eating as well.” At this point, Grogu yawned hugely. “Ah yes, the wings of sleep are finally wrapping around the little one.” She pushed herself up and picked up her empty mug. Din stood as well. Marathel deftly handed off the child to Din and said, “My bed is calling for me as well. Have a good sleep, Bounty Hunter.” She went to the kitchen, quickly washed her face and brushed her teeth, and stepped into her curtained room. Looking over her shoulder, she realized that Din was watching her. She stared for a moment and disappeared behind the fabric. 

Din stood where he was for a short while, listening. He finally heard the rustle of her laying down and then all was silence. He sat back down, Grogu nestled in his arms, asleep. Din reached for the mug of tea, slightly lifted his helmet, and sipped. It was still warm. It tasted different than the digestive tea she had given him earlier. It was a lighter flavor with a more calming effect – something sleepier, perhaps. He quietly sighed and stared into the stars, thinking about the oddity of a mark who welcomed him into her home and fed him before he turned her in. 

Marathel, meanwhile, had curled onto her side and pressed her clasped fists into her mouth to keep from screaming. The Bishop, The Bishop was going to drag her back into that Hold, all for those damned Dahls and their damned eggs, but it wasn’t about them at all, it was about how The Bishop was never denied, NEVER, and now The Bishop had sent this man who wore more metal than she had ever seen in one place, who wore a helmet covering his eyes, to drag her back into that Hold and through the doors of the Round Building, and she was so, so, afraid.  

Tears escaped her shut eyes, and she bit her thumb to keep her from breathing too loud because she knew that the metal man could hear her, the metal man was here to end her days away from the pain of the Hold, so she tried to shift her thoughts away from her fear and thought about the child, the little green child who made the metal man soft somehow.  

She didn’t have the words, she was dumb, she knew hardly anything, but she knew what was coming in the next few days and she knew she couldn’t escape it ... and yet, there was always a kernel of a dream in the deepest part of her soul, and she let the sweetness of the little green child be part of that dream. 

You Were Marked: Next Chapter ->

[illumins]

════ஓ๑ ᴄʜᴘ.5 ๑ஓ════

“Lena!” The Captain's urgent shouts had been chasing after her ever since she set off in pursuit of the haunting sound. His initial surprise had sent him stumbling backward into the water, an audible curse mingling with his call of her name. She had spared him a fleeting glance, offering a hasty apology, but her momentum had carried her on, heedless.

Her fingers clung tenaciously to her damp and heavy trousers, the water’s weight serving as an anchor. Her blouse clung to her skin as the wind bore down on her, ruffling her hair and battering her ears. Her eyes teared up from the force of the wind, her mouth slightly agape as she gasped for precious lungfuls of air. Every fiber of her being ached, her body practically screaming at her to stop, yet her insatiable curiosity ignited a reservoir of courage within her. Lena's decisions had never been guided by logic or rationality, but by the tumultuous currents of emotion. This trait had led her into troubles as a child, inviting scoldings from Mr. Freed. It had propelled her to seek refuge with a captain, to escape her future, and now, to dash headlong into the depths of a jungle forest.

The sensation of sand prickling the soles of her feet was accompanied by a burning ache in her lungs, a silent mantra repeating in her mind—I should stop. But she couldn't yield, not now, not when the melody might vanish again, perhaps forever.

With the sun now set, the sky unfurled in a canvas of deep blues and purples, mirroring the abyssal depths of the sea below. The birds' daylight songs had gradually faded, replaced by the nocturnal chorus of those that ventured out under the cover of darkness. The day's heat had surrendered to a cooling chill, carried on the wings of the night breeze. It was in this altered ambiance that she suddenly came to a jarring halt, her feet brushing against the softness of grass. Gazing upward, she beheld a verdant canopy, a tapestry woven from the foliage of tropical trees. Though the full moon attempted to pierce through the dense foliage, only a smattering of pale streaks managed to break through, casting uneven patches of illumination onto the jungle floor. And just as abruptly as it had begun, the haunting melody ceased, leaving her heart plummeting with a sense of loss—no, no, no.

Just as she was poised to launch herself into another sprint, a sudden and firm tug brought her to a jolting halt. Casting a glance over her shoulder, she found Captain Canary gripping her left arm, his breathing labored, hair damp and disheveled. His free hand rested on his hip as he struggled to draw deep breaths. “Lena—” he began, but before he could continue, she attempted to wrench her arm away from his grasp. He promptly tightened his hold, pulling her arm towards him with a force that unbalanced her. She stumbled, her trajectory halting abruptly against his chest, where he held her ensnared. His gaze was fixed upon her, a mix of exasperation and something more evident in his eyes this time—annoyance.

His gaze averted from her, focusing on the dense expanse of the jungle ahead. As his eyes met hers again, they held a deeper, more palpable anger. "Do you have a death wish? Is that it?" he demanded, his tone edged with frustration.

Confusion swirled within her. No, of course not. “I—” Her words faltered as she realized the unyielding grip he maintained on her arm. In a renewed attempt to break free, she pushed against his hold, but her efforts proved futile. “Let go! Hey!—”

“So you can sprint off again? No. Talk,” he asserted resolutely, both of his arms now encircling her, effectively imprisoning her within his embrace.

A surge of exasperation welled up within her, prompting her to mutter, “Why does it matter to you?” Her complaint was abruptly cut short by a startled yelp as his head collided with hers.

“Quit being dramatic, Lena,” he retorted, his voice carrying a note of impatience.

She battled the impulse to speak, determined to display the stubbornness she was known for, yet his expression mirrored her own. A maddening realization struck her—this standoff could well persist into the night, regardless if it kills him. “There's something that's been gnawing at me,” she forced the words out, her teeth clenched with each syllable, irritated by how effortlessly he had broken through her defenses.

“What?” he urged her.

Summoning every ounce of her willpower, she released a frustrated breath and compressed her lips. Redirecting her gaze away from him, she directed it towards the vacant stretch of beach, where the moonlight fragmented across the ocean's surface. An unsettling notion she had strived to avoid crept back into her thoughts, persistent in its grip—‘What if I'm turning into her? Will I succumb to madness as she did? Did it all start with a mere melody and then spiraled into delusion?’ She felt an overwhelming sense of suffocation, not solely because of his presence, but due to the impending reality of her deepest fear. “I need reassurance that it's real,” she confessed, her voice fracturing with emotion.

“What do you mean?” For the first time, his tone softened to a mere whisper.

Meeting his gaze, she found herself unable to conceal the vulnerability that lay within her. She fought back the urge to pout or the potential for a sob to slip through if she allowed herself to speak too much. “I need to be sure…” She drew in a steadying breath, her inhale audible in the silence that hung between them. “I can't become… like her,”  her voice trembled, her breathing growing increasingly rapid.

His grip around her began to loosen, his fingers trailing from her arm to her shoulders, sensing the tension that gripped her. As her head shook in silent desperation, she managed to speak through the surge of emotion, “I can't…” Another fervent shake of her head, “I can't, Captain.” The dam holding back her pent-up emotions finally burst, and a sob escaped her, punctuating her confession.

In the whirlwind of her thoughts, she couldn't help but imagine the alternate reality where she had departed for Canoga, married as planned. Would the haunting melody have pursued her there relentlessly? Would madness have claimed her in that distant place as it seemed to be doing now? And would her husband, perhaps mirroring her father's actions, have eventually cast her aside, just as her mother had been? Yet, here she was, surrounded by pirates on an isolated island, and the elusive melody had once more slipped through her grasp.

“Alright, okay,” he responded, attempting to offer reassurance. His gaze shifted upwards, fixated on the densely wooded expanse ahead. “We'll search for it,” he conceded, a hint of determination in his tone, “but you'll stay close behind me.”

Lena nodded in agreement and stepped back, allowing the Captain to take the lead. He pushed his hair back from his face, moving forward with a sense of vigilance, acutely aware of their surroundings. He even pointed out the potential dangers of her being barefoot, warning about the possibility of snakes or unnoticed spiders lurking in their path. A shiver rippled through her, goosebumps prickling her skin as she imagined the unsettling possibilities. Her hands trembled with a mixture of disgust and fear before she hurriedly closed the distance between them.

“So, what exactly are we looking for?”

She toyed with various ways to explain it to him, but finding none that conveyed her thoughts clearly. “It's a melody,” she finally admitted, her voice barely more than a hushed confession. “That's what I've been hearing recently, but this time it's stronger.”

