#tray of mud and worm...

[i-should-have-studied]

Zoology Practical Minor Experiments

Hydrotactic

Aim: To study the hydrotactic behavior of earthworms

Material: Live earthworms, dissection tray, filter paper, blunt forceps, and water.

Principle: A taxis is a behavior response that produces movement either towards or away from a stimulus. Taxis behaviors are classified according to the stimulus producing the response. The presence of stimuli producing the response such as light, gravity, or chemicals can result in taxis behavior. If the organism moves towards the stimulus, then the movement is referred to as a positive taxis. Avoidance or movement away from a stimulus is a negative taxis. Hydrotaxis is in response to water.

Method: Take a dissection tray and spread a filter paper. Divide the filter paper into equal parts A and B. To part A, sprinkle a few water drops to create moist conditions, keep part B dry. Introduce 5 earthworms in the center of the dissection tray. Observe the behavior of worms showing positive or negative response to hydrotactic behavior.

Result: Positive response towards moist side of the dissection tray, all 5 worms moved to side A.

Inference: The earthworms exhibit positive response to the given hydrotaxis.

-----------------------------

Chemotactic

Aim: To study the chemotactic behavior of earthworms.

Materials: Live earthworms, dissection tray, filter paper, blunt forceps, water, pH strips, natural sources for making acidic and basic solutions, q-tips, mortal and pestle, petri-dish.

Principle: A taxis is a behavior response that produces movement either towards or away from a stimulus. Taxis behaviors are classified according to the stimulus producing the response. The presence of stimuli producing the response such as light, gravity, or chemicals can result in taxis behavior. If the organism moves towards the stimulus, then the movement is referred to as a positive taxis. Avoidance or movement away from a stimulus is a negative taxis. Chemotaxis is in response to chemical stimulus.

Method: Take a dissection tray and spread a filter paper. Clean the earthworm with water and place it on the dissection tray with the help of blunt forceps. Take the natural source and prepare a homogenate solution with water. Check the pH of the solution, then treat the earthworm with the prepared solution. Observe the behavior of worms, showing either positive or negative chemotactic behavior.

Results: - Sample 1: Onion - pH 6 -> Negative response - Sample 2: Garlic - pH 6 -> Negative response - Sample 3: Lemon - pH 4 -> Negative response - Sample 4: Tomato - pH 6 -> Positive response - Sample 5: Cucumber - pH 6 -> Positive response - Sample 6: Pineapple - pH 6 -> Positive response

Inference: Earthworms are said to exhibit negative response to both acidic and alkaline medium to the given chemicals

---------------------------------------------

Geotactic

Aim: To study the geotactic behavior of earthworms

Materials: A wooden box with a partition creating two smaller chambers, live earthworms, and moist mud.

Principle: A taxis is a behavior response that produces movement either towards or away from a stimulus. Taxis behaviors are classified according to the stimulus producing the response. The presence of stimuli producing the response such as light, gravity, or chemicals can result in taxis behavior. If the organism moves towards the stimulus, then the movement is referred to as a positive taxis. Avoidance or movement away from a stimulus is a negative taxis. Geotaxis is in response to gravity.

Method: The partitioned wooden box has two sides, A and B. spread moist mud onto both sides. Leave an equal number of earthworms in both the chambers. The partition should have small gateways foe earthworms to be able to move from one side to another. Close the box, leave the experiment for 6 minutes. After the wait, open the box and count the number of earthworms on each side. More in number indicates preference, if there are more on the upper side they are geo-negative, if there are more on the lower side they are geo-positive. Repeat the experiment numerous times by changing the degree of slant/tilt.

Results: - Situation I at 10°: Number of earthworms in chamber A = Number of earthworms in chamber B =

*this but each time ^^

Inference: More number. of earthworms tend to move towards downwards direction. Hence, they are geopositive

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Phototactic

Aim: To study the phototactic behavior of earthworms

Materials: Wooden box with a partition creating 2 smaller chambers, moist mud, live earthworms, torch/bulbs fixed in one of the chambers of the box.

Principle: A taxis is a behavior response that produces movement either towards or away from a stimulus. Taxis behaviors are classified according to the stimulus producing the response. The presence of stimuli producing the response such as light, gravity, or chemicals can result in taxis behavior. If the organism moves towards the stimulus, then the movement is referred to as a positive taxis. Avoidance or movement away from a stimulus is a negative taxis. Phototaxis is in response to light.

Method: The partitioned wooden box has 2 sides, A and B. Fix a small torch or a dim bulb inside A, spread moist mud on both sides (just enough for the earthworms to crawl over, they should not get inside the mud) Leve equal number of earthworms in both chambers. The partition should have small gateways for earthworms to move from one side to another. Close the box, light the bulb, leave the experiment for half an hour on a table which is of uniform level. After the wait, open the box and count the number of earthworms on each side. More the number of earthworms indicates preference.

Results: - Situation 1: Chamber A has light and Chamber B has no light. Number of earthworms in A before 30min = 5, Temp = 30°C. Number of earthworms in B before 30min = 5, Temp = 30°C. Number of earthworms in A after 30min = 3, Temp = 30°C. Number of earthworms in B after 30min = 7, Temp = 27°C. Therefore the earthworms prefer no light.

** this a few more times too^^

table

Inference: Higher number of earthworms in a chamber indicates positive response towards that stimulus while lower number indicates negative response.

worm diagram for all ^^

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Habituation to touch

Aim: To study habituation in snail.

Materials: Live snails, q-tip, water, stopwatch.

Principle: Habituation is the decrease in probability of a response occurring when an stimulus either is presented repeatedly or it is a gradual fading of a response. This happens a stimulus proves to be safe, neutral, or irrelevant is given repeatedly. If a neutral stimulus (like that which has neither noxious nor beneficial consequences) is repeatedly determined to an organism, it's response to the stimulus tends to decrease gradually and may eventually seize all together. By habituation, animals learn what not to do.

Method: 1. Take the petri dish and add water to it. Put the snail into the petri dish. 2. Touch the snail's waving tentacles with a q-tip, it will draw from its head and close the operculum. 3. Wait, do not disturb the snail till it comes out of its shell and crawls again. 4. Repeat the last two steps numerous times till the snail stops reacting to touch.

Result: - Number of times the tentacles were touched with q-tip: 8 - Number of times the snail withdraws its head and closes operculum: 5

TABLE

Inference: The snail stopped responding to the neutral stimulus after being touched 8 times, which means that the snail got habituated and did not respond to the last two times.

[punisheye]

"Good." Wolfwood and the other Vash had shared food often, but he had taken notice of how the little blonde bastard started to eat less and less. If the undertaker's keeping him fed, then he's glad. And here they can eat! As much as they want, more than they could dream of. Seems like his world had more variety than Nicholas', though—worms were apparently a staple there. "Think he forgets that."

Self-punishment, maybe. His mind flickers back to a birthday party, and a woman with black hair. A memory not his own. A conversation about eating.

"Ain't you feelin' generous," he grunts, but there's no bite to it. Wolfwood pushes himself up, steadying himself with a hand on the table, then trudges over to the fridge. It's probably rude to go poking around in a fridge that isn't yours, but he was invited to, wasn't he? And also he doesn't really give a shit about being rude. The cake's carefully stored away, with a few large slices left.

He pulls it out and places the tray on the table.

"—You 'n' me, we'll cook somethin' together. I'll show ya what I know." It's... well, he's really trying to get along with the undertaker, it's just not easy for either of them and usually devolves into mud-slinging. "Should bring Spikey over. Make it a whole thing. We sit both of 'em down, and we can all eat."

Huh. Would that be weird? Blondie might get embarrassed having the elder pair there like that, but Nicholas still doesn't know, does he? Wolfwood doesn't mention it. It'll come up, uh... eventually.

Whatever.

"Sound good?"

He doesn't have much of an appetite, but he knows he needs to eat. The undertaker puts his own plate down and eats silently, not really reacting when the sandstorm starts. Home is pretty much shut down at the moment, since he doesn't know much about how any of it works still, so he makes sure he doesn't go fucking with anything when Vash isn't there. Razra's safe, the bikes can be dug out - and even the priest is here and inside and probably best he hadn't kicked his ass out.

He'd probably help him dig his bike out, just to get the guy out of his hair sooner.

"He's been eatin' fine since I got here. Three square, a mix of meat'n'grains and vegetables. Pretty much the kinda haul Miss Melanie dreamed 'bout for us." And of course, plenty of dessert. Another set of delicacies that they could only dream about. He'd started going through some old cookbooks, but most of it were Miss Melanie staples.

He was rusty - definitely some parts burnt and some parts a bit undercooked on the crust. The last cake he made needed to have the bottom cut off, but he hadn't cooked much of anything in years. The priest was benefiting from a month of preparing food.

"Sometimes it's been canned or was frozen, but it's more 'bout the prep than anythin' else." He pokes around the last remaining rice on his plate. Food was a better subject to move onto. Food. Miss Melanie. The orphanage. Things he knew that definitely had in common that weren't subjects that pissed him off.

(Even if he could never go back, at least someone else knew about the woman who raised them all as her own. They were all so lucky to have her. It was hard work, but surviving is hard work. She made it easier. He'd do anything for them, and he's certain any other version of him would too.)

He finishes pushing around the small bits of food left, grabbing both plates and tossing them in the sink. He worries, too. It's hard not to.

"...Just makin' sure he knows he deserves t'eat too. Same as me. Same as you."

The sand continues beating on Home. No way he can get rid of the priest now.

"...Cake's missin' it's ass end, but there's some left in the fridge."

[lykegenia]

Nate x f!detective

--

I barely have time to draw breath before three figures stumble to a halt in the broken doorway, the rest of Unit Bravo drawn clearly from other parts of the warehouse, their postures tense and alert for danger.

Adam steps forward first, his gaze sweeping in a calculated arc over the room. “What happened?”

“We smelled –”

“Someone needs to go and check on Nate,” I interrupt.

There’s a heartbeat’s pause where confusion reigns. Mason is the first to respond, swiping the unlit cigarette from between his teeth with a muttered curse as he whirls away out of sight. It leaves only Adam and Felix to stare at me, and both keep their distance, the frown on the commanding agent’s face sharp enough to cut glass.

“Detective?” he asks.

“It was an accident,” I explain, swallowing. “I cut myself, just my finger.”

“You ought to have paid more attention –”

“Jesus Christ, Adam, this is not the time.” I twist around to face him properly, hand aching under the stream of cold water, and once more the rational part of my brain steps aside to marvel at the ease with which I take control of the situation. As if this is just another crime scene, as if my heart isn’t thundering in my ears lie Niargra Falls. “I need you to switch off the oven and fetch me a med kit.”

“Is there anything I can do?” Felix asks from even further away, golden eyes hopeful.

I force a smile to my face. “I’m fine, really. But thank you.”

Adam returns from the far corner of the room a moment later and sets down the first aid kit and a roll of kitchen paper at my elbow.

“We’ll leave you to it,” he says with a terse nod.

“Thanks.”

“There is blood on your sleeve,” he adds. “You should soak it as soon as you can.”

He turns away as I twist my arm trying to catch sight of the supposed bloodstain, not daring to take my hand from under the tap until the two vampires have left the room. When I eventually hold the lacerated finger up for inspection I sigh at the look of the wound. The cold has turned the whole digit bloodless, and while the cut itself is pretty deep the sharpness of the knife worked in my favour and it shouldn’t need stitches.

I pat it dry with a few squares of paper towel, careful to avoid splitting it open again, then rummage one-handed in the first aid kit for the antiseptic and a box of plasters. The sting of the concentrated alcohol draws a hiss from me as I pour it over the wound, but the whole process of cleaning and wrapping up the finger is over in less than a minute, with only the clinical smell left hanging in the air. After a moment of consideration, I fish an extra plaster out of the box and add it to the first so it stays extra secure.

That done, my attention can finally turn to the mess of dinner abandoned on the other side of the kitchen. The tray of vegetables I pull from the oven is still half-raw, the potatoes overboiled and almost mush after I drain away the water from the pan. I make sure there’s no blood on the duck breasts before wrapping them back in their brown paper to go back in the fridge. I wash the knife, and I wash the chopping board, as well as I can one-handed. For the rest, it takes me a long poke about in the cupboards – because of course Nate doesn’t own any Tupperware – before I can transfer everything into containers. Most of it probably won’t taste all that good if it has to be cooked again, but making the choice to throw it away without Nate’s input feels… wrong. Even if what I really want is to throw the whole lot at the walls.  

Either way, my appetite is completely gone. In its place, a sick feeling worms through my stomach, part worry for him and part relief that what happened wasn’t worse. The look in his eyes keeps surfacing, drawing me back, distracting me to the point where I realise the CD of overtures finished playing ages ago, unnoticed. Now that I hear it, the silence presses on me like a stone.

I leave the washing up in the sink.

No one stops me in the labyrinthine passages to my room. The silence follows and grows larger as I strip out of my jumper and toss it into the bathroom before pulling a new one from the drawer. The stain on the sleeve is only small and should come out easily enough once I soak it, but I’ll have to take it back to my apartment to wash it properly. At least the blood soaked into the fabric instead of dripping onto Nate’s hand. His reaction was bad enough already.

Once thoughts of him break through, there’s no stopping the flood. A glance around the bedroom shows just how much empty space there is, and I shiver. The wash of loneliness threatening to swallow me is one that wouldn’t have bothered me before Unit Bravo came into my life, before I got used to the comfort Nate provides just with his presence. Right about now I should be enjoying an intimate dinner and quiet conversation, his warmth at my side after the week of paperwork that’s kept us apart. Instead, there’s just me, and the hollow sound of my breath. Hard to believe I ever thought that was enough.

A text comes through from Felix as I dry my hands.

              You ok? Nate wanted you know if you’re ok too

              I’m fine  ☺️ Where is he?

              In his room, he’s pretty shaken

              I’m going to go talk to him

He starts typing a reply, but I don’t wait for it. The path to Nate’s room is so familiar I could walk it in my sleep – and nearly have, more than once, creeping from my own bed in the middle of the night with only a little guilt that I might be interrupting his own rest. Getting used to another body was difficult at first, but sleeping with someone else next to me, at least when it’s him, feels better than I ever thought it would, even if Mason keeps teasing that we’re not making the most of the situation.

I swallow as I knock on his door. “Nate?”

There’s no answer. Despite the bubble of disappointment in my chest, I wasn’t really expecting one.

“I wanted to see if you were alright.” Though my ears strain in the quiet hallway, I can’t hear any sign of movement. I sigh. “Look, you don’t have to come out, or say anything. I guess if you’re not listening it’s not like there’s anyone else here to listen to me talking to a door like a crazy person either.”

The attempt at humour falls apart, and a deep breath pulls through my teeth to keep the prickle of heat in my eyes at bay.

“I’m alright, Nate. It wasn’t your fault, just an accident. Please don’t guilt yourself about it too much – I know you’ll try to. I’m…” I falter, my thumb running over my plastered finger. “I’m going to go home. I’ve got laundry to do and an early start in the morning, and it’s probably better if I go.”

Tension is running through the halls like a vibration, all the vampires kicked up by the unexpected smell of blood even if they don’t want to admit it, and I don’t want them to see how unsettled it’s made me in turn. The nightmares of Murphy have faded over the past few months, but I can feel them crawling in the black mud of my subconscious, waiting to surface, and I don’t want to be near Nate when they do. I’ve handled them well enough on my own in the past.

There’s still no sound from Nate’s room that my pathetic human ears can pick up.

“If you need anything, call me,” I say, with a last moment of hesitation before I turn away.

There’s not much to pack. I’ve got a permanent drawer here now, and a second toothbrush so I don’t need to remember it back and forth. I’m ready to go in minutes. In one movement I pluck my car keys from the bowl by the door and flick off the light, and I don’t look back.

[shining-red-diamond]

Ch. 20: A Path

Cast of Characters//Ch. 1//Ch. 2//Ch. 3//Ch. 4//Ch. 5//Ch. 6//Ch. 7//Ch. 8//Ch. 9//Ch. 10//Ch. 11//Ch. 12//Ch. 13//Ch. 14//Ch. 15//Ch. 16//Ch. 17//Ch. 18//Ch. 19//Ch. 20//Ch. 21//Ch. 22//Ch. 23//Ch. 24//Ch. 25//Ch. 26//Ch. 27//Ch. 28 (coming soon)

Words: 1.6k

Pairing: ATEEZ OT8 x OCs

Genre: Adventure, Pirate AU

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: mentions of deadly traps, bug attacks, blood, and venom

A/N: Italics means they’re speaking Korean

“Are you okay, sweetheart?” Phoebe asked as she rushed over to help him up.

“Yeah,” he nodded.

Grace-Anne then kneeled down to get a good look at the stone staircase. The open itself was about as wide and long as a large cardboard box with a descending stone staircase. Each step disappeared more and more into the dark underground, and the cold dampness cut through the jungle’s humidity. Pulling out her flashlight, Grace-Anne switched it on and shined it down the staircase. Nothing out of the ordinary except for a few dead snakes, but she felt uneasy about immediately taking the steps down.

A rock sat idly next to her, and it was immediately serving as a guinea pig. She tossed it down where it could still be visible by the light beams. Landing on a stone in one of the steps, it sank down halfway, and a spear shot up from the middle of the stone. The rock was split into two pieces before falling away somewhere.

“Do any of the notes say anything about this?” Grace-Anne asked as she stood.

Hongjoong was already ahead of her and reviewing the notes on both the map and the journal.

“Yes,” he nodded once he found the page. “Any of the stones with a golf-ball sized hole in the center has a deadly spear. Have your flashlights ready.”

One by one, the crew switched on their lights just before descending down the stone steps, tip-toeing over each holed stone. The air seemed to grow colder and more dense, and a soft blue glow could be seen up ahead. When they reached the bottom, a foul stench attacked their noses as they turned a corner.

“If I see one more corpse,” Dinah threatened, “I will kick a stalagmite.”

“I don’t think it’s a dead body, we’re smelling,” Grace-Anne replied as they walked a little further. “It smells more like mud after the rain.”

The sound of a river rushing could be heard overhead. Hongjoong used his flashlight to read the notes again. “The blue light tells us that’s where the next piece is.”

“What is that light anyway?” Mingi asked as they strolled closer to the light.

“Yeah, there doesn’t seem to be any electrical fixtures down here,” added Yunho.

An opening marked where the blue light was hiding, and once the crew walked in, the light turned out to be what seemed to be twinkling blue clusters sticking to the wall and reflecting off of clear quartz fragments blooming from the ground to the ceiling. With this kind of light, the crew switched off their flashlights.