The Captain came to an abrupt stop, his expression inscrutable. She wondered what unkind thoughts might be swirling in his mind. Maybe he’ll say them, she pondered anxiously. “You don't have to come,” she added, struggling to maintain a semblance of dignity. “I never asked you to.”

He sighed and shook his head. “I was trying to figure out how to find something we can't see,” he confessed, offering her a moment of insight into his thought process. “We'll head to a place I know is safe. If we find nothing by then, we'll turn back. Alright, Lena?”

Every fiber of her being longed to refuse, to stay behind and unravel the enigma of the haunting melody. But she recognized that he was the one with a crew, a ship, and a way off this island. She doubted that a solitary existence on this island was the path she truly desired. “Fair,” she reluctantly agreed.

He nodded, his gaze sweeping over her before he turned to lead the way to what he considered a safer location. The leaves overhead swayed with each gust of wind, creating a symphony of screeches and calls from the various birds and creatures that inhabited the jungle, lending an eerie weight to the atmosphere. Slivers of light trickled through the dense canopy above, briefly reminding her of how light had pierced the water's surface when she had plunged beneath it. Minutes slipped away, and her ankles throbbed with discomfort, tension coursing up her legs to her knees and lower back. She couldn't help but emit a quiet hiss of pain, which he noticed but chose to ignore. The entrance they had come through had long vanished, replaced by an endless sea of lush greenery.

“When do we set sail for Canoga?” she inquired in a near-whisper.

“In two days,” he replied without looking back, his focus still fixed on the path ahead.

“Oh…” She wanted to bring up the idea she had floated to Mark earlier, about potentially staying aboard until they reached a new land or made it to Pearl Reef. But she couldn't shake off Mark's words and the realization they had prompted. She hadn't earned his trust or respect, nor did she deserve it. She could only imagine how exasperating her antics must have been for him. She had darted about and behaved like a child throughout the journey, and now, for the first time, she glimpsed what Mr. Freed had endured her entire life as her caregiver—a child.

Breaking the silence, he cast a brief glance back at her. “So, may I ask why you left your life of luxuries?”

She hesitated initially but reminded herself that falsehoods wouldn't serve any purpose now. “I wanted my freedom,” she confessed, her voice tinged with determination.

Observing the subtle shake of his head and the disapproving raise of his index finger, she felt a pang of unease. “Everyone wants freedom, Lena,” he chided gently. “What's the real reason?”

“Forced marriage,” she replied curtly, her grip on her clothes tightening until her knuckles turned an almost ghostly white.

He emitted an amused 'ooh,' his tone dripping with curiosity. “To whom?”

“Marquis of Li'Pold,” she stated, her voice carrying a bitter edge.

He turned around, continuing to walk backward as he narrowed his eyes. “And you are…” he pointed at her, awaiting an answer.

She rolled her eyes, a touch of annoyance coloring her tone. “A daughter of a Knight.”

He clicked his tongue in acknowledgment. “So high up you go,” he mused, before turning forward again, resuming their trek through the jungle.

“What about you?” She deemed it only fair to inquire about his life since he had probed into hers.

He responded with a hint of teasing in his voice, drawing out her name, “What do you wish to know, Lena?”

She arched a brow. “How did a child come to be a Captain?”

“Like all men do, force,” he replied succinctly.

In response, she quickened her pace until she was walking beside him once more. For a fleeting moment, her heart skipped a beat at the sight of him. The moonlight cast a gentle glow on his honeyed skin. His red hair, now slowly drying into a tousled mess, somehow seemed effortlessly stylish. Long lashes brushed against his full cheeks each time he paused to rest his gaze on her. He met her eyes with a sly smirk. “Yes?”

She caught herself and continued, “Fine, how did a child end up with a group of pirates?”

He halted in his tracks, his brows furrowing. “Do you see me as a child, Lena?”

What? Her own question now made her ponder the age difference between them for the first time. She had never really questioned it before; it had seemed absurd to think of anyone as young as a Captain, even among pirates. But as she observed him, she couldn't help but notice his youthful appearance, although he did not look as young as Jisung.

He tilted his head slightly and drew closer than she felt comfortable with. He had done this before, and every time, it left her feeling either with fear or breathlessness. She looked up at him, attempting to take a breath, but the scent of sea that wafted from him, tinged with a hint of citrus, heightened her awareness of how she might smell, drenched in sweat and surrounded by the musk of men.

His hand reached for her face, gently tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “So do you, Lena?”

Flustered, she placed a hand on his chest and gently pushed him away. “No, I don't.”

She didn't quite understand why, but her response elicited a smile from him, and he signaled for her to walk ahead. “So, what did Gus tell you?” he asked.

“How—”

“Your obsession with calling me a 'child.' I like to think I'm older than you,”  he quipped. She rolled her eyes, and he scoffed. “Would you like to know that too, Lena? I was born on June 6th, 1700. How about you?”

“April 18th, 1701,” she mumbled.

“I can see why your father married you off then,” he remarked, attempting a joke.

His comment caught her off guard, and she gasped at his poor attempt at humor. “That should have been a choice.”

“In what world? You're twenty-one. A woman five years younger than you would have had three or four children by now,” he stated matter-of-factly.

For some reason, his words stung more than any of his previous thoughtless remarks. Perhaps it was because, deep down, she believed there was some truth to them. She could have been a wife by now, tending to a brood of children and complaining about them to her husband. She could have had that life with the Marquis, even though none of it would have truly belonged to her.

Fueled by a sudden surge of anger, she retorted, “So what? Do you believe a woman's duty is limited to procreation and entertaining house guests while her husband goes off on important quests?”

He abruptly stopped once more, his expression confused. “I never said that.”

She bit her tongue, irritated with herself for taking out her frustration on him. “Sorry,” she muttered.

He shrugged and continued, “So, what did my amazing cook tell you about my younger years?”

“That you tricked the previous Captain into believing you were older than you actually were. You did everything I did—”

His arms now rested across his chest as he nodded. “Ah, so all my bad moments, then.”

She smirked. “Were there any good ones?”

He looked at her, surprise dancing in his eyes, but a hint of amusement too. “And she jokes.” Lena inclined her head in acknowledgement, smiling in return. “Well, I'll have you know, yes, I do believe I had great moments before I became Captain.”

Now it was her turn to walk backward as she moved in front of him. “Oh, then do tell, Captain Canary.”

“Haechan,” he stated.

"What?" She was aware that Haechan was his real name, but she couldn't understand why he had suddenly brought it up.

“You can call me Haechan, I’m not your Captain, never was.”

“But aren't names kept for those close to you?”

He remained silent, his gaze fixed on her, and she could see the confusion in her eyes mirrored in his. As if breaking from a trance, he quickly redirected the conversation. “I believe my greatest moment was when I overthrew the old Captain. He was a nasty one, always toying with others' lives, abandoning his crew if he deemed them unfit for the journey. Loyalty wasn't earned but bought with him.”

“Then how did you do it?” 

“I killed him.”

Her breath caught in her throat, and once again, that familiar mix of fear and breathlessness washed over her. This time, it was both at once.

A sudden sound of rushing water enveloped the night, and his face lit up with happiness, a childlike delight. Lena turned around and saw a hint of a waterfall in the distance, resembling an opalescent pool that had captured all the stars from the sky. She gasped in amazement and glanced at him, sharing in his newfound excitement.

“Is this it?” she asked.

He nodded. “I may not know what you're seeking, but I thought you'd at least like the sight of a waterfall.”

Lena agreed, but a pang of disappointment pricked her heart. The melody hadn't returned, or at least she hadn't noticed it.

The Captain took her arm and started hurrying toward the waterfall. “Even if you don't find it today, Lena, there's always a tomorrow.”

As they made their way, she couldn't help but think about his earlier admission. The hands of a killer held her with an unexpected tenderness, and it left her feeling strangely conflicted. She wasn't sure why she was surprised; after all, pirate stories were filled with violence and death, and he was no exception. Yet, a small part of her had hoped that he might be different, that he might be the exception to the dark tales that surrounded his kind.

The waterfall's bed rippled, casting a mesmerizing dance of moonlight on the gently undulating surface. Overhead, the canopy that had concealed their path earlier now opened up, revealing the night sky. In this newfound light, Lena's eyes were drawn to a multitude of birds nesting above them. Some of them took flight, displaying their vibrant, colorful feathers, and she couldn't help but gasp in wonder.