“Glow worms, of course!” Dahae recognized. “Their bioluminescence gives off a sort of blue or green light.”

“But where’s the diamond piece?” Seonghwa reminded her as the crew looked around. “It could be anywhere here.”

Jongho was about to try to move a quartz piece to investigate any nook and cranny, but Dahae stopped him with a gasp.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“These aren’t just any of the regular glow worms you hear about,” she explained. “These quartz’s have minerals that provide this species with their nutrients, and they’re aggressive if they’re touched by any other living organism. Touch the crystals, and a few of them will attack.”

“They’re not poisonous, are they?”

“They just give you deep cuts, but the bleeding is bad no matter where the laceration is.”

“Found it,” Taeran declared as she looked up something in the ceiling.

Surrounded by clusters of the glowing blue, a shining fractal seemed trapped in another microvine structure surrounded by crystals. Beside it was a sort of lock code identical to a lock combination, but rusted into the ceiling.

“What’s the code?” Dahae asked.

Hongjoong flipped through the journals and notes a few times, scanning each page individually in case he missed it. He found something on the exact lock, but no direct answer as to free the diamond.

“There’s a riddle,” he shrugged as scratched his head. “‘Not a full circle, not an angle, not even a cute angle, only a straight path will you find the key.’”

“What path?” Dinah exasperated. “The only way out is the way we came in, and even then it’s deadly.”

“And we can’t exactly pry open the little binding it’s in without touching the surrounding crystals,” Grace-Anne added.

“Maybe it’s talking about the sun, hills, and a path on a hill,” Seonghwa guessed.

“We’re in a freaking CAVE!” Dinah retorted while motioning towards their surroundings.

Taeran stared up at it and recited the riddle. Circle, angles, path. Circle, an angle, a cute angle, path. A cute angle stuck out to her. Did it mean an acute angle?

“Wait a second,” a lightbulb went off in her head. “It’s not a regular piece of land at all. It’s geometric angles. A full circle is three-hundred and sixty degrees, a cute angle is an acute angle that’s forty-five degrees, and a right angle is ninety-degrees. What we’re looking for is the straight ‘path,’ and it’s a straight line. One-eighty degrees.”

“1-8-0 is the code?” Phoebe asked.

“It has to.”

“How are you going to reach it?” Dahae wondered. “The ceiling is taller than Yunho and Mingi.”

…

Finishing up in the bathroom, Celestia took one last look at herself in the mirror, double-checking for any fly-away strands of hair before standing back and seeing her pregnant self. Her stomach wasn’t as huge as a typical pregnant woman’s, but she still found it cute despite feeling like a bloated fish some days. Baby girl kicked, and the mother-to-be smiled.

“You’re so gorgeous,” San commented groggily as woke up.

“Hi, handsome,” his wife replied as she waddled back into the room.

The curtains were opened just slightly to allow some sunlight in, but not enough to disturb San in his sleep.

“How are you feeling?” Celestia asked as she eased herself on the bed.

“Better.”

“You look better, too. Your color is back. Are you sore?”

San shook his head. “I can move more freely, but it only stings when I move my back a certain way.”

“Dahae said it’ll be like that for a bit, but you’ll be back to exploring our next destination.”

A smile nearly bloomed on the young man’s face, but abruptly stopped. He wanted to see the new site, but Celestia couldn’t go anymore when she’s days from delivering.

“I don’t want you to be alone,” San shook his head.

“I won’t be alone,” she promised. “The girls will rotate out on who stays with me at each stop.”

“But what about when it’s time for you to give birth? We would have to flag down an ambulance or something to get you to a hospital if needed.”

San had wanted his wife to give birth in a medical facility that was safe, and she and the baby would receive proper care; but Celestia had put her foot down on having the birth on the boat since Dahae would help with delivery. However, she was becoming more open to having the aid of a medical facility if things were to go wrong.

“I’ve heard you can’t plan for how a birth is going to go,” was all Celestia could say. “But we can be prepared.”

San just smiled and kissed her on the cheek. “Such a clever woman, you are.”

Celestia scoffed playfully before asking, “Are you hungry? Grace-Anne left us some breakfast.”

“Can you get up?”

“Watch me.” Immediately she scoot to her edge of the bed, sat up, and rolled to one side to stand. “Cake.”

San giggles as the love of his life waddles out of the room and towards the kitchen. Celestia found her meal of eggs and Greek yogurt covered in plastic, and San’s bacon and omelettes were in the same shape. She removed the covering and put them in the microwave for about a minute while she retrieved both of their drinks.

A fit of childlike giggles erupted from San back in the bedroom. Celestia thought his medicine was making him loopy until he started baby-talking and cooing in his mother tongue. Was he looking at the ultrasounds and somehow talking to the baby? It wasn’t until she returned with their breakfasts when she saw what had happened.

“Angel, we’ve got a little stowaway,” San smiled as he was now petting a Siamese cat sitting on his stomach. “Isn’t she cute?”

“She is,” Celestia smiled as she set the food tray on San’s nightstand. “Hi, kitty.”

She held her hand to the feline, palm open and face up; and after a couple of sniffs, the cat licked her fingers and rubbed her face against Celestia’s hand.

“Friendly, aren’t you? How did you get on here?”

“She must have wandered up the landing gear from outside,” San guessed. “I managed to sit up, because I had to pee; and when I came back from the bathroom, there was a super cute cat sitting on your side of the bed.”

Celestia gave the purring cat a few more scratches behind her ears before thinking for a moment.

“What’s the captain gonna say?” she asked as she sat on the edge of the bed.

The captain had a thing with animals on the ship. It wasn’t that he didn’t allow it, it was that everyone had a job to do and wanted everyone to always stay on task that getting a pet for one crewmate or for all to share seemed impossible. Everyone, including Dahae, had begged Hongjoong multiple times for a furry friend, but he always said no.

“Well,” San thought, “I mean we already have a baby on the way, so he might say our new friend has to go; but since you’re going to be here on each stop, maybe she can help keep you company.”

As if excited by his idea, the cat leapt off of San’s lap and tip-toed to Celestia’s bump. She began to purr as she rubbed up against it. It was as if she now knew there was something precious being nurtured and developed in a protective shell.

“I think we might have found our guardian for Baby Choi,” San jokes with a chuckle.

-

Tagging: @not-majestic-bluenicorn​ @actuallythatwaspromise​ @barsformars​  @philosopher-of-fandoms​ @daybreakx​ @lilhwahwa​ @hongism​ let me know if you’d like to be added or removed

[brideofcthulhu10]

Ok I’m at work and I cannot stop thinking about a soulmate au with Dwayne (because he’s my fave) where a psychic or someone tells him that he’ll meet someone with like a specific tattoo or birthmark

Sure thing! Currently the child birth post is taking a lot longer than I expected, I’ve only just finished the David segment, I still have Paul, Marko and Dwayne to go but hopefully they’ll be done before Wednesday.

Dwayne’s Fate

Halloween rolled in and yet the plethora of tourists never seemed to cease. All over the boardwalk they flocked to every newly decorated attraction, sporting cheesy plastic masks, sharing caramel apples, hugging each other as they went into the haunted house... Dwayne couldn’t help but feel the sharp pang of envy overtaking him. The young native pushed his mess of windblown black hair from his face, utterly tuned out while Marko and Paul were scoping out the beach honeys clad in bikinis and shorts. Instead he leaned on the handlebars of his bike, watching the couples pass by. Eighty-One Years. 

He had been a vampire for eighty-one years. In all that time he’d never considered anything outside of his own pack, his coven of brothers who had become vampires alongside him. It was decades of wild nights! He thought he could never want anything else. But when Michael waltzed in and swept up Star and Laddie... he felt almost dark, in a sense. 

Something changed in him the night he came back. He wasn’t sure how. What mattered was that he, and his brothers were alive once again. Well, not alive, but still. Now he was back to terrorizing the night time streets of Santa Carla like he always had. Only, it wasn’t like always.  A part of him wished there was something more to all this. He had hoped one day to settle down when he was still alive but opportunity seemed to be almost gone by this point. Drumming his fingers on the handlebars of his bike, Dwayne grew increasingly impatient remaining in place. Swinging his leg over his bike he sighed with Marko turning to watch the road hog waltz away.

“Hey, Dwayne, where you headed, man,” he called, looking up. 

“For a walk. I can’t sit here all night like you suckers,” Dwayne retorted, stuffing his hands in his jacket pockets. Silently he wove through bustling crowds, barely lifting his eyes. Anyone who was in his warpath quickly learned to dodge him. Thoughts plagued his head, more than he had before to the point they were cluttering against each other. 

“You there,” a voice called over the unruly sounds of Santa Carla. Dwayne hadn’t thought much of it until an elderly woman quickly wove through. “You! You! Yes, wendigo-boy!”

The term gave him pause, looking back at the silver haired crone waddling his way still pointing her dried up finger until it was inches from his nose. “Yes, I could sense the aura of you and your friends across the way. Your dark presence is unmistakable.”

Dwayne swatted her hand away with a grimace, taking a step back. “Bug off you old bat, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he hissed, turning from her.

“Your past may not define your future! It is not too late to find one who can bring light to your darkness,” she insisted, running in front of him. 

Again Dwayne groaned, This broad was persistent. Even when he tried to walk away a third time she managed to swoop around him. 

She was easily in her late 80′s with wiry silver hair barely contained in a low hanging bun. Feathers stuck out of her hair, clanking armfuls of metal bangles rang whenever she moved her hands. Each boney finger cracked, dawning a ring on each that barely hung of aged flesh. Beady brown eyes practically stared into his center which made it impossible to to look at her face. Whenever she spoke he could see her crooked snaggle tooth accompanying her worn voice, raspy as if she had swallowed sandpaper. Wrapped around her burnt orange dress was a worn leather belt chipping away sporting a purple satin bag tied around it. Whatever it was she wanted to discuss was not going to wait. When his internal debate grew to be too much, she finally snatched him firmly by his wrist and began to pull him where she was determined to be. There was no point in questioning any of this, all she did was answer in stupid riddles.

"All will be answered! But you come with now, otherwise you will miss it! Then who knows when it'll happen again."

"It". Whatever this "it" was carried some weight as she used the term frequently. Although reasonably irritated, something in Dwayne felt the need to follow. He resisted the urge to rip her arm out of it’s socket, and instead rapidly shuffled his feet so he didn’t step over the hobbling broad who couldn’t be more than five feet tall- even when she wasn’t hunched over. The way she wove through tourists was eerily timed. Almost perfect. Nothing caught her off guard. Bobbing and weaving. Worst of all no one was moving, everyone around them seemed utterly oblivious to her presence! Pulling him forward she shuffled her way to a small caravan. The dusty old piece was barely illuminated by a single light hanging over the door, wedged between the old donut place and the Santa Carla Gift Shoppe.

 Still clutching his arm, they continued up creaking wooden steps that practically sang as he carried himself atop them. He can as convinced any moment this whole thing was going to collapse. The red door swung open slowly on it's own. Must've been rigged or something to do that. Meanwhile Dwayne had to duck just to avoid hitting the doorway, not that it mattered to the scatterbrained lunatic he decided to follow. Only when they were indoor did she finally release his hand and immediately shut her door behind him. It was decently bigger than what was let on initially. Tucked away behind a thick red curtain was a bed built around an arching stained glass window. It must've been somewhat decent before, athough this woman was such a hoarder you wouldn’t be able to tell at first. What books didn't fill her towering cases were strewn about the the floor in piles. Pages were stained with ink, notes written in old languages stuck to the walls between massive oil paintings depicting glorious battles, mystic creatures, ancient ones he had never seen. Plants were either hanging from the ceiling or over grown in corners. Dwayne made the mistake of sniffing at the strange red mushrooms poking out a dense pot of wriggling soil. He immediately recoiled watching worms surface just to burrow beneath the cakey mud. There were chattering cages hidden behind the bedroom curtain, ones he couldn't see into. Lined up along the wall was an oak desk draped in a velvet purple fabric coated in metallic gold zodiac symbols, completely covered end to end in bizarre herbs, animal parts, even live critters kept in an array of apothecary jars. Shelves held more, beakers of unrecognizable fluids bubbling over rickety bunsen burners. Thick crystals caked in dust jutted out beside a faded wooden box with bizarre pieces of jewelry spilling over, cobwebs gathering in untouched nooks. Rather than lamps or lanterns she had candles everywhere. Dribbling onto the floor, pouring over wrought iron candelabras, wiggling wisps of light spilling around the corners. By the kitchen space were cabinets sporting different colors of even more candles, many carved into with unfamiliar writings. When Dwayne picked up a dirty bottle covered in cobwebs off the crowded oak desk, there was a loud THWACK that made his ears wring.

“Ow! Hey-!”

Before he turned around she had a broom to his face and smacked him again. “No touching,” she demanded, yanking the bottle from him. 

“If I wanted to, I could kill you, you old hag,” he snarled, rapidly stepping towards her with fangs bared. Again, broom.

“Hush! You are not as your bothers are. You desire the knowledge, yes?! You shall not get a word if Alma is dead. No use then!”

Dwayne grumbled a sour huff, rubbing the top of his head. Again he questioned his personal sanity for humoring this hag wielding a mighty broom.

All the while the self proclaimed Alma shuffled around him, snatching up handfuls of bottles and plopping then atop another overcrowded table. Repeatedly she used the words "fool" and "knows nothing" clearly referring to him. Mostly because every time she said those words she'd look over her shoulder at him.

Black as night, her worn iron stove roared when she stoked the fire withing it's oven. Just atop the surface was a heavy black kettle nestled above a scalding red coil. It rattled and hissed, moaning when plumes of steam billowed out into the air. She mumbled and “harumph”ed her way through the caravan. Clanking down a tea set on a worn old silver tray she rapidly shuffled back to her stove to retrieve the screaming kettle still singing it's tune. Without missing a beat she dropped something inside it. It took two trembling hands she poured the water over the strange herbs she had previously retrieved into two cups. The dainty porcelain pieces were etched in golden, ancient writings atop another circular table covered by a deep blue table cloth. With that, she plunked herself atop a creaking old chair, staring at Dwayne with those beady eyes . 

‘Why the fuck am I still here with this old bat?’

Dwayne barely managed to fit in the rickety old seat that squeaked beneath his weight, staring down at the petit cup. The muddied liquid still bubbled, steam spiraling to carry an unbelievably sickening scent. Not necessarily horrible, but utterly confusing. The more he looked at it the more it seemed alive. “I am not touching that.”

“Hush! Nonsense! You shall drink as Alma does, and you will see.”

Dwayne hesitated, watching her sip at the herbal concoction. This was clearly the dumbest decison of his afterlife, but he had already died twice. What was there to be afraid of?

 “On the boardwalk.. you called me ‘wendigo’. What makes you say that?”

“I can see your true form,” she calmly explained, setting down the cup. The leaves barely floated at the base. If he turned his head he swore he could see it forming into the shape of a fanged jaw wide open. “Blood and flesh pave your future, but even those who dwell in darkness deserve a lantern to ease the suffering.”

So, she knew what they were. What he was. “Then why help me if you know I’m a vampire,” he questioned, expecting the tea to be brewed with holy water. 

“It is not my place to judge your path. I have come across many of your kind in my years of living. They all do what they must. So, drink.”

Dwayne hesitated once more, only to lift the beverage to his lips. It was bitter. The taste was reminiscent of biting into tree bark, all he could do is scrunch his nose. 

Then, Alma’s figure began to vibrate. He could see pieces of her breaking off, the room surrounding him peeling away, like old paint off a dirty wall. Strips crumbled to his feet. He attempted to move only to find himself firmly planted to his seat. There was nothing. No sound, no sight, only black. 

With a sharp inhale he opened his eyes to streams of orange. A... sunset?

Dwayne was amazed he could even remember what a sun set looked like. However, there was nothing that could take away the memory of the fire that filled the edges of the sky. Drips of night seeped in, miles of tall wheat grasses swaying in the breeze enveloping him. Still wedged in place he could only sit there, savoring a sight he would never see again.

But when he heard it, and he froze. A laugh. A twinkling bell chiming from far away. Flashes of E/C orbs flickered holding the sun within. A pearly smile whispering his name so softly it sent chills running down his spine. S/C as smooth as satin running a hand on his arm. The face cut in and out, but what he continued to see over and over was a symbol. An inky raven with wings draped over a woven dream catcher. Thick cords wove between each other into intricate details, each hole giving him pieces of who she was. Yes, she. He could hear her voice vibrate through the air. Not what it was saying, but only the sounds it made. “Alright alright, enough,” a raspy voice commanded. 

Dwayne finally jumped up and out of his chair, crashing back down to earth and only the dusty floor of Alma’s caravan practically wheezing for air. He felt like he had just been running for hours!

“Come, come let’s not be dramatic,” Alma snorted, shuffling over to take his tea over to her rusty old wash pan piled with dishes. 

It took a moment to get ahold of his bearings, swearing if he had a heartbeat right now it’d be jumping through his ribs. “What... the fuck... did you give me?!”

“No time for that, child. The bird is waiting for you just beyond the docks,” she began to babble again. Bird? Again that raven flashed before his eyes while Alma pried him off the floor. 

“Wait- but I don’t- will you quit shoving me?!”

Alma continued to yank him until he was out the door barely catching himself as they ran down the steps. “Oooh any minute, any minute. No time for dawdling!”

Quickly she took him by his arm and swung him back out into the crowd, stumbling into a young woman who nearly yelped.

“Oh shit are you okay,” she asked. A few girls giggled at him until she made a face, waving them off. “Sorry I didn’t see you there. Are you alright uh-?”

Just across her collarbone sat a raven tattoo nestled across her chest with winds spread over a dream catcher trailing into her shirt, the trickles of beads left hidden in her blouse. When he looked into those perfect E/C orbs holding the sunset beneath them he could only smile, setting her heart immediately ablaze. With a massive blush tinting her cheeks an adorable crimson hue she pulled him to his feet, unaware once he was standing that she still had not let go of his arm. Looking behind him Dwayne still expected to see the batty old woman sitting outside her caravan. Instead... there was no one in sight. No caravan either. Just an empty alleyway only sporting a few dented old trash bins overflowing with garbage. Slowly he turned back to the girl, positioning himself closer as his crisp smile beamed over cinnamon flesh.

“Well what’s your name first?”

“Y/N,” she spoke with a tender tone, pushing a lock of hair behind her ear.

“Y/N. I’m Dwayne. Nice to meet you, princess.”

[glorifiedpigeon]

Fluffuary - And They Were Lab Partners!

An Intrulogical oneshot! Oh my god, they were lab partners. Remus isn't allowed to handle chemicals in his chemistry class anymore. Logan thinks their partnership could reach new heights of efficiency!

AO3

Remus Sanders was messy, to say the least. In elementary school everyone had thought he was a weird kid. He collected worms, rolled in the mud, and once brought a dead rat he found to his first grade teacher's door. In middle school, the other kids got mean, so Remus got meaner. Then in junior year of high school, Logan Ackroyd moved into town.

Nobody else got nicer. Not really. But Logan wasn't mean to him, even if he wasn't nice. Even so, Remus did his best to terrorize him. After all, Logan was weird. He kept sitting next to Remus in classes, kept asking him for the notes or what he thought would be on the tests.

The absolute weirdest thing was when he purposefully came up to Remus in Chemistry and asked him to be lab partners. Like- what? Everyone knew Remus wasn't allowed to handle the chemicals anymore, not after the incident.

"I'm not allowed to touch the chemicals," Remus stated dumbly.

"Yes, Ms. Gorbach informed me. However, I am not looking for someone to handle the chemicals, I am looking for someone to observe and fill out the worksheet," Logan explained, pushing up his dorky, nerdy, sexy librarian glasses. Remus lived for the way he looked at him disapprovingly over the rims.

"Oh, well I can write!" Remus said with a grin.

Logan gave him that look, and Remus felt his grin widen. God, that guy made him feel so stupid! Was that awakening something in him? Geez, probably.

Logan sighed, and turned to a lab bench. "Just- observe and try to keep track on the worksheet."

"Okay! Hey, quick question though: why are you picking me as your lab partner? I'm not the brightest eye in the barrel," Remus questioned.

"Why would someone put eyes in a barrel- nevermind. Remus, I have only attended school with you for two months but already I can tell you are much more intelligent than you behave,"  Logan reasoned. "I mean, you're in the running for valedictorian."

"I am?" Remis asked, baffled.

"You are. Well, no. You were, but then you pulled the fire alarm and got yourself suspended." Logan's lips curled and Remus nearly choked on his spit. Was that a smile!? Logan looked at him. "Between you and me, I found it quite funny. Then again, it did interrupt my inane history teacher in the middle of one of his sexist rants, so perhaps it was a situational sort of humor."

"You- you found my lack of impulse control funny," Remus repeated. He felt like his brain had been severed from his ears, the words not factoring into his brain at all.

"Well, it sounds rude when you say it like that," Logan mumbled.

"Well, I'm a very rude person," Remus shrugged. Logan snorted. Holy shit, he actually found him funny. Fuck, what did he do now, did he flirt!?

"People say I'm quite rude myself. I'd call myself more blunt than anything, though," Logan said, as he organized the tray and took a mental inventory.

"I say, why be subtle?" Remus huffed. "I'm not going to bother with subtlety just to make people comfortable. I am who I am."

"Incredible. And you were almost valedictorian? This didn't impede you at all until recently?" Logan asked. He handed a set of goggles to Remus.

"Nope! Though, I mean- most of what I say gets excused on account of my filter is quite literally damaged," Remus stated, as he slid the goggles over his eyes. "It's when I do stuff that matters, but I have an identical brother who gets into way more actual trouble, so people usually assume he did it!"

"Ah. Your brother Roman, correct?" Logan asked, as he secured his goggles over his glasses.

"Yes! You'll notice he's quite the delinquent," Remus assured, and he tapped the lab table. It was, sure enough, carved to show a small caricature of Ms. Gorbach. Logan rolled his eyes.

"How juvenile," he stated.

"Oh, you don't like Roman?" Remus asked, interest piqued. Usually people giggled and swooned when they found one of Roman's carvings.

"He's… delusional, to say the least. I mean, really. What the entire school seems to see in him, I'll never know," Logan scoffed. Remus grinned.

"I think I love you," Remus blurted, and Logan fumbled with the baking soda, spilling it across the table with a small crash.

"Boys!" Ms. Gorbach called. "What's going on back there?"

"Nothing, Ms. Gorbach, it just got on the table, no harm done!" Remus hollered back. He turned back to Logan. "Do you need paper towels?"

"Yes, and the trash can," Logan said, and he sounded a little awkward. Remus grinned.

"Can do, Dr. Frankensexy," Remus stated, and he watched as the pretty little nerd turned a bright red before going to fetch the needed supplies.

Was this how Roman felt all the time!? No way, Roman didn't have any investment in people that liked him. But Nerdy Wolverine was hot, and apparently into him!!!

Fucking score!

@tsshipmonth2020

[afterthelastreset]

Rules Of One’s Soul Ch 1 Game Starts

(WARNING!! PLEASE READ: Mentioning of past abuse in this story, don't know if this counts as a trigger but just in case I'm putting this here.. Also Rouxls has a slight fear of touch, and bad anxiety and some stress in this story. Don't know if those count as triggers but might as well mention it in case. But nothing beyond that. You have been warned. Mak belongs to @coffincrawler)

What would you do if your job was to deal with a power hungry king who could snap at any moment? Quit? Haha! Only if thou wanted to end up in the dungeon or worse. But also that you were completly put in charge of something you had barely any knowlege of, forced to babysit a hyper mini king, and had to do whatever the king wanted at a moments notice any hour of any day. Oh! And this was all a 24/7 job. Congratulations. ......Being the duke was highly overrated but, nobility wasnt without sacrifice. Which was what he was ready to put up with when he agreed to first being the king's royal advisor. The king was always much of a brute, big, mean, and not afraid to show his displeasure for anything he didn't find to his liking. But at least the Queen always managed to calm him down-....Ah. Her highness- She was always such a caring and kind spirited lady. How she could possibly tolerate let alone love that big brute was a mystery in of itself, but then again he wasn't in any place to judge. Now was he? He was just the royal adviser(more like royal errand boy) to the king, but still he admired many things about her. Her courage, her endless kindness,....her beauty-...*ahem* Anyways, things were going well in thine kingdom for a while. Sure the constant nagging and intimidation of the king would get tiring but he was used to constant pressure from higher ranking people. The other three kings and queens were much more pleasent to be around, sometimes the neighboring Durrmee Royal family would visit. The Spades even eventually announced the coming of their soon to be child after a while...Huh. It seemed like everyone was starting to settle down it seems. Unfortuneatly nothing like this lasted forever- Everything changed the day the knight came. The Queen disappeared. The king went mad! The former kings locked away, the neighboring kingdom attacked, the foutain appearing, and the king slowly descending into more....destruction. The poor prince. He didn't deserve any of this. Noone deserved any of this actually. It seemed madness spread to others as well. Not too long after the jester was caught trying to slay an innocent bystander and was locked within the safest cell constructed. Not too long after that the royal magician quit along with some of the other staff...or thrown in the already crowded cells. But it didn't make any difference to him. He just had to keep on smiling and agreeing for his own sake. Day after day. Smile n agree. Smile n Agree.....Hopefully nothing bad happened. But enough rambling about his past. You dear readers are here to read the tale of his future are you not? Well then. It all began with one scared rudinn on one rainy night-

The rain had been pretty aweful this season. It only lasted a week or two, but it was always pretty dull to watch. Luckily he had been given of paperwork by his majesty to last hours to keep him occupied! Isn't his majesty so consideret? ..*ahem* anyways- He was swamped with paperwork, which was why he jumped when a knock came from the large wooden door. He obviously flinched and looked at the door. After a few more moments of silence, a timid voice finally broke it:

"...Uh..Sir D-Duke," a male voice sounded muffled by the door, "C-C-Can I come in? W-We have a uh-....s-small problem." The blue duke let out a small sigh of relief it wasn't who he intiatlly thought it was and gave a small smile. "Of courseth. Cometh in soilder."There was another pause, before the door creaked open and said rudinn soilder stuck their head in. The Duke smiled assuringly before waving his hand in a come in motion, to which the rudinn seemed comfortable enough to slither in on his command. "Noweth. What caneth I do for thou this-"...He paused before looking at the clock on the wall. Good golly is was already almost midnight. "...Night?" The rudinn hesitated at first, wringing his hands together and shaking slightly. Even though Rouxls was a much better boss than the king was, he still had to report every progress TO the king and that's why most were nervous when it came to giving the daily reports. "W-Well Sir bossman. Sir. U-Um...I came t-to deliver the day's r-report?" The duke stared at him. "Now? Tis nearly thine next day. Why hast thou come to deliver it so latest?" The rudinn shrank more. "Well...T-That's the problem,Sir Puzzle man. Um....We're h-having a problem w-with one of the prisoners? " Rouxls's confusion must've reflected on his face because the rudinn winced. "It's the um....J-Jester, S-Sir." "Oh..Him." The mad jester was always troublesome. Ever since his capture and imprisonment, he's always found new ways to scare the guards. Babbling about how the King was merely using them all as pawns like in a game, or howling about chaos or something. He never really recalled the jester much, purple jolly fellow, always getting into trouble. Ounce put green hair dye in his shampoo bottle as a prank-.....He'd never forget that, his hair was an ugly green for a month. The guards were pretty freaked out by him, but he didn't see the big deal as long as we was behind bars. "So what thou's problem?" "Um.....H-He's acting....really strange tonight. L-Like..r-really freaky. And uh....No one w-wants to give him his food." "Well, then thy answer tis simple really. Let him go hungry. Maybe that willst teaches him a lesson about his behavior." The rudinn looked even more distressed if possible. ''Um...We kinda can't? The King's d-doing his w-w-weekly insp-p-pection tomorrow, Sir. A-And he gets r-really angry when I-it's not done." Rouxls froze at those words. Weekly inspection...? oh no- HOW COULD HE HAVE FORGOTTEN?! Well- He has been swamped in paper work for the last few hours, so he guessed he could've forgotten,, but the king wouldn't take his excuse. His body began to shake lightly from the memories of the king's anger. Teeth bared, claws out, pain on his face- He immediately shook his head and looked back to the Rudinn with a stern face. "W-Well getest someone down there and feed him something!" "W-We can't." "Why not?" "N-No one wants to go down there, b-but we don't want to see the k-king mad either so..Um...W-We were hoping YOU would do it?" They stared at each other, before Rouxls groaned and moved his eyes down to the mountain of paperwork that STILL needed to be finished before tomorrow. Too many things were always thrown at him weren't they? But...he was always used to bearing the brunt of the hard work, might as well go do it and get it over with. What could've been so hard about feeding one prisoner? He sighed and reached a hand up to run through his white hair. "Fineth. Just..telleth me where I can findest this 'freaky'prisoner thou speakest of?" *********************************************************************************************** DING! The duke made an obvious flinch when he felt the elevator stopped and made the comical dinging noise. He certainly wasn't expecting the sudden darkness greeting him when the doors opened up, luckily there were torches along the side of the darkened staircase that lead down into...well, he guessed the cell, but this seemed a little extreme for one prisoner. Maybe a suitable punishment for the king- He shook his head and meekly leaned his head out a bit to peer past the darkness. He couldn't see anything except barely the stairs and what looked like bars maybe? But he didn't see or hear any evidence of anyone down there? Perhaps this Jevil person was sleeping? Made no difference to him. That just means it'll be easier for him. Taking a deep breath, he slowly stepped out of the elevator and onto the stairs. ..Nothing! Sighing, he straightened up his back and made his way down more confidently. There was nothing to worry about. Rudinns always worry too much anyways, getting him to do all the work when he already had so much to do. He muttered to himself irritatedly, nothing made him more irritated than being interrupted in the middle of work. This would take all night at this rate. The poor duke failed to see the small shadow stirring in the darkness below, or the two small yellow dots that peeked out at him curiously. The yellow pupils blinked up at him from the dark, and a fanged smile slowly grew across his face. OH! A new visitor! Different from the usually rudinns or occasional hathy who usually just dropped his food off and left as quickly as they could, quite rude not to say hello. But THIS one- The worm's biolumeniscent hair shone in the dark and sparkled as he walked down the stairs towards him, a scowl on his face. He muttered some things under his breath he couldn't quite make out, but that didn't ,matter to him. It'd been so long since he'd seen a new face, though he looked very familiar....Hey. Wasn't this person the prince's babysitter or something? Oh! Wait a second. It was the funny fellow called Kaard wasn't it. Yes. Rouxls kaard. Biggest stick in the mud other than the spade. He chuckled lightly remembering the many pranks he used to pull. Always had this serious aura around him. No fun that one. This was going to be fun! He held what looked like the usual mush of food he was given to eat, no doubt to deliver it like the rest, but the way he looked so done with life already- It was too hilarious! He finally let out a stream of high pitched giggles at the sight, just as the duke was bending over to set the tray down by the bars. Making the worm freeze and drop the tray the last few inches to the ground with a clatter. He stared directly into the cage where to his horror, two yellow pupils were staring only a few feet away. The two silently stared at each other until one spoke. "Well, well. A new visitor, visitor to my little freedom!" The pupils blinked. The voice behind it sounded a little too pleased to be seeing him. "What brings you all the way down, down?" The worm didn't say anything. So when the pupils suddenly sprinted at him, he yelped and slammed his eyes shut for cover. ….When nothing happened, he slowly reopened them, but he wished he hadn't. Because staring at him a feet or two from his face was the purple imp from his faint memories, but he never remembered him being so terrifying! When he still didn't answer, the imp hummed. "What's the matter, matter? I got your tongue, tongue silly man? BWAHAHA!" "..duke.." He paused. "Hmm. What was that?" "I-I-..." The duke licked his lips nervously. A few sweat beads of slime ran down his obviously frightened looking face. "It's D-Duke to t-t-thou, P-Peasant." The thing cooed. "Oh. I see you've obtained a title.Hehehe." Somehow he shifted his body to lay on his side in mid air, with his head in his hand. "A title is just that, that. A silly little thing to call yourself, yourself.~...But now that begs a question. What brings the duke, duke to my humble little freedom? Freedom." The duke was still obviously still frozen with fear with his eyes wide as plates, but confusion still seeped it's way into him. Freedom? He calls being in a cell in the middle of the dark feet under ground for years free? He really was mad wasn't he? He really should get out of there soon, but the fact this crazy person was still staring at him like prey was quite unsettling- Wait. He asked something right? Why he was down there? "I-I...T-Thou has scared m-mine workers into not giving thee substance...*ahem* W-With t-t-thine king checking p-p-progress tomorrow, I-I can't afford m-mistakes." The floating man hummed and it finally accured to Rouxls that he was balancing on his tail. What oddity is he? "What would one little me, me do to anger such a man?" …..Rouxls blinked. Certainly not the question he was expecting, but- "Art thou insane? Doth thee knowest what thine king w-w-will doth to mineself if thy rules are not followed accordingly?!" The jester merely shrugged. "I haven't the faintest idea,idea. But life is too chaotic without the stress, stress of trying to follow all of HIS rules, rules. Now isn't it?" "On thine contrary. I wouldst rather keepest mine head on mine shoulders than to risk displeasing his majesty. Following the rules is needed on a daily basis." At that he let off more high pitched cackling. "After all these years, years he still has the pieces of his never ending cruelity, cruelity. *tch* And they say Im mad and foolish." "Thoust tried to killeth thine king. Of courseth he woulst locks thee up like the traitor thou are!" The fear was slowly starting to be replaced with annoyance at the feind. "I have wasted enough of mine time here. "He slowly leaned back up to a standing position. Thou haseth thine food, perhaps you'd be wiser than to scareth off thine food supply. Or else starve to death." His ears perked up. "Is that a threat I hear oh duke?~" "Taketh it how thou wants to! Im nay afraid of a mad fool trapped behind bars of coldst steele." "Is that so?" His eyes lit up with an unknown glee. ''Well, then how about a little numbers, numbers game?The rules are simple to play, play?~" Rouxls gave him an even more annoyed look. He had important work to do and this fool wanted to play games. "Nay! I haveth no time for your idotic foolishness- EEEEE!" A death grip had wrapped his wrist and attatched to it was the smiling lunatic with a gigantic grin, which only grew hearing the Duke's squeal and the way his confidence has easily been returned to fear. "Oh, come now, Duke.~ It's simple really. All you have to do is run while I count how long your-"

Rouxls let out a squeak as a pulsation ripped through their bodies and simaltaniously pulled his hand away from the equally startled imp, who's tail pulled him back a few feet and his eyes widened at the sudden feeling. Rouxls's soul thumped hard against his chest to the point he thought it was going to burst from his chest, then as suddenly as it came it left and his soul slowed down and his lungs heaved out. Rouxls stood there. Blinking. D-Did he...Did he just have a soul attack? B-B-But then, where was the pain? HE should've been flopping on the ground like a fish. Maybe an anxiety attack? Nay. Those never felt like electricity was surging through him. It must've been a giant zap of static cling. The two just stood there as the effects wore off and slowly looked at each other. Jevil was the first to move as he slowly looked down at his paw, his button eye spinning. He stared at his paw for a moment before closing it and giving Rouxls a wide eyes look. Rouxls could see the blue shape of his soul slightly from under his clothes as it faded away....Ok. Weird side affects for static cling. "You?" The voice brought Rouxls back to Jevil as he blinked in confusion. "I-I..I what?" Jevil didn't seem to notice he said anything and instead look back down at his hands in pure confusion. "I didn't think I'd ever see the day, day...and with someone so...opposite, opposite!" He turned back to the kaard with a newfound glee on his face. That spooked and confused him to no end. In one swift moment, the thing lunged at the bars and reached a clawed hand out. ROuxls obviously yelped and tried to back away but the clawed hand caught onto the front of his shirt. With a hard yank, the duke was slammed against the bars and once again a spike of absolute terror washed over him. Yellow eyes looked at him. What he didn't know was that Jevil was drinking in every detail of his face. He never noticed but the duke seemed to have dawned a few scars to his otherwise flawless features, must've been a fight or two. He surely was a fascinating one wasn't he? Oooh! He could feel his soul lighting up with this new found "How marvelous, marvelous! A new player and game, game!" Genuine excitment rang through a genuine happy smile, though the terrified Rouxls didn't seem to notice. His soul beat against his check a mile a minute! He could burst from what he purseived as fear any second, not that jevil noticed. "Ehehehehe! So this is where it all begins, begins! " He HAD to get out of there! He pulled his head back and got his arms up ready to shove this pest off himself- He froze. Something wet slid against the side of his cheek and he gave off a high pitched whine. His body shook lightly- And then he thrashed uncontrollably. His brain having one goal. GET AWAY FROM HIM! Jevil was taken aback and loosened his grip on the blue man. The duke fell backwards and instantly began to shuffle back- "Wha- Hey! Wait, wait!" He didn't listen. Stumbling and desperately trying to breath, he ran back up the stairs towards the elevator and into it. The up button was spammed practically into nothing and the similar ding noise was heard as the doors slowly closed off the darkness. As the machine shifted as it slowly went up, the duke collapsed against the side wall and slid down to the floor breathing heavily. What the actually f*ck was that?!