From behind her, there was a sudden shuffling sound followed by a playful splash. She yelped as water splattered her right side. Laughter rang out in the night, and despite her attempt to put on an annoyed expression when she met his gaze, his bright smile and excitement were infectious. Lena found herself laughing as well, a rush of delight and nervous energy coursing through her.

The Captain waded out of the pool, his pants sagging low on his hips, and Lena couldn't help but notice the scars that marked his stomach and sides. Yet, her attention was captured by his extended hand, reaching out to her. She looked at him, water cascading from his hair, down his face, and dripping from his jaw. His gentle smile invited her to join him, and it warmed her from within.

“I promise the water isn't cold,” he reassured her, waving his extended hand softly.

Lena didn't hesitate. She took his hand.

Beside her, he led her into the water until they reached the edge of the rocky floor, which dropped away into a dark abyss below. He mentioned how he had once dived in and discovered a school of colorful fish and, as far as he could tell, perhaps underwater caves. Lena wasn't entirely sure how safe she felt knowing that beneath them lay more than just solid rock. When he noticed the unease on her face, he offered reassuring words, assuring her that it was safe.

He released her hand, and for a moment, panic surged through her as she imagined herself sinking effortlessly. However, he demonstrated deep breaths, and she followed suit, allowing herself to float. 

“I'm sorry,” he apologized, his voice tinged with remorse. Confused, she encouraged him to explain. “I didn't mean for you to drown, it was a trick that went wrong,” he clarified, regret etched across his features.

She thanked him with a warm smile, and he returned the gesture. The ambient sounds of rushing water and the gentle serenade of silent bird songs provided a backdrop to the thrumming of her heart. He was close, and for reasons she couldn't quite fathom, she longed to hold him again, just as she had done on the beach. Her fingertips tingled with the desire to wipe away every drop of water that clung to his face, delicately tracing her touch along his cheek. The small black moles that adorned his face and neck seemed more pronounced now, and under his gaze, she felt small yet warmly embraced, a stark contrast to the vulnerability he had often evoked in her.

“Lena—”

She caught herself getting too close; hastily clearing her throat, she redirected her attention to a large rock that jutted out beside the waterfall, extending over the pool they were in. She nodded toward it. “Do you think we can get a better view from up there?”

He glanced behind him, and his excitement surged once more. “Oh, absolutely,” he exclaimed, beginning to swim toward the edge of the pool. “Come on!” he called, urging her to follow.

When Lena reached the edge of the pool, he didn't wait for her and dashed towards the rock, immediately beginning his ascent. Lena clung to her clothes, now soaked and weighing her down. They felt like an anchor pulling on her body. However, as her strength gradually returned and her lungs filled with air, she mustered the energy to follow his lead. She copied his movements, scaling the jutting edges of the rock and adhering to his guidance whenever she hesitated.

Upon reaching the top, her legs felt wobbly, and she fought off a wave of embarrassment as he steadied her. Embarrassment tinged her cheeks as he held onto her for support. While her courage could be attributed to some of her more adventurous actions, she couldn't deny that her upbringing had shaped her into a lady of the court, not one accustomed to wandering through jungles at night.

With her in his arms, he brought the two to the edge and she overlooked the pool below and the waterfall still above. Yet, the trees were now at eyesight and she saw the trail of smoke from the campsite they had left. She felt untouched, like the birds she’d seen tonight; the world too small to grab onto her. And when she turned to him to see if he shared the same admiration for it all, she was met with his eyes. Has he been staring at me?

“Do you know what my favorite part about coming up here is?” he asked.

She shook her head, a hint of curiosity in her eyes. ��Besides the view?”

“The fall,” he replied, nodding toward the precipice below. Her eyes widened, and she instinctively took a step back.

Her heart raced as memories of her plunge into the ocean flooded back, reigniting her fear of the water. She continued to retreat until he grabbed her hand, halting her and giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Come on, Lena,” he urged. “Do you want to be scared forever?”

His words resonated with her, slowly coaxing her forward. Each step felt both dreadful and exhilarating. Where her strength waned, he seemed to infuse her with more. As she neared him, he wrapped his right arm around her left, their fingers entwining. Together, they stood at the precipice, with her feeling more dread and him more excitement. The pool below now appeared darker, and the waterfall's roar echoed the crashing waves from her fall. The rock seemed like a narrow plank, threatening to tip her over, but he steadied her, guiding her through the breathing exercises he had taught her.

Before the fall, before the countdown, he had uttered simple words, “Bravery is faith.” And as the wind tried to snatch her, mistaking her for a bird perhaps, she slipped right through its grasp. Her breath caught in her lungs as the water drew closer with each passing second. The last thing she saw before her feet broke the water's surface was Captain Canary's wide smile gazing down at the water below.

Then came the deafening silence that followed the condensed whoosh. It was the part she hated the most, the one that made her wonder if she had died and was experiencing mere fragments of seconds before life slipped away. Her eyes remained closed, fearing that it was all true. She felt light yet heavy all at once, and the firm hand she had gripped before her fall had also slipped away. Loneliness, darkness, cold, and nothingness enveloped her. Where is he? she begged herself, blindly reaching out, just as she had done so many times in her dreams. Please, she wanted to cry out, her heart racing as her throat constricted, yearning for air. I'm alive, she reassured herself.

Lena continued to search for him, and when an arm encircled her waist, she clung to it, her hands reaching for his face, tracing the features she remembered. She needed to make sure it wasn't a ghost. His hand cupped hers briefly, then it moved to her face, gently brushing her closed eyes. At that moment, Lena understood what he meant. He invited her to see, to trust.

When Lena finally opened her eyes, the world was a blurry, stinging mess. Her instinct was to rub them, but Captain Canary signaled for her to blink, so she did. Slowly, her hazy sight began to clear, and she saw him smiling, giving her a thumbs-up. He pointed below them, revealing partially lit caves and schools of fish gliding past. Giddiness filled her cold body, bringing a semblance of warmth to her.

He then motioned for them to ascend, and he went first. Following closely behind, Lena took big strides upward, heading for the surface. That's when she heard it—the melody. It sounded closer than ever. She looked down toward the depths, ready to dive, but Captain Canary's grip on her arm prevented her.

He pulled her up, and when her head broke through the surface, she gasped heavily, coughing out bits of water that had begun to infiltrate her mouth before she resurfaced.

“What in the world, Lena! You could have drowned!” he scolded her between heavy breaths.

With her legs feeling like jelly, she continued to float, pushing her wet hair away from her face and taking deep gulps of air. She scanned the area, searching for any trace of the elusive melody. “It was right—here,” she gasped and coughed.

“What was?” he asked, still sounding angry.

“The melody!” she exclaimed, her voice filled with exhaustion and frustration. She slapped the water in frustration. "It was right here!"

“Lena—”

She cut him off, her voice resolute. “No! No. You said you would help me, remember?” She rubbed her face, trying to calm herself and wiping away droplets of water. “I'm staying here.”

“I understand, but you need to rest—”

She took a deep gulp of air and dove down, just as he had taught her. Underwater, she felt a sense of being lost, desperately needing to hear the melody again to guide her. Lena closed her eyes, searching for it in the silence, determined to find it. Her fingers began to grow cold, but she clenched them and focused. Come on, she begged, her heart and mind yearning for the peace of knowing.

Amidst the silence, a thought struck her—she hummed. Every note she could remember before the melody's song was abruptly cut short. With each note, she felt her chest tighten as her air supply dwindled. Instinctively, her hands reached for her chest and throat, but there was no air to be found. As she sang the last falling note, she heard it again. The melody sang in harmony with her, like a call meant just for her. Her eyes sprang open, scanning the dimming darkness, until she saw it. A blue glow emanated from the walls, etched into them. From a distance, she couldn't discern its nature, only that it was what had been summoning her.

But as before, she was abruptly pulled away by him, the weight of the water tugging at her limbs as she was hauled to the surface. Coughing and inhaling vigorously, she welcomed the cool air that kissed her skin. This time, he didn't stop, taking her out towards the pool's edge until he forced her to crawl out of the water and onto the grass.

As her lungs filled with air through tired aches, she glared at him, demanding an explanation. “Why!”

He slammed his hand onto the ground in frustration. “Why? Because I'm not letting you die!” he yelled, his outburst startling her.