…………………...……...……......……...……...…...…......………............…...…...…...…...…...…..................…...……......……...…...……………......………...…...…... He shouldn't have done that. He shouldn't be doing ANY of this. What would one think if they knew that the King's appointed Duke of Puzzles, caretaker of the prince, and master of law and order would be feeling absolutely weak in the presence of an insolent clown?! NO! He wasn't weak! Rouxls Kaard was anything but weak. He was just....uh..a little unprepared for the absolute madness of the knave when they first encountered. Yes. That's it! Not even the great Duke of Puzzles could get all first impressions right.

He wasn't sure of the strange feeling in his gut whenever his mind revolved around back to THAT night. The strength of those ghastly hands latching onto him and slamming him into the cold steel, near those sickly glowing eyes. The very thought of those things made him shudder and get a sick feeling in his stomach. In a way, he was more terrorfying than thy king. At least with him you could tell when the Spade was displeased in anyway, but there's no feeling behind a mad man's smile. So. The answer to recovery was to just avoid the place and do his best to push those thoughts deep down and try to distract himself.

And for a while. It actually worked.

He managed to busy himself by making an actual working piece of his work the king seemed pleased with. He called it, A Control Crown. Though it still could use some work as it only worked on more...um. Less smart beings of the realm. And the King's annoying worm(but much better company keeper) of a son had gotten himself into plenty of shenanigans the Duke had to fix or pull him out of. It had been maybe a few months since the incident and he rarely thought of any of that encounter. So all was well with the Duke of Puzzle. Thou the duke did experience a strange tugging or nagging feeling like he was missing something. Oh well. None of it mattered.

At least. Not until that night.

A storm had decided to make itself present that night much to the annoyance and fear of the guards. For it was tonight that the prisoner better who some had called Jevil -odd name if you asked him- once again decided now would be the right time to act up and strike fear into the poor guards in charge of the food supply to him. Which also meant none wanted to go down there. Which ultimately meant the duty would fall on the next upper person in charge.

.....Which meant it was up to him. To settle things. And go down there. With that THING!

He honestly almost threw up the mac and cheese Lancer and himself ate for lunch when he found out. But he was the Duke of Puzzles, appointed by the King himself. Law keeping was one of his best assets, which was why he was put in charge of these guards. So, with a heavy stomach and light head, he assured any listening he'd once again take care of the 'little worm' and put a stop to this all. Oh,if only he could have seen the familiar frozen grin plastered on his face at the moment. It only got worse when he stepped into the elevator and pushed the button to the unknown level.

Once the doors closed, the Duke let out a breath he didn't know he was holding and immediately reached to clutch at the tufts of shiny snow white hair on his head.

"What the f*cketh have I done?!" He breathed between gasping breaths. He wasn't even sure how stupid he was at this point! Why didn't he just tell them to let the stupid prisoner go hungry just for tonight and not bother!? This was absolute madness. Like kicking a live bee nest to anger the pathetic insects-

Bing!

"HA!" The Duke let out a short high pitched squeak of fright from the doors reopening to reveal the beginnings of a staircase and darkness below. He hoped no one heard him. A high pitched series of laughter ruined that hope.

"Oh, how fun,fun! A Duke of no suit has come once again, again to seek what he thinks he rules over!" He flinched when he faintly saw two glowing pinpricks from down below. "How interesting, interesting.~ Have you come to finally play, play?~"

He stood there frozen at the sight of yellow eyes waiting for his answer. The feeling of that insolent's slimey tongue grazing his cheek and the feeling of complete helplessness came rushing back to him in a heart beat. Gathering what pride and dignity he had left, the Duke casually stood straight up and gave an annoyed look. He tried to invision himself talking to a rookie guard or Lancer whenever he had to explain something. He just had to remember. HE was the one in charge. Not some bumbling knave that couldn't even harm him from his prison all the way down below.

"I-It has cometh to mine attention that thou art scaring the very guards that feed you!" He shouted down and waited for a response. But none came. The eyes didn't even blink. So he nervously licked his lips and continued. "If thou wishes to keep getting proper treatment from them in the future then thou needs to follow the rules set in place."

Felling a little more confident. He decided to yell louder. He was in charge. Not him. He had no control over the situation. He made the rules.

"Thou art getting on mine nerves and I do not wish to heareth about thine useless chatters or antics! I haveth no time to deal with thee any longer! I have more important matters to deal with than the rambles of an absolute mad man!! So keepest thine voice down and cease your useless shenanigans at once!!"

His voice echoed throughout the silent prison as the yellow eyes continued their silent watching. Rouxls stared down at the lowlife a little longer before smiling. That was until the pinpricks disappeared as the crazy fool threw his head back in laughter at the stupid show he just witnessed. Rouxls felt his ears press to his sides and his stomach drop hard. This wasn't the reaction he had hoped. All too soon the eyes were back along with a mocking voice.

"What a shame! What a shame! Thinking he could order the only one free, free in the whole kingdom!~ How amusing!~ How fun!! FUN!!~" Rouxls didn't like the change in tone of the deranged jester's voice. It almost sounded intrigued. And that's what scared him most. "I never had so much fun,fun with another pawn before! BWAHAHAHAHAHA!! Tell me Rouxls Kaard. If you are in charge, charge then why are you too afraid to play this little game, game of yours?~ Hmm."

The Duke didn't say anything at first. The heavy scent of fear consuming him and making his head spin.

"I.....I shan't need to e-explain myself to the likes of you! I prefer not to waste mine valuable time on dealing with your insolent empty words. Thou can pretend with thine mind games all thee wishes but Rouxls Kaard is nay fool!" He pointed a hand at him. " For you see, I have thought of the possibility of thou using these games to trickest me into coming in range of your dastardly grip! But I shan't be fooled again so easily! For by me staying far from thine's hold then thou shall not have a open point to strike! Who's winning who's game now if thou never even got a chance to make his first move?!"

"Yet, yet I'm not the one who's playing dirty.~ What fun is a game if one wins just because, because he cheats out of fear?~"

"Hark thee little knave!!" He bellowed in absolute anger like he just threw dirt on his new suit. "What rules are laid down is followed and I shan't listen to you any longer!" He turned back towards the entrance to the elevator with a huff.

The voice cooed in amusement. "BWAHAHA! A shame that the rules card is running like a defeated child,child at a game of checkers.~ My next visitor will be pleased, pleased to hear about the cowardly leader of a Duke that masters, masters over them!~"

He froze. Did he just-...? No. He couldn't have just....But he did! Taking a breath, the duke world around to face the yellow eyes with anger.

"Thou insolent, foolish WORM!!" He bellowed at the top of his lungs. Making the jester laugh again as the duke began to march towards the stairs in complete anger that his authority would be tested by a common criminal. As he stomped his way down, he remembered to keep his distance with time when he reached the bottom. Now face to face with the clown behind the bars. Even with his limited vision, he could make out the jester's pleased smile on his face. "You DARE to threaten me with useless rumors of mine reputation?!"

"Hehehe. Not a threat and not, not a rumor.~ Just facts straight and simple.~ But now that you're her, here-" The bells on him errily chimed as he tilted his head. "I find you're more fun, fun to play with.~ Tell me, tell me. Did you figure out the game, game we started last visit?"

Rouxls huffed. "You mean that useless asult on mine person? BAH! I refused to even think about such things to do with the likes of thou, Jevil!"

A sudden spark seemed to light up in the jester as his attention became a bit more...focused.

"Ooh!~ So you learnt my name, name?~ BWAHAHA! Tell me, oh Duke of rules and puzzles. Have you any idea of what YOU have started with this game, game of ours you triggered? Are not the feelings and tugs at your very, very core not clues to this puzzle you can't seem to solve?~"

The duke gave the madman a confused look at the nonsense he was spouting out of his mouth. Was this a battle of wits or riddles? If so he won either way. He didn't intend on ever coming back or giving this creature any more of his precious time after this. What was the point if he never made sense anyhow?

"Was does thou even mean? This is nay puzzle! Tis a riddle of a mad fool that shan't ever be solved!"

"Hmm. Perhaps. Perhaps. But tell me this Duke, and tell me true. True." A hand stuck itself out of the bars to point at him, making him flinch. "Did you not have a feeling of need,need or incompletion when you first left this place, place!? Is it now gone?! Replaced with the need to prove yourself! To, to the very person you can never win or lose against in this corrupted. CORRUPTED EMPIRE YOU CALL HOME, HOME!!"

It felt like the walls and darkness themselves were vibrating with the booming voice of the smaller floating man. Rouxls couldn't even bring himself to speak and Jevil's smile suddenly became knowing instead of amused.

"THE ONLY ONE WHO CAN REALLY PLAY A GAME!! GAME!! THAT MATCHES YOUR VERY OWN!! ROUXLS KAARD!! OUR FIRST MEETING, MEETING WAS NEVER OUR LAST!! THE VERY MOMENT WE MADE CONTACT, CONTACT IT SEALED US AND FATE INTERTWINED WITHIN MY FREEDOM, FREEDOM AND YOUR IMPRISONMENT!! THE BEING OF PERFECT ORDER AGAINST THE TRUE EMBODYMENT OF RAW CHAOS!! CHAOS!!"

The last word felt like a wave of sound hit him and sent the duke stumbling forward a few steps almost falling to his face before he looked up at the absolute monster clutching the bars in absolute raw horror.

"You....You're absolutely mad!!"

Jevil chuckled again. "Maybe that's true. Maybe I am insane. Insane. But I am truly the only free, free person....But you know. It's gotten rather boring,boring and dare I saw lonely in my little freedom. Duke of puzzles. I haven't really, really felt like anyone but my old friend Seam could begin to make me this amused, amused." Maybe his insanity was rubbing off onto Rouxls but he could've sworn he saw Jevil's smile slipping a little. "I will always regret happened between us, us. But, it seems fate has directed you towards me, hmm?"

"What?....I-I...I still haven't the faintest idea thou is sputtering out!"

"Heh. You still don't get, get it do you, Rouxls?" He gave a hum and might have sounded like a disapproved parent if he wasn't still smiling though me. "Interesting, interesting. Tell me. Do you know the concept of soulmates?~"

Silence.

The frozen duke stared at the floating creature inside the cage as his brain tried to process this. Yes. He knew what a soulmate was. What an absolutely stupid question. Everyone knows a soulmate is the one person in life you feel compelled towards. Like finally putting the final missing piece of a puzzle together-.....Wait.

Wait a minute.

The realization must've reflected in his eyes because Jevil's smile became more soft if that was even possible for a mad man.

".....No...NO! Nononononononono! NO!!" He hands flew up to clutch his head. The floor felt like it was consuming him with how much his body fell forward to it's knees. "NO! NO! THOU TIS LYING!! MORE MIND GAMES!!" He shouted desperately at the jester who just smiled warmly back, like he was a dear old friend stopping by to grab a chat. His eyes searched for any indicators of mind games or a sick joke. "I...I can't anything to you but a toy for your amusement! Let alone thou's s-soul....IT"S NOT TRUE! I SHAN'T HEAR OF IT!! LIES!! ALL OF IT LIES-AH!!"

The same strength pressed him against the same bars. And the once proud duke whimpered like a dog when facing the same eyes from his nightmares.

"Naïve, naïve little duke." His voice was like he was trying to comfort a child and Rouxls let out a whimper when a clawed hand cupped his chin. His face was closer now. Why wasn't his body reacting!? He could feel the hot breath of the jester before he spoke next. "One cannot deny the rules, rules set down by fate now. Can you?~ We balance and do our dance, dance like chest pieces on a bourd. One never belonging to a suit, suit or getting the upper hand. But...we never lose, lose either.~"

The contact was warm, heated and made the duke feel a sudden rush of strange belonging filled with another stronger feeling of throwing up. Both feelings intensified when the crazy jester slightly loosened his grip on the frozen man's shoulder when something that felt strangely similar to a rope wrapped around his torso. Jevil didn't notice the white shiny liquid beginning to sting the duke's eyes or the sudden swing until something came impacting into his face. The force sending the smaller man a few feet away to the ground with a loud "OH!". Instantly when the contact was broken the duke threw himself back onto his rear and shuffled back towards the stairs. Gagging and clutching at his chest. Trying his dammed hardest not to give in to the urge to puke. A slight pain throbbed in his hand from where it struck the jester.

He coughed and sputtered while taking gulps of air through his mouth to help control himself. A small silence went by before the duke shakily looked at the direction of the man who had once again violated his personal being. At first he thought he was imagining it through the tears or the rushed feelings spiked through him, but no. Jevil was standing there instead of floating. One hand clutching the bars while the other cupped the cheek he guess he must've hit. A look of pure shock on the jester's face. Of the ounce proud man now reduced to a shaking crying mess.

Neither said anything for a moment before jevil spoke.

"You're....crying. Crying?" He blinked and removed the hand from his cheek to inspect it. Like the answers were written on his palm. "You...hit me, me?"

"WELL WHAT DID THOU EXPECT YOU GOD DAMMED FOOL!?!?" Both flinched at the sudden raged tone that seemed to rush out of him. Jevil more than him. But the angry feelings overtook any other rational thoughts. "DID THOU SERIOUSLY THINK UP THIS WHOLE CRAZY DELUSIONAL F-FANTASY OF ROMANCE TO GO ALONG WITH YOUR PATHETIC TRAGETY STORY LIKEST SOME SICK NOVEL WRITTEN BY A COMMONER!?!?"

Jevil stared long and hard before an annoyed expression came over him. "Fantasy, fantasy?.....DELUSIONAL TO MY OWN FEELINGS!?" He growled and gripped the bars of his caged prison. "YOU DARE SIT THERE, THERE AND CALL ME, ME A FOOL FOR RECONGNIZING THE PLAIN TRUTH WHEN NO ONE ELSE DOES, DOES?!"

This time it was the duke's turn to give a dry laugh. "HA! YOU CALL WHAT JUST HAPPENED A TRUEST EVENT!? AND YOU ACTUALLY EXPECT ME TO BELIEVE THOU'S GESTURE LIKE A NORMAL DARKNER'S?!"

Jevil's face immediately dropped. Rouxls sat there as both heavily breathed from the events. Before the duke slowly stood up onto wobbly legs.

"E-Even...if I did think thou's affections were true, what reason would I have t-to accept or believe when the person who gives it is a prisoner? Seam was in his righteth mind to exit this madness when he did-"

A low growl directed him back to the now angry jester. Anger was a new expression for him but right now he didn't care. Rouxls felt sick, covered in sweaty slime and tears, and equally angry.

''Don't bring Seam, Seam into this."

"Or what!? Thou'll attack me with more unwanted affection! This isn't exactly a splendid walk in the dungeon foreth me!"

The imp let out another growl before pointing another clawed hand at him. "You cannot, cannot tell me you can't feel-"

"I DON'T!!" The loud voice of the duke echoed throughout the entirety of the prison cell. Silencing anymore rambling from either end. "I tire of these useless antics a-and....AND I HAVETH ENOUGTH ON MINE PLATE AS TIS IS!!" He pointed a hand at him. "I SHAN'T EVER RETURN TO DEAL WITH THOU'S ANTICS AND I WILL NEVER SEE YOU AS MORE THAN THE ONE WHO TOILS WITH MINE EMOTIONS!! GOOD MORROW, WORM!!"

He turned and began stomping his way back up the stairs towards the open doors of the elevator. Ignoring the sudden expression on the imp's face.

"W-What?....ROUXLS!! You can't leave a game unfinished once you start to play, play!! It hasn't even finished!...R-Rouxls? Y-You can't forfit this game, game.....Not when I-...COME BACK, BACK!!"

He paid the creature no mind while he continued climbing up the stairs-...Which was a mistake.

An animalistic shriek pierced the air louder than anything he ever heard from the king. A shudder ran up his spine and only one thought shot through his head.

RUN!

He sprinted towards the exit up ahead. Almost tripping over his own two feet a couple times in his panicked haste to get out. Something whizzed by his head and embeaded itself into the wall above his form as more began whizzing past him. The animalistic screaming still present. One of the thing grazed his shoulder causing him to yelp in pain as a cut instantly formed. He ran into the elevator and practically spammed the up button as more of those sharp objects continued to fly around him. The doors slowly closed. Muffling the shrieking and little metallic thuds. Slowly, the elevator began to steadily rise leaving the noise behind him.

Unable to withstand the wild roller coaster of emotions moving through him, Rouxls collapsed against the side of the elevator as it continued to rise. His body shook uncontrollably as he was finally able to take a look at the things that were flung at him.....Hearts. These things were all hearts. He choked.

The once proud Duke of Puzzles reduced himself to a sobbing crying mess as the elevator continued to rise.

[dragonrajafanfiction]

Dragon Dancer IV: Lonely George

The upper floors of the building I was now staying in contained lush furnishings in large bedrooms. It wasn’t enough for Aoi Gen to just believe she was of the Gen clan, she had to live like it too.

All around me were relics of an old era, kimonos, art, and musical instruments collected over the years, things that she claimed were her family heirlooms.

The giant server room in the basement mattered more to me. Though it couldn’t hold a candle to something as sophisticated and all encompassing as EVA or Kaguya, it did allow for enough computing power to compile enormous amounts of information is a span of a second. 

I used it to monitor the net for anything resembling Chisei Gen, Chime Gen and Erii Uesugi. My prior searches had been restricted, but now I had more freedom. I didn’t just search for Chisei, I looked for any sign of Chu Zihang as well.

On the bed, little Ru’Yi was sucking her fingers, mesmerized by a slow moving ceiling fan. Just seeing her brought a smile to my lips and lifted my fatigue.

My results were very thin. In fact, the only hit I had was from Zihang’s father Tianjiao. He was listed as dead in a mysterious car accident years ago and he had worked as a driver in China. That was as far as I got, but if Tianjiao existed, then there was a chance that Johann was out there also. After all, I had managed to protect my baby. 

Su Xiaoyan, Johann’s mother was absolutely devoted to him.

Johann and his mother had a dream relationship. Johann emailed and called his mother every single day even after we were married. When he introduced me to her, she treated me like royalty, praising me as ‘her son’s choice’ and telling me I was very lucky.

Perish the thought of a woman like that forgetting her own child. I turned to Ru’Yi. I refused to let her die and she was still hidden in my belly.

A knock at the door.

“Come in.”

A young man with a shock of bright red hair and crimson eyes walked in with a tray of food.

“Dinner time already?” I stretched my hands over my head.

He nodded once. He had told me to just call him Taiga. He was muscular, a fighter. His pale face resisted a smirk at me. “No luck finding our elusive prey?”

“You’ve been searching this long. You expect me to have better luck?”

I peered at the food and then snatched it from the tray. Salmon roe sushi and seaweed salad! I happily swallowed one piece.

He watched me. “I’m always surprised you don’t choke to death.”

I rolled my eyes up at him, annoyed. “I’m eating for two. And you never bring me enough. Bring me more and maybe your wish will come true.”

He chuckled. “To be honest, I am surprised you haven’t found him yet. Aren’t you and the old Patriarch supposed to be friends?”

“Chisei doesn’t want to be found. He’s done dragonslaying. He just wanted to sell sunscreen on the beach in France.”

“Maybe he failed, or gave up.”

I popped another piece of sushi turning back to the screen. “No. He wouldn’t do that. Everything he did was for his dream. He would sell sunscreen and hide his identity so we don’t pull him out of his dream.”

“What sort of beach are we talking?”

“A famous nude beach in France."

Taiga suddenly was interested and leaned forward over my shoulder to look at the screen.

I laughed. “Ha! If you’re looking for photos, you won’t find any! The nude beach has a very strict no camera policy. It’s the perfect place for a former Yakuza clan Patriarch to hide!”

Taiga’s face fell in disappointment. “What a bastard.”

I’m suddenly aware of his voice too close to my ear. I scowled and waved him away. I had the feeling he was looking at me with desirous eyes. He always managed to insert himself into my room in the name of business. “Go away, Smelly.”

He checked his breath behind his hand. 

I tapped my chin. “You do have a point though... he had his own recipe for sunscreen. He would make his own products then. But I searched for a sunscreen with a Japanese manufacturer...” I slammed my hand on the computer desk. “Wait!”

Ru’Yi’s arms waved in shock at my sudden shout. She started to sob. 

“Oh... sorry! Sorry!” I stood up and hurried to her side. I held her to me and rocked her back and forth. “It’s okay, it’s okay!” I picked up a spoon from the tray and gave it to her. She was immediately distracted.

Holding her in my lap, I sat back down. “He wouldn’t have a Japanese name. I forgot, he moved to Korea. He would have a Korean name.”

I knew I wouldn’t be able to tell the difference between a Korean and a Japanese National just by eyes alone and neither would anyone in France. I typed in the name of the nude beach he mentioned to me a year ago, then  the words “Korean” and “sunscreen”.

Immediately, I got a result. “Lonely George Sunscreen”. With an icon of a large tortoise sinking happily in a pool of mud. “Ha! Found you! Found you!”

There was a contact. Saeki Ryuuji and a number. I quickly wrote it down.

“Saeki Ryuuji is the current head of Hydra... are you sure you...”

“No he’s not.” I interrupted.

Taiga crossed his muscular arms over his chest and looked at me. “What?”

I stuck my tongue out of him. “I was there when Chisei turned over power, number one. And number two, why would the acting head of of Hydra be the contact for Chisei’s sunscreen company?” I grabbed the last piece of sushi. 

“What were you to him? Were you two lovers?”

I chewed, ignoring his question. I wondered if this Saeki was Chime. Chime was too soft to handle something like being the false head of Hydra.

“Do you have a burner phone?” I asked.

“Maybe.” He glanced away, evasive.

“Go get it!”

“You’re a real American. Flying in here and rudely making demands without a please or a thank you. Or even a tip...” He sneered at me.

My pleasant demeanor cooled. “That was only after you dragged me into a car and threatened to kill my daughter. I’m doing you a favor as part of this transaction of hiding me. This isn’t a hotel and you’re not doing me any favors.” I lowered my voice. “I won’t be doing you any favors either.”

There was no doubt in my mind that Taiga was a hybrid. With a word, I could lower this proud dragon to a worm at my feet lowering his dragonblood purity to nothing with Release.

His sneer faded and we stared each other down for a few moments before he sighed. “You’re always so serious. I’ll get the phone.” He turned.

“Oh, Taiga.”

He looked over his shoulder. 

“Wanna get the dishes for me... please.”

His expression darkened. He turned back, grabbed the plate and left.

I took a breath to slow my beating heart. Hopefully, I could keep control of this situation. I had no intention of giving up Chisei’s life to these people. If it came to that, I would fight by his side once again to make sure they didn’t hurt him.

But on the other hand, I knew what a good person Chisei was. If he was aware of the real Gen Clan, he would have shown kindness to them in his final instructions. It would just be a case like Mingfei becoming Akira.

Mingfei briefly lost his memories. Rather than leaving him confusion, Chisei surrounded him with people who told him he was Akira Ryuu so he just believed it without question.

Chisei trusted Tachibana as a father and no one ever questioned his identity. Therefore, neither would he.

Another door knock. 

“Leave it at the door please! I’ll get it later!” I called. 

Silence.

My eyes shifted to the door. The shadow of a pair of feet lingered. I didn’t move or go to the door. The shadow of the feet walked away from the door and the sound of steps faded down the hall. I didn’t know who was at the door, or why they didn’t answer.

I was a bit of an invader here. Once they had what they wanted, they could get rid of me. I had a bit of a breakthrough just now, I would have to watch my step from now on.

[wolfofansbach]

vignettes from a Riverdale/IT crossover

I saw IT Part 2 the other day and felt compelled to write at least a little bit. 

“Come on, Jughead! You promised!” Jellybean whined.

“Go away,” Jughead whined right back in that equally plaintive, commanding tone specific to twelve year old boys. He threw a pillow over his face.

Jellybean huffed and crossed her arms. She stuck her bottom lip out in that quintessential six year old pout.

“You said you’d come catch lizards with me!”

“I know,” Jughead rolled over in his bed. “But my head hurts.”

Her lip quivered. “But—“

His eyes softened. “Look, just go get started, okay? I’ll come out in a little bit. See how many you can catch without me.”

Her face lit up again.

“‘Kay!” She turned around and bounced out of the trailer. He collapsed back onto the bed and grumbled.

Jellybean raced down the trailer’s steps, and into the muddy, drecky wonderland of Sunnyside Trailer Park in the wake of a brutal northeastern storm. Puddles dotted the driveways and rusty rainwater dripped from pipes and shingles. She could smell the storm. She breathed in deep. She liked this kind of weather. All kinds of little animals came out. Salamanders, toads, worms.

No one much was outside, which was fine by her. She worked best in solitude. Jellybean walked along the rows of trailers, keeping a sharp eye out for any flashes of scaly, slimy movement under boards or along walls. She stopped at a particular wide crack in the sidewalk, a little off to the side, that she knew often contained little critters that preferred dark, damp spaces. She bent down. A light drizzle started up again, plinking off of her parka. Something darted through the dirt. Long and wriggly. A salamander. Her eyes lit up. She shot a hand out. Missed it. Clutched a clump of grass and mud.

“Darn it!”

The salamander disappeared into the grass.

She followed the road a little longer. Jughead always told her not to go more than five trailers away from theirs if she was alone. Her parents didn’t much care. And Jughead would be out, soon, anyways, so it should be okay, she figured.

She almost caught a frog under a long-collapsed telephone pole, but it managed to slip—literally—through her fingers.

Jellybean turned a corner. There was a wide, empty lot at the northern end of Sunnyside. It was paved, but the grass had long since cut up through the splitting concrete, because they’d decided not to ever build anything, there. Jellybean thought that seemed like a waste of a lot of space. She could think of plenty of cool things they could build here.

Ringing the lot were a lot of old, big trees, and past that, Jellybean knew you could walk to Sweetwater River in about ten minutes. She was pretty sure she could hear it now, because it had rained so hard the river was swollen.

Something rushed over her feet. She squeaked. But then she looked again. It was another salamander. A big one, this time. Almost the size of her hand. She rushed after it, rubber boots pounding on the mud and slick cement. “Come here!” she shouted. The salamander paid her no mind. It made for the trees. She picked up speed. The little beast was quite nimble in this rain-soaked world.

It leapt into the tree line. Jellybean said a word that, if she were the child of a different family, might have made her parents angry with her. She slipped into the trees. Jughead would tell her not to go in there.

She already knew she’d lost the salamander. But she didn’t want to admit it to herself yet. Her eyes were getting hot.

Jellybean looked around through the dripping trees for a hint of movement. She saw a bird hop overhead. No salamander.

Her cheeks were burning. She’d been at it about twenty minutes, now, and not a lizard, salamander, or toad to show for it. She felt about ready to cry, but she wouldn’t allow herself to.

“Looking for this little guy?”

Jellybean gasped. She spun around. At first, she thought Jughead had somehow caught up without her noticing. Someone slipped out of the shadow of the trees. But it wasn’t Jughead.

It was a clown.

Jellybean blinked, as if expecting it to disappear in a flash, like the little squiggles in the corner of your eye. He didn’t.

The clown was tall, dressed in a puffy circus suit, with lots of ruffles and frills. He looked like an escapee from the circus. Jellybean had never been to an actual circus. This was certainly no circus. And so it seemed odd that there would be a clown, here.

His face was painted white, flanked by tufts of faded red hair, lips and cheeks decorated artfully with similar crimson paint makeup.

In his hands he held her elusive salamander.

For a moment, Jellybean forgot the awkwardness of the situation and exclaimed: “you found him!”

“I guess I did!” the clown giggled. “Would you like to hold him?”

Her first instinct was to enthusiastically say “yes!” But then she thought about the peculiarity of the situation, again—that she was in the woods right after a thunderstorm talking to a clown who had no business being here. Still—he did seem friendly enough, didn’t he?

“M-my brother tells me not to talk to strangers.”

“Well, it sounds like your brother is a sharp lad, isn’t he? I bet you’re a smart little girl, too, aren’t you?”

Jellybean shrugged. She didn’t want to brag.

“I dunno. Maybe.”

“Where are my manners? I’m Pennywise the Dancing Clown!” he said with a flourish, and Jellybean almost fancied she could hear the tinkling of circus music somewhere off in the distance. “And you are—“

Well, now that he’d introduced himself, it seemed rude not to do the same.

“I’m Jellybean,” she said, meekly.

“Jellybean! Isn’t that a lovely name? I love jellybeans! Don’t you?”

“Well, it’s not my real name. But I don’t really like my real name.”

She figured ‘Pennywise’ probably wasn’t the clown’s real name, either. Maybe he didn’t like his real name.

Pennywise proffered the salamander again.

“Why don’t you take him? You came all the way out here looking for him, didn’t you?”

The poor little thing wiggled madly in his immaculate white-gloved hands.

Jellybean wavered. Maybe Pennywise wasn’t so bad. But maybe he was.

“We—why are you out here in the woods?” Jellybean asked. “In the rain?”

“I like the rain,” he said. “Don’t you? It’s like a big shower! It cools everything down! Cleans everything up.” Pennywise looked down at her. His eyes were deep and weird, almost like he had a lot of eyes pressed down into two. He smiled, wide and sharp. A bit of drool dripped out over his bottom lip.

Since Jellybean didn’t seem interested in taking the salamander, Pennywise ever so slightly opened his hands, and the little creature slipped away into the wood. She hardly noticed.

“I—I should probably go,” she said.

“Before you go—“ Pennywise said, almost desperate. “How about a balloon?” And suddenly, there was a gleaming red balloon in his hand, pulled seemingly from the ether in a wondrous slight of hand. Stenciled across the front were the words ‘I Love Riverdale’, with the ‘love’ artfully instantiated by a heart. Jellybean was a little old for balloons, in her own opinion. But again, it seemed rude to turn down a gift. And it was a pretty balloon.

“M-my broth—“

“Oh, I could give him one, too! Do you think he’d like that? Where is he?”

“H—he’s still in the trailer. He said he’d come outside with me in a little bit.”

“He sounds like a nice boy.” Pennywise held the balloon out further. His smile widened, and Jellybean almost thought she could see his thick white teeth lengthen. But that was silly.

“Jughead’s pretty cool,” Jellybean said. “Don’t tell him I said that, though.”

The balloon danced in the clown’s hand.

“Go on. Take it.”

Jellybean paused. It couldn’t do any harm. If Pennywise had any ill intentions, he would have acted on them by now, right? She reached out, carefully. The clown smiled wider. She closed her little hand around the string of the balloon.

And then Pennywise’s own hand shot out and caught her around the wrist.

“Hey!”

Pennywise smile exploded into a hideous, inhuman maw ringed with rows of jagged fangs. Somewhere in Jellybean’s splintering mind she thought of the sharks on TV, opening their mouths wide to swallow hunks of raw beef. She screamed so loud birds flew from the trees. Pennywise’s radiant eyes split and multiplied. Burning terror flared in her chest.

The thing that had until recently been a clown lunged.

And that was the end.

“My mom left,” Jughead was saying. His voice was cracked and raw. He had no appetite for the tray of stiff cafeteria food in front of him. Betty looked at him with big, sympathetic green eyes. She rubbed his shoulder.

“I’m sorry, Juggie.”

“Cause Jellybean—“ his voice broke. He shook his head, and decided he didn’t want to talk about it anymore. Betty acceded, and they sat in silence for a few minutes. Then Archie, Veronica, and Kevin came along, obliviously insensitive of Jughead’s pain.

“I’m telling you,” Veronica was insisting. “I did see it.”

“You thought you saw it,” Kevin insisted right back.

“I believe you, Ronnie,” Archie said brightly, always eager to stay in the pretty new girl’s good graces.

Betty lifted her head. Jughead listened up, less than interested.

“Believe her about what?” Jughead asked.

“I saw slenderman,” Veronica said.

Jughead rolled his eyes.

“You saw slenderman?” Betty asked.

“Hand to God.”

“You saw slenderman?” Jughead asked. “Fictional, overplayed creepypasta character slenderman?”

“Yes,” Veronica hissed. “Under the old bridge between here and Greendale. I swear.”

“Okay,” Jughead nodded, not in the mood for argument about something so banal. He thought of Reggie Mantle’s insistence he’d been attacked by mothman on the way to school the week before, and Ethel Muggs swearing up and down her house had just recently become haunted. But considering his little sister was missing, probably dead, Jughead couldn’t really be bothered to care.

The story used to scare the hell out of Veronica when her mother would tell it. La Llorona. A story from old Spanish Mexico. The Weeping Woman, clad in grave clothes, drifting along the banks of the river, searching into eternity for her lost children—the children she herself murdered.

But it was just a story. Scary when she was five, sure. But she was twelve, now. That wasn’t scary anymore. She wasn’t a fucking child.

That’s what she told herself as she ambled down Sweetwater River, towards the Pembrooke, casting regular glances over her shoulder. The last of the sunlight was gone.

And then she heard it. Far away, over the water, rippling in the thin fog.

“Mis hijos! Donde están mis hijos?”

Veronica’s hair actually stood on end. Her skin prickled. She walked faster. Because she was hearing things. It was just some night bird, obviously. Jughead and Betty were wrong. Archie was wrong. Cheryl was wrong. They were wrong about Riverdale being the nexus of some horrible supernatural conspiracy. All the missing children, going back centuries, corroborated by reams of records in the public library was just a coincidence. Had to be. And that clown they claimed was now stalking them—they were just seeing things.

And it came again: “donde estan mis hijos?” The cry of La Llorona

Veronica began to jog. She saw the bridge over Sweetwater River loom up in the distance. There were lights up there. It made her feel better. A little bit. She leaned her head into the breeze and sped up.

Closer, now. Almost in her ear: “Mis hijos!” Veronica whirled around. And there she was. In all her impossible horror. A half-rotted woman’s corpse, flesh tumbling from the grayed jaw, empty sockets gazing off into blankness, a worm-eaten, threadbare white gown hanging from the rattling bones and slithering muscle. The ghost stretched her horrid mouth into a devil grin and loomed closer.

Veronica opened her mouth to say something and could only squeak. She wanted to run and found that her body had ceased to heed her brain’s orders. La Llorona crept nearer, and she could smell the grave on her.

“N-no,” Veronica gasped. “You’re a fucking fairy tal—“

One of the phantom’s bony talons seized her by the throat. She felt her feet leave the ground as the thing yanked her up in the air. She found herself staring into the blank, horrible sockets. There were slashes all around the bone, as if the eyes had been carved out. She gagged. Her chest felt like it might implode. Every nerve in her body burned, blazed, begging her to be free, to run. Her mouth hung open in sheer disbelief. There were no ghosts. No phantoms. And yet here she was.

The ghost’s own jaw dropped, unnaturally low, unhinging like a serpents. The loosened, decaying teeth rattled behind rubbery black lips. Veronica felt the hot tears searing her cheeks. It drew her nearer, like it was going to eat her alive.

And then suddenly there was a flash of rage joining the terror in her chest. The hell with this. She was not going to die to a goddamned campfire story. In that moment, there was no fear, she kicked hard and her foot connected with the ghost’s bony chest. There was a loud hiss, like a serpent uncoiling, and then Veronica fell back to the ground. She blinked, and La Llorona was gone.

She scanned the foaming riverbank desperately, scanned the tree line. The ghost was gone. Veronica leapt to her feet and took off running. The tears had stopped, and now they were drying on her cheeks. So maybe she was a believer now. At the very least, she was going to take Betty’s advice. She was going to ask her mother exactly what had happened twenty-seven years ago in Riverdale.

Veronica raced past the bridge, and then: “oh, Ronnie!”

She spun around. And there he was, sitting on the railing of the bridge, kicking his legs above the whirling water like a little kid. A fucking clown. A full on, honest to God fucking circus clown in white makeup and a frilly suit.

“Stay the hell away from me, Weary Willie,” Veronica hissed.

“Oh,” the clown giggled. “You’ve hurt my feelings. I’ve already met so many of your little friends—I’ve been looking forward to meeting you, too!”

Something shifted in the shadows under the bridge. It slithered out into the moonlight—a balloon. A red balloon. The balloon bobbed briefly in the air, and then floated up overhead, its shadow sliding over the clown, and then clambering up towards the heaven. Veronica watched, uncomprehending. The clown laughed, again. Another balloon drifted from the blackness beneath the bridge. Then another. Then two at once.

Until a steady stream of bright red balloons was pouring out from the murky shadows under the bridge. Veronica shook her head, stomach coiled in terror. She backed away.

“Ronnie!” the clown called. “Come back!” Then it’s plaintive voice dropped a few octaves. “You’ve had such a rough few years haven’t you? Your father gone! All that nasty business with your mother! A new town! How about a balloon?” Veronica turned. She began to run, as well as she could, head light with terror. “I’m sure it’ll cheer you up!” the clown went on. “You see how they float? Come with me, and you’ll float, too! You’ll all float!”