She didn't know how to respond; she had never seen him like this. He stared at her for a moment, his frustration palpable, before rolling his eyes and sprawling out on his back, exhaling wearily. She sighed inwardly. Fine. Rising to her feet, she extended her hand toward him, offering help. He hesitated for a moment, then grabbed it abruptly. She stumbled as his weight unexpectedly pulled on her, but she managed to steady herself once he was on his feet.

He patted himself down, and she gestured toward the pool. “I saw it.”

“We moved on from hearing?” he mused, his usual charm returning.

Ah, there he is. “Sure,” she quipped. “I saw it. I think it's stuck on the rock walls. Since you're feeling like a savior today, why don't you go get it?”

He stepped back into the pool, splashing some water. “And what is it, may I ask?”

“I couldn't properly see it. It glowed blue, on the left side, slightly further down.”

“Fine,” he grumbled, his bitterness evident. She watched as he swam further and further into the pool until he reached its center. There, he paused for a few moments, taking in deep breaths, before submerging himself completely. His red hair vanished beneath the water's surface, leaving only the occasional glint from the moonlight reflecting on the ripples.

She waited for him by the edge, letting the cool water caress her feet. The waterfall continued its ceaseless descent, and she found herself lost in thoughts about what it would be like to sit beneath it, to feel the weight of the cascading water on her shoulders, only to step away when the pressure became too much.

As seconds turned into minutes, a nervous unease crept over Lena. She absentmindedly stretched and scrunched her fingers as she scanned the water's surface, searching for any sign of him. Is this how he felt when I was underwater? she wondered. Had he been standing here, waiting for her and fearing the worst as she explored beneath the waters? With growing anxiety, she took a step closer to the pool's edge, prepared to jump in. Just as she was about to act on her worry, his head emerged from the water, and she released a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding.

Small doses of guilt washed over her as she sprinted towards him. He was tirelessly trying to swim back to the edge. The water had risen to her hips by the time he caught up, and she looped an arm around his torso, guiding his left arm over her shoulder. With every ounce of strength she could muster, she assisted him in walking towards the grassy floor and helped him lie down.

As he rested there, his chest rising and falling in rapid succession, her eyes widened at the sight of a blue vintage pendant hanging around his neck. It glimmered in the moonlight, and her fingers lightly grazed its intricately carved surface.

“What you were looking for…” he said, his voice exasperated, “was a necklace.” He pushed himself up to sit, steadying himself on his elbows.

Lena watched from her kneeling position as he removed the necklace from around his neck and then gestured for her to tilt hers. She obeyed, and felt his hands move over her head, placing a cool metal chain around her neck and collarbone. The pendant hung at the center of her chest, slightly longer than she would have preferred, but she held it delicately.

He flopped back onto the grass and rested one hand on his chest, exhaustion evident in his eyes. “Can we go back now?” he pleaded, looking at her.

She nodded, and out of guilt for how exhausted he looked, she patted his resting hand. “Thank you, Haechan.”

With closed eyes, he offered a faint smile. “You're welcome, Lena.”

𔘓⁩ ᵗⁱᵖʲᵃʳ

[boyheros]

finally tried to sketch out a little of how i've been imagining. the cloning machine. not too crazy or maybe it is i dont know. the base black membrane is not just a floating window i promise, it's attached to the rest of the thing and is supposed to swing down and lower into the feeder reservoir (crucially, with the part facing us right now facing upwards when it's moved parallel to the floor, as opposed to just closing it face-to-face like a laptop or something) but for some reason i'm struggling to imagine what a mechanism that could do that would look like. even though it's not thaaat complicated.

anyways. the membrane is fed the template DNA (blood is most often used) and once it accepts the sample it is swung down into the body tray and sinks into the feeder reservoir, where all the "raw materials" are i guess. i've been envisioning that the membrane frame has some sort of shutter element that can move the membrane around but i haven't figured out if i could design it to make sense mechanically yet? but the reason i want that is because once the membrane accepts the DNA sample it starts. wiggling around on it's own. and it would kinda be nasty as hell if you could see it pulling the shutters open and closed... cool right.

the reservoir is initially filled with just . raw materials that a human could be made of. fullmetal alchemist style like chemicals i guess. but as the machine gets used it eventually all grows into weird amorphous meat mess in there. it's fine for it to stay that way for a while (esp. bc base black needs to be attached to living material in order not to decay) but if you keep it too long the machine will try to self-replicate and make clones willy-nilly. and it gets more likely to be DNA contaminated. so the whole machine has to be gutted every once in a while.

hazmat suits just because yeah lots of weird human clone goo but also base black is a semi-corporeal substance meant for gluing your soul to your body. if you touch it with your skin, other organic materials like cotton fiber, or with only a thin layer covering you like latex gloves, it WILL attach to you and you WILL contaminate the whole thing. employees are even advised not to enter the room if they have open wounds of any kind cuz. the machine loves the flesh.

[cats-spilled-wine]

Light at the End of the Tunnel

A while back, I wrote this little story for a writing competition. And although I didn't even get an honorable mention, I'm still so proud of it! And, well... the more I write, the more I improve, so this really was only a lesson. A warm-up, so to speak ;). And getting some feedback from people other than family is always refreshing and appreciated.

Without further ado... enjoy!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Make haste and be careful”.

Those were the very words now resounding almost painfully inside Ryder’s head, repeated by his subconscious every second. Often enough that they could be considered a vow he was desperately trying to fulfill, or a warning that could very well be his sheet-anchor. Yet, as simple as it seemed to be, he found himself struggling to keep the promise.

Still, he ran.

The frigid night wind wailing in the clearing akin to raw, disembodied chaos lashed his face mercilessly with its frosty whip. Puncture holes in his old shoes were mended with some of the icy powder that enveloped the gloomy landscape, driving cruel needles of pure, cold agony into his flesh.

He ran for what seemed like forever before finally collapsing, gasping for air. A bare hand – his, he realized – knuckles nearly white, plunged into the thick snow, seeking support for the limp, heavy body.

A frown slowly spread across the tired, miserable face, for the pristine white below him was now spotted with red drops. Pale fingers absentmindedly made their way to his blue lips, only to withdraw with hot, sticky liquid smeared on the fingertips.

Ryder whipped around when a low, eerie wail echoed in the forest behind him, filling him with dread. It sounded almost… victorious.

– Ailith – a barely audible, choked whisper escaped his throat, hoarse from the blood. Lacking any worthy words to honor his lost friend – his mentor – he simply knelt, while a stray tear tumbled down his cheek. – Thank you.

“In everything I do, I always have a good reason, remember?”. Ryder smiled grimly when an image of his partner flashed through his mind. “I am becoming old; you see, my hair hasn't always been touched with this noble white colour. I won’t be needed as much as you will be… with your hair still so plain”.

A smile warmed his face at the memory… like a ray of sunlight caressing a sea's surface, only to be immediately enshrouded and devoured by dark waves of the barbarous ocean. Determination flashed in his eyes, and Ryder stumbled onto his feet once more.

He didn’t know her well – if at all – but the countless hours they spent working together and the memories they created were enough for him. She was never eager to share her life story with him; only the skills he sorely needed for his missions. And he respected that.

He gritted his teeth and continued his journey. He would make her proud.

The merciless wind caused brown locks to obscure his vision, and it took every ounce of willpower and determination not to collapse every other step he took. The progress he was making was slow, he knew; but at least he was moving forwards. Trembling hands snaked around his torso, desperately trying to preserve some warmth.

“Warmth?”, a sarcastic comment wormed its way into his mind. “Whatever warmth your body held was lost days ago”.

So cruel, so true… it made him want to laugh hysterically. Alas, the only action his body was capable of was a pitiful shiver. Though tall and normally fit; he now looked no better than a corpse.

Another monotonous cry tore through the air, and Ryder stifled a powerless lament threatening to break free from his constricted throat. Every ounce of his soul, every fiber of his body screamed at him to run. But to no avail; he was already on the brink of running out of his reservoirs of strength. He couldn’t push himself to walk any faster, and instead continued stumbling forwards like a blind, helpless prey, not even feeling his bone-white hands anymore.

Without a reachable destination, without a mentor, he was lost.

Life… what was it if not a cruel gift?

Such a philosophical pondering, yet what else was there he could think about? For the dreaded sound drew nearer by the second, and a terrified yet resigned voice kept telling the stubborn adventurer that it would eventually reach him.

“Reach, shred and delimb…” 

Yet still, his legs kept carrying him forwards.

Perhaps Lady Luck has finally smiled at him, or his doom simply got lost somewhere in the blizzard; for in front of him, behind the thick curtain of swirling snowflakes, he saw the end of the clearing.