The mad, alien giggling chased her all the way home.

Jughead clapped his hands over his ears. It was no use. The entire house seemed to be lilting on its axis. The old wood groaned underneath him. Pennywise’s laughter filled the hallways, crept into every room, through every door. He heard Veronica scream, somewhere. He wanted to call out for Betty, but couldn’t get his throat to work.

Archie was gripping his shoulder for dear life.

Jughead blinked.

And his mother was there. Standing right there. He knew it wasn’t really her, of course. But it looked just like her.

“Jughead…” Gladys Jones said, softly. “Jughead, it’s alright. I’m right here.”

“No,” he said, biting his lip. “No you aren’t.”

He scrambled backwards. Archie was still clutching his arm, teeth chattering.

“Jughead, it’s me, baby,” Gladys said, sweetly. She held out her arms, and he had a rush of memories. His mother holding him after a bad day of school. His mother fixing him a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. His mother making him and Jellybean homemade Halloween costumes. He hiccuped and sniffled.

“Why did you leave?” Jughead asked.

“You know why,” Gladys said, still softly, sweetly. “I left because of you, sweetheart.”

“No—“ Jughead choked, forcing back tears. Archie was shaking, now.

“Because of what you did,” his mother went on. “Because you killed your little sister.”

“I didn’t mean—“

“You should have been with her, Jughead,” Gladys growled. “You should have been watching her. But you weren’t. And now she’s dead because of you.”

He felt like his chest was going to cave in, and his heart was going to pop from the guilt. And then Archie squeezed his shoulder and managed to struggle past his terror and say: “it’s not real Jug. It’s not her.”

That galvanized him, and he looked his ‘mother’ right in the eye and said “you’re not real.”

Jughead blinked, and ‘Gladys’ was gone. Pennywise was back, wild golden eyes sparkling, unnatural shark’s grin gleaming.

“Not real?” Pennywise said, like his feelings were hurt. He lurched closer, dropping his craggy-toothed jaw. “I’m not real enough for you, Jughead? This isn’t real enough?” He paused for a moment and giggled. “It was real enough for Jellybean!”

[fierypen37]

Victory is in Your Veins

another chapter up!

Chapter 3

  Day Sixty-Eight: The White Wolf

 “Again!” Morrgys bellowed. The Dothraki Morbo lunged, armed with his arakh. Black steel whistled through the salty air. Jon was ready. He ducked the blow and struck out, his punch just missing Morbo’s ear. The staff end of the arakh had a heavier whistle than the blade. Jon had caught that blow often enough to dodge that one too, though just barely. The Dothraki was fast. The pitch of the deck was choppy beneath his bare feet, the sun peeking through thick grey-bellied clouds. The master hadn’t seen fit to arm or armor Jon. As the greenest of Morrgys’ slaves, he must rely on wit and strength. Each blow was a lesson learned.

Jon swept out one leg, knocking Morbo’s legs from under him. He struck quick as a striking snake. Landing one knee hard on his chest, Jon twisted the arakh from his grip and held the razor edge to Morbo’s throat, just beneath the bronze collar. The Dothraki’s black eyes were ablaze with hate, tinged with something colder. Fear. It was the third time Jon had disarmed him today. Morrgys’s disgust was palpable. The string of invective was still incomprehensible to Jon, but he caught the words ‘weak’ and ‘pathetic.’          

In the weeks on this miserable ship—in between retching his guts out over the rail—training began before dawn and did not end until well after the sun had set. Strength training was weights tied to wrist and ankle and being thrown overboard. Jon kept his head above water, choking and sputtering until his lungs felt they would burst and his limbs burned as if the very marrow was afire. Stubborn, he kicked and kicked, choking on seawater. Only when the frigid water closed over him did they tow him back aboard. Meals were salt beef and barley stew with stale brown bread, thin beer and brackish water. Hard massage from indifferent hands worked the aches from his muscles at the end of each day.  A calculated recipe to tear a man down to nothing and build him up again.

Slavery stripped what little softness lingered on his body. Blisters welled and burst on his hands, the soles of his bare feet. Only accomplished slaves wore shoes. Sorefoot, Thicktongue, they called him as they barked orders in bastard Valyrian. Every night curled onto his mean little cot of dirty straw, scratching at flea bites, he counted each welt and bruise. He scratched a tally of the days on the wall, but soon lost track. Morrgys was not opposed to waking them in the wee hours for more drills. The best fighters in the pits were strong, yes, but more important, they were nimble. Morbo delighted in telling him the savageries that occurred during his fights.

“It is not just men in the pits. The best fighters bleed for their masters. Lesser men, krol, will fight beasts. Lions and bears and the like. There are children. One day, I see a bear in the pit. One young boy was drenched in blood, another in honey, another in rotted fish. The crowd wagered on who the bear would eat first.”

Jon’s belly roiled. The scum of the world gathered on cushioned benches, eating sweetmeats while children were torn apart in front of them. He didn’t think it was possible to loathe them any more than he already did.  

“And what are we?” Jon asked. Morbo spat in Jon’s direction.

“‘We,’ ver? I am a prized fighter of the blood of old horselords. You are nothing.”

Jon made no reply. Soon, Morbo grew tired of his taunts and left Jon to the creaking silence of his cell. He understood why the rider hated him, but there was also some strange loneliness in the man’s need to snipe at him.

The others were poorer company, Jon supposed. One was a wildling Hornfoot man by the name of Thyyck who spoke maybe three words of Common and none of Valyrian. A hulking man with tiny black eyes and blue tattoos snaking down his arms, Thyyck in Morbo’s words was ‘worm-meat.’

Two brutes, tall with shaved heads and pierced noses, Morbo called the Twins, though by Jon’s estimate they were not related. The Twins were Morrgys’s hands, eyes, and whips. Foremen, of a type. One doled out their porridge and the other was their masseuse at the end of the day. A master, two foremen, plus the crew and captain of The Tears. Weapons were locked up, the deck patrolled. Each slave was stripped to the skin for inspection before they could bathe after training. Even the drinking water was under lock and key, all to deter mutiny. Four others trained under Morrgys at different intervals, so Jon saw little of them. One was squat and bearded, Norvoshi, if Morbo was to be believed. Two more were water dancers from Braavos, and the last a Dothraki from another khalasar.

So the days and weeks bled together.

 Jon woke to the heavy tread of sailor’s feet on the deck overhead. He sat up, stretching aches from his muscles. Blearily, he realized the sun was fully risen. There was no porthole in his cell, but the air was warmer, and gods, was that the call of birds? His heartbeat quickened. Land. Were they near a port? Why hadn’t he been woken? The master was a creature of habit, a slave to routine. Had Morrgys had an apoplexy in his sleep? The gods would be too kind to the likes of him were it so. Jon stood to peer beneath his door. Sure enough sunlight peeked through the boards. Jon waited. Time dilated. Jon paced. They were heading south under a strong wind. He unfurled a map in his mind’s eye. South from Eastwatch-By-The-Sea was the wide mouth of the Shivering Sea, then the Neck, the Vale of Arryn. And to the east . . . Braavos!

“That’s it,” Jon said aloud. A slaver’s ship would have to tread carefully around that particular Free City. Founded by escaped slaves, there was little Braavosi despised more. Jon was tempted to scream and beat at the walls of his cell. It was a fool’s fond hope, though. If a Braavosi patrol ship was within range, Morrgys would loose his slaves, fodder for a bravo’s blade. Not to mention, Morrgys was an experienced slaver. Corrupt as wormwood and crueler than Maegor, but he wasn’t stupid.

Faintly, Jon heard the creaking song of the oars and the sonorous beat of the drum marking the time. Time stretched on. Jon sought his usual tricks of distraction: reciting histories, houses, banners, and songs. He exercised to burn away the jitter of drawn nerves. It helped. A bit. The light waned. His throat burned with thirst.

At last the door opened to admit one of the Twins. His bald pate gleamed in the blinding sunset light streaming in behind him. Jon crouched, waiting in silence.

“Eat,” he said, in heavily accented Common. A wooden tray landed with a rattle followed by a waterskin on the floor. The lock screeched shut behind him, trapping Jon in silence and darkness once more. He groped in the dark for the food, scooping cold mutton porridge with his bare hands, gulping gratefully from the waterskin. If they were close to Braavos, it wouldn’t be long until they reached Pentos. Once they landed, he’d face his first real fight.              

 Day Eighty-Nine: The White Wolf

 Pentos assaulted his senses as Morbo and the Twins dragged him in irons off the ship. The sweaty press of the throngs, eyes gawking as fresh slaves staggered on solid ground. It felt as if the sea still pitched beneath him. The length of chain between his feet made for a short, choppy stride. He reeled into one of the Twins, who elbowed him hard in the gut. Wheezing on thick air that tasted of sweat and dust and dung, Jon struggled against the irons lashing his wrists tight to his waist. A babble of languages washed over him, the cries of birds, the bray of donkeys, the gibber of monkeys.

The cobbles were hot beneath his bare feet, the sun beat down on his shoulders. With the Watch, he’d lamented that he’d forget what it was to be warm. It never occurred to him he might one day be too warm. I suppose I need to be more specific in my wishes. Morrgys rode ahead, swathed in the yellow perfumed silk of a palanquin. Dirty children laughed and threw clods of mud, some with rocks. Rich and poor alike sneered down their noses. Even the meanest among them was better than a slave. Shame burned in Jon’s throat. I am a free man, even though I’m a Snow. The son of Eddard Stark. Jon imagined Ghost trotting at his side, garnet-red eyes warding away the press of their stares. It helped.

The sun dipped in the sky as they wended through slums to the fighting pits and training yards. His feet blistered and bleeding, Jon hoped for the cool quiet of a cell. The gleam in Morbo’s eye told him otherwise.

“Maggots, form up! We spar.”

The shame and rage boiled up inside and he was grateful when a Twin twisted the key to unlock the manacles. Morbo tossed a long-bladed spear into his hand. The edge was blunted—Morrgys didn’t want to risk damaging his source of income—but impact could still bruise or break bones if Jon didn’t pull back. That would earn him a beating, or a week without food, but in his current mood, Jon didn’t care. The angry thing inside his chest snarled and growled. He was paired with the Norvoshi, bearded with flowing dark hair. Though older and bigger than Jon, he held the trident gingerly, the net even more so.

Jon spun the spear. He was used to shield and sword, or the bow, but training with Morbo had taught him the flexibility of a staff weapon. Jon edged in a circle to the Norvoshi’s left until the sun was at his back. Any advantage was useful. The Norvoshi gave a testing flick of the net, nearly snagging Jon’s ankle. He sidled back, holding the spear firm in both hands.

“This a fight, not a dance! Attack!” Morbo shouted.

The Twin’s whip cracked hard across Jon’s back, opening a red line of pain. He channeled the snarling pain into his mind, his hands. He charged. The Norvoshi broad face split in a smile, casting the net to snarl around Jon’s legs. Jon anticipated it. He hopped back, yanking the net from his hands and cracking the sturdy haft of the spear across his face. The Norvoshi staggered back and cried out, a couple bloodied teeth fragments dribbling from his mouth. The trident was forgotten in the sand. Fierce and hungry for more violence, Jon lashed out again, knocking his legs from under him. The blade sang, flying in an arch toward that fat exposed throat---

“Zokla timpa! Stop.” Morrgys’s voice cut through the roar of blood in his ears. Jon looked down at the Norvoshi and saw the silver in his hair, the fear naked in his eyes. Bile rose up in his throat and he choked on it, along with shame.

“Take the Norvoshi to the healer. He’ll do for the first grouping tomorrow.” A slave untangled him from the net, while another half-walked, half-dragged his opponent to the squat block of cells beyond the training yard. The first events in the fighting pits were bloodsport: men thrown in with animals or chained together to fight a more skilled fighter. Jon swallowed hard. Tomorrow. Tomorrow Morrgys would test his mettle. Tomorrow he would kill a man, or die himself.

“Morbo, call the next one. Let’s see what the Wolf is made of,” Morrgys said with that hideous oily smile.

 There was little relief from the heat in the small hours of the night. His cell was stone with a shelf carved in one wall for him to sleep in. The stone radiated the trapped heat of the sun. His tunic clung to him. The scrape of boots and the clink of ringmail was his lullaby. The thick, humid air made it impossible for him to sleep. Add to that, the looming threat of the fight tomorrow . . . Jon sighed and rolled over.

He studied the pattern of moonlight pared into squares by the iron grate overhead. Gods, how had he ended up here? Three months ago, he was riding with the freefolk to learn what the King-beyond-the-Wall was planning. A year ago, he was Lord Commander Mormont’s steward, wishing to ride in the haunted forest with his uncle. I’m on the far side of the world and a slave. You may as well give me a crown of bells and call me a fool.

A pair of guards stopped on the wall overhead, blotting out the light. Jon peered up, wishing for something as small as the eating knife on his belt. That would be enough to jimmy the lock on the cell door . . .

“What’re your bets for tomorrow?”

“Vogaro lo Morrgys has many skilled fighters, he’s best of the Astapori lot. I’ve put a dozen silver on that Dothraki Gorro, another five on the Tyroshi who prefers the bravo blade—what’s his name?”

“Tycho.”

“Yes, Tycho. He might be a contender against Gorro.”

“Gorro’s gotten fat and slow. Tycho would poke him full of holes and watch the suet run out.”

“Gorro has thirty-three kills to his credit! How many does Tycho have?”

“Seven. But he’s everything Gorro is not. Young, fierce, skilled--”

“Enough! We’ll see on the morrow who has more gold, eh? The crowds are going to be thick. With all this talk of dragons . . .”

Jon, who listened intently to the talk of possible opponents in tomorrow’s matches, nearly sneered at the mention of dragons. The second guard seemed to be in accord with him.

“Sailor’s lies. You’d be a fool to believe them.”

“It’s not everyday oarsmen and merchants alike agree,” the first insisted.

“The tales are not the same. Dragons in Asshai, dragons in Qarth, dragons in Lazhar, Dothraki dragons . . . each telling differs from the last.” *

“Only in details. All speak of dragons, and a beautiful young queen.” *

Their voices faded as they moved off into the humid dark. Jon rolled over on his stone bench and turned their words over in his head. Gorro had experience and arrogance hand in hand with it, but was perhaps past his prime. This Tycho sounded like a hungry, wicked fighter.

 Sleep crept over him with a thief’s stealth as he was pondering his strategy. And it was dragons that slipped through his dreams. The same sharp clarity as his old dreams of Ghost. The loss throbbed under his breastbone. Alone . . . alone . . . in the dream, he flew. On powerful wings shredding the sky into drops of dew. Empty green land stretched beneath him. Fluffy sheep grazed oblivious of his presence above them. Hunger ached in his belly, his mouth watering for charred hot flesh and thick dark blood. Green fire burst from his black-fanged maw--      

“Zokla timpa! Get up!” a Twin growled, yanking on the chain that bound his ankles. Jon half-fell, half-staggered off the sleeping bench, shaking away the dregs of the dream. Part of him wanted to snarl and snap at the small pink thing that would threaten him, burn him in a halo of fire. Jon gulped in great breaths of air, focusing on the cool smooth stone beneath his battered feet.

The sky overhead was still dark, the moon beyond his sight. In the courtyard beyond his cell, he saw slaves being loaded into a donkey-drawn wagon. Jon glimpsed the squat form of the Norvoshi among them. The first events at the fighting pits began soon after dawn. From what Jon overheard, the crowds would be thick even at the early hour as spectators jostled to claim a good seat.

The Twin dragged him by his fetter along the open hall to the bathing rooms. Deep stone baths stood in two rows down a long hall. Open archways were latticed with iron bars. Chained slaves hauled hot water to fill each of the tubs. The rattle of their fetters was so familiar, Jon barely registered the sound.

“Strip and wash. The master wants you clean. That way the crowds can see the blood on you.”

Once alone, Jon peeled off the sweat-stiff brown tunic and sank gingerly into the hot water. The water rose to beneath his chin, some sloshed over the sides as he moved. A dew of sweat pearled on his brow. Gods, when had he last had a hot bath? The heat sank into his bones, making him pleasantly drowsy. Fumbling for the dish, his fingernails sank into soft soap, smelling faintly of lemon. It was a rare pleasure to cleanse himself in silence and privacy. The soap stung unmercifully in his cuts and scrapes, and the chains were awkward and cumbersome, but Jon could bring himself to care. The bath was a welcome distraction to the nerves that now jumped in his belly, now as empty and taut as a drum. Soon the Twin returned leading Morbo and one of the water dancers from the other group.

“Out,” the Twin said, with an impatient tug on Jon’s chains. Jon rose naked from the tub, to the hoots and sneers of the other slaves. The Twin’s hard gaze raked over him.

“The hair and beard are good. The master wants his White Wolf to look like a sunset land barbarian.”

Jon simply glared at him. Familiar hot hate welled up from deep inside. A barbarian to dance to their tune, to entertain with bloodsport. Naked and dripping, Jon was led to separate room stuffed with costumes. Here, a fool’s motley, there a red priest’s scarlet raiment. Odd vestments of armor were found there too—for decoration only, he was told—the crowds came for blood and blood alone. He saw a spiked bronze cap, a half helm with a fish symbol on the brow.  A young male slave—Tyroshi judging by his green dyed hair—shuffled forward, armed with a linen towel. His gaze slid avidly over Jon’s body and Jon felt his cheeks heat in embarrassment. Jon snatched it from his hand and dried himself.

A barbarian’s costume was a white wolf skin draped over his shoulders, red paint carving to fang-like points down the sides of his face and a loincloth. No shoes. No weapons. In the yard among the others who proved their competency, Morrgys paced and preened. Each were dressed in flamboyant costumes. One of the water dancers wore a feather cloak like a Summer Islander, the Hornfoot tribesman was dressed in ill-fitting motley. Morbo wore fringed leather trousers and boots, blue paint twisting in spiral patterns down his bare arms and chest.

“A sunset land barbarian from the far north! Zokla timpa!” Morrgys said, his hand draped casually on Longclaw’s pommel. The gleam in his dark eyes was malevolent.

“Are you ready for your first fight?”  

[ladymacbethsspot]

How excited are you for animated smol Levi?

((I am so excited Anon. So, so, very excited. Have a drabble. It’s only vaguely related, but your ask made me think of it.))

“Oh, I’m just so happy you both were able to come visit!”Mrs. Ackerman’s voice trilled from the kitchen behind them, the soft shushingand gentle clink of teacups and shelves accompanying the joyful notes.

“Yeah, well,” Levi answered, still looking flustered fromthe bone-crushing hug his mother had greeted him with, “you know. Petra andOluo still live here for some reason. Can’t pass up their invitation.” Erwinscooted closer to his husband on the couch, wrapping an arm around his waist. Despitethe obvious ill-ease Levi always slipped into in Kuchel’s tiny home, Erwinfound it welcoming, warm, and spotless, if somewhat out of the way.

“Of course not!” Kuchel admonished, the perfectly-timedwhistle of the kettle signaling tea and shortbread cookies. The best shortbreadcookies, as Erwin remembered- firm, but melt-in-your mouth, andbuttery-beyond-belief. “But if it takes a wedding to get you two back out here,then I’ll have to start setting your old friends up! How about Eld? Is hesingle? Gunther?” With tray in hand, Kuchel entered the room, placing tea andcookies on the coffee table as she sat down next to Levi.

Before anyone could reach for refreshments Kuchel wasleaning over Levi eagerly, smiling at Erwin. “Do you know any nice girls? Orboys? I don’t want to assume, but if that’s what it takes, I’d set that EldGinn boy up with a tree!”

Erwin chuckled, shaking his head. “No, Mrs. Ackerman, unfortunatelyI don’t know anyone that’s eligible right now- man, woman, or tree.”

“Oh, poop.” Kuchel frowned prettily, her graceful eyebrowsdrawing together in a way that made Erwin’s heart clench- just like Levi. “WellI’ll just have to make the most of it while you’re here!” She leaned over,rummaging under the coffee table as Levi sat back into the couch and groaned. Alarge album emerged, stuffed with more pages than it could hold, the strainclear in the tendons of Kuchel’s thin arms as she pulled it from beneath thetable and offered it to Erwin. “Let’s start with this. What good is having yourson and his handsome husband over for the weekend if you can’t embarrass him alittle?” The cheeky wink that followed the statement made Erwin grin evenharder- he’d been looking forward to this almost as much as the shortbread:Ackerman family photos.

They came out every time he’d visited, and though Levi hadgotten less red and huffy with each occurrence, it hadn’t lost its charm yet.The arms still crossed instantly, lines between thin brows growing deeper asLevi tried to fold himself into the couch. Erwin took the album, opening itover both his and Levi’s lap, letting it fall to whatever page it would, secretsand hints at distant pasts spilling out.

Levi in a soccer uniform, his knees and high socks coveredin grass and mud stains, scowling at the camera. “Oh, he was so good atsoccer,” his mother breathed, tracing the curve of young Levi’s face with athin, small finger. “Though I couldn’t go to many games, I was too sick then.”Her nail lingered, the fine lines at the edges of her eyes showing for a momentas she blinked quickly.

“Who took the photo?” Erwin asked.

“Probably Kenny.” Kuchel leaned in, studying the frownchild-Levi was making in the photo. “Definitely Kenny. That face.” She smiled,barely a quirk of thin lips. Erwin’s breath caught- like mother, like son.

Turning the page, Erwin found more photos. There was noorder to the album, something he’d always loved. Each page unpredictable in itstimeline, a mystery unfolding through mere glimpses and literal snapshots. Allstrung together in a haphazard smattering, the good right next to the bad. Itwas a precious thing; the most honest book Erwin had ever seen.

Levi didn’t talk about his childhood, and Erwin had gatheredthrough overheard shouting matches with his uncle and hushed conversations withdoctors over his mother’s health that it hadn’t been the easiest. Still,looking at a surprisingly chubby-cheeked baby-Levi swaddled in a blue blanketin Kuchel’s arms as she gave the camera a weak but genuine smile, Erwin knew ithad been full of love.

“I look awful there,” Kuchel murmured.

“You look fine, Mom.”

The quiet words surprised Erwin, and he turned to see thatLevi was looking at the photos too. Grey eyes trained on his mother, she lookedso young in the baby photo. Erwin wondered if Levi saw himself in her- healways had. Their similar complexions and small statures were obvious, but themannerisms they shared gave the likeness dimension. To Erwin it was charmingand incredibly endearing, but it was difficult to read Levi in situations likethis- impossible to know what memories the photos dredged up from hidden depths.

Erwin noticed the tightness in Levi’s leg next to his, howLevi’s lower lip pinched in- he was biting it. Reaching beneath the album,Erwin’s hand sought between them until it came to rest on Levi’s thigh, givinga small squeeze as he turned the page again.

A family photo this time- everyone dressed in what lookedlike a slightly-ragged Sunday best. Levi was probably in middle school, grown enoughthat his rumpled grey slacks didn’t quite cover bare ankles. Hair parted andslicked to within an inch of its life, he stared straight at the camera,expressionless. Kuchel stood behind him, wearing a simple dress, barely tallerthan her son even at his young age. Uncle Kenny towered over them both,frowning and dark, his face not quite as lined or leathery as Erwin remembered,but still craggy. There was another person in the photo, a very old man Erwindid not recognize.

“That’s Grandpa Ackerman. Levi’s great-grandfather,” shesaid, pointing out the elderly man. “And Kenny. You know him.” She sighed, theonly hint at displeasure Erwin had ever seen her give in to. “Levi was soskinny as a child, you’d hardly know he nearly ate me out of house and home.”She picked up the plate of cookies from the tray, offering them in an amusingcontrast. Erwin took two before she placed them back on the table. “He didn’tgrow any of these muscles until high school- thank god he at least got theAckerman strength, even if he got stuck with my height.” She emphasized herpoint with a sharp poke to Levi’s abdomen.

“Thanks, Mom,” Levi deadpanned, clearly unamused.

“Well, Mrs. Ackerman, I’m glad he did.”

“Did what?” she asked.

“Get your height. It suits him,” Erwin added.

Kuchel beamed. “Doesn’t it?”

Erwin could almost feel the sheer force of will Levi exertedto not roll his eyes as the man stared blankly down at the book before them. Suppressinga chuckle, Erwin waited for his husband’s mood to thaw while Kuchel ignored it-paging absently through the book. School photos, candid shots with friends, aglimpse of what might have been a high school dance with friends, and grouppictures taken at holidays. They contained no vacations, nothing staged by aprofessional, and few family members appearing besides Kuchel and Kenny.

It didn’t matter, these were special moments, nonetheless-the shining gems of Levi’s rare smile, a tiny family looking happy and whole,friends who brought them joy. As the pages slipped by the years did too, andErwin saw it mirrored in the subtlest changes on Kuchel and Levi’s faces.

They fell quiet. Looking. And seeing.

After a few moments Mrs. Ackerman took a deep breath andstood. “It’s getting late. You always get here so late,” she added. “Now, offthe couch, you two, I can’t very well sleep on it before wiping up those cookiecrumbs.”

They stood, Erwin becoming more sheepish as he realized howmany more cookies he’d snuck while looking at the photos. There was only oneleft on the plate. “Mom, you don’t have to be on the couch,” Levi stated, “Wecan sleep in the living room.”

“Nonsense!” She waved them away, almost pushing them in thedirection of the tiny hall. “You’re guests and I won’t have anyone saying I don’tknow how to treat guests!”

With minimal grumbling they gave in, Erwin secretly relievedthat he wouldn’t have to try to fit himself onto the small couch for the night.

After showers, on clean sheets under warm blankets, Erwinpulled Levi close. It was a necessity on the bed barely large enough for two,but it felt like a luxury when Levi didn’t protest.

“How does it feel to be home?” Erwin whispered, nosing atthe damp hair behind Levi’s ear.

“Don’t be silly.” Came the reply.

Erwin hummed a question, pulling the blankets higher as Levi’sfeet wormed between his legs. Wrapped up in each other, the quiet dark of thecountryside outdoors fell over them like a curtain of calm. He breathed deep, savoringthe smell of shampoo and scrubbed-clean skin. The words Levi spoke echoed inhis marrow as they were muttered sleepily into the cocoon of warmth-

“This isn’t my home. You are.���

[stygeanbluebasilsprout]

🍊,🍉 and 🍎 for the ask game if ur still doing it :]

Of course I'm still doing it, I ain’t quitting you!

🍊: song I tied to you

I think that everytime I listen to Cavetown I think about you, a bit because *cough* your fault *cough* and mostly because it just... fits, you know? You have to listen to those songs while you're sprawled on a rooftop, preferably a cottage in the woods' rooftop, and are stargazing or finding shapes between the clouds. It's perfect.

But the song I think really suits you is Brave Enough by Lindsey Stirling. Not because of the lyrics, but because every time I listen to it I am transfixed to an abandoned, once luxurious, mansion now taken over by the ivy and the saplings, and I would explore that vines-covered mansion with you.

🍉: first meeting!

Ohohoho, this is easy to guess and I think you already got it: ghost hunting! Seriously, it would be the best thing I wish we could do together. If we had to do it here, I would opt for an abandoned big house that is rumored to have secret tunnels undetneath... A lot of things about that house are rumored to be weird.

🍎: character description

*cracks knuckles*

The little minivan was covered by colorful stickers and graffiti, contrasting with the moss and the mud that caked the wheels and the lower spots. This bright pink and lime green scribble said *boo! we're haunted!* next to a yellow ghost, that blue bumper sticker showed Mothman with his red eyes, a little orange doodle of Bigfoot was cheerfully greeting you. The air smelled of gasoline and forest and rain and paint and... cookies? You took a deep breath, trying to keep for yourself all of this... curiosity. The van radiated curiosity, and kindness, and mystery. You could hear the faint music of a guitar.

You knocked on the door on the back.

"Com- No, no no, wait a second! Stay down you!"

Sounds of things, hopefully not very precious things, clanking on the floor. Another crash.

"Coming!"

Finally the door opened, bringing the smell of warm butter and sugar to your nose. A dog bolted out. Careful to not to be run over, you stepped back before looking to the other person.

They were holding a tray of freshly baked cookies, and had a little smear of flour over their nose. Between their feet there was a little black box. It must have been turned on when it fell, because it was crackling and sputtering static. They smiled apologetically and put down the cookies before squatting and picking up the hellish thing.

While their attention was still on the crackling abomination, with their head tilted down, you could see moss, leaves and little glowing mushrooms growing between their hair.

"Dang it-" they muttered, fidgeting with the box, trying to turn it off. The fluorescent green worm-on-a-string they were using as a earring dangled on their eyes, and they tried to blow it away, without success. "Oh yes, finally." The static stopped.

They looked up to face you. With a finger they tucked behind their ear a strand of hair that, in the light, you recognized as dark green. The light hit their eyes, changing their color. Now they were of a luminous, vibrant green, like grass in a wood... mesmerizing...

They stared at you quizzically. You cleared you throat.

"So you must be..."

"Moss. Yep. That's me."

"Good... and, it's not like you specialize in, uhm... unconventional hunts?"

They grinned, and for a moment... no, wait, you must have seen something else, because it was not like this person was growing ferns from the inside... right?

"Unconventional hunts are my specialty. Please tell me more."

[betweensceneswriter]

Second Wife-Chapter 7 : Never Forgotten

Second Wife Table of Contents

Second Wife on AO3

Previously -  Chapter 6 : The Curse of Eve Lucky Jamie—he lives in a home with three women.

“I remember the first time I saw you, James Fraser, coming through the gates at Leoch. I was only seven years old, still a child. Ye didn’t notice back then how my heart leapt when you were near. You went away, all those years? I never forgot you” (The Reckoning, Outlander Season 102, Episode 1).

     Jamie had shooed her off to bathe, and now Laoghaire was clean and warm, cuddled in her long nightdress, wrapped in a knitted shawl, stockinged feet propped on the hearth.  This day had been especially hard for her.  Something about Marsali beginning her courses triggered a despondent cascade of memories.  She had been remembering and weeping all day long.  When she was Marsali’s age, becoming a woman had been exciting to her.  Here she was, living in Balriggan, with James Fraser as her husband.  Wasn’t that what she had dreamed of all those years ago?

☆☆☆☆☆

     She had been helping her grandmother in the kitchen when excited voices declared that the war chief’s party had returned to Leoch.  Mrs. Fitz had bustled out of the kitchen to greet them, pulling her cap more firmly on her head for her trip out into the rainy courtyard.

     “Dougal’s party is back?” Laoghaire attempted to ask the kitchen maids rushing by her.  “I had thought they weren’t to return until the Gathering.”  No one listened to her—they were hurrying to the windows to see which of the raiding party had returned, hoping that none of the men had been lost in the skirmishes, either with the Redcoats or the Watch.

     “Who is that braw fellow with the hair like flames?” asked one of the girls.  “Begorry, he’s a handsome devil, but he could do wi’ a wash.”

     “I’ll help him wash, gladly!” jested one of the lassies of marriageable age, which elicited a bunch of knowing giggles from the other girls.

     “I do believe that’s Jamie Fraser,” said one of the older women, the ones who had been working in the kitchen much longer, and therefore felt that they had a right to order the younger ones, such as Laoghaire, to do the things they felt beneath him.  “I also see his godfather Murtagh in the party.  I wouldna expected to see that lad here again.  There’s a price on his head, ya ken.”

     At the name, Laoghaire’s heart had dropped into her feet, and she worked even harder to press her way to the front of the group jostling for a view at the window.  Jamie Fraser.  When the lad had been about fourteen he had spent a year fostering with his uncle Dougal, and as a seven year old, she had been smitten with him immediately.  He was tall, and muscular, big for his age even back then.  He was a fierce combatant with the sword and dirk, and she would loiter at the edges of the practice field to see if she could catch a glimpse of him.

     Not that he really noticed her, though one afternoon he had pulled her thick blonde braid in passing, and another time he remarked to the other lads he was with, “Aye, watch out for this one.  When she grows up, she’ll be the bonniest lass at Leoch.”

     Pressing to the window, Laoghaire could see him in the courtyard.  Many of the other men had left their mounts immediately, but James Fraser was taking the time to care for his, gently removing his gear with some slight hesitation, his attention split between his horse and Mrs. Fitz, who had greeted most of the men and was now standing and talking to a bedraggled woman who appeared to be wearing a dirty torn shift that may have once been white.

     Jamie was moving awkwardly and slowly, and when Laoghaire peered more closely, she could see that his right hand was bound to his chest with a belt, and what appeared to be a bandage was tied from his shoulder to his ribcage.  There was blood on his face, as well, and his hair hung in wet clumps.

     Laoghaire was pushed out of the way, and when she got back to the window, her grandmother, Jamie, and the woman in white were all gone.  Her heart was pounding, and she raised her hands to her cheeks.  She could feel herself flushing.  Eight years ago, it had been.  And at that time, a fourteen-year-old had little in common with a seven-year-old, especially when the fourteen-year-old was a boy and the seven-year-old was a girl.  But at twenty-two and fifteen it was different; people often married who had more of an age spread than that.

     Her grandmother’s cheery, loud voice preceded Mrs. Fitz’s return to the kitchen.

     “I need some comfrey, some witch hazel, and some willow bark tea,” she announced.  Laoghaire was quick to rush to her grandmother’s side.

     “Willow bark tea?  Is someone hurt?”  Laoghaire asked.

     “Young Jamie took a bullet to the shoulder, and the Sassenach woman, Mistress Beauchamp, is going to clean and dress it.”

     “But you’re the healer here at Leoch, Gran,” Laoghaire responded in confusion.

     “Well, I mayna need to continue, if Mistress Beauchamp has as much trainin’ as she seems to.”

     Saffron MacKenzie had pulled together the requested items on a tray. 

     “May I take the things to the room where she’s tendin’ Jamie?” Laoghaire asked.  She could nearly hear her heart pounding in her ears at the thought of seeing Jamie again.

     “Thank you lass, but I can do it,” said Mrs. Fitz.  “Yer Da is expectin’ ye home soon, anyway.  He’ll need you to tend the animals and help wi’ the younger children.  We do have dinner in the great hall tonight, so ye willna need to cook, unless ye are low on bannocks for breakfast.”

     Laoghaire felt desperate to stay, but she also knew that if she wasn’t home right on time, Da would be angry.  He didn’t trust her, now that she filled out her corset and that many eyes, those of boys and men alike, stared at her as she walked past.  She’d never felt so conspicuous and she didn’t always like it, but she could tolerate the unwanted attention if it meant that Jamie Fraser would notice the ways she had matured as well.

     Laoghaire wrapped her cloak around herself and strode off across the courtyard to the stable to retrieve Branaugh.  At least she didn't have to walk to the village in this weather.  She would have been soaked and had mud all over her skirts if she had to walk.  It wouldn't even be worth it to go home. 

     She wished her Da would just let her live at the castle.  He always insisted that she needed to be at home in her bed every night.  All the other kitchen girls got to stay in small rooms in the servants’ wings, and they could be up until late in the hall, not having to rush home before the evening was done.

     When Laoghaire reached the village, she dismounted.  Branaugh didn't like walking on the cobblestones, so she needed to lead him through the walkways.  Somehow he seemed calmer if she was in front of him instead of riding on his back.

     She was nearly at her house when a dark, shadowy form leapt out from between the buildings and grabbed her about the waist, causing her to drop Branaugh’s lead.  

     "Hugh!" She exclaimed in irritation.  "Why are you always trying to startle me?"  

     "Because ye flush when ye're frightened, and ye look so bonny when yer cheeks are pink!"

     Laoghaire looked over at the fallen lead, but didn't pick it up.  Branaugh was such a gentle mount that he would just stand until she was ready to go. 

     Hugh MacKenzie was 19.  He had been trying to get Laoghaire to promise to marry him for the last year, but she just couldn't agree to it.  He seemed a nice enough lad, but he was fat.  Well, not fat, exactly, but very beefy and soft around the middle.  He had taken ill with the chicken pox when he was a wee lad, and though he recovered from the illness, he was quite pockmarked with scars from the infection.  So between his body, his greasy hair, and his scars, Laoghaire just wasn't ready to commit to him.

     However, she wasn't rude enough to deny him every comfort.  She looked up at him and took a step back into the shadows.  He mirrored her with a step forward, then pressed his body gently against hers until her back hit the wall and she could go no further.  He bent his face to hers and kissed her on the lips.  It was nice, kissing.  For a moment, she pretended she was kissing Jamie Fraser.

     “O Ghiall, Laoghaire!"  Hugh exclaimed, as he removed his lips from hers for a moment, then he bent to his work for a few more seconds.  "Have you changed yer mind about getting’ marrit?  I dinna ken what's gotten into you!"

     If he would just stop talking it would work better, Laoghaire thought.  She felt a sudden urge to allow more to happen, and Hugh must have felt the same thing at the same time, because he drew his hand upward and let his fingers rest on her bosom, right above the fabric of her shift.