Having now something to motivate him, to push him to the very limit, he conviced his feet to move faster, and soon, with a sigh of relief, he disappeared into the thicket. As swiftly as he could – which was slow, so, so slow at best – he hauled himself onto a branch of a tall tree. Balancing himself on it was much more difficult than he predicted; but then again, he wasn't exactly in his best shape. And this proved to be an incredibly disastrous problem.

He clenched his teeth when he nearly lost his footing on the slippery surface for the seventh time already, sifling a curse. Slowly and steadily, he made his way to another tree; then another, and continued to do so until he felt satisfaction warming his heart, and teeth nearly shattering from him tensing his jaw.

However cruel the blizzard was, he prayed forlornly it wouldn’t stop. The swirling, frosty wind – along with the dancing snow – made detecting his scent nearly impossible.

Finding the most hidden spot on his tree, Ryder sat down and pushed his back against the bark, curling up in the hopes of warming himself. As content as he could possibly be in this pitiful situation, he froze and didn’t dare to move again.

He waited five minutes, then ten, and only when twenty slowly turned into thirty did he hear movement.

It was first drowned in the howling wind, and therefore barely audible. Nevertheless, the young man’s keen hearing picked up the sound he dreaded: a soft padding of feet in the snow.

He was well hidden and knew nothing would be able to spot him. This, however, meant that he, too, could see nothing of what was happening below him. Still, he didn’t dare to make the slightest movement, purposefully taking slow and deep breaths.

His hunter had most likely stopped under the tree he climbed first, and was now slowly crawling through the forest, carefully sniffing the air. 

Ryder suppressed a shiver when he remembered its claws, enabling the seft to climb. And although he knew it was too big to smoothly make its way up these trees, it could still try. Were it successful...

Now he was relieved that he had heeded Ailith’s lesson and made a “track maze” through the trees despite the poor state he was in, purposefully crossing the same tree more than once. He was exhausted, yes; but he wasn’t going to let his mentor’s death be in vain…

And adrenaline truly was a wonder.

Now he could only hope that he had done enough to not get caught.

Ryder managed to force himself to breathe, although as quietly as possible; it would do him no good if he suddenly gasped for air, as his pursuer would undoubtedly hear this.

He strained his ears, trying to pick up the faintest sounds. With bated breath he listened as the creature – the thing that has cost him so much already – slowly prowled through the snow, sniffing the air. He dared not move, and remained frozen in his spot, terrified.

To his surprise and utmost relief, his hunter didn’t linger and continued trying to locate him elsewhere. His trick had worked… it worked…

Truly?

Ryder remained still; he knew of the beast’s trickery and suspected a trap. Surely, he can't have escaped that easily? But not even a few minutes passed and a sharp, foul wail escaped the creature’s throat somewhere in the distance; a cry of desperation and frustration.

The man stiffened again when the footsteps seemed to approach once more. He could hear the beast moan, circle around in distress, and sniff the air desperately. All of this was – however – futile, and soon another scream of raw agony cut through the howling wind. Shortly, the hasty footsteps receded, and Ryder was left alone. 

It… worked?

He could feel the deep relief crashing into him with the force of an avalanche, for the creature had left for now.

But there was also anguish. 

An unbearable, racking despair, laced with the swirling and suffocating shadows of grief: his mentor departed from this world – and not in peace.

“Ironic, isn’t it?”, he mused, in his mind playing out the conversation he would have had with her, were she still alive. “Your whole life, you fought them during your many dangerous quests, yet they reached you during this seemingly effortless one… he said…”

And so, as dusk grew into a starless night, he continued his monologue to her, ignoring the steady flow of tears on his dirty and unnaturally pale face.

“It was supposed to be elementary…!”

“Why…”

~~~

Molly waltzed around the kitchen, big ladle in hand and mirth in her heart. She tiptoed to the stew on the fireplace, tasting it with concentration written all over her face.

– Not enough tomaaaatoeees – she sang theatrically, and reached into the opened jar on the counter with her ladle. She pulled out two scoops, dumped them happily into the cast iron pot, and mixed it all thoroughly.

– Dear me – she gasped, and continued her aria: – Could it be…! That it’s almost…! – Here she dipped the ladle in the stew again, sipped, smacked her lips and finished: – Do-o-o-ne! – she ended, prolonging all the vowels on a steady note and a high pitch.

Her shenanigans came to an abrupt end when a sudden knock came from the front door. Startled, she stared at it, wide eyed. 

Oh dear… if someone had heard her…

Her mind snapped back into focus when the knock was hesitantly repeated, and she quickly scurried to the vestibule, heavy ladle still tightly gripped in one hand. Her steps faltered, eyes flickering to the counter to stare contemplatively at the heavy meat knife. Darting over, she swiftly grabbed it, and only then did she tiptoe over to the door. Unsure, she peered out a small window, and furrowed her brow upon seeing a stranger. 

While her first instinct was to pretend that nobody was home, she was forced to reconsider when she noticed he seemed to be bloodied, nearly frozen to death and on the verge of collapsing.

After a quick debate with herself, she cautiously opened the door, shivering as cold air hit her with full force, sending snowflakes into her home.

– May I help you? – she asked, trying to keep her voice neutral and polite.

– Aye… – Concern seeped into her mask upon hearing the hoarse whisper, sounding as if it was forcefully choked out of a shredded throat. 

Upon seeing her reaction, the young man cleared his throat, ignoring the metallic tang of blood in his mouth and continued: – I know I am asking for much, but… would it perhaps be possible for me to stay for a night? No longer, you have my word.

– There’s an inn just ‘round the corner… – she objected hesitantly.

– It is a matter of… – He broke into another coughing fit. – Of keeping anonymous. You see, I cannot afford to make my face known.

– Are you being pursued, mister? – Molly inquired, intrigued.

– I’m afraid so, aye.

– Hmm… an assassin, perhaps?

– I’m no assassin, my lady – Ryder responded, forcing a tired smile onto his face.

– Precisely what an assassin would say – she chuckled, still very much unsure.

– A fair point – he agreed. – How can I know you’re not a graveyard wraith?

– Well, for one, I exist. – Molly chewed on her bottom lip, a frown indicating she was lost in thought.

Through her chaotic ponderings, she was still aware of the pleading gaze fixated on her. 

Finally, she relented.

– Very well. You may come in. – The woman smiled lightly and stepped aside to let the weary traveler inside. Deeply grateful, Ryder entered and sighed contentedly as warm air tingled his nervous system back to work.

“Safe, warm… you're safe…”

– Please, take a seat – Molly pointed at a chair near the fireplace, where the stew was almost done. – Food should be ready soon, if you’re hungry. You can freshen up before supper.

– I am forever grateful – he responded, collapsing on a chair with a groan. – Might I trouble you for your name?

Molly hesitated. He didn’t look disreputable… nay, he seemed honest.

– Molly – she curtsied lightly. – And you, mister?

– Ryder – the guest provided, and winced when the first wave of searing pain shot through his fingers, and up to his very shoulders.

– Are you alright?

Ryder dipped his head stiffly. It was good, the pain; at least he knew his fingers weren’t dead. But now he was up for a few hours of torture, since his hands and feet were paralyzed from frost exposure.

– I’m afraid I just have to wait through it – he hissed through the pain.

– Your clothes are all torn – she realized. – And your shoes… Why go out wearing such ratty shoes?!

– My mother wasn’t there to supervise.

Molly chuckled at the dry joke.

– I’m sure I’ll find something of my father’s that will fit you.

“Safe…”

~~~

By the time evening arrived, Ryder’s hands and feet were red and swollen. He managed to freshen up and felt better, now that he wasn’t covered in blood and dirt. 

As for his wounds… 

Although he took care of them as best as he could, some required proper treatment, so he’d have to find a medic once he reached his destination.

If.

When.

True to her words, Molly did manage to find a set of clothing, a warm cloak and thick boots that fitted him. Now, they were both sitting by the fireplace, eating stew with slices of bread generously covered in butter.

– Say, where are your parents?

Molly swallowed the piece of beef she was busy chewing.

– Oh, they’re away on a short journey.

Content and warm, they now felt more at ease in each other’s presence, while Ryder – slowly but surely – was recovering his strength.

– I believe this is one of the best stews I’ve had in my life.

The dark-haired woman smiled at the compliment.

– I’m glad to hear it. It’s an old recipe, but sure to mend a broken spirit.

– True.

– Forgive me, but I must ask; you’re running from something?

– Aye – he sighed.

– And what would that be?

– Sefts, I’m afraid.

Molly straightened and eyed him carefully.

– They’re but a myth, sir. A legend.

– A myth, you say? Nay. They’re real.

The young woman momentarily stopped chewing and observed him, furrowing her brows. Then, a soft giggle started building in her throat, and soon transformed into an amused chuckle.

Ryder’s mouth twitched as he frowned upon seeing his hostess’s reaction. When she glanced up, he quickly hid his annoyance behind a tired smirk.

– Pray tell, what do you find so amusing?

– A clearly exhausted traveler attempting to be humorous.

The man shook his head in mock disappointment.

– Perhaps I’m just no good at providing joviality.

– Perhaps – she snorted. – Not often do you meet someone with such a specific sense of humor.

– ‘Tis but a dry joke – he smirked, sighing inwardly. – Not much mirth in it.

Molly nodded, a little too eagerly for his liking.

Silence fell upon them, but not of the uncomfortable kind. They finished their supper, and the young man was pleased to find his hands looking now closer to normal. When the sun started to near the horizon, Ryder fell into a dreamless slumber by the fireplace, blissfully wrapped in warm blankets. For once, he felt safe and warm.

As for Molly…

Still a little suspicious, she quickly locked the door, and sneaked quietly into her room. As she was drifting off to sleep, she was taking comfort in knowing the key and knife were within reach, safely tucked under her pillow.

~~~

– I wish you luck.

Ryder finished tying his new boots and looked up to meet Molly’s eyes.

– Thank you.

– Are you sure you don’t want to stay any longer?

The woman stopped fiddling with her sleeve and stared at her guest expectantly. He answered with a firm shake of his head, sending his hair flying.

– I wouldn’t dare. But I am deeply grateful for your help.

Molly chuckled.

– I am glad I could be of service. And be careful, master adventurer… since your mother isn’t here to supervise.

Ryder grinned and with that, he was gone.

No sooner had he stepped through the door, a shiver ran across his body. Although the blizzard had nearly stopped, the air still sent icy needles through his skin.

Finally clad in proper clothing, feeling sated after a warm breakfast and having received supplies for his journey, he couldn’t be happier. 

The only element missing was Ailith.

The single tear that rolled down his cheek was quickly wiped, and Ryder was once again on the road.

He could only hope to find another shelter before nightfall. And to reach his destination before death did him.

As soon as he set foot outside the village, his eyes rapidly scanned the surroundings in search of danger and potential hiding places. But they met nothing, sliding easily over the plain swathes of a blindingly white landscape. One could even call it barren, with nothing but a few shrubs in sight, their sharp, lifeless twigs frozen solid.

And just like so, he continued his exhausting quest, which didn’t sound dangerous at all when called by its proper name: Ryder was a messenger. 

But do not be mistaken; he wasn’t just any messenger, nay. One of the few who could hold their own against dangers and potentially make it out alive after delivering a letter of great importance.

Not even five hours passed before he was once again feeling tired and cold, and had never been more grateful for warm clothes.

Finding a large boulder, he crouched underneath it and fished out his map.

Just as he remembered, a small town lay not an hour away from his current location. Up until now, he’d had no close encounters with the seft today – or sefts, he couldn't be sure how many were on the hunt – and hope fluttered in his chest. Perhaps luck would keep him safe…

Without another thought, he folded the map and continued his march.

Before long, he noticed something rather odd. His mind started to involuntarily lose focus, while warmth slowly spread through his body.

Ryder forced his foggy mind to figure out if it was a cause for concern, and soon enough, he remembered what exactly that meant.

He swallowed thickly. “This can’t be the end”.

What about the letter? And more importantly – ai, his priorities were considered askew by many – has he not vowed to make his mentor proud?

Yet everything seemed to point exactly in this direction: heavy breathing, exhaustion, warmth, being on the verge of passing out… 

Hearing double…

He strained his ears, and sure enough; either it was his footsteps that echoed in his head, or…

A low, guttural growl a few feet away sent a shiver down his spine, and his nervous system snapped back into focus.

The young man stumbled in panic, and felt the snow give way under him.

A sharp, muffled scream escaped his lips. Air roared past his ears, his body limp, feeling nothing but a void beneath him.

Finally, he hit a curved surface, and continued sliding down until the very bottom.

Ryder glanced around, eyes wide, breathing labored and erratic. It was pitch black; the only indication as to his location was the echo of his unexpected fall. Meaning he was probably stuck in a tunnel.

Except, he’d never heard of tunnels around here. But then again, maybe they were old and of no importance…

He wasn’t left alone for long to ponder on his current predicament. The only light, coming from the ceiling, was momentarily blocked, followed by a soft thud and a surprised yelp.

The man forced his tired legs to a sprint, and not long after, he heard the seft running after him.

It was hopeless. Unlike the predator, he didn’t possess night vision, or keen smell and hearing.

And he couldn't stop and face the beast, for his strength had long since waned, his sharp mind slowed, and his will… his will was already bygone.

He looked up, and unless his eyes were clouded by some spell, in front of him lights appeared. Not big lights, but rather small, colorful shining beads embedded in the surrounding stone, casting a soft glow on the floor.

But he could not feast his eyes with the view. 

He didn’t dare turn around. The only thought in his mind was to keep running; to run until he could no more. And yet, the beast’s soft padding seemed to be gaining on him.

And then, he heard nothing but the whistling of an air current, before feeling the damp, sticky bundle of heavy tangles hit him with full force and suffocating him with its overwhelming stench of rotting meat. Not the seft’s; its victims’ remains’.

Ryder felt the air leave his lungs when the beast smashed his body onto the floor, and in the last second managed to turn so that he was facing the gruesome creature, his adrenaline skyrocketing.

Groaning, he tried to keep the beast’s snapping maw away from his body with one hand, while with the other he desperately tried to grab his dagger. However, his body was void of its once impressive strength, and he needed both hands to keep at least some distance between his face and the creature’s sharp fangs.

But the seft was cunning, and wouldn’t let its prey get away again. It was so close, so close to fulfilling its own task… 

All of a sudden, its eyes shone with malice.

The man took notice of the creature’s change in demeanor, and shivered involuntarily. 

A muffled scream escaped his throat when the seft’s sharp claws pierced through all his clothes and sunk into his skin, tearing effortlessly through the tissue.

Tears of pain and frustration welled in his eyes when he realized he would not survive. The only thing he could do to feel better was to make sure the beast wouldn’t either.

Clenching his teeth, he put to good use the adrenaline rush and pushed his attacker with all his might, causing the seft to lose balance for a brief moment. Taking advantage of the creature’s momentary disorientation, he jumped to his feet and drew his stiletto. Within a fraction of a second the beast pounced again with eyes ablaze, and Ryder braced himself for the impact. And when it came, the dagger sunk into the creature’s heart, and the man turned to land on top of the seft staring into its round, yellow eyes.

When the beast’s body hit the ground, the man thrust the stiletto into its heart again, and again, and continued to puncture his hunter, the rage and frustration rising with every hit. Everything he had lost flooded his mind like a tidal wave yet again, and with a final cry of frustration, he impaled the seft’s head with the dagger.

Breathing heavily, he lifted himself off the bloodied creature, and shakily rose to his feet. Hesitating, he took one step and immediately, his legs buckled underneath his weight. He collapsed, reaching towards his side with trembling arms, and felt a steady trickle of warm liquid between his fingers.

Gathering what energy and strength he still had left, Ryder crawled towards the tunnel’s wall and curled up. Alone, bloodied, exhausted and freezing.

He didn’t make it. He wouldn’t make it.

He had failed.

Failed himself, failed his employer, failed his mentor.

He had failed...

There was no safety, no victory, no warmth, no “when” or even an “if”.

There was only the dark, raging void, its shadows extending their deformed fingers to grasp him and carry away. Away, to a place he did not know, didn't want to know. Not yet. 

Muffling a sob, he carefully took off his torn cloak and anxiously inspected the bloody marks in his skin.

He wasn’t surprised to see the claws had gone in deep, and managed to rip through his organs. The pulsating, agonizing pain was clue enough.

Ryder let his tears flow freely. There was nobody to see them, why would he bother hiding them? 

“No warmth, no comfort…” 

The only comfort were the tears. 

And then, just around a turn of the tunnel, a soft light appeared.