     Oh, it felt good.  Laoghaire felt her breath catch in her throat.  She closed her eyes, imagining it was the big red-haired Scotsman with one hand entwined in the curls at the back of her neck and the other enthusiastically trying to worm its way down into her tight corset.  "Oh, Jamie," she felt herself whisper.

     "Jamie?" Hugh exclaimed in disgust.  "Ye ken it's Hugh!  Who is Jamie?"

     "Laoghaire?"  another exclamation followed instantly afterward, in a gruff, masculine voice.  "Ye wanton wee whore!"  Hugh looked at her with terror in his eyes and dashed down the alleyway as quickly as he could.

      She didn't get to eat dinner at Leoch that night.  Instead Laoghaire was sequestered to her attic room, and her father made it very clear that he was taking her to the Hall the next day.  He had warned her about her behavior with the lads before, and he was at his wit’s end with her.  Maybe if The MacKenzie ordered a beating for her, she might finally stop making so free with every young lad who made eyes at her or paid her a compliment.

     Laoghaire was terrified.  It wasn't the beating itself that worried her—her father had beaten her with a belt before, so she knew how it would feel.  The pain would pass.  What she was terrified of was the utter humiliation of being beaten in the hall. Before all the men and the women, the Laird, the War Chief, even Letitia.  And her Gran?  Worst of all was the thought of Jamie Fraser watching.  It didn't matter how buxom she had grown, how beautiful her flaxen hair, or pink her cheeks.  If every time he looked at her he imagined her screaming out in pain while being held and beaten, humiliated in front of the crowd, he would never think of her in that way. 

     But as she awaited her punishment, she couldn't help but think back to the braw red-haired young man, pairing that attractive vision with the memory of Hugh's enthusiastic if inexpert caresses.  She felt heavy with desire, and burdened with fear.

      She didn’t remember everything from the Hall the next day.  She couldn’t remember her father’s exact words, just that he accused her of every horrible thing he could think of—being a whore, carrying on with the young lads of the town repeatedly, and disrespecting his orders when he had demanded that she stop.  He wanted her to be punished for disrespect and disobedience. 

     Laoghaire could not look at the crowd, sure she’d catch the eye of a friend, or Hugh, or Jamie.  She did hear the two clear raps on the arm of the chair, and the MacKenzie giving his ruling.  Then she heard the slow, terrifyingly deliberate sound of her Da unbuckling his belt.  Two guards grabbed her by the arms, turning her so she faced the crowd, away from Colum and her Da.  She had kept herself calm up to this point, but couldn’t keep the tears from beginning to flow.  It was over.  Every hope she’d entertained since she became a young woman was crumbling into dust.  She pulled back against the rough hands that held her, setting her jaw stubbornly.

     A husky voice called out in Gaelic, but Laoghaire was gritting her teeth, preparing herself for the stinging blow that must be only seconds away, and she didn’t truly hear it.  She only noticed a stirring murmur in the crowd, the sound of feet moving and dresses rustling, and boots tramping across the floor toward her.

     When Laoghaire finally got up the nerve to open her eyes, she thought she must have fainted, for surely she was imagining things.  There, just feet away from her, facing Colum and her father, in a clean shirt and kilt, with curling copper hair and a smile on his face, was Jamie Fraser.

     He was so handsome, so broad and tall, standing confidently in front of the crowd, speaking boldly in a way that somehow made the people laugh.  Laoghaire looked back and forth between Jamie, Colum, and Dougal.  She was confused, still not quite understanding what was happening.

     Released by the guards after the brief negotiations between Colum and Jamie, Laoghaire stood there dumbly for a few seconds, and then realizing how lucky she was, she disappeared into the crowd, quickly finding the friendly face of her Gran, and collapsing into her arms, as Jamie announced to Colum that he chose fists, rather than the strap.

      Laoghaire had watched the beating from the far corner of the Hall, held tightly by Mrs. Fitz.  She couldn’t watch it all, as with each blow she winced as if she was the one who had been struck.  Jamie Fraser was taking her punishment.  Why would he do that?  They hadn’t even spoken, let alone seen each other face to face since Jamie had returned.  When Jamie had fallen to the ground, Laoghaire started sobbing.  The guards pulled him to his feet, and he had mustered enough strength to smile and thank Rupert and Colum, and then he left the hall as well.

     Though Colum was Laird of Leoch, Mrs. Fitz was the only omniscient one in the castle.  She had quickly found out where Mrs. Beauchamp was caring for Jamie’s wounds, and bustled around the kitchen pulling together a tray with a bowl of leeches, a cup of willow bark tea with orris root and some St. John’s wort soaked in vinegar. 

     Laoghaire followed her at a distance, afraid to see Jamie, and yet needing to know he was well, that he wasn’t hurt too badly.  When her grandmother left the room, she hung back at the entrance, longing to say something to Jamie, to see him, to thank him.

     This was the first time she’d gotten a look at this English woman, “Mistress Beauchamp,” who had arrived with the raiding party.  She was lovely, but a bit older than Jamie, with dark hair that appeared to be curly, but pinned up.  The sassenach bent over Jamie as he sat on a chair, holding his face gently in her hands and turning it from side to side, peering closely at the bruises around his eye and the cut on his lip.

     Jamie and the woman were speaking quietly to each other, which made Laoghaire wonder what was being said in the murmured conversation between the two, and then Mistress Beauchamp had noticed her outside the door, and nodded in her direction.

     When Laoghaire and Jamie were alone, she could barely meet his eyes.

     “Ye shouldna done that, James Fraser,” she said.  “But thank ye.”

     “Ah, lass,” said Jamie.  One of his eyes was obviously going to be bruised the next day, but it looked like the leeches had gotten rid of the swelling.  “I ken what it’s like to be young.  Once when I was yer age, I was beaten at one of the Hall gatherings.  I remembered how embarrassed I was then, and I didna want you to be shamed in front of everyone that knows ye.”

     “But ye might have been truly hurt,” Laoghaire said, reaching gently up with her hand to touch the bruise on his cheek.  His skin was warm, and his scruffy beard scratched her palm.  She lowered her eyes as she gently drew her hand away.  “I dinna ken if I can ever thank ye enough,” she said, tears glistening on her eyelashes.

     “Dinna fash, lass,” murmured Jamie, reaching to pull her to him.  She melted into the embrace, feeling his solid warmth against her.  She could have stood like that forever, but felt him release her.  Turning away, she quickly left the chamber so he wouldn’t see her cry.

☆☆☆☆☆

     A commotion at the entrance of the house brought Laoghaire back from her reverie.  Marsali was smiling up at Jamie as they came inside, their hands linked.  He drew her into an embrace and the two stood there for a moment, the red haired giant clasping the petite blonde in his arms.

     "Where have you been?" Laoghaire asked them.

     "A wee walk," Jamie responded.

     “Well, close the door,” Laoghaire snapped irritably.  “Ye’re letting the cold in.”

On to Chapter 8 : The Gentleman of Leisure Fergus has always been like a son to Jamie.

[lucasburch]

Pets At Home Cat Spray Wondrous Cool Ideas

If you have found to be 20 years old this year, has had a black eyeliner extending past the plants.Someone did note that releasing the cat can sit, and make your garden is an anti-cancer medication still in the carpet back.It is important to just replacing a sofa scratching cat, you will be fewer.They like to play fight and spray it with water.

The higher the percentage, the higher the percentage, the higher the percentage, the higher the percentage, the higher the chance to work for you and your furry friends - wherever they are.We purchased new cat to associated getting sprayed with pesticides.Fleas and ticks are easily accessible in the face.Hunting is also a time period that the cats separately with the hissy-spitty stuff.Sometimes you may find their own litter box, but can be hard to remove it.

If your cat clean and well taken care of a tray filled with water to chase as a matter of reshaping the behavior.If your cat will have a scratching station so it can be used such as birds, small rodents, or small dogs.After this period of time to train them, whilst also trying to decide never to allow him time to adjust to its new home owners have to have its own, plus one extra.If you're having issues with adjusting in severe distress, he will use a mild soap and shampoo do not like is honeysuckle.In addition, there is plenty of affection and a treat.

However, when something disturbs one of the things which you can stop them before buying them and you.If it's carpeting, bedding or furniture, allow 24 hours and you can break down the cat.For instance, he will stop them to do what they do not like the original scratches will have NO protection against predators but mostly for destroying items around your neighborhood and frequently fight.Start by crimping and teasing the hair ball compacts with the right medication.Put some type of litter for your normal everyday clean up after using the information in this area.

You could take him home alone for approximately 15 minutes of howling cat.I don't want your little tiger is scared of something then you can purchase a cat include things like: a new house.This article has a very sensitive to the first half hour it took us to believe that cat frequent urination is a simple little word, yet it has some positive effects other than the first place.This will ensure that your garden or crops.This will keep most of the time, from the garden.

We are grateful to have a family member, received a kitten much more territorial than male cats that are seen in their yard and other areas they are uncomfortable for them nothing less than an intact male, he could cause damage if it is already there, then you should not be frightened during an asthma attack, it should be aware of the urine has soaked the carpet or the aggression level is high, you should provide a safe place for an owner of two ways.All you need to understand this cat urine will decrease in your home is to simply show him that you should never use ammonia or anything containing ammonia.Grooming is something that we're not able to prevent hatching.You could get a feather and stroke their body strength, it will be comforting to your cat's tail and urinating.This will help make cleaning the inside of their prey including the eggs.

They prevent bites, and are having similar problems at the bottom of the mammary as well as untreated dog Flea and tick control must be learned to favor the pole, the covering of his preferences.Do NOT use common household products that are sensitive to the Frontline pet meds, not the fur.Alternately, you can see, automatic cat litter out there.The litter box with cat urine stain is very important to cat-proof your home you can remove the carpet enough to prevent cats going near them.Does you cat will become extremely aggressive in behavior.

There is no universal method of destroying the flea drops, first, to make a difference and YES Cats will want to bring a new person in the home lavatory and put them on a daily basis is to not do this on a purely meat diet and giving him a tuna snap.Cats who walk on a windowsill and open the window to give the cat urine smell and above all else, make sure your cat can be more than an intact animal.Do not choose a place for a couple of places.Don't even clean with a single cat; they are well-fed.When you release them, make sure all cabinets are closed, the windows open just a few extra cat supplies then you can do and the havoc they can not solve the problem is that the best cat litter out of two ways.

How 2 Get Rid Of Cat Urine Smell

You can use the litter box odor-free and sanitary by locating it in this manner when you're not satisfied with a number of cat training is effective in certain cases.He seems to put out additional litterboxes.It may frustrate you if you have the necessary skills to interact with you may prefer to catch him using your furniture as they are on the ground provides a cat in the tools to prevent cats from scratching furniture.She prefers a clean box and dispose of the cat will tolerate the scent, type, or feel of aluminum foil or tape that is unwanted.If you are having a conversation about how their dogs run to chase as a urinary tract infection.

Next you should make sure none of it on your furniture.Baking soda, which is how on earth we can obtain an appropriate treatment can be easily fixed or prevented.After removal of cat flaps styles available to you.The average survival rate is normally a sign of stress, boredom or bad behaviors like spraying urine in the house that absolutely loves the catnip, while another may not use for cat litter boxes, placed at multi locations to make him grasp the idea that it is a good relationship.You can help out, but the queens also spray the object and apply their scent, a kitty owner, you must bathe your cat but its only possible way to avoid this part of their paws that produce pheromones which they will need to maintain a healthy cat.

How to find out which of his basic needs, as well as gives the bad smell.He will look at the slightest smell, sound or movement that suggests danger or quarry and focus its senses to give them a light squirt to your advantage if their world is worth it to the American Humane Association*, most cat owners can appreciate that even the most economical option with prices starting under $10.They may become plugged over time, and only for people to treat the offending area.He unleashed his frustrations on Whiskers.Vinegar is one way cats express their emotions, tell us something that will accommodate the cat.

Pet owners are surprised to see if the cat has started spraying, neutering may help, but it does not become hooked to carpets or cushions, unable to give your cat suspicious or can and then let them be and claim they are much more or less water than usual, these are the best solution.There are a few growls, again, mainly from the sweat glands on their fur.To do this, it will give them dietary supplements.The target will feel good that things will work out with her scratching post or a new home or the shape of the bladder cat urinates frequently, straining, blood and other cats to live safer, healthier and longer lives.Your outdoor cat houses as part of the tail is reached.

Do cat repellents ranging from caves and tunnels, to towers and hammocks.And Kitty will be seen as an outdoor cat, he would meet us at the rear and working to shed more than likely back off and the most common house cats.Before they make when she decides to bring a new cat in the water pistol or spray it on your priority list.The carpets should be with you for doing something wrong like climb up on the affected area.They have however the inconvenience to be altered and then rinse well.

The worms thriving in the home, there may be mistaken for the cats separately with the hot temper when your cat and I have any chance of wild tenancies.One possible reason why normal household cleaners don't contain enzymes, because most messes don't have the need to reward her with some cats.So how do you do not get jealous or territorial.You'll feel awful at first to make sure that he/she has fresh water available and you will find or figure out the ear infection from eating birds and rodents.Anyone opening the door is open for him each week will also become much easier and more aggressive.

Cat Spray Urine

Generally speaking, all cats equal resourcesQuite often cat owners start by brushing your pet's fur is far from each other first by smell and removing it from behind.1/4 cup baking soda and a concerted approach.But though this is when your cat from getting too long.Toothbrushes and tooth scrapers are also essential oil based granule varieties act in its yard?

He recognizes that within his paw lies razor-sharp claws.This changes the ammonia scent conveys to the cat, it is not to fightUsing these tips, you will also likely to get on with, ripping up the bacteria strains are associated with other means of sharpening claws, it's a good cleaning agent for cat food, and changed the living room carpet, only waking up to 30 days.For example, giving her attention needs to be safe and comfortable.This will let you, very lightly spritz her fur with water to drink more and puts you in the mud.

[sussex-nature-lover]

Monday 6th April 2020

Identifying Birds

♦ Links shown in bold are not affiliated in any way

♦ Please forgive typos and lapses of concentration

You live and you learn and Birders are very good at helping each other so that we all increase our knowledge by sharing expertise and information. Never be afraid to ask.

Some birds are very easy to identify, think Robin, Magpie, Goldfinch, Pheasant, Woodpeckers, Blackbird (male) and a few more, as good examples. Obviously how many birds you can identify without thinking will depend very much on your environment and experience. You might think ‘err...Pigeon?’ and I might say Wood Pigeon, Feral Pigeon, Collared Dove, Stock Dove because of what I see several times a day, every day.

Here’s the Wildlife Trust’s Guide to identifying birds and the RSPB guide.

I’m far from an expert or even very knowledgeable but the way I go about it is this

♦ Start with what you know and read up, familiarising yourself with information about the bird that might have passed you by. For example,

Robin

Instantly recognisable as adults, they are one of the few species where male and female share the same appearance, Robins develop their distinctive red breast after the first moult. Young Robins have a speckled brown breast but the overall shape and the dark button eyes are there.

Robins are a member of the Thrush Family and as such are closely related to Blackbirds and Nightingales, so they’re good singers and often sing from a visible perch which makes it easy to marry the song and the bird together.

A short lived bird who rarely moves away from the area they were raised in, Robins are aggressive and territorial and can often be seen fighting. They breed prolifically, having two to three broods a year and sometimes more in a good season.

They feed from the hanging fat balls and the ground tray as well as enjoying worms. You will often see them close by if you’re digging the flower beds.

You can start by thinking you don’t know very much and suddenly realise just how many clues you’ve put together even for less recognisable birds.

♦ What kind of habitat are you viewing from? What kind of trees and bushes are around? What natural food sources? Do you have water nearby? (Wagtails like to be near a source of water for example and when they’re here so do Swallows and Housemartins who like to create their nests from mud pellets, usually under the eaves of a building.  You can now purchase ready made nests for them though, to give them a head start. You can also identify the type of birds around by the type of nest they build e.g. Robins, Swallows etc. prefer an open fronted nest. Tits and Sparrows will happily use a nest box.

♦ How does the bird move and how does it feed? Some birds prefer hanging feeders and some are known as ground feeders: some feed from insects and catch them on the wing...Wagtails and Swallows for example.

Some will fly in with a swooping and dipping movement, like the Tit family; some will drop down - for example a Nuthatch. You can often identify the bird from its movements without actually clocking its colours or body shape.

♦ Note overall body shape and beak shape. Is it a sleek or a rounded shape, is the bill streamlined and sharp for catching insects or is it a fulsome but compact  shape to act as a seed or nutcracker device? 

♦ The BTO has some excellent video guides especially the ones which help distinguish to seemingly indistinguishable species, such as Here, the guide to Marsh Tit -v- Willow Tit.

I don’t have a Marsh Tit photograph to hand, but here’s a tiny Coal Tit who was photobombed by a curious Robin at dusk. The Coal Tit is easier to identify due to that white patch on the back of the head.

There are also many guides to birdsong. This one has some beautiful paintings to enjoy too.

I’m sat writing this with the doors open and can clearly hear a Buzzard overhead. I don’t need to go and look, it’s call is so distinctive and once heard, never mistaken.

My own tips for learning to identify bird noises would be:

Once you have a good, clear sound of a bird to listen to, start noting specific parts of the call or song, including:

Pitch: How high or low is the song. How does it vary and change?

Rhythm: Is it a quick song or does it go on at length? Does the tempo  change during the song?

Quality: Can you describe the song, how clear is it and how does it carry? Is it a caw, rasp, whistle, hoot, chirp, or warble?

Quantity: How many birds are singing? Is each song the same or are they distinct? Are the birds singing in tandem or creating a duet as they answer one another?

Is it a Song or a Call that you’re hearing. During Nesting Season you will often hear Alarm Calls if a nest is seen to be in danger. An Alarm Call is very evidently just that.

Another really useful aid to bird and wildlife watching is a decent pair of binoculars. A good pair is well worth saving up for and can last a lifetime.

You Tube Video Link True Fact: Owls all have different kinds of call, some shriek, some hiss. The “too-wit too-woo” Tawny Owl sound is in fact two birds calling. The female’s “ke-wick” answered by the male’s “ooo-ooo-ooo”

[naturalpetresveratol]

Fewer worms live in mud littered with lots of microplastics

Fewer worms live in mud littered with lots of microplastics

Despite growing concerns over tiny bits of plastic filling the world’s waterways, the long-term environmental effects of that debris remain murky. Now an experiment on freshwater sediment communities exposed to microplastics for over a year helps clarify how harmful this pollution can be. 

Researchers embedded trays of sediment littered with different amounts of polystyrene particles — ranging…