He forced his eyes open and observed, intrigued and strangely calm. 

Now…

He felt safe. Relaxed and fulfilled.

Pushing aside the dwindling pain and exhaustion, he crawled towards the light, wishing to inspect it before giving up.

Finally, he hauled himself forwards one last time and looked around. Squinting, he let his eyes get used to the light before scanning his surroundings.

He had reached the end of the tunnel.

Slowly, the young man stood up and stumbled forwards on unsteady feet, and before he knew it, he hobbled out into open space.

Vibrant green moss covered the moist earth underneath him, while in front of him loomed a dark forest. Impenetrable to light, the brushwood drowned in darkness. Every once in a while, a pair of eyes appeared in the thicket and observed the newcomer with curiosity, but no creature dared to approach the treeline.

And then, for a brief moment, darkness shrouded the whole world. Before he could fully comprehend what had happened, a deafening, ear-piercing screech stabbed through the silence like a jagged dagger. His palms flew to his ears in an attempt to block out the awful sound.

When it receded, small, glowing beads started to slowly descend onto the ground, lighting it with their colorful glow.

And among them, half-way to the dark woods, stood a person. 

Tall yet hunched under some invisible weight, jet black and white hair framing her sharp features.

It couldn’t be…

– Ailith – he croaked, his voice filled with disbelief. – I thought…

He broke off, unable to finish the sentence.

Ailith sighed and looked at the ground. As if hesitant to say it.

– Aye.

Ryder flinched when the world once again drowned in darkness, and his hands flew to his ears to block out another screech.

– How did you come back? – he inquired when the unbearable sound quieted down.

– I never did. – Before he could ask another question, she requested quietly: – May I see the letter?

The young man froze, mulling the request over.

– It’s confidential. You know I can’t – he declined gently.

– It will never reach its destination. You know this.

Ryder scrunched his brows, and reached for the letter, his hand trembling. Then, against his will, his arm extended towards his mentor.

Ailith grasped it lightly and tore the envelope open, before carefully unfolding the letter, appearing scared to see its content.

He’d never seen his mentor look so crestfallen, so disappointed and betrayed. Without a word, she returned the document to her young friend.

Unblinking, he scanned the paper.

– It’s blank – he whispered, searching Ailith’s face for clues.

The woman slowly lowered herself onto the ground.

– Ryder… – she murmured softly, gazing at him with sympathy in her eyes. – You were never supposed to make it. Neither was I.

– A suicide mission… – He paused, realizing what it meant. He followed his friend’s example and sat down – collapsed, even – burying his face in his palms.

The silence that followed was thick and seemed impenetrable, occasionally interrupted by the deafening screeches.

And a soft padding of feet.

[yourtoradorasextendedwarranty]

No. You are anti science.

Ok so let me start this off by saying one thing very clearly. Far leftists are 100% anti science. They will deny facts right in front of their faces so long as it goes against their narrative, because they only thing they are even good at doing is gaslighting. And most of the time they are not even good at that.

What do I mean? Ok, so what have I seen or heard from Leftists (IE: People that worship the fact they are on the left) are as follows. And while not a comprehensive list, it's enough.

1-"All vaccines are safe and can't harm you"

2-"There is no differences between the sexes"

3-"There are no differences between physical races/ethnicities"

4-"Cat's can be vegan"

5-"Solar and Wind are actually better for the environment than anything else"

6-"Hormone blockers don't have side effects"

7-"Cow farts are killing the planet"

8-"The US and every 'White' Country are responsible for most/all the pollution on earth"

And I could go on. But let's address these shall we?

Vaccines are not a one size fits all. They never have been. Far leftists went from "I won't ever take Trumps vaccine" to "If you don't take Biden's vaccine you deserve to never get healthcare again and or deserve to be put into a wood chipper. Also we don't care if you are immunocompromised the "Vaccine" is perfectly safe. St. Faccui said it was safe for absolutely everyone." I'm sorry if you are like this, you are not "Pro Science". And on ONE person is "The Science". And if you believe otherwise you are a lunatic. Also, adverse reactions are a thing. No matter how rare they are some can lead to life long issues. And some can lead to death. That's just a fact.

There are a NUMBER of Differences between the sexes. And while I could write a BOOK worth of how, I'll stick with a few things. Immune Strength, Quick twitch muscle fiber, reproductive organs, hormonal influence on the body, fat retention, muscle building capacity, speed of development, etc, etc. *The list is long*

OK so this one is one of the dumbest ones I've heard, but let me explain something simple. Between melanin and MANY other variants genetically, we ARE different. Scandinavians are often extremely tall, Koreans, Chinese, and Japanese people tend to be very small. Then there is Sickle cell disease which is ALMOST exclusive to people with darker skin, more often much darker skinned people. WE HAVE DIFFERENCES. And the reason people are often scared to talk about this is because they are afraid that if they do talk about these things that it will lead to bigotry and racism. Except by pretending that all people from all places in the world are EXACTLY the same you are in fact denying science.

I'm not even going to go deep into this. SOME ANIMALS ARE JUST CARNIVORS! Cat's are one such animal. Stop being stupid because YOU chose something for your own life.

OK so I could BOOK this one as well but let me just say a few things. Battery tech has almost not advanced at all in the past 20 years. Every step we have made has been very.....minimal. However Solar panels only last between 5-8 years more often than not, and the amount of resources they take to make needs YEARS to offset how much carbon used to make them. This not also including the destruction of entire ecosystems due to the mining for the resources in 3rd world counties, which have also managed to pollute water reservoirs. No telling the amount of kids that die in the slave labor needed to mine all of this stuff. Or the long term effects on the natives of those lands. Same with wind. Except with wind, they need petrol to work. Specifically the lubes that keep the turbines working. And they don't last very long either. And when they break, much like solar panels, they can't be recycled. And the production of those needs 8-10 years to offset what it costed to produce them. Not to also discuss the amount of land decimated to put up both of them. Specifically bad with wind turbines that tend to kill avian life at a high rate, and when put into the water or on the water, they screw with the sonar of animals in the water that use sonar. Which has sadly killed a number of whales.

Hormone blockers actually have a metric shit ton of side effects. Though I guess you can more say effects. One of which, which is actually REALLY scary for younger people is Osteoporosis. Which is REALLY rare in people under 50. As often you develop it as you age. Except people that take blockers for long enough stop developing. That's the entire point in some cases. And here is what many of you LUNATICS don't seem to get. YOUR BODY needs he hormones it produces for you to develop properly. Your body does not just "Rebound" when you stop taking them. And when you take cross sex hormones, your body does not just "start development again", It has to actively fight it's own hormone production as well as your genetics meaning that there can be many medical side effects in general that can occur. But talking just about blockers your body does not just restart. Your hormones dictate a number of things. Brain development, bone development, immune health, height and weight determinates, as well as most of all your internals. If you pause your development, your body does not just pick up where it left off. If you take blockers for 2 years, you lose 2 years or almost 2 years of development. Many doctors have actually backed up all of this. Denying this makes YOU anti science.

This one is me just taking the piss as it were. Cows live off of what ever diet they have access to. However I have heard people, in no small numbers, say that we should reduce the number of cows. Not that we should change their diets. But that we should just CULL them. Despite the argument being "What they are being fed is producing more methane than usual. So it's fun to consistently hear from leftist that we should just kill a lot of animals.

China, India, and Africa have been not only not reducing their emissions. They have actually switched to using a lot of coal. And their emissions have only spiked over the last several years. It's not even remotely close. Meanwhile the US, UK, and most other Euro nations, have greatly done a lot to reduce emissions over time. If you think "The West" is the issue when it comes to your climate alarmism, then you are SORELY mistaken.

[o-craven-canto]

Ea, Our Second Chance (10a)

10a. Eucytobionta (part 1/3, cell structure)

(Index) (< 9. The Descent) (> 10b. Eucytobionta, unicellular diversity)

The typical cell structure of Eucytobionta, the clade comprising all the complex, multicellular life of planet Ea, the local equivalent of Earth's Eukarya. (original link)

« Complexity and organization are nested endlessly in lower and lower scales, far beyond our reach... Every smear of blood proclaims the power of its Maker; every drop of sewage sings the glory of the One. » – Yakub of Lilongwe, Mere Humanity

Shared features of Eucytobiontan cells include:

● A haploid protonucleus (i.e., carrying a single copy of each gene), sequestered at the center of the cell, where genetic information is stored over the long term in the form of enol-PNA; in sexual unicellular organisms, such as many Pogonocyta, additional protonuclei may be exchanged between cells. ● One or more massively polyploid paranuclei (carrying from 50 to over 200 copies of each gene), where gene expression and protein synthesis occurs, through remarkably Earth-like mechanisms. The more flexible and reactive keto-PNA is found here, and the massive redundancy dampens the effects of harmful mutations. New paranuclei are generated from the protonucleus before cell division. Monokaryotes have lost all their paranuclei, whereas the largest Pogonocytes may have hundreds.

● The astrosome, also called stellate body or Jariwala's organ, a multi-lobed vacuole located at the center of the cell. The water-filled lobular projections stabilize the cell structure, keep organelles in their place, and trace paths for the movement of vesicles. The astrosomal membrane is also the main metabolic organ, as it uses sunlight or chemical energy to create a proton gradient between the cytoplasm and the vacuole's interior from which useful energy can be harvested, much like the mitochondrial membrane in Earth's eukaryotes.

● The red body or erythrosome, a flattened organelle analogous to our Golgi apparatus, involved in the processing and secretion of proteins and TPP. The red color is probably due to iron complexes that assist with the reduction of TPP chains. In many unicellular organisms it can be visible as a dark-colored ribbon.

● The corpuscula, a number of dark-coloured vesicles filled with alkaline granules whose function is not yet clear. They are probably involved in the cell's metabolism and defense as reservoirs of enzymes in a crystalline form. Most Ean prokaryotes have corpuscula as well: some, such as Prasinobacteriales, use them for photosynthesis, whereas in Acanthobacillus they contain exotoxins used against predation.

● An elastic cell net formed by bundles of elastic, highly hydrophobic polypeptides passing between the two layers of the cell membrane. This sheath, similar to that found in the prokaryotic Commicutes, protects the cell from osmotic shock opposing both excessive intake and loss of water. In Ostracophyta and other unicellular Eucytobionts, the net is impregnated with minerals or crystalline polymers to form a protective shell.

● Undulipodia (distinguished, as on Earth, in cilia and flagella according to their size and abundance) seem to be extensions of the cell net, held into place by a trans-membrane protein ring. The whole structure is formed by parallel elastic fibers, and bends in one direction as the respective fiber contracts. The contraction is likely controlled by a chemical signal conveyed by vesicles to the contracting fiber's root in the basal ring.

– Summa Planetaria, "Eucytobionta#Synapomorphies", revision 315/T51Cyy4nS4

[kombuchee]

The Power of the SCOBY Mat: Elevating Your Kombucha Brewing Game

With its tangy and effervescent flavor, Kombucha has become a beloved beverage for many seeking a refreshing and healthful drink. But did you know that behind every great batch of kombucha lies a remarkable secret weapon? Enter the SCOBY Mat, also known as the pellicle. In this blog post, we'll delve into the beautiful world of SCOBY Mats and explore why they are an essential component of successful kombucha brewing.

Understanding the SCOBY Mat

First things first, what exactly is a SCOBY Mat? SCOBY stands for Symbiotic Culture of Bacteria and Yeast, and the mat is the living structure that forms on the surface of your kombucha brew during fermentation. While some might dismiss it as a mere byproduct of the fermentation process, it is much more than that. The SCOBY Mat is a vital part of the kombucha ecosystem.

1. The SCOBY Mat Contains Liquid SCOBY

You may hear people state that using the SCOBY Mat in your brew is unnecessary because a new pellicle will form with each new batch. While this is true, the benefits of placing your new SCOBY Mat in each new batch of kombucha that you brew are widely overlooked.

One of the most fascinating aspects of the SCOBY Mat is that it's not just a rubbery, floating disk – it's a living organism in its own right. It's essentially a dense network of cellulose fibers created by the bacteria in the fermentation process. Within this structure, you'll find a wealth of liquid SCOBY.

The liquid SCOBY is a concentrated mix of the bacteria and yeast strains responsible for fermenting your kombucha. These microorganisms work in harmony, transforming sweet tea into a fizzy, tangy, and probiotic-rich beverage. When you use a SCOBY Mat in your brewing process, you're introducing this powerhouse of probiotics into your new batch, giving it a head start on fermentation.

2. Promotes a Healthy and Consistent Fermentation

The SCOBY Mat doesn't just add a boost of beneficial microorganisms; it also acts as a safeguard against unwanted contaminants. Its physical presence on top of your brewing vessel creates a barrier that helps prevent harmful bacteria and molds from infiltrating your kombucha.

Consistency is key when it comes to brewing kombucha, and the SCOBY Mat plays a significant role in maintaining that consistency. With each batch, it continues to evolve and adapt, becoming better suited to the specific environment and conditions of your brewing vessel. This results in a more reliable and predictable fermentation process, leading to a consistently delicious brew.

3. Aesthetic Appeal

Let's not forget the visual appeal of the SCOBY Mat. Its cloudy, translucent appearance can be quite mesmerizing. Many kombucha enthusiasts find joy in watching the SCOBY Mat grow and change with each batch. It's a living reminder of the fascinating world of microbiology happening within your brewing vessel.

How to Use the SCOBY Mat

Using a SCOBY Mat in your kombucha brewing process is relatively simple. When you've finished fermenting a batch of kombucha, with clean hands, carefully remove the SCOBY Mat from the top of the liquid. Set it aside to be used in your next batch or share it with a friend who's interested in brewing their own kombucha.

Don't have a SCOBY and starter yet? Get one here!

Conclusion

The SCOBY Mat is not merely a byproduct of fermentation; it is a vital component of successful kombucha brewing. It contains a rich reservoir of liquid SCOBY, helping to jumpstart the fermentation process, and acts as a protective shield against unwanted contaminants. Plus, its aesthetic appeal and the sense of connection it fosters with the art of brewing make it a valuable addition to any kombucha enthusiast's toolkit.

So, the next time you embark on your kombucha brewing adventure, don't overlook the power of the SCOBY Mat. Embrace this living Symbiotic Culture of Bacteria and Yeast, and you'll be well on your way to creating consistently delicious and healthful batches of kombucha that will leave your taste buds and gut smiling. Cheers to the SCOBY Mat!

[cera-chem]

Cracked Concrete Floors? Restore Them with Cera Chem's Proven Repair Solutions

How to Repair Cracked Concrete Floors

Cracked concrete floors are a common issue for industrial facilities, warehouses, garages and production areas. Over time, shrinkage, settlement, movement, applied loads and more can cause unsightly cracks that need repair. Cracks not only affect aesthetics but can also become structural safety hazards or pathways for contamination.

Why Concrete Cracks & Types of Cracks?

Shrinkage Cracks

Shrinkage cracks occur when the concrete shrinks while curing. These hairline cracks typically are no more than 3 mm in width. Our Cera Grout EPLV 100 epoxy injection can be used to effectively seal shrinkage cracks.

Settlement Cracks

In this case, sections of concrete settle due to uneven support or reduction of underlying soil volume over time. This causes cracks as slabs tilt or bend. Our carbon fiber CERA CFR W 100 LA structural strengthening system is able to repair cracks up to 10 mm for settlement issues.

Stress Cracks

These form when the surface of the concrete is subjected to extreme pressures and forces exceeding its load capacity. Flaking and disintegration may occur in larger cracks. Here you can install our Cera Screed EP or Cera Patchcrete patches reinforced with Cera CFR Staple fibers for a durable repair.

How to Repair Cracked Concrete Floors

Injection Epoxy Sealing

For hairline cracks, a low viscosity epoxy like our Cera Ultra EPLV Grout is injected under pressure to penetration and seal the crack. Injecting ports are installed centering over the crack at intervals and sealed with putty. The epoxy grout is injected through these ports to fill the crack completely.

Gravity Feed

Used for wider dormant cracks up to 15mm, products such as our Cera Grout EPLV 100 can repair static cracks by simply pouring or trialblazing the compound into the crack to fill by gravity with no special equipment required.

Routing & Sealing

Cracks larger than 5 mm are routed out using a concrete saw or angle grinder to make a reservoir about 38–76 mm wide and 13–25 mm deep running centered over the crack and extending 152 mm beyond both crack ends. Our Cera Grout EPLV 100 is then poured or injecting under pressure to fill the space for a flush finish repair.

For More Details:

Call us at: 98404 80307

Email: businessenquiry@cerachemindia.com

Visit Website: https://cerachemindia.com/

